I think of my late grandmother Lillian McCray quite often these days. She might have completed only a portion of ninth grade, but living in the segregated South gave her and other Black people of her generation — she was born in 1921 — an education in what Americans are capable of. She saw a lot, maybe too much. In one of our many long talks on her Yulee, Fla., porch she said of this country, “The only time you should be surprised is when you’re surprised.”
There’s something about this moment that is shocking to many in my orbit. Watching a security camera video of a graduate student — from Tufts, my alma mater — who is legally in the country being picked up in broad daylight by masked government agents and hustled into an unmarked car. Witnessing people lose their jobs with no warning or justification. The presumption underlying these attacks on diversity, equity and inclusion programs that somehow only white men are qualified to do many jobs. Denying lawyers access to federal buildings so they can’t represent their clients properly. Seeing communities from Cincinnati to El Paso live in a state of fear from the police and bands of vigilantes.
“How can this be happening in America?” these people ask. “This is not the country I know, the country of rights and laws and due process.”
Needless to say, these people are almost all white and liberal and are not used to feeling this fear of arbitrary, brutal state authority. But this moment, the one that was explicitly promised by Project 2025 and Donald Trump when he was a candidate, looks a lot like what my grandmother experienced every day for much of her life. It is frightening and disappointing but not surprising if one knows anything about the Black experience in America. And not the sanitized just-so version of the Black experience in which America skips from slavery, Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass to civil rights, Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks and somehow ends with a postracial America and Barack Obama.
Black people have seen this America before. We have endured throughout history’s progress and regress, watching the arc of justice bend with the changing winds. Until we reckon with our fellow citizens’ capacity — even hunger — for injustice, we will fail to meet, understand and survive this political moment. What I mean by that is the ability of some Americans (historically, almost all of them white, though increasingly there are multiethnic fellow travelers in MAGA these days) to burn this country to the ground before they share it with those deemed other and unworthy. I also mean how long it takes for almost everyone else to wake up to the danger these people pose not only to Black people but, yes, to everyone else, too.
Again, Black people are not surprised. Far too many well-meaning white Americans have been what I like to call ally ostriches, believing in progress while burying their heads in the sand when discussions around the past become uncomfortable. Or newer Americans, perhaps the children of immigrants of recent decades, who don’t see what business it is of theirs what violence slave owners or Jim Crow enforcers visited on their fellow citizens or the legacy of it. And now some of them are seeing people who look like them summarily deported. How did this happen?
Every day I hear, spoken by these ostriches but also, increasingly, by those who blithely voted for Mr. Trump, thinking he didn’t intend to actually do those things he said he would do, or who just couldn’t bring themselves to vote for a Black woman or who feel some version of disbelief. As if the America of chattel slavery, of Native American expulsion and attempted extermination, of reckless imperial expansion, of Jim Crow, of internment camps was echoed by authoritarian regimes across the globe in the past. I find myself reminding those who are surprised by this moment that my still very spry mother attended legally mandated segregated schools her entire life. The past has somehow turned into prologue, and the head-scratching of many tells me there is a fundamental lack of understanding of this country and what Americans are capable of. No, dear ostriches, not all Americans. But enough and often enough.
And in the midst of this fear and real threats to democracy, most Black people are not only not surprised but also tired out by explaining why all of this is not surprising. (And yes, I am aware there are a few Black ostriches, too.) That is why many of the 92 percent of Black women who have been the keepers of the Democratic Party and democracy writ large have been resoundingly silent. Why did no one listen to us?
People like Stacey Abrams, Vice President Kamala Harris and Representative Maxine Waters walked all of us through the political, social and economic ramifications of a second Trump term. Higher Heights for America mobilized for candidates across the country to help energize and educate the electorate. We talked about how what happens to the least of us could most definitely happen to the rest of us. The stories of the past horrors have been passed down. We know what has happened, and we see what is happening around us. However, at the moment, many Black women I know are taking a moment for ourselves.
And so we’ve been learning line dances and gleefully watching Meghan, Duchess of Sussex, transfer snacks from a big bag to a small bag. It is not as if Black women have forgotten the principles of linked fate, what the political scientist Michael Dawson described as African Americans’ tendency to keep in mind larger group consciousness and group interests. (We’re all in this together.) It’s that Black women have been the cleanup women, literally and figuratively, for this country for generations. We’ve been warning of the dangers to our democracy and have been overlooked, our contributions downplayed.
As the “I didn’t think he would do this” chorus continues to grow, I can’t help but think what many really mean is, “I didn’t think he would do this to people like me.” Unlike in the past, though, it is clear that it will not be just immigrants and Black people experiencing the boot of oppression. If much of white America did not know the full story of how fragile this democracy and its rule-of-law norms are, they are going to experience what their fellow Americans are capable of. There is a reason Trump is so determined to root out any honest telling, whether in school curriculums or the Smithsonian Institution, of this country’s historical faults.
This nation went backward before. Reconstruction lasted 12 years, then its advances were not only abandoned but also mostly undone. We must be honest about that. We have gotten back on the right path only after an arduous struggle. If you’re wondering where Senator Cory Booker’s endurance came from, he was drawing on that memory of struggle. (The act of outlasting the segregationist Senator Strom Thurmond’s 1957 marathon oration was crucial if you want to understand what he was doing, of course.) And maybe people are waking up. In Wisconsin, voters rejected Elon Musk’s meddling. On April 5, there were “Hands Off!” protests across the country.
American democracy must be tended to with eyes open to the future and lessons learned from the past. My grandmother knew that. But she never had the luxury of having her head in the sand.
Christina Greer is an associate professor at Fordham University and the author of “How to Build a Democracy: From Fannie Lou Hamer and Barbara Jordan to Stacey Abrams” and “Black Ethnics: Race, Immigration, and the Pursuit of the American Dream.” She is a co-host of the podcast “FAQ-NYC.”
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