Across America, the education of Black children is once again under attack—not through blunt force, but by quiet exclusion. The textbooks they’re handed in classrooms still prioritize white narratives. The syllabi omit the fullness of their ancestry. The curriculum frames American history in a way that often ignores, dilutes, or misrepresents Black contributions—reinforcing a message that their stories are secondary, their genius conditional.
This curriculum crisis isn’t isolated. It’s a national pattern, and it’s deepening.
According to a 2023 Education Trust study, only 13% of Michigan’s K-12 curricula include meaningful Black historical content beyond slavery and the Civil Rights Movement. That statistic mirrors a broader trend: states with significant Black student populations—like Georgia, Maryland, and Tennessee—have failed to fully integrate the African diaspora into everyday instruction.
And while educators and advocates continue to call for more inclusive classrooms, political leaders are moving in the opposite direction.
Florida’s Governor led the charge, banning books that include discussions of race, gender, and identity from public schools. Texts by Toni Morrison, bell hooks, and even accounts of slavery from Black perspectives have been pulled from shelves. The justification? The fear of “indoctrination.” But what’s really at stake is the control of narrative—and by extension, the shaping of young minds.
Former President Donald Trump has made clear his stance on diversity initiatives in education. His current campaign platform directly targets what he calls “radical indoctrination in K-12 schooling.” A White House statement earlier this year under his administration promised to “halt all grants and contracts that directly support discriminatory equity ideology rooted in race.” That language may seem bureaucratic, but its effect is personal. It signals an all-out assault on programs that aim to affirm the cultural identity and lived experience of Black students.
The chilling effect has spread.
Educators across the country report that they’re second-guessing lesson plans. Some fear discipline—or dismissal—for teaching about redlining, the transatlantic slave trade, or the Black Panthers. In Tennessee, teachers have been told to avoid anything that could make students feel “uncomfortable” about America’s racial past. In Texas, state officials demanded changes to social studies standards to de-emphasize slavery as a central cause of the Civil War.
This backlash isn’t just erasing truth—it’s reshaping the future.
What happens when a child is never taught about their people’s inventions, resilience, and global influence? What happens when a classroom only reflects one culture? The answer shows up in test scores, dropout rates, and mental health statistics. But it also shows up in a quiet, internalized silence. A belief that they do not belong.
There are models of resistance. Baltimore City Schools, for example, developed a mandatory African American history course rooted in local and national history. The course examines structural racism, Black resistance movements, and Black excellence—from ancient civilizations to contemporary leaders. In Atlanta, curriculum developers collaborated with HBCUs to design courses that celebrate the Black experience and explore the Southern roots of civil rights organizing. Memphis has made strides to incorporate African-centered pedagogy in early grades, focusing on cultural identity and affirming instruction.
These cities are not perfect, but they’re pushing back against a status quo that’s long denied the full humanity of Black children.
Dr. Michael F. Rice, Michigan’s State Superintendent, continues to advocate for inclusive education despite his limited authority over local curriculum. “We have strongly advocated for the teaching of diversity in literature and comprehensive history in our state’s classrooms,” he said. “While curriculum decisions in Michigan are made at the local level, MDE has provided support, professional development for educators, and encouragement to local schools so that they can develop curricula that is representative of the diversity of our state and country.”
He remains deeply committed to the belief that every child deserves to be seen in their education. “I am a proponent of ensuring that children can see themselves in what they read—no matter what their race is and regardless of what other characteristics they possess,” he said. “All children need access to books in which they see themselves reflected and can learn about others who are different than they are.”
That reflection, according to Dr. Rice, has a measurable impact on learning outcomes. “When students have books that engage them, they read more. The more they read, the better readers they become.”
Dr. Rice also addressed the attempts to silence these efforts. “When it comes to attacks on diversity, equity and inclusion, we have spoken up in support of these important principles—neither bowing at the altar of potential federal funding cuts nor perceived political propriety. Efforts to promote programs that support diversity and inclusion seek to expand opportunities, not limit them, and therefore do not discriminate.”
Chief Deputy Superintendent Dr. Sue Carnell echoed that urgency. “Broadening students’ perspectives helps them to think critically and understand issues from a variety of perspectives. These skills are useful as students move into adulthood and are critical in the world of work.”
Dr. Rice emphasized that teaching comprehensive history includes confronting painful truths, not avoiding them. “Some people want to teach about the soaring moments of our nation’s and world’s history, but they don’t want to teach about the searing moments. We must do both,” he said. “As members of a diverse state, nation, and world, students and school staff need to know our rich, complex history.”
He also pointed to the Michigan Department of Education’s actions: launching Diversity in Literature Symposia, supporting diverse classroom libraries, and creating webinars centered on comprehensive history instruction. He noted that the number of teachers of color in Michigan has jumped by 34% over the past eight years, with 2,272 additional teachers of color joining classrooms.
In a recent public meeting, Dr. Rice made it plain: “William Shakespeare and Robert Frost are important literary lions and so too are Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, and Toni Morrison.”
Michigan’s artistic excellence makes that clear. The state’s last two Poet Laureates—Nandi Comer and Dr. Melba Joyce Boyd—have been Black women from Detroit. And today, Detroit’s current Poet Laureate, Jessica Care Moore, continues to embody that tradition. Her work, like that of her predecessors, speaks to generations of Black Detroiters, honoring both struggle and celebration, truth and transformation.
But developing a truly diverse K-12 education isn’t only about adding Black faces to outdated lesson plans. It means rethinking the entire structure of how knowledge is valued. An Afrocentric curriculum does not isolate—it globalizes. It positions African history, philosophy, science, and art as essential to understanding the world. It centers agency rather than oppression. It gives students the tools to see themselves as innovators, not footnotes.
In a globalized society, this matters.
From West African empires to Haitian revolutions to Black scientists shaping modern medicine, the African diaspora has never been confined to struggle. A well-rounded curriculum reflects that. It helps students connect the dots between where they come from and where they can go. It opens doors to critical thinking, international awareness, and deep empathy.
That’s not indoctrination. That’s education.
Still, the political rhetoric paints a different picture. Trump’s revived education platform frames DEI as discriminatory. He promises to cut ties with any school or district that “supports race-based equity ideology.” In doing so, he seeks to equate the affirmation of Black identity with divisiveness—without ever acknowledging the historical reality that made these equity programs necessary in the first place.
This isn’t about guilt. It’s about truth.
Meanwhile, Black leaders, artists, and thinkers appear only in February—if at all. Refusing to teach America’s full story does not protect students—it handicaps them. It teaches them that racism was a moment, not a system. It teaches them that Black brilliance is an exception, not a legacy. It strips them of the ability to name what they see—and it strips white students of the opportunity to be honest allies.
For districts resisting this erasure, the work must be bold and public. Curriculum audits must become the norm. Partnerships with Black historians, community elders, and local artists must be funded and expanded. Textbooks need to evolve beyond Lincoln and Kennedy. They need to include Audre Lorde, Fannie Lou Hamer, Octavia Butler, and Mansa Musa.
The most dangerous lie we teach Black children is that they were not there. That they did not lead, shape, build, fight, and create. But history tells a different story. And curriculum must rise to meet it.
This is not about one city. This is about a nation.
It’s about every classroom where a Black student asks why their textbook starts with Columbus. It’s about every teacher who feels pressure to skip over Tulsa or gloss past Emmett Till. It’s about who gets to be seen as a subject in history, and who is relegated to a sidebar.
This moment demands more than reaction. It demands policy. It demands advocacy. It demands that communities hold school boards, state departments, and federal agencies accountable for telling the truth.
Because when truth is political, silence becomes complicit.
This story is part of a three-part series examining Black children and white curriculums in K–12 education. This was Part 1. Part 2 will focus on the local angle here in Detroit.
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