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New York Times
08-07-2025
- Politics
- New York Times
The Grip Race and Identity Has on My Students
In the spring of 2023, in a cramped classroom in the Hudson Valley, I taught an undergraduate seminar on the courage to think about race in unconventional ways. It revolved around reading books by Frederick Douglass, James Weldon Johnson and Albert Murray. These minds had shaped and refined my thinking about the idea of America, the fundamentally mongrel populations that inhabit it, as well as the yet-to-be-perfected flesh-and-blood nation of the future we might one day bring forth in unison. Early in the semester, as I waxed exuberant about the unifying possibilities of the 2008 election, I was met by a conference table ringed with blank stares. For my clever and earnest students, I realized, the earth-shattering political achievements of the beleaguered but still unfolding present were nothing but the vaguest rumor of an abstract history. 'Professor,' a diligent young woman from Queens who described herself as Latina and applied a no-nonsense activist lens and corresponding vocabulary to most engagements with the world, voiced what all her classmates must have been thinking. 'I was 4 years old in 2008. I don't know what you're talking about!' Their experience of this country, and themselves, couldn't have differed more from my own, or from many of the 19th- and 20th-century authors on our syllabus. I assigned these writers because they had so courageously laid the intellectual and moral framework that a figure like Barack Obama would one day harness. I am old enough now to appreciate that there can be only one politician in your lifetime who can truly move you to dream. I feel lucky to have had that experience through Mr. Obama. My students that semester — white, Latino and Asian teens and 20-somethings whose political views had been forged in relation to the reactionary populism of Donald Trump and through a certain skepticism of the American idea itself — had yet to encounter such an inspirational figure. Race pessimism, even a kind of mass learned helplessness, was instead the weather that enveloped them. When my friend Coleman Hughes guest-lectured on his case for colorblindness, several of them were visibly unnerved, suggesting that the idea itself was a form of anti-Blackness. Most maintained that one could no more 'retire' from race, as Adrian Piper — another of the authors we wrestled with — aspired to do, than one could teleport up from the classroom. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
Boston Globe
05-07-2025
- Sport
- Boston Globe
Today in History: July 5, Dolly the sheep born in cloning breakthrough
In 1687, Isaac Newton first published his Principia Mathematica, a three-volume work setting out his mathematical principles of natural philosophy. In 1811, Venezuela became the first South American country to declare independence from Spain. In 1852, Frederick Douglass delivered his speech 'What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?' at Corinthian Hall in Rochester, N.Y. In 1865, the Secret Service Division of the US Treasury Department was founded in Washington, D.C., with the mission of suppressing counterfeit currency. In 1935, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed the National Labor Relations Act. In 1937, Hormel introduced a canned meat product called Spam; more than 9 billion cans have been sold since. Advertisement In 1940, during World War II, Britain and the Vichy government in France broke off diplomatic relations. In 1943, the Battle of Kursk began during World War II; in the weeks that followed, the Soviets were able to repeatedly repel the Germans, who eventually withdrew in defeat. In 1946, the modern bikini, designed by Frenchman Louis Reard, was first modeled in Paris. In 1947, Larry Doby made his debut with the Cleveland Indians, becoming the first Black player in the American League three months after Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in the National League. In 1954, Elvis Presley recorded his first single, 'That's All Right,' at Sun Studio in Memphis, Tenn. In 1971, President Richard Nixon certified the 26th Amendment to the US Constitution, which lowered the minimum voting age from 21 to 18. In 1975, Arthur Ashe became the first Black man to win a Wimbledon singles title, defeating Jimmy Connors. In 1977, Pakistan's army, led by General Mohammad Zia ul-Haq, seized power from President Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. In 1980, Bjorn Borg became the first male player to win five consecutive Wimbledon singles titles. In 1994, Amazon was founded by Jeff Bezos as an online marketplace for books. In 1996, Dolly the sheep, the first mammal cloned from an adult somatic cell by scientists at the Roslin Institute at the University of Edinburgh, was born. In 2011, a jury in Orlando, Fla., found Casey Anthony, 25, not guilty of murder, manslaughter, and child abuse in the 2008 disappearance and death of her 2-year-old daughter, Caylee. In 2013, Pope Francis cleared two of the 20th Century's most influential popes to become saints in the Roman Catholic church, approving a miracle needed to canonize Pope John Paul II and waiving Vatican rules to honor Pope John XXIII. Advertisement
