Former President Donald J. Trump has once again thrust himself into the center of America’s cultural wars, this time directing his sharp criticism at the Smithsonian Institution and its approach to narrating the nation’s past. In recent remarks, Trump suggested that America’s national museums have placed “too much emphasis” on slavery, racial injustice, and the darker sides of history, arguing that the country’s story is being overshadowed by what he calls “negative portrayals” of the past. His words have ignited a storm of responses from historians, cultural leaders, and advocates of multicultural education who insist that the integrity of America’s identity lies precisely in its ability to confront and reconcile with its painful legacies.
The Smithsonian, founded in 1846 as a trust for “the increase and diffusion of knowledge,” has long been a mirror of America’s evolving identity. From its Natural History Museum to the National Museum of African American History and Culture, the institution tells a story that is layered, contested, and multifaceted. Trump’s critique cuts to the heart of an enduring American dilemma: how should a diverse nation remember its past while inspiring its future? His suggestion that museums are overemphasizing slavery reflects a larger political struggle over history itself—what is taught, what is remembered, and who gets to define the national narrative.
Historians argue that slavery was not a peripheral footnote in America’s story but a foundational institution that shaped its economy, politics, and social structures for over two centuries. From the forced labor of enslaved Africans who built the wealth of Southern plantations to the debates over human bondage that fueled the Civil War, slavery is inseparable from the rise of the United States as a global power. Ignoring or diminishing this chapter risks distorting not only African American history but the entire American experiment. For many educators and curators, the Smithsonian’s inclusion of slavery is not a fixation on guilt but a necessary act of honesty that enables the country to engage with the complexities of freedom, democracy, and justice.
Trump’s remarks echo a broader conservative push in recent years to reshape cultural and educational institutions. Across several states, lawmakers have introduced legislation restricting the teaching of race, slavery, and systemic discrimination, often under the banner of opposing “critical race theory.” Supporters argue these efforts protect national pride and unity, while critics contend they sanitize history and suppress vital discussions about inequality. Against this backdrop, the Smithsonian’s exhibitions—such as the somber displays of shackles, auction blocks, and narratives of resilience at the African American History Museum—have become battlegrounds in a wider cultural conflict.
The deeper irony is that America has always been multicultural, defined by the confluence of many peoples, languages, and traditions. Indigenous nations lived on this land for thousands of years before European colonization. African slaves brought not only their labor but also their cultural traditions, which would later evolve into the foundations of American music, cuisine, and spirituality. Waves of immigrants from Ireland, Italy, China, Mexico, the Middle East, and beyond enriched the fabric of the United States, often facing discrimination before being woven into the larger national story. To suggest that focusing on slavery is divisive ignores the fact that acknowledging diversity and pain has historically been the bridge toward building solidarity and progress.
Cultural leaders point out that the Smithsonian’s role is not merely to celebrate America’s triumphs but also to contextualize its struggles. Just as the Holocaust Museum in Washington ensures the world never forgets the horrors of genocide, the African American Museum insists that slavery and segregation are integral to understanding American democracy. The telling of this history is not an act of dwelling on guilt but a commitment to truth-telling that honors those who suffered while educating future generations.
The political correctness Trump decries is, for others, a moral necessity. To recognize slavery, Jim Crow, lynching, and redlining is not to diminish America’s greatness but to highlight the extraordinary resilience of communities who, against all odds, shaped the nation’s progress. Figures like Frederick Douglass, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, W.E.B. Du Bois, Martin Luther King Jr., and Rosa Parks are not symbols of division but of hope, perseverance, and the promise of democracy. Their stories, now enshrined in Smithsonian exhibitions, remind Americans that liberty is not inherited effortlessly but fought for in the face of immense resistance.
Trump’s attack also exposes a fundamental question: what does it mean to be American in the twenty-first century? For some, patriotism demands celebrating only the achievements—economic growth, military victories, scientific breakthroughs—without lingering on the injustices. For others, true patriotism requires an honest reckoning with past wrongs, because only in truth can the country find healing and unity. The Smithsonian, by embracing multiculturalism, embodies this second vision. It ensures that no child walks through its halls without seeing their heritage reflected—be it Native American pottery, Asian American art, African American music, or Latino migration stories.
The American system thrives on this diversity. It is a democracy tested and refined by voices from the margins demanding recognition. The Civil Rights Movement, the suffrage movement, the LGBTQ+ rights struggle, and immigrant labor rights campaigns are all chapters in the broader American story. Far from being divisive, they demonstrate the vitality of a nation where freedom is contested and redefined across generations. The Smithsonian’s exhibitions, therefore, are not attacks on national pride but tributes to a people who have continually expanded the boundaries of freedom.
Critics of Trump argue that diminishing the horrors of slavery risks a dangerous form of historical amnesia. Nations that forget their past are often doomed to repeat its errors. In Germany, education about the Holocaust is mandated as a way of preventing future atrocities. South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission confronted the injustices of apartheid to lay the foundation for a multiracial democracy. America’s reckoning with slavery, while incomplete, is part of this same global pattern of memory and accountability. To erase or minimize it is not just intellectually dishonest but also a betrayal of the democratic principles America claims to champion.
Ultimately, Trump’s critique of the Smithsonian is less about museums and more about the struggle for America’s soul. Is the United States willing to embrace its full story—triumphs and tragedies alike—or will it choose selective memory? The Smithsonian stands as a living archive of that choice, housing not just objects and artifacts but also the competing visions of what it means to be American. By highlighting the painful truths alongside the inspiring legacies, the institution affirms that a nation’s greatness lies not in denial but in courage, not in erasure but in remembrance.
In the end, the debate Trump has reignited is not simply about history but about the future. What kind of America will the next generation inherit? One that tells a narrow tale of exceptionalism while ignoring the blood and tears that made it possible, or one that embraces the rich tapestry of multiculturalism, where every voice and every story has a place in the American narrative? The Smithsonian, with all its complexity, seems to have chosen the latter. Whether political leaders follow that path remains a question for the nation itself.
