When They Tried to Destroy Us, We Built: Lessons for Thriving Under Trump
The history of Black America is a history of paradox. Every attempt to suppress us has been met with innovation. Every policy designed to harm us has sown the seeds of our collective resistance and renewal. We are a people forged in the crucible of hardship, tempered by ingenuity, and propelled by an unyielding belief in our own humanity. Trump’s reelection will not be the death knell of Black progress—it will be yet another opportunity to turn pain into purpose, as we have done so many times before.
Turning Oppression Into Opportunity
Shortly after emancipation, freedom came not as a gift but as an unrelenting challenge. We were freed into a society that offered nothing but the broken promise of 40 acres and a mule. Yet, with our pennies pressed together, we began to build. Black families, barely surviving themselves, pooled their resources to send their brightest children to school. Those children—teachers, preachers, and visionaries—returned to their communities to establish some of the finest schools in the nation. These schools, under-resourced but overflowing with excellence, were staffed by master educators who saw their students as their life's mission.
We built these institutions with little more than determination and a deep belief in the power of education. Yet, desegregation dealt them a fatal blow. When the government integrated schools, it siphoned off our best students and educators into predominantly white institutions, leaving our community schools bereft of their brilliance. What was lauded as progress for America was, for us, a dismantling of what we had painstakingly created. Integration was not inherently the issue; it was the selective stripping of resources—human and financial—that hollowed out our schools.
Consider the Black Panther Party’s free meal program. At a time when Black children went to school hungry, the Panthers launched a revolutionary initiative, feeding thousands daily with no government support. The federal government responded not by praising the program but by dismantling it, co-opting the idea, and creating a watered-down version of school meal plans nationwide. Even our innovations, born of necessity, were taken from us and stripped of their community-centered spirit.
Or think of Monroe, North Carolina. Under Jim Crow, the Black community faced relentless violence. But Robert F. Williams, the leader of the local NAACP chapter, used the Second Amendment—a law never meant for us—to arm Black men and women for self-defense. Williams’ book, Negroes with Guns, details how a community targeted for destruction instead built a model of protection and resilience. The very laws crafted to control us became shields against our annihilation.
The Cost of Desegregation
Our neighborhoods were once fortresses of Black life. Segregation forced us into close quarters, but within those boundaries, we thrived. Black doctors, dentists, teachers, and clergy created ecosystems of care and commerce. The Black church wasn’t just a place of worship; it was a headquarters for liberation. Black-owned businesses served not just customers but entire communities. These neighborhoods were more than homes—they were sanctuaries.
Yet, desegregation dismantled these strongholds. Integration opened doors for individuals while neglecting the structures that supported collective progress. Black doctors moved their practices into wealthier, whiter areas. Black businesses struggled as their most loyal customers sought acceptance in the mainstream. Our neighborhoods, once vibrant and self-sustaining, became hollowed-out shells, ripe for gentrification.
Martin Luther King Jr. never marched for the right to sit beside white children; he marched for the redistribution of resources that had been stolen from us through taxation without representation. His dream wasn’t about access to white spaces; it was about the empowerment of Black ones.
How We Thrive Under Trump
Trump’s reelection is not the death of our progress—it is the rebirth of our resolve. His administration will undoubtedly create policies that threaten us, but history teaches us that the tools of oppression can be wielded as instruments of liberation. Here’s how we do it:
Rebuild Black Institutions: Just as we did after emancipation, we must pool resources to strengthen our own schools, businesses, and neighborhoods. We have the skills, the knowledge, and the capital to create systems that serve us—not just as individuals, but as communities.
Take Back Education: The best minds in the Black community must return to our schools—not as tokens in predominantly white spaces, but as leaders in Black institutions. Let us rebuild a system of education that prioritizes Black excellence.
Own Our Neighborhoods: The fight against gentrification isn’t just about resisting outsiders; it’s about reinvesting in ourselves. We need to buy property, support Black-led development projects, and create safe, thriving communities.
Leverage Their Laws: Just as Robert F. Williams used the Second Amendment to protect his community, we must find ways to turn their policies into tools of resistance. Whether it’s tax codes, business grants, or legal loopholes, we must use every avenue available to us.
Build Local Power: Federal politics are important, but local power is transformative. We need to elect leaders who are accountable to Black communities and use local policies to protect and uplift our people.
A Future Built on Responsibility
I do not mourn the loss of Kamala Harris as vice president. Representation alone cannot sustain a community, and her policies, while symbolic, offered little for the Black family or the broader community. Trump’s administration, in its callousness and disregard, will undoubtedly create challenges—but also unintended opportunities for us to refocus, rebuild, and thrive. Not because it is his intention, but because it is what we have always done.
This is not the time for lamentation; it is the time for accountability. As James Baldwin wrote, “The very time I thought I was lost, my dungeon shook and my chains fell off.” For too long, we have sought salvation outside of ourselves, looking for policies or leaders to save us while neglecting the power we already possess. The chains of dependency must fall off.
Our resilience has always been tied to our responsibility—responsibility to our families, to our neighborhoods, and to one another. The time has come for us to reassess how we are using our talents and resources. Are we enriching ourselves at the expense of our communities, or are we returning home with the skills and knowledge we’ve acquired to build something lasting for our people?
The next step in this conversation is a hard truth: Many Black college graduates, equipped with degrees and expertise, leave their communities behind. We chase individual success in corporate spaces or affluent suburbs, while our neighborhoods—the places that raised us—are left without the talent and leadership they desperately need.
The question we must ask ourselves is this: How do we honor the sacrifices of those who came before us? How do we use what we’ve gained not just for personal advancement but to uplift the very communities that enabled our success?
It’s time to turn the mirror on ourselves and face this reality. Not to shame, but to inspire action. We cannot build a future of resilience without first rebuilding our sense of responsibility. That will be the foundation for our next great awakening.
We’ve done it before. We can do it again. This time, let’s do it together.
