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slavery
Comparing Trump Admin to Ministry of Truth in Orwell's 1984, Judge Orders Slavery Exhibits Restored
A government agency "cannot arbitrarily decide what is true, based on its own whims or the whims of the new leadership, regardless of the evidence before it," said the Republican-appointed judge.
Feb 16, 2026
"Happy Presidents Day!" a journalist declared Monday in response to a federal judge's opinion that compares President Donald Trump's administration removing displays about slavery from a historical site in Philadelphia to the actions of the propaganda agency in George Orwell's dystopian novel 1984.
Judge Cynthia Rufe—appointed to the Eastern District of Pennsylvania by former Republican President George W. Bush—began by quoting the iconic 1949 critique of totalitarianism: "All history was a palimpsest, scraped clean, and reinscribed exactly as often as was necessary. In no case would it have been possible, once the deed was done, to prove that any falsification had taken place."
The judge then wrote that "as if the Ministry of Truth in George Orwell's 1984 now existed, with its motto 'Ignorance is Strength,' this court is now asked to determine whether the federal government has the power it claims—to dissemble and disassemble historical truths when it has some domain over historical facts. It does not."
"The President's House is a component of Independence National Historical Park that commemorates the site of the first official presidential residence and the people who lived there, including people enslaved by President George Washington," she explained on the federal holiday established to honor the first US president. "On January 22, 2026, the National Park Service (NPS) removed panels, displays, and video exhibits that referenced slavery and information about the individuals enslaved at the President's House."
The removal followed Trump's March executive order aimed at ensuring "federal sites dedicated to history, including parks and museums," are not subjected to what he called "ideological indoctrination or divisive narratives that distort our shared history," which is just one piece of the president's "war on history" and embrace of authoritarianism.
Relying on the Administrative Procedures Act, Philadelphia sued the NPS and acting Director Jessica Bowron, as well as the parent agency, the US Department of the Interior, and its secretary, Doug Burgum, over the removal of the slavery exhibits.
"In its argument, the government claims it alone has the power to erase, alter, remove, and hide historical accounts on taxpayer and local government-funded monuments within its control. Its claims in this regard echo Big Brother's domain in Orwell's 1984," Rufe wrote in her 40-page opinion. She cited the novel's description of the largest section in the fictional government's Records Department, which "consisted simply of persons whose duty it was to track down and collect all copies of books, newspapers, and other documents which had been superseded and were due for destruction."
According to Rufe, "The government here likewise asserts truth is no longer self-evident, but rather the property of the elected chief magistrate and his appointees and delegees, at his whim to be scraped clean, hidden, or overwritten. And why? Solely because, as defendants state, it has the power."
"An agency, whether the Department of the Interior, NPS, or any other agency, cannot arbitrarily decide what is true, based on its own whims or the whims of the new leadership, regardless of the evidence before it," Rufe stressed. She found that the federal defendants "completely ignored their legislatively imposed duties," took actions that "impede the separation of powers instituted by the Constitution," and "acted in excess of their authority as agencies authorized by Congress within the executive branch."
The judge determined that Philadelphia "is likely to prevail on its claims that the removal was arbitrary and capricious," and "met its burden to establish irreparable harm." She concluded that "the balance of harms and the public interest tip in the city's favor." Her preliminary injunction requires the reinstallation of "all panels, displays, and video exhibits that were previously in place," and bars defendants from "any additions, removals, destruction, or further changes of any kind to the President's House site."
Politico senior legal affairs reporter Kyle Cheney flagged the opinion on social media, highlighting the Orwell references. His posts gathered thousands of reposts and responses, including from observers who were alarmed by the administration's actions and welcomed the judge's decision.
"Federal judges continue to speak up and speak out. It is amazing to see one quote George Orwell, but it also feels appropriate at a time when we see so many attacks on the rule of law," said Lawyers Defending American Democracy.
Democratic Montgomery County Commissioner Neil Makhija wrote on Bluesky: "Proud of this result. The court cited Orwell's 1984 recognizing that we can't just erase hard truths from our history. Montgomery County was proud to join Bucks, Chester, and Delaware Counties in filing an amicus brief to support preserving the President's House slavery exhibits. Happy Presidents Day."
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Philadelphia Sues Over Trump's Removal of Slavery Exhibits From George Washington’s Home
"The message is clear. American history no longer includes all Americans."
Jan 23, 2026
The city of Philadelphia has sued the US Department of the Interior and the National Park Service after officials were filmed dismantling exhibits on slavery at the President's House historical site at Independence Park on Thursday.
The lawsuit, filed in federal court by the office of Mayor Cherelle Parker, says “the National Park Service has removed artwork and informational displays" from the site, where George Washington lived as president from 1790 until 1797, in order to follow an executive order signed by President Donald Trump in March, which requires national parks, museums, and monuments to portray an "uplifting" message about American history.
The President's House monument, unveiled in 2010, contained information about nine enslaved people whom Washington brought with him to the nation's "first White House," and Washington's history as a slaveowner. By the time of his death in 1799, there were more than 300 enslaved people at his estate in Mount Vernon, Virginia.
Information about the President's House site and its ties to slavery still remains online. It states:
Washington brought some of his enslaved Africans to this site and they lived and toiled with other members of his household during the years that our first president was guiding the experimental development of the young nation toward modern, republican government...
The president's house in the 1790s was a mirror of the young republic, reflecting both the ideals and contradictions of the new nation. The house stood in the shadow of Independence Hall, where the words "All men are created equal" and "We the People" were adopted, but they did not apply to all who lived in the new United States of America.
A monument acknowledging this history, however, appears to have run afoul of the portion of Trump's order requiring the Interior Secretary to see that sites "do not contain descriptions, depictions, or other content that inappropriately disparage Americans past or living."
As BillyPenn.com reported:
Starting after 3 pm, placards were ripped from the wall around the site with crowbars as people walked by, some heading to the Liberty Bell Center. Signs were unbolted from the poles overlooking the dig site where America’s first “White House” had stood until 1832. They were stacked together alongside a wall, and then taken away around 4:30 pm in a park service truck. No indication was provided where the signs and exhibition parts will go
One of the employees, who did not give his name, told the Philadelphia Inquirer that his supervisor had instructed him to take down the monuments earlier that day.
“I’m just following my orders,” the employee repeatedly said.
In a statement to the Washington Post, Interior Department spokesperson Elizabeth Peace later confirmed that the placards were indeed removed in accordance with the order.
"The president has directed federal agencies to review interpretive materials to ensure accuracy, honesty, and alignment with shared national values,” she said. “Following completion of the required review, the National Park Service is now taking action to remove or revise interpretive materials in accordance with the order."
The city of Philadelphia says it was not given notice about the placards being removed. The lawsuit says their removal was "arbitrary and capricious" and says the “defendants have provided no explanation at all for their removal of the historical, educational displays at the President’s House site, let alone a reasoned one."
In a Facebook post, criminal defense attorney Michael Coard, who pushed for the monument's creation for nearly a decade, called its destruction "historically outrageous and blatantly racist."
It is the latest example of Trump's order being used to justify the removal of monuments related to slavery and Black history in the United States.
The infamous 1863 "Scourged Back" image—a picture of an enslaved man's back with severe whip scars that was used to promote the end of slavery during the Civil War—was removed from the Fort Pulaski National Monument in Georgia in September, along with other information about slavery.
The administration has also removed more than 20 displays at the Smithsonian Museum of American History, some of which dealt with slavery, civil rights, and race relations, a move that came after Trump lamented that the museum put so much focus on "how bad Slavery was."
The National Park Service also deleted information about abolitionist activist Harriet Tubman and many references to slavery from its webpage about the Underground Railroad for months last year, before restoring it following public backlash.
Pages on the Arlington Cemetery website that recognize the contributions of Black and Hispanic soldiers have also been removed.
The order has also led to the removal or alteration of numerous monuments, museum exhibits, and web pages recognizing the achievements or struggles of other racial minority groups, women, LGBTQ+ people, and Native Americans.
In a statement to NBC News, Philadelphia City Council President Kenyatta Johnson said, "Removing the exhibits is an effort to whitewash American history."
"History cannot be erased simply because it is uncomfortable," he added. "Removing items from the President’s House merely changes the landscape, not the historical record."
Daniel Pearson, a columnist for the Philadelphia Inquirer, said: "The message is clear. American history no longer includes all Americans."
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Zohran Mamdani and the Long Muslim Thread in the American Story
America is not a Christian nation, nor a nation for whites, nor a nation for the rich alone. It is a nation built on principles shared by all who live in it, and Islam has always been part of that inheritance.
Jan 02, 2026
“If there is no struggle, there is no progress.” —Frederick Douglass
America’s story has always been a story of struggle—for liberty, for justice, for recognition. On a cold January afternoon outside City Hall, Zohran Mamdani stepped into that struggle. Raising his right hand, he took the oath of office as mayor of New York City—the first Muslim ever to hold the city’s highest office—embodying Douglass’ truth: Progress demands courage, perseverance, and the relentless pursuit of inclusion.
The headlines captured the surface: a 25-minute inaugural address, roughly 4,000 spectators, a private swearing in just after midnight at the Old City Hall subway station, appearances by Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-N.Y.) and Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.). But the moment ran far deeper. Mamdani’s inauguration was not only a municipal milestone; it was the latest chapter in a debate as old as the republic itself: where Muslims belong in the American story—and whether they ever truly have.
That question stretches back to July 30, 1788, when North Carolina ratified the Constitution. Anti-federalist William Lancaster warned that by rejecting religious tests for office, the new nation might allow Muslims to govern. “Papists may occupy that chair,” he cautioned, “and Mahometans may take it. I see nothing against it.” A warning, then. A prophecy, now.
When Mamdani declared, “New York belongs to all who live in it,” he answered a question first posed in fear in 1788, tested in war, dramatized by Muhammad Ali, and deferred for generations.
There were no Muslim candidates in 1788. But there were Muslims in America—thousands of enslaved Africans whose presence exposed the republic’s deepest contradiction. Between 5 and 20% of enslaved Africans were Muslim, many literate in Arabic, bearing names like Fatima, Ali, Hassan, and Said. Their faith was violently suppressed, yet fragments endured—in memory, language, and resistance.
Even the founding generation reflected this tension. Thomas Jefferson studied the Quran and treated Islam as a serious intellectual tradition, even as he owned enslaved Muslims. Islam existed in theory, in human reality, and yet was denied civic recognition.
That tension carried forward into the nation’s greatest moral reckoning: the Civil War.
Muslims fought for the Union. Mohammed Kahn enlisted in the 43rd New York Infantry. Nicholas Said—born Mohammed Ali ben Said in Nigeria, raised Muslim, later converted to Christianity—served as a sergeant in the 55th Massachusetts Colored Regiment and as a Union clerk. Captain Moses Osman held a high-ranking post in the 104th Illinois Infantry. Union rosters show names like Ali, Hassan, and Said, hinting at a wider Muslim presence than history often acknowledges.
Yet rifles were not the only weapons. Islam entered the moral imagination through words and witness. Sen. Charles Sumner, nearly beaten on the Senate floor, quoted the Quran to condemn slavery. Ayuba Suleiman Diallo—Job ben Solomon—had already unsettled transatlantic assumptions through literacy, eloquence, and dignity. His story endured into the Civil War, republished in 1864 to reinforce the war’s moral purpose. Overseas, Hussein Pasha of Tunisia urged the US to abolish slavery “in the name of humanity,” showing Muslim advocacy was part of a global ethical conversation.
Muslims remained largely invisible in America’s public self-understanding—until the 20th century produced a figure too large to ignore.
Muhammad Ali, still the most recognizable man on Earth decades after his gold medal at the 1960 Rome Olympics, transformed boxing and American consciousness alike. He was named “Athlete of the Century” by Sports Illustrated, GQ, and the BBC; “Kentuckian of the Century” by his home state; and became a global icon through speed, grace, and audacious charm.
Ali’s significance extended far beyond the ring. By insisting on the name Muhammad Ali instead of Cassius Clay, he forced America to confront the legacy of slavery embedded in naming itself. His embrace of Islam was unapologetic and public. His refusal to be drafted into the Vietnam War cost him his title and livelihood, yet anticipated the anti-war movement. His fights in Kinshasa, Manila, and Kuala Lumpur shifted attention from superpower dominance toward global conscience.
Ali’s humanitarian work was relentless: delivering over 232 million meals, medical supplies to children in Jakarta, orphans in Liberia, street children in Morocco. At home, he visited soup kitchens, hospitals, advocated for children’s protections, and taught tolerance in schools through his book Healing. For this, he was honored as a United Nations Messenger of Peace, cited by Amnesty International, and recognized by President Jimmy Carter as “Mr. International Friendship.”
Ali showed the nation something fundamental: that Islam is American. That Muslims have always belonged to the moral and civic fabric of this country. That a nation built on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, on religious tolerance, on care for the poor, is naturally aligned with Islam. Mamdani is American not in spite of his faith, but because Islam is American.
It is against this long arc—from slavery to abolition, civil rights, global conscience, and the moral courage of Muhammad Ali—that Zohran Mamdani’s inauguration comes into focus.
Mamdani’s life traces modern routes of migration and belonging. Born in Kampala, Uganda to parents with roots in South Asia, he was raised in New York City. Yet his rise fulfills an older constitutional promise. In his inaugural address, he thanked his parents—“Mama and Baba”—acknowledged family “from Kampala to Delhi,” and recalled taking his oath of American citizenship on Pearl Street.
When Mamdani declared, “New York belongs to all who live in it,” he answered a question first posed in fear in 1788, tested in war, dramatized by Muhammad Ali, and deferred for generations. He named mosques alongside churches, synagogues, temples, gurdwaras, and mandirs, making visible what history had long rendered partial. When he spoke of halal cart vendors, Palestinian New Yorkers, Black homeowners, and immigrant families bound together by labor and hope, he articulated a civic vision rooted in lived American reality.
Notably, Mamdani did not frame his Muslim identity as something to defend. It simply existed. “Where else,” he asked, “could a Muslim kid like me grow up eating bagels and lox every Sunday?” Hybridity was not an exception. It was inheritance.
Yet it is equally important to recognize that Mamdani’s historic victory does not make him infallible, nor should it. The fact that he is the first Muslim mayor of New York City is not a personal achievement alone—it reflects the barriers that Muslims, like many others, have historically faced in participating fully in American democracy. Discrimination, racial and religious bias, and systemic obstacles made this moment possible only now, not because of any failing on his part. He will, like all mayors before him, make mistakes. He will face limits, criticism, and flaws—because he is human. To hold him to an impossible standard would be to misunderstand both history and democracy.
There is, too, something unmistakably American about Mamdani’s politics. By invoking La Guardia, Dinkins, and de Blasio; by embracing democratic socialism without apology; by grounding his agenda in labor, affordability, and collective responsibility, he situates himself firmly in an American tradition—one that echoes the abolitionists, the New Deal, and the moral courage of Ali.
And as Malcolm X reminds us, this is the guiding principle for American civic life: “I believe in the brotherhood of man, all men, but I don’t believe in forcing anyone to accept it.”
This is what makes the moment historic. Not that a Muslim has finally entered American politics, but that an old constitutional anxiety—once voiced as a warning—has become an ordinary fact of civic life. Islam, Mamdani, and the ideals of this nation converge in a single, undeniable truth: America is not a Christian nation, nor a nation for whites, nor a nation for the rich alone. It is a nation built on principles shared by all who live in it, and Islam has always been part of that inheritance.
The work, as Mamdani said, has only just begun. But the story his inauguration tells—that Muslims were enslaved at the nation’s birth, debated at its founding, fought in its wars, shaped its abolitionist conscience, transformed its civil rights culture, and now govern its greatest city—is no longer hypothetical.
It stands, unmistakably, on the steps of City Hall.
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