Back in March of this year, I watched the president sign an executive order titled Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History. That moment brought to mind an issue I faced during my high school history classes. I can’t pinpoint the exact year, but I recall sitting in a classroom where we learned the primary cause of the Civil War was slavery—a tragic and profound injustice that prompted a fight for freedom. However, the following year, I found myself in a similar classroom, only to hear the teacher assert that the war had erupted to protect states’ rights, a notion detached from the human cost of the conflict.
Back then, I didn’t question the change. I just felt the dissonance. One year, the narrative portrayed a struggle for basic rights, steeped in themes of human enslavement and emancipation. The next year, however, it morphed into a debate on sovereignty and federalism, shifting focus from individuals to abstract political concepts. Even though the historical facts remained unchanged, the shift in framing dramatically altered the situation, showing how narratives can reshape to emphasize different ideologies and values.
Memory as Artifact
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we teach history—and how those teachings become part of our personal histories. The classroom isn’t just a place where we learn about the past; it’s where we inherit the stories that shape our understanding of truth and justice, and of our identity and belonging.
The change I experienced was more than just an update to the curriculum; it involved a rethinking of cause and effect. It signaled a cultural shift, not only in my hometown but across the nation. Textbooks downplayed the central role of slavery in Civil War narratives, often promoting “states’ rights” as a more acceptable explanation. This change was subtle, yet it was a powerful way to reshape collective memory.
The Politics of Curriculum
Many states used a local-control model, which meant that individual school districts could select their own textbooks and teaching methods. This independence created both flexibility and inconsistency, often influenced not only by facts but also by who presented them and their intentions.
Textbooks from that time often reflected local and political influences. Some minimized the role of slavery to prevent controversy, while others depicted the Civil War as a tragic misunderstanding between noble factions. As a result, generations of students developed, at best, a watered-down understanding of one of the most significant conflicts in American history.
Pushback and Reckoning
Historians, educators, and activists have long fought against this trend. Scholars have highlighted primary sources—such as Confederate secession documents, speeches, and letters—to show that slavery was central to these issues. Civil rights advocates argued that downplaying slavery weakens the narrative of the struggle for justice. When lawmakers attempted to limit discussions of racism and inequality in classrooms, educators pushed back—and they succeeded.
Unfortunately, it seems we are once again fighting the same battle.
Why It Matters
This isn’t just about textbooks. It’s about truth. About which stories are told, and which get buried. It’s about whose voices are amplified and whose are silenced. When we shift the narrative from slavery to states’ rights, we’re not just reframing a war; we’re reframing the moral reckoning that came with it.
When we teach history as a neutral timeline instead of a contested terrain, we risk raising generations who don’t understand the roots of injustice. We also risk their not understanding the power of resistance.
Reclaiming the Narrative
I’m writing this as Banned Books Week 2025 draws to a close. This week was a reminder of how easily stories can be silenced or reshaped—just as I witnessed in my history classes. The list of thousands of banned titles isn’t just a statistic; it’s a testament to the ongoing struggle over whose voices are allowed to shape our collective memory.
By rereading 1984 and other banned books I have on my shelves, I’m not just resisting censorship, I’m reclaiming the right to confront uncomfortable truths. If we allow others to erase or rewrite the past, we risk losing the lessons that history offers.
To truly restore truth and sanity to our understanding, we must seek out the stories that challenge us, amplify the voices that were once suppressed, and refuse to let discomfort dictate what we remember.
