David Freed

Most folks, I suspect, have a favorite ball cap. This one, with its sweat stains and frayed brim, happens to be mine. I’ve worn it for several years, but in all the time, however, I can recall only one person ever making mention of the blue and gold winged panther sewn on its crown.

 

We were at a restaurant a few years back in Colorado Springs. The receptionist, an African American woman in her early 20’s, was guiding us to our table. “I like your hat,” she said, smiling at me over her shoulder. “The Fighting 99th.”

That anyone especially so young would recognize the unit patch worn by fighter pilots of the 99th Pursuit Squadron, the famed, all-Black Tuskegee Airmen who flew against Hitler’s Luftwaffe in World War II, left me a little stunned. I asked her how she knew about the 99th.

 

“My great-grandfather,” she said, “was a Tuskegee airman.”

 

The pride in her eyes as she told me that was something I’ll never forget.

 

Anyone who has ever studied American military history knows the inspirational story of the Tuskegee Airmen. Treated as second-class citizens because of the color of their skin, they overcame every obstacle imaginable, first learning to fly in rural, racist Alabama, before distinguishing themselves in the hostile skies over Europe. Along the way, they became known as the “Red Tails” by virtue of the distinctive color with which they adorned the empennages of their P-47 Thunderbolts and P-51 Mustangs. So fabled were their achievements in combat that more than 70 years later, in 2018, when U.S. Air Force commanders were debating what name to assign their new primary jet trainer, the Boeing-Saab T-7, they chose the “Red Hawk” and ordered the jets’ tails painted red to honor those Tuskegee warriors.

 

I’ve always dreamed of flying a Mustang. I never have. I’ve never even been in one. I was born long after the end of World War II and, for the record, I’m not Black. So you might be asking, what business does a guy like me have wearing a ball cap sporting a Tuskegee squadron patch? The simple answer is this: Every time I do, I am reminded of the debt of gratitude we owe to those men, and to the millions of others of every ethnicity who fought and sometimes died to leave our world a better, fairer, more equal place.

 

Which brings me to Donald Trump.

 

To comply with his crackdown on diversity, equality, and inclusion initiatives, it was reported this weekend that the Air Force had removed from its basic training courses all videos of the Tuskegee Airmen. Also scrapped were videos featuring the WASPs, the Women Airforce Service Pilots who played a vital role ferrying military aircraft during the war. Not a day later, apparently bowing to public pressure, the Trump Administration reversed course and announced that the videos would remain in the Air Force’s basic training curriculum. 

 

While I can’t conceive what cultural harm could possibly come of teaching new Air Force recruits about the courage and sacrifices of such extraordinary heroes, I can easily envision the dangers posed in redrafting history, as Trump and his minions appear to be attempting to do.

 

To marginalize or exclude the contributions made to the common good by any group is to erase their presence in the shared story of our nation. By failing to acknowledge the unique achievements and sacrifices made by heroes who first had to overcome scorn and hate from their own countrymen, we risk not only distorting the past but also spitting on the very values that made America great—perseverance and unity in the face of unimaginable adversity. By deleting the stories of trailblazers like the Tuskegee Airmen and the WASPs, we also deny future generations of vital role models–the very individuals who represent the best of what we as a people have always strived to be.

 

The legacy left by these pioneers—who fought both on the front lines and against the prejudices of their own country—is not merely a story of military valor; it is a testament to the strength of the human spirit, and to the conviction that ability is not defined by the color of one’s skin or gender, but indeed by the content of one’s character. None of those pioneers served to gain celebrity or riches. They did so because they believed in the promise of a better, more just America. To blot out their stories as if they never existed is to ignore their influence in whatever progress we’ve made toward achieving the kind of America for which they fought so hard.

 

And, so, until it falls off my head from use, I will continue wearing my well-loved cap with its squadron patch honoring the pilots of the Fighting 99th, both as a testament to their bravery and as my responsibility to help ensure in my small way that their story is not forgotten. Whether in the skies or on the ground, the Tuskegee Airmen and all those who served alongside them strived to pave the way for a future in which every American would have the opportunity to soar. We owe it to them—and to ourselves—to keep their stories alive, to remind the world that “Make America Great” is more than a political slogan. It is courage; it is self-sacrifice; it is devotion to a transcendent ideal, as yet unrealized, of that shining city on the hill.

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