We have always been the protectors of our children. From over-crowded classrooms, to Sunday pews and protest lines, we have fought for their dignity, their safety and their future. Today, that responsibility is more urgent than ever.
As our nation grows bolder in its efforts to erase Black history, culture and heroes—especially within institutions like the U.S. military—we must ask a painful but necessary question: Why are we still encouraging our children to serve a country that refuses to serve them?
Let’s be clear: Black people have contributed to every chapter of this nation’s story. From Crispus Attucks to the Harlem Hellfighters, to the Tuskegee Airmen, to General Colin Powell, we have fought and died for freedoms we have never fully experienced ourselves. And yet, our stories are being erased from textbooks, our icons from official websites and our legacies rewritten to fit a more “comfortable” narrative.
Even General Powell—a man who broke barriers as both soldier and statesman—was quietly removed from Pentagon and State Department pages without explanation or outrage. What does it say to our children when a nation can erase even him?
This erasure is not accidental—it is strategic and it has deepened in recent months.
Since his return to office, President Donald Trump’s administration has taken deliberate steps to dismantle the limited progress made toward inclusion and equity within the military.
Diversity, equity, and inclusion programs across the Department of Defense have been dismantled or labeled “divisive.”
General C.Q. Brown Jr., the first Black Air Force Chief of Staff and only the second Black Chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was abruptly fired—his removal symbolizing a broader purge of leaders who champion diversity.
The Pentagon has ordered military academies to eliminate race, ethnicity and gender as factors in admissions, threatening decades of slow but meaningful advancement for Black officers.
Confederate symbols—once removed as acts of reconciliation—are being quietly reconsidered for restoration.
These changes are not just administrative—they are moral declarations. They tell our children, once again, that their presence is tolerated only when it is convenient and their service valued only when it can be used.
Our young people still enlist hoping for opportunity: job training, education and a way out. But too often, they are met with trauma, discrimination and broken promises. They return home to unemployment, untreated wounds and a nation that regards their sacrifice with indifference.
We must begin to challenge the narrative that military service is our children’s best path to success. We must question why recruiters flood our schools and neighborhoods—especially those where opportunity has been deliberately denied—selling patriotism as a substitute for possibility.
If America will not defend our children in the classroom, the hospital or the courtroom, why should they be asked to defend America on the battlefield?
Some will argue that the military builds character, offers benefits, and produces leaders. And in some cases, that may be true. But at what cost?
Black service members remain more likely to face punishment, be denied promotions, or be silenced when they call out racism within the ranks. The very institution that claims to forge equality continues to enforce hierarchy—one where race still dictates whose voice is heard, whose pain is ignored, and whose life is expendable.
We are not saying our children should not be leaders, warriors or protectors. We are saying they must not be tools for a system that does not love them. We must offer them other ways to build their future—because there are alternatives.
Let us guide them toward trade schools, apprenticeships, tech programs, HBCUs and entrepreneurial programs. Let us connect them with mentors who understand both their brilliance and the burdens they carry. Let us teach them that they do not need to carry a rifle to prove their worth. Their value is not conditional. Their future should be built not on sacrifice, but on strategy, support and self-respect.
And as parents, we must listen—really listen—to the reasons our children consider enlistment. Maybe it’s to escape poverty. Maybe it’s identity, structure or honor. Maybe they believe they have no other choice. It is our responsibility to show them that they do.
We must build community solutions to economic hardship by building urban villages. Demand better college and career guidance in our schools. Tell the full truth about military life—not the glossy brochures, but the physical dangers, the psychological toll, the racial disparities and the painful reality of serving a country still fighting to see our full humanity.
Our children deserve to be whole. They deserve to be safe. They deserve to know their history—not as a footnote or banned curriculum, but as a living inheritance that defines their power and potential.
And in this moment—when Black leaders are being fired, DEI is being dismantled, and the very concept of equality is under siege—we cannot hand our children over to an institution that reflects those same values of exclusion and erasure.
Let’s speak their names before they wear a uniform. Let’s teach them that their lives are not owed to a flag, but to a future we can build together.
Let us raise builders, thinkers, creators and healers. Let us remind them that resistance doesn’t always mean protest—it can mean choosing a different path, rejecting the familiar script and daring to live free.
The next time a recruiter walks into a classroom with a smile and a pamphlet in a high school with no books and even fewer extracurriculars, our children should already know what to ask: “What has this country done for me?”
And we, as parents, must already have shown them the answer through how we love them, fight for them and believe in them more than this country ever has.
Their future is not on the front lines. Their future is in their hands. Let’s make sure they know that.
This MFP Voices opinion essay reflects the personal opinion of its author(s). The column does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.