Katherine Kapustka is an Associate Professor of Education at DePaul University, the co-author of Integrating Social and Emotional Learning with Content: Using Picture Books for Differentiated Teaching in K-3 Classrooms, and a Public Voices Fellow at The OpEd Project.
“No person shall keep or teach any school for the instruction of negroes or mulattos, in reading or writing, in this State.” This quote from Missouri’s 1847 anti-literacy law is a stark reminder that in the 19th century, like today, education was a powerful tool wielded by people in power.
Missouri, like other slave states, passed anti-literacy laws, making it a crime for enslaved people or people of color to learn to read or write, or for anyone to teach them these skills. The reasoning was clear; an enslaved person who knew how to read could envision a life outside of slavery, and one who knew how to write could forge passes needed to travel north to freedom.
Education, as they knew, was empowering.
This troubling period in our history is rearing its ugly head again. Four days before the nation paused to commemorate the life and work of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Governor Ron DeSantis of Florida sent a letter to the College Board, the non-profit organization that oversees both the Advanced Placement (AP) Program and the SAT, explaining that a new AP African American Studies course would not be allowed in Florida.
This course that is piloted in 60 high schools throughout the nation for use beginning in 2024, uses an interdisciplinary framework to guide students as they “ explore the vital contributions and experiences of African Americans.”
This denial comes at the same time that “1619,” the project spearheaded by Nikole Hannah-Jones on the legacy of slavery in the United States, is streaming on television.
While DeSantis’s rejection is not surprising given his signature on the 2022 Stop W.O.K.E. (Wrongs to Kids and Employees) Act, it is essential to consider what King might have expressed about this turn of events.
Writing in his college newspaper in 1947, King asserted: “The function of education, therefore, is to teach one to think intensively and to think critically.” Interestingly, King wrote that sentence when he was 18, not much older than the high school students who would enroll in the AP African American Studies course.
What began as “Negro History Week” in 1926, 50 years later was first recognized as Black History Month by President Gerald Ford. In 1986, Congress passed Public Law 99-244, which designated February 1986 as "National Black (Afro-American) History Month” and that same month, President Ronald Regan issued a proclamation stating that this month “not only offers black Americans an occasion to explore their heritage, but it also offers all Americans an occasion and opportunity to gain a fuller perspective of the contributions of black Americans to our Nation.”
Presidents Ford and Reagan, both Republicans, were not what some critics claim are stereotypical “woke liberals.” They knew that everyone would benefit from understanding the history, experiences, and contributions of African Americans in the United States.
What has shifted in the minds of Americans that a course in African American studies becomes too problematic for the almost 900,000 high school students in Florida to take and when 427 books for children of all ages with protagonists of color, including King, are found on lists of banned books?
Fear is once again at the heart of the current anti-literacy agenda. While no one is denying people of color the right to learn to read or write, they are being denied a comprehensive education, and along with the detrimental effects on students of color when they do not see themselves reflected in the curriculum, white students are also denied an opportunity to learn the true and complex history of the United States.
The fear this time is about a changing country, and the role of the majority culture as the percentage of white people in the United States shrinks each year. These bans, like the anti-literacy laws during the time of slavery, are an attempt to maintain a status quo that is beneficial to the current majority population.
King stated he wanted schools to teach students to “think intensively and to think critically.” As the United States becomes increasingly polarized, this is needed more than ever, both in schools, and outside of them. In schools, students should be exposed to diverse perspectives and individuals.
And when a course, curriculum, or book is banned, restricted, or otherwise called out for its agenda, adults who care about the future of this country should read it, consider it, and identify what is being kept hidden.
Perhaps, again, fear will be at the heart of an anti-literacy movement: a fear of an educated populace that can think critically and question the status quo.
Policy makers, historians, educators, administrators, students, citizens, and anyone interested in the integrity of history must not allow for a repeat of this unjust history.
A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.