In the shadow of America’s lofty promises lies a reality starkly different for many of its Black citizens. As I reflect on recent events, a profound sense of resentment and regret gnaws at me. It’s not just that I’ve lost faith in the America project—it’s the creeping realization that perhaps, it was never truly meant to change. From decisions that roll back progress to the harrowing frequency of unarmed Black Americans being shot by law enforcement, the so-called American way seems designed to betray us from the outset. The tragic case of Senior Airman Roger Fortson, who was fatally shot by deputies who entered the wrong apartment, only deepens this despair. Like Pria Dua and Aliyah Ogle, who must face their education being overshadowed by the names of Confederate figures, Fortson deserved a nation that respected his rights and his life. Each of these instances stitches a broader narrative of systemic failure, urging us to question: what legacy are we really leaving behind?
In Shenandoah County (Virgina), the decision by the school board to restore names like “Stonewall” Jackson to local schools isn’t just a local issue—it’s a national echo of the Confederacy’s persistent shadow yet pervasive permeation. Nearly four years ago, amid the sweeping George Floyd protests calling for racial justice, these names were removed in an effort to reflect a more inclusive future. Yet, the recent reversal serves as a stark reminder of how progress can be not just halted but reversed, as historical battles continue to be fought in the hallways of our schools.
The board’s decision came with a 5-1 vote, a move described by some as a reaction to the “knee-jerk” changes made in 2020. Advocates for the restoration argue it honors local history and heritage. Opponents see it as a step backward, a move that reasserts a legacy of racism and division within the community. This decision is not merely about school names; it’s about the values we choose to elevate and the message we send to our youth.
I winced and thought to lay back down as this was the first news story I read this morning. Heritage defined is: property, or valued objects and qualities such as cultural traditions, or special or individual possession or denoting a traditional brand or product regarded as fine craftsmanship. I don’t know which definition they want to go with, but I don’t think it matters. At the heart of the debate are the voices of students like Pria Dua and Aliyah Ogle, literally standing at the crossroads of history and progress. Their testimonies during the school board meetings highlight a deep generational divide and a plea for a future that honors diversity and inclusivity over historical reverence. Their words underscore a poignant question: by restoring these Confederate names, what message are we sending to the generations that will inherit our choices?
We can embrace their refusal to acknowledge this is blatant and fragrant, dare I say, racism, presented as Wilbur with lipstick or we can acknowledge that white people have always orated their hate of the word racism while actively racisming.
Examining the board’s rationale reveals a complex interplay of identity, history, and politics. I’m trying to use my words. While some members argue for the preservation of historical integrity, just one board member, vice chairman Kyle Gutshall, recognized the divisive nature of the issue. Or at least that’s what they said. This tension reflects a broader societal struggle to reconcile with a past marred by inequality and injustice. But what is the struggle?
The Shenandoah County decision is a microcosm of the national debate on Confederate symbols and their place in modern America. As statues fall and names are debated, each decision reflects a broader reckoning with our history of racism and the ongoing struggle for racial equality. How we resolve these debates will shape the moral and cultural landscape of the nation… and it may also be the conclusion of the project.
Educational institutions should be beacons of progress and inclusivity. As such, decisions about what names adorn our schools matter profoundly. They should always reflect our commitment to creating environments where all students can thrive, free from the shadows of oppression and racism. I’m tired of the symbolism, from senators in Kente cloth to the reduction of Aunt Jemima; it’s time for transformative actions that forge a truly inclusive future.
As we begin another week, we must also ponder the decisions of the Shenandoah County School Board, we must also reflect on the broader implications of these actions. The names we restore and the statues we erect are not just relics of the past; they are signals of what we value. They tell stories to our children about who we are and what we aspire to be. Let us choose a legacy of inclusivity and justice, one that honors the diverse tapestry of our nation rather than the divisive figures of our past. In our quest to fulfill the American promise not just granted to us by constitutional rights, but owed to us by blood, sweat, labor and death, let’s get focused.