Attacks on Black history are meant to divide us

During Black History Month, President Donald Trump allowed an image depicting President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama as apes to appear on his social media account. Sadly, this was not surprising. Throughout his political career, Trump has repeatedly shown disdain for racial justice and historical truth.

As president, he defended Confederate monuments, restored names of Civil War generals on public buildings and supported efforts to erase references to slavery and prominent African American leaders from public materials—part of a broader attempt to whitewash American history.

His administration and Supreme Court appointments helped dismantle affirmative action programs, and his demeaning remarks about African nations as “s--t hole countries,” along with false claims that South Africa was “oppressing white people,” further revealed his contempt for the ongoing struggle against racism.

As an Italian American, I am disheartened and often bewildered by how many of my fellow Italian Americans have embraced this rhetoric and worldview. Far too many have become some of Trump’s most loyal supporters, repeating his talking points and justifying his actions.

If they understood the history of their own community in America, the prejudice, stereotypes and discrimination our ancestors endured, they might recognize the irony of aligning themselves with a movement built on division and resentment.

After the last election, one of my neighbors told me proudly that, given the choice between Trump and a “Black female,” he found it “easy” to vote for him. That casual dismissal spoke volumes about how deeply these racist attitudes have taken hold.

Trump and other MAGA leaders still rely on the same “dog whistles” that have echoed through America’s history. Dehumanizing language and imagery—like the ape comparisons— are deliberate tools of oppression, drawn from the same playbook once used by slaveholders.

By equating enslaved Africans with animals, white supremacists could rationalize the brutality of slavery and make it easier to convince poor white southerners that their hardships were caused by the enslaved rather than by the wealthy plantation elite. It was, and continues to be, a classic strategy of “divide and conquer.” It is designed to pit struggling communities against one another while those in power remain untouched.

Many white Americans, including Italian Americans I know, have absorbed this message of fear and resentment. They believe they are being “replaced” by immigrants and people of color, a myth fueled by extremist rhetoric and white nationalist propaganda.

When neo-Nazis and Ku Klux Klan members marched in Charlottesville in 2017, chanting, “You will not replace us” and “Jews will not replace us,” it became painfully clear how deeply this paranoia runs. This fear has no basis in facts.

Working-class families of all backgrounds, including Italian Americans, have been losing ground not because of immigrants or racial minorities, but because of widening inequality and corporate greed.

While billionaires and large corporations grow richer, ordinary people struggle to survive. By keeping us divided, those in power make it harder for us to see who truly benefits from this disunity.

My own life experiences have shown me the folly of this thinking. I grew up a white working-class kid in conservative, overwhelmingly white Staten Island, New York in the 1950’s and 60’s, and I heard some of the same misconceptions I now hear repeated.

But over time, I learned that progress for one community does not come at the expense of another. In fact, when communities of color, especially the Black community, achieve justice and equality, the entire working class advances. I realized this thanks to my own experiences and found that immigration and diversity are our foundation and strength.

I grew up in all white neighborhoods and then the New Brighton Projects on Staten Island, where white, Black, and Hispanic families lived side by side. Despite our differences, there was a sense of community. People got along. I was a high school dropout back then.

But thanks to the struggle by people of color who won the fight for free open admissions at City University of New York (CUNY) I then was able to afford to go to college. They won the battle, insisting that higher education should be accessible to all, regardless of race or income.

Ironically, Italian Americans like me became the largest white ethnic group to benefit from open admissions. When those programs ended, Italian Americans also became one of the groups with the highest dropout rates.

Later, when I began working at Bellevue Hospital, I joined my local union and witnessed this truth again. Our membership was made up primarily of Black and Hispanic women, along with Muslims, Jews and a growing number of immigrants from every background.

I was elected by this diverse membership and served as a vice president for 20 years. Our leadership’s demographics were the same as our membership. We fought together for better pay, fair treatment, and expanded benefits for everyone.

I learned from these experiences. When I hear racist remarks about or directed at people of color, especially from other Italian Americans, the largest ethnic group to vote for Trump in the New York–New Jersey region, I feel a deep sadness.

It pains me that so many of my own people, who once faced discrimination themselves, now turn that same prejudice toward others. While slavery was a far greater evil than what Italian immigrants endured, it is still ironic that our ancestors were subjected to similar dehumanizing slurs and attacks.

Many Italian Americans either do not know this history or choose to ignore it. This division is reinforced by our segregated communities.

Our people were branded with racial epithets such as “guineas,” meaning “black pigs” and “WOPs,” short for “Without Papers,” because many Italians arrived in this country undocumented, jumping ship or hiding as stowaways. “Dago” came from “day laborer,” reflecting the low-paying, backbreaking jobs that Italian immigrants were forced to take.

They were accused of being criminals, job stealers and rapists, the same slanders that have been used for generations against Black Americans, Latinos, and other immigrants.

And like those communities, Italians were also victims of racial violence: in the late 1800s, Sicilian dockworkers in New Orleans were lynched for organizing a union and simply for being dark-skinned. Lynchings of Italians also occurred in Alabama and Mississippi.

Even in northern cities, housing covenants once banned sales to people of Italian descent. These laws are still in the books. These injustices are rarely taught, but they reveal a painful truth: the path to inclusion and respect in America has always been difficult for those seen as “different.”

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were won through mass struggle, led primarily by Black Americans, especially Martin Luther King Jr., but joined by people of every race, religion, and background. These historic laws did not only secure rights for Black people; they expanded freedom and opportunity for all Americans.

The labor protections, educational access, and equal employment laws that emerged from those movements benefited every working family, including Italian Americans like mine. Yet today, the same forces of division that once opposed those advances are working to dismantle them.

History shows that when ordinary people of diverse backgrounds stand together, remarkable progress is possible. After the Civil War, during Reconstruction, formerly enslaved Black Americans and poor whites briefly governed many southern states together.

In that short period, they passed some of the most progressive reforms in U.S. history—establishing public schools, improving labor rights, and expanding democratic participation. Their success was later crushed by white supremacist backlash, which used racism as a weapon to drive communities apart. That same pattern continues today.

We must learn our history, our full history and see what unites us rather than what divides us. Italian Americans, Black Americans, and communities of color share a common struggle against exploitation, prejudice, and inequality.

Remembering these shared experiences allows us to stand together rather than be manipulated by fear or ignorance. When we acknowledge how deeply connected our stories are, we reclaim the power that racist leaders try to steal from us.

Those who seek to erase or distort Black history do it because they fear what it teaches: that progress in America has always come from the bottom up, through solidarity and collective action. Black history is American history. It tells the story of courage, resistance, and hope—the same spirit that helped Italian immigrants rise from discrimination to acceptance. When one group’s dignity is defended, it strengthens everyone’s freedom.

That is why, when I see people marching for racial justice, for immigrant rights, or against state violence, I see not disorder but democracy in action. I see citizens carrying forward the unfinished work of equality that has defined America’s best moments.

I urge my fellow Italian Americans and all who believe in fairness and decency to join that effort. Together, we can help build a country that honors every community’s contribution and lives up to its highest ideals: liberty and justice for all.