The phrase used during Donald Trump’s election campaign was a very interesting one: Make America Great Again — often shortened to MAGA. It’s a slogan I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about. Not out of political loyalty or protest, but because it stirred something deeper in me — a question I couldn’t let go.
Let me be clear: I am not writing this as a Democrat, Republican, or Independent. I’m not representing a party or pushing a platform. I’m writing this as a man — sharing my thoughts, my reflections, and the personal truths I’ve collected over time. This is my voice. My opinion.
And one question keeps coming back to me:
Has America ever truly been great?
Or is that simply a belief we were taught to carry because we were born here?
Then another question follows: When was America great? How was it great?
These questions led me to look back — not just through history books, but through stories passed down, and through the legacy of pain and pride that lives within my people.
I’ve wrestled with this slogan — MAGA — and I’ve come to a simple but honest conclusion: I don’t believe it’s a true statement. Not because I think America is the worst place on Earth. But because I don’t believe any country can rightfully claim greatness without first acknowledging its shadows.
Every nation has dark chapters written into the history of humankind. And America is no different.
We call ourselves the land of opportunity — but are we really? And for whom?
Let’s revisit the beginnings.
Was America great when Christopher Columbus sailed across the ocean, “discovered” land that was already inhabited, and claimed it for Spain, disregarding the lives and legacies of Indigenous people who had lived here for centuries?
Was it great when colonization brought war, destruction, and disease — wiping out entire nations of people whose stories, cultures, and blood are now buried beneath our feet?
Or was it great during the centuries of slavery, when the foundation of American wealth was built on the backs of stolen lives?
African Americans were taken from the motherland on ships, far from their native homes. They were placed in bondage — servitude that stripped them of the life they once knew and forced them into a life they had to grow into. Their native tongues were whipped out of them. Africa, their home, was stolen from them; their identity, pride, culture, language, and way of life were systematically stripped away.
They were captured and looked upon as inhuman because of the pigment of their skin. Judged uncivilized, not because of who they were, but because of the color of their skin and their way of life.
Thomas Jefferson wrote in the Declaration of Independence, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
Yet, enslavement was legally enforced even after the Revolutionary War. Did Jefferson not contradict himself? How could a nation built on freedom allow the enslavement of millions?
This contradiction became the excuse and justification to enforce and uphold the enslavement of Africans. The very ideals of freedom and equality were twisted and ignored to defend a system built on the suffering and exploitation of millions.
And what about the moments that followed?
Was America great when Abraham Lincoln issued his Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863? This proclamation declared that the Confederate states had to free their Black slaves. With all due respect, Abraham Lincoln is not a hero of mine. He still viewed African Americans as second-class citizens. He granted them liberty — but not true freedom.
This is a fact that should be taught and never ignored.
Before emancipation, many were bound by chains, dreaming of freedom. Bound in captivity, hope was all they had to hold on to. They were unbroken people not because they were free, but because, even living in the belly of oppression, their spirit remained unbroken.
Though the Emancipation Proclamation marked a turning point on paper, true freedom remained elusive. Even after slavery was abolished, the cruelty and injustice persisted — evolving into new forms of racial terror, segregation, and systemic inequality.
Nearly a century later, brutality was still alive. One haunting example is the tragic story of Emmett Till, a 14-year-old African American boy in Mississippi…
Let us talk about Emmett Till, for those who may not know his tragic fate in Mississippi. He was a 14-year-old African American boy visiting his grandparents and cousins for the summer. He lived in Chicago.
The story is told that he whistled at the wife of a white man. In the middle of the night, that man and others went to Emmett’s grandparents’ home, dragged him from his bed, beat him so brutally that he was unrecognizable, and killed him.
I could recount many stories that my grandparents told me — stories filled with pain, fear, and loss. Through their stories, I could see the deep distrust they held for our fellow man, a distrust born not of hatred but of survival.
And then there’s George Stinney — a name many never learn in school.
George was a young African American boy from South Carolina. He was accused of raping and killing two young white girls. When questioned by authorities, he admitted only that he had briefly spoken to them. That was enough.
He was found guilty and sentenced to death. Did he commit the crime? No. Let’s use logic. He was condemned for one reason: being African American.
Back then, African American lives meant little to most people outside our community. Our lives did matter — to us. But to many others, they did not.
George was too small for the electric chair. They placed phone books on the chair for him to sit on. He remains the youngest person ever executed in United States history.
But the stories don’t end there.
We remember the burning of Tulsa’s Black Wall Street in Oklahoma. The massacre at Rosewood, Florida, where thriving African American communities were destroyed, and countless lives were lost. Oscarville, Georgia — once a successful Black town, now resting beneath the waters of Lake Lanier.
What is so great about this?
And yet, what hurts even more is how many of these stories are untaught, unknown, or forgotten — even within our own communities.
Sometimes we even turn on each other, shaming those among us who are a shade darker than the next. Tell me — how does that make sense?
Today, I turn on the television, read the newspaper, or hear the news of young African Americans killing each other — and for what?
We need to return to the days and the ways of our mathematical Blackness.
Prejudice cannot solve for something that racism cannot divide.
Bigotry took the respect of our lives — but unity can add it all back.
What we need is a strong, united African American presence — not just in politics or entertainment, but in our communities, our families, and in how we uplift one another.
At the end of the day, if you have even 1/24th African American blood in you, then you are African American.
We are a people many have hated, yet we are the most copied.
We are good enough to be called Americans when the nation is at war — but as soon as peace returns, things go back to the way they were.
I can tell you this: I am proud to be American because it is the country I was born into.
I am also proud to be African American.
I hate the term “Black.” We are not black — we are brown. We are beautiful.
I am proud to say I am a proud African American — even when many of the forefathers of this country would not have accepted me.
These are not questions meant to shame. These are questions meant to wake us up.
Greatness, to me, is not found in slogans or flags or speeches. It’s found in truth. In compassion. In accountability. In the ability to look back honestly so we can move forward differently.
So, when we say, “Make America Great Again,” we must first ask:
When exactly was that greatness? And for whom?
Because if we cannot answer that truthfully — and if that “greatness” excluded entire groups of people — then maybe, just maybe, the goal is not to go back… but to be better than we’ve ever been.
And if we don’t talk about the truth — if we keep avoiding the hard conversations — then eventually, history will repeat itself.