NDTV
04-07-2025
- Politics
- NDTV
How Enslaved Americans Responded To July 4 Declaration Of Independence
The summer air in Rochester, New York, hung thick with heat and celebration. It was July 5, 1852, a day after cannons had fired, flags waved and towns across America had burst into patriotic jubilation to mark the 76th anniversary of the nation's independence. Inside Corinthian Hall, a different kind of gathering was taking place. The man who rose to the podium was Frederick Douglass, once enslaved, now one of the most powerful voices for abolition in the country. He had been invited to speak on July 4 but chose instead to wait a day as per Time. In front of an audience of nearly 600, he began by acknowledging the Founding Fathers and the brilliance of the ideas they had set into motion in 1776. But then, his voice sharpened. "This Fourth of July is yours, not mine," he declared. The applause quietened by then. Douglass asked a now-famous question, "What, to the American slave, is your Fourth of July?" As Douglass spoke that day in 1852, slavery was still legal in half the country. The Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 had recently passed, forcing free states to return escaped enslaved people to bondage. As historian Dr Allison Wiltz later explained, many enslaved people saw July 4 as a day of mourning. Newspaper archives from the era are filled with ads for runaway slaves, many of whom chose the national holiday as the moment to make their escape, as per The Washington Post. "The blessings in which you, this day, rejoice, are not enjoyed in common," Douglass said in his speech. "The sunlight that brought light and healing to you has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn." "What, to the American slave, is your Fourth of July? I answer; a day that reveals to him... the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham... your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery... a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages," his words reverberated across a room listening in pin-drop silence. During the Revolutionary War (1773-1783), many Black Americans saw that the Founders' promise of liberty excluded them. Thousands instead turned to the British, who offered real freedom in exchange for loyalty. In 1775, Lord Dunmore, the British governor of Virginia, promised emancipation to enslaved people who escaped Patriot masters to join British forces. Soon, units like the Royal Ethiopian Regiment and Black Pioneers included these freedom-seekers, some wearing sashes that read "Liberty to Slaves." Some of these escapees became prominent historical figures. Harry Washington, once enslaved by George Washington, fled in 1776, joined the Black Pioneers, and later resettled in Nova Scotia and Sierra Leone. Colonel Tye (born Titus Cornelius) escaped from New Jersey and rose to become one of the most feared Loyalist guerrilla leaders of the Revolutionary War. Frederick Douglass had produced what historian David Blight calls "the greatest speech he's ever delivered, of the hundreds of speeches he delivered in his life." On July 4, 1862, with the Civil War raging and emancipation not yet guaranteed, Frederick Douglass delivered another Independence Day speech. Where he had once referred to the Founders as "your fathers," he now called them "your fathers, and my fathers." Six months later, in January 1863, President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, a landmark executive order aimed at ending slavery in the Confederate states. A decade after the Civil War, Frederick Douglass returned to the podium on July 5. With the rise of white supremacist violence and the hate group Ku Klux Klan, Douglass asked, "If war among the whites brought peace and liberty to the blacks, what will peace among the whites bring?" Though slavery had ended, America's commitment to racial equality was still uncertain.
The Guardian
04-07-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
How do we celebrate the 4th of July when American freedom is disappearing?
The Fourth of July celebration of freedom rings hollow this year. The contradictions built into a national commemoration of our triumph over autocracy feel newly personal and perilous – especially to those who have, until now, felt relatively secure in the federal government's commitment to democracy and the rule of law. But the contradiction is far from new. Black, brown and Indigenous communities have always seen the gap between the ideals of American democracy and the lived reality of exclusion. Frederick Douglass's 1852 address What to the Slave is the Fourth of July? demanded that Americans confront the hypocrisy of celebrating liberty while millions were enslaved. Today, those contradictions persist in enduring racial disparities and policies that perpetuate segregation, second-class citizenship and selective protection of rights. And just as the nation seemed to be inching toward reckoning and repair, we are now witnessing a dangerous backslide. Our federal government is increasingly hostile to even the mention of race and racism, actively dismantling protections that were hard-won over decades. Each day brings new signs of an anti-democratic campaign –eroding civil rights, stoking racial division and weaponizing law to silence dissent and disempower communities. This inversion of democracy – where power flows upward, not outward – is bold and widespread. The chilling effects of federal overreach touch everyone. People of all races, backgrounds and positions have lost jobs, funding, and trust in institutions once seen as pillars of democracy. The backlash has laid bare a truth long familiar to marginalized communities: that America's stated ideals often fail to match its realities. Still, despair is not a strategy. Democracy is not a spectator sport. It is built – and rebuilt – by people who show up in their communities, workplaces, schools and congregations, determined to make freedom real. The most powerful response we see is not top-down, but grassroots: people choosing to act, even in small ways, to defend democracy from where they stand. We write as three legal professionals – of different racial identities, vantage points, and approaches to justice – but united in our understanding of the urgency of this moment to ask a question that may feel counterintuitive to those trained in the law: What can people do to advance democracy and equity outside of the courts? First, we must not retreat. Rather, we must overcome our disillusionment, disheartenment and exhaustion and recognize our linked fate across race, class, generation and geography. Authoritarianism thrives on disengagement and disconnection. One way to remain connected and energized is recognizing that this moment of transition is also an opportunity to transform our democracy. We can envision the future we want, untethered from the limitations of the current moment. Then, from the vantage point of this future, assuming it has been achieved, we can ask ourselves what we did today to make that vision a reality. This perspective avoids asking 'what should we do', which limits us to thinking within our current circumstances, instead asking 'what did we do', which allows us to think beyond our current challenges and limitations and instead create new opportunities and possibilities. From the vantage point of the future, we can ask: where can I connect today? Where can I act today? What kind of change agent am I willing to be today to create the future I envision? Here are some ideas: We can engage those directly affected by injustice in the decisions that shape their lives. We must pay attention to who is thriving – and who isn't – in our institutions, and do the hard work of reimagining our institutions and systems. That is democracy in action. One model comes from two Columbia Law students engaging high schoolers in Harlem and Queens to learn how local government works – a first step toward civic participation and transformation. Another comes from the artist-activist Tonika Johnson's Folded Map project, which paired Black South Side Chicago residents with their white North Side 'map twins' to explore stark neighborhood inequities. The project fostered real relationships, cross-racial learning and grassroots coalitions, while exposing the systemic racism behind dramatic disparities in infrastructure and investment. There is work happening under the radar, too. On campuses where formal DEI efforts have been banned or gutted, faculty and staff are creating informal coalitions to sustain equity-focused collaboration and resist institutional amnesia. In several states, even court systems are taking action, building partnerships between judges, lawyers and communities to address racial disparities in access to justice. Sometimes the opportunity for transformation comes in a policy window. In Indianapolis, the state's plan to rebuild a major highway became a chance for the Rethink Coalition to shift the conversation – from road engineering to community renewal. Their vision? A process and outcome centered on repairing the harm done to historically Black neighborhoods when the highway was first built. But what made that vision powerful was not just the idea, it was the strategy. Rethink helped put tools, data and technical expertise directly into the hands of community members so they could fully engage in reshaping the project. By democratizing access to planning knowledge, they ensured that residents were not just consulted, but empowered to lead. That's what it means to build toward the future now. This is the kind of work that keeps us grounded in radical hope – a belief in the possibility of transformation against the odds. It is the practice of democracy, not just its theory. And it's available to all of us. As the attacks grow louder, more coordinated, more entrenched, we must be even more committed to acting where we are – with whoever we can – to not only defend the fragile, unfinished project of building a multiracial democracy, but to take the time to dream about what our more robust democracy would look like, and then to take the next best step in that direction, undeterred by the current moment. If enough of us engage – across differences and at every level – these efforts can add up to a reimagined nation. One that finally lives up to its promises. One that, someday soon, we can celebrate without contradiction. Deborah N Archer is the president of the ACLU, the Margaret B Hoppin professor of law at NYU Law School, and the author of Dividing Lines: How Transportation Infrastructure Reinforces Racial Inequality. L Song Richardson is the former dean and currently chancellor's professor of law at the University of California Irvine School of Law. She previously served as president of Colorado College. Susan Sturm is the George M Jaffin professor of law and social responsibility and the founding director of the Center for Institutional and Social Change at Columbia Law School and author of What Might Be: Confronting Racism to Transform Our Institutions.
The Hill
04-07-2025
- Politics
- The Hill
A revolutionary reimagining of American identity for the Fourth of July
This weekend, people across the country will gather in parks, on rooftops and around backyard grills to commemorate the holiday that honors America's founding. They will also gather in streets, on plazas and in front of monuments to protest an America fewer and fewer recognize through a modern lens. In the face of accelerated stripping of rights, terrorizing of marginalized communities, unconscionable wealth disparities and escalating hate and division, this occasion to honor the revolution that birthed our nation compels both actions. Black Americans', our' relationship to this annual holiday has always been fraught. In 1852, nearly a century after the Declaration of Independence was signed, Frederick Douglass famously asked, 'What to the slave is the Fourth of July?' His answer laid bare the hypocrisy of a nation that celebrated freedom while millions remained enslaved. 'I am not included within the pale of glorious anniversary!' Douglass said. 'Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. … This Fourth July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn.' That tension still echoes today. We worship the ideals of liberty and equality, even as we struggle to confront the ways those promises remain unfulfilled. And, yet, Black Americans have continued to invest in an America with no promised return. That selfless commitment — to serve a country that has so often betrayed us — has characterized our entire existence. And it's enabled us to transform a country premised on our plundering towards a north star of equality. But our journey toward that North Star is anything but linear. This year, as we mark one revolution, we stand on the precipice of another. Unlike the revolution 249 years ago, the disquiet now is not from an external threat, but from within — an internecine battle over America's identity that has been brewing since we took our first incomplete steps toward true democracy in passing the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Every American revolution has been driven by reckoning, by the need to close the gap between who we claim to be and who we truly are. The founders declared equality while preserving slavery. A century later, we codified civil rights in law while maintaining systems that continued to relegate Black Americans to second-class citizenship. Today we face yet another moment of necessary transformation. The current crisis stems from America's inability to imagine itself beyond the mirror of its past — a nation defined by racial hierarchy and white cultural dominance. The rapid erosion of norms, rights and protections we're witnessing isn't merely a political shift; it's a backlash against the inevitable demographic and cultural evolution of our country. And while that backlash may feel sudden and shocking to some, for Black Americans, who have lived under systems of oppression since we arrived on these shores, it is unsurprising. We have been sounding the alarm for generations. Achieving these goals amid America's acute identity crisis requires revolutionary change. Not a war of arms, but a radical reimagining of who we are, what we value and how we share space and power. And every part of society plays a crucial role. Civil society organizations serve as vital lifelines for vulnerable communities and enduring sites of resistance against oppression. We must support and protect them from growing attacks from the Trump administration. Our courts, including the Supreme Court, must reclaim their role as constitutional guardians rather than enablers of unchecked executive power. That should start with the Supreme Court reversing its misguided presidential immunity ruling. The business community must recognize that relentless attacks on the rule of law and the profit-generating principles of diversity equity, inclusion and accessibility will ultimately destabilize global economy systems, harming all of our economies in the process. Congress must exercise its full constitutional powers — not only through oversight, but through accountability measures up to and including impeachment, as warranted. It has done so before and it must be willing to do so again. And white Americans must do as Black people have done for centuries: believe in the capaciousness of America. This requires an honest reckoning with the reality of changing demographics and an abiding faith in the constitutional democracy that defines and distinguishes us. It demands hard work to fuel abundance instead of a limiting mindset of scarcity. Oppressed groups have long applied these beliefs to ensure that being a minority does not justify subjugation, even though that has been the lived history. The goal of organizations like mine has never been to replicate past hierarchies with new groups in power. Rather, we work to create a new social order — a multiracial democracy where power is shared, dignity is sacred and thriving is the standard — for everyone. No institution, sector or group of people is exempt in this moment. We who call America home must be willing to continually and courageously evolve as one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all. Revolution is a frightening word for some, but the truth is, since 1776, we've gone through several. A convention in Seneca. A bridge in Selma. A bar in Greenwich Village. And while they've each been turbulent and painful, we've come out the other side a stronger, more just society. Just as it has in the past, revolutionary change can once again serve us well now, but only if we move forward together, embracing rather than resisting the diverse, multiracial democracy we are struggling to achieve. The question before us isn't whether America will change — it will. The question is whether we who love the promise of this country enough to admit its profound failings will guide that change toward a more perfect union or whether we will allow the Trump administration's fear-mongering to drive us backward and further apart. This weekend, let's choose to honor the revolutionary spirit that has always been America's greatest strength — not by clinging to the past, but by a new phase of nation-building that pushes us toward the future we've not yet achieved: an America great for all. Janai Nelson is the president-director counsel of the NAACP Legal Defense Fund.
