Written by Alyssa Williams

“No phones, no pictures,” the docent delicately whispered as we approached the church-like exhibit honoring the tragic death of 14-year-old Emmett Till.

Donated by his mother-turned-activist, Mamie Till, his casket lies in solemn solitude, surrounded by the familiar hymns of gospel choirs like those sung at a homegoing service. His image is displayed as prominently as the day Mamie made the harrowing decision to open his casket to the world—forcing America to bear witness to the mutilated body of her son. A brutal, unflinching reminder of the horrors of racism.

There, in that sacred space—what felt like attending a service for one of my own—I wept.

The experience of visiting the National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC), lovingly referred to as the Blacksonian, can only be described as spiritual. Etched into my memory are stories of oppression transformed into triumph, and the legacy of ancestors who endured unimaginable cruelty so that I—just a millennial, part of only the second generation of African Americans born with full civil rights—could exist freely. Let that sink in.

But the tragedy of Emmett Till did not begin with a lie on August 28, 1955. It began long before, on the shores of America in 1619, when Africans were first stripped of their humanity and sold as property. The horrors of slavery laid the foundation for our country’s uncomfortable truth—a truth the NMAAHC refuses to let us forget.

We cannot and will not deny that this nation was built on the backs of our ancestors. Despite generations of attempted erasure, their legacy endures.

For centuries, Black Americans have been denied even the most basic forms of documentation—birth certificates, census records, recognition in the pages of history. Yet where the official record has failed us, the NMAAHC has succeeded. It stands as a living archive, restoring stories, oral histories, and cultural moments that have shaped not only a people, but the very fabric of this nation.

It’s no wonder, then, that the museum opened its doors with historic bipartisan support. Established by law in 2003 through legislation signed by President George W. Bush and brought to life in 2016 under President Barack Obama, the NMAAHC has been a symbol of unity, truth, and resilience. Long before its grand opening, it inspired more than 100 individual million-dollar commitments and drew the highest number of $25 annual memberships of any Smithsonian institution—proof that the American people, across all backgrounds, saw value in this sacred work.

And yet, on March 27, 2025, President Donald Trump, through executive order, attacked the Smithsonian Institution, criticizing what he called a “divisive, race-centered ideology.” At the heart of his ire? The first floor of the NMAAHC—a space that tells the truth about slavery in America, without sugarcoating, without mythologizing. Through the dim light, you see them: adult shackles small enough for a child, the commodification of people, the tattered remnants of slave quarters. It is hard. It is uncomfortable. And it is real.

That discomfort is intentional. That discomfort is necessary.

Because throughout history, governments erase history in order to erase rights. The NMAAHC is not just a museum—it is a safeguard. A preserver of truth. A protector of the rights that generations of Black Americans fought—and died—for. They are the ones who make America great.

Efforts to dismantle the truth told within these walls are not just political attacks—they are existential ones. The push to revise or remove our history from public institutions is a direct assault on our collective memory and our rightful place within the American story.

What’s more, the Smithsonian Institution is not a partisan playground. Its governance rests in the hands of a bipartisan Board of Regents—appointed and approved by Congress through a joint resolution with the President. The Secretary of the Smithsonian is elected by this board, and any attempt to override that process usurps the power of Congress and undermines our democracy. Even the Smithsonian’s Chancellor is no political pawn: it is the Chief Justice of the United States, currently John Roberts.

We don’t yet know what the future holds for the artifacts, family heirlooms, and sacred stories housed in the NMAAHC. But we do know this: as one of the most visited Smithsonian museums, it holds the power to inform, empower, inspire—and most importantly—prevent us from repeating the atrocities of the past.

We must protect it. Not just for ourselves, but for the generations to come who deserve to know the truth of how we got here.

Take Action

• Take to social media! Post a reel, photo or memory of a visit to the National Museum of African American History and Culture and the Smithsonian
• Emphasize personal and profound memories, visits being cultural touchpoints, and/or valuable to the community
• Close your reel and/or caption with: “That’s #MySmithsonian story. What’s yours?”
• CTA: Share your #MySmithsonian story, Donate and/or become a member