Dr. LaKeshia N. Myers
By LaKeshia N. Myers
When Frederick Douglass stood before a Rochester audience on July 5, 1852, and delivered his searing critique “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?”, he exposed the fundamental contradiction at the heart of American democracy. His words cut through the celebratory veneer of Independence Day to reveal a nation celebrating freedom while simultaneously denying it to millions of enslaved Black Americans. Today, as we witness the passage of President Trump’s “One Big Beautiful Bill” through Congress, Douglass’s question takes on renewed urgency: What does American freedom mean when policies systematically undermine the very communities that have fought hardest to claim it?
Douglass’s speech was not merely a critique but a masterclass in holding America accountable to its own stated values. He understood that the Constitution’s promise of liberty was hollow as long as it excluded Black Americans from its protection. The recent passage of Trump’s “Big Beautiful Bill” by a narrow 51-50 margin in the Senate represents a similar moment of reckoning. This massive piece of legislation, wrapped in the rhetoric of economic prosperity and fiscal responsibility, contains provisions that will disproportionately impact the same communities Douglass fought to liberate.
The parallels between Douglass’s era and our own are striking. Just as the Founding Fathers crafted eloquent declarations of freedom while maintaining systems of oppression, today’s political leaders champion policies that promise prosperity while systematically cutting programs that serve as lifelines for vulnerable populations. The bill includes significant cuts to Medicaid, a program that provides healthcare access to millions of low-income Americans, a disproportionate number of whom are Black and Latino families.
Douglass understood that true patriotism required more than flag-waving and celebration; it demanded honest confrontation with America’s failures. His speech was an act of love disguised as criticism, challenging his audience to live up to their highest ideals. Similarly, we must ask ourselves: What does it mean to celebrate American values while supporting policies that leave our most vulnerable citizens behind?
The timing of these cuts is particularly troubling. The bill will affect seniors, students, taxpayers, children, parents, low-income Americans, and just about everyone else, yet its burden falls heaviest on those least able to bear it. When we examine the specific provisions, we see that while the wealthy receive substantial tax breaks, programs that provide food assistance, healthcare, and educational support face the chopping block. This is not unlike the economic arrangements of Douglass’s time, where the labor of enslaved people enriched plantation owners while the workers themselves remained in bondage.
Education, which Douglass viewed as the pathway from slavery to freedom, faces particular threats under these budget proposals. As someone who taught himself to read despite laws forbidding enslaved people from learning, Douglass understood that education was both a tool of liberation and a target of oppression. Today’s cuts to educational programs, student aid, and school funding echo the same impulse to limit access to knowledge and opportunity.
The rhetorical strