February is black history month, 28 days set aside for us to examine the state of race relations in our country and to reflect upon the interwoven fabric of our shared history. It's a time to meditate on the hardships faced by African-Americans who lived in the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries, to try to envision how difficult life must have been in a country filled with malice toward them.

But it's also an opportunity to contemplate what it was like to be white in those times. In particular, I ask myself if I would have treated blacks with the respect and dignity they deserved; would I have had the courage to stand up against the societal constructs of the day?

Although from my modern perspective, I would be quick to say that I'd stick to what I think is my moral fiber, I understand that the cultural climate of the era makes the answer somewhat murky. Knowing that our ancestors, only a few generations removed from us, were the ones who oppressed an entire people should compel every white American to ask this same question of themselves.

Although there's no way for us to know what roads we would have walked in the shoes of our great-great grandparents, the past has a profound way or repeating itself. In fact, 19th century ideas of intolerance have resurfaced here in the 21st century, albeit with different players on a new stage.

And so, if you want an idea of what person you'd have been if born a couple hundred years earlier, look no farther than your opinion on the subjects of the discrimination du jour: gays and lesbians.

There was no better a barometer of the feelings on this topic than the controversy surrounding last week. And while outraged letters to the editor inundated the Collegian, they came from expected sectors of society: females and the LGBTA community.

What was largely missing (with a few exceptions) was anger from the regular Joe college demographic. These are the white, heterosexual males -- myself included -- who have stayed mum on the topic, not for reasons of religious dogma, but merely because we're afraid to speak up.

While religion has often been blamed for the state of affairs, we are the ones carrying the torch of intolerance. If this idea sounds familiar, it's for good reason; Martin Luther King expressed similar sentiments in his seminal Letter from Birmingham Jail.

It wasn't the Klu Klux Klan or the White Citizen's Council who dismayed him; their ill will was expected. What was unanticipated was the lack of response from the "white moderate," men and women who by all accounts supported the cause for equality yet remained silent on the issue. Their lack of a voice was almost as obtuse as the dissenting voice itself. Some may assert, as one letter to the editor did, that in time gays will enjoy tolerance. But if I've learned anything from King's letter, it is that time will not cure all ills; it is inherently neutral. Instead, it's our imperative to use time constructively, and so perhaps we need a different kind of "coming out," one in which "heterosexual moderates" come out of the complacency that we've fostered, open up the dams blocking the flow of social progress and accept people for the content of their characters. Black history month is first and foremost about remembering the struggles of African Americans. But the ideas it advocates transcend the notion of race, creed or lifestyle.

They are universal affirmations of the human experience, ones that should serve as an example to us so we don't repeat mistakes.