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I am a proud Black military spouse, raising children in a lineage seven generations deep in service to this country. Our family’s legacy is not just one of uniforms, deployments and sacrifice; it’s one of resilience, patriotism and a fierce belief in the promise of America, even when that promise wasn’t fully extended to us.
From the fight for independence to the battlefields of Europe, from Korea to Kandahar, Black Americans have shown up, signed up and stood up. We have always served. We have defended a country that did not always defend us in return, and we did it not for recognition but for something greater.
My grandfather, Cpl. Fred B. McGee Sr., was a decorated Korean War combat veteran. Born on Memorial Day, he lived and breathed service. He was a real-life superhero -- brave, humble and full of love for his country and his family. He never met a stranger. He wore his uniform with pride and carried himself with honor long after he hung it up.
But his story is also part of a larger legacy. His great-grandfather, Henry Dorton, was born enslaved in 1748 near Bladensburg, Maryland. He escaped bondage and went on to serve in the Revolutionary War -- conscripted twice in Pennsylvania and once in Maryland. In 1832, at nearly 85 years old, Henry stood before a court and successfully petitioned for a military pension -- one of the few Black Revolutionary War veterans to receive one.
These are not isolated stories. They are chapters in a longer, often overlooked American narrative.
My husband, a Marine who served two tours in Iraq, often says, “Service doesn’t ask you to be perfect. It asks you to be present, to show up for something bigger than yourself.” He believes in that deeply.
So do I.
That’s why it’s so painful to see how stories like my grandfather’s -- and those of countless other Black service members -- are being erased or omitted from the national conversation. As the Department of Defense renames military bases, as the Department of Education and museums rewrite history and as headlines are reshuffled, there is a quiet danger in choosing comfort over truth.
When we forget who has served, we lose part of who we are.
Some of this erasure is unintentional, born from a lack of education and awareness or editorial shortcuts. But, some of it is deliberate. There are those who want to promote a narrow, sanitized version of patriotism -- one that excludes the inconvenient truths of Black sacrifice. They show up in school boards banning books, in politicians railing against “divisive” history and in media outlets that treat diversity as optional rather than essential.
The truth is that Black Americans have been elemental to every step of this nation’s progress -- building its wealth through slavery, fighting for its survival in war and leading the charge for civil rights. Yet these sacrifices are often left out of mainstream patriotism, replaced by a sanitized version that celebrates freedom while ignoring who fought hardest to secure it.
These truths are seen as dangerous because they challenge the myth of American innocence. They reveal that progress was not inevitable; it was demanded, often at great cost, by those denied its promises.
The current administration hasn’t just fallen short; it has taken pride in rolling back efforts to honor diversity. Instead of uplifting the full truth of who has served, it has treated inclusion as a threat, not a value. Administration members boast about getting “back to basics,” as if diversity and patriotism can’t coexist. As if recognizing Black sacrifice somehow diminishes American strength, rather than defines it.
Military websites that once included the names and stories of Black heroes are being quietly scrubbed. Base histories are rewritten. Public celebrations of multicultural service are cast as political instead of patriotic. This isn’t neglect -- it’s rejection.
When we erase these stories, we lose a full understanding of how democracy expanded. But when we honor them, we gain a more honest, inclusive and powerful sense of what it truly means to be American … and where your place is in the American story.
These efforts don’t just erase Black military history; they erase the fullness of America itself. And they send a chilling message: You were good enough to serve but not important enough to remember.
Which leads to the question no one in power wants to answer: Why should we keep serving a nation that chooses to erase us?
Martin Luther King Jr. spoke to this dynamic 62 years ago at his speech at the Great March on Detroit: "We want all of our rights, we want them here, and we want them now." That’s all we’ve ever asked -- for dignity, not favors. For truth, not erasure.
It’s not just about who gets their name on a building. It’s about who gets counted as part of America’s story. Too often, Black families like mine are expected to serve quietly and disappear quickly.
Many in our community have been reaching out to Secure Families Initiative, a nonpartisan group that advocates for military families, to share their concerns about their families’ safety while PCSing.
Several Black military families were even forced to relocate from Utah after their children faced relentless racism at a school. These are the children of active-duty service members -- families who defend this country, only to be driven out at home.
In 1957, the federal government sent troops to protect the Little Rock Nine’s right to education. Where is that protection now? Today, instead of stepping in, the response was to silently move military families, sending a chilling message: America’s gratitude has limits when the families wearing the uniform are Black.
As a military spouse for more than 20 years, I’ve seen the cost of service up close. I’ve raised children through deployments. I’ve supported a partner through the long silence of separation. As an advocate, I’ve walked among the families who give so much with so little fanfare. As an educator, I’ve worked to empower others with the knowledge and empathy to understand the lives behind the uniforms. And I’ve done all this knowing that my family’s legacy could one day be reduced to a footnote, if we don’t tell our stories ourselves.
To the editors, producers, educators, the administration and platforms shaping the national memory:
Tell the whole story. Honor all who served.
And to every American, especially those without a platform, know that you have a role too.
Never forget that Black families like mine have always stood on the front lines of America’s defense, not just in uniform but in the fight for civil rights and democracy. We’ve never asked for anything more than what we’ve earned: respect, truth and a place in the American story.
We don’t serve for applause. We serve because we believe in what this country can be. But recognition matters. Visibility matters. And history matters.
We have always served, and we always will.
If you feel these stories matter, help preserve them. Read and share books that highlight Black contributions to American history. Support museums, local Black historians and community memorials. Speak up at your child’s school or library when the curriculum leaves these stories out. Write a letter to your local paper or attend public history events. Talk to your own family and pass these truths on.
We the people have the power to shape memory, history and legacy. All we have to do is care enough to act.
Brandi Jones, who holds a master’s degree in education, is a proud active-duty spouse and co-executive director of Secure Families Initiative. Brandi's work has been featured on CNN, NBC News, CBS News, USA Today and Newsweek.
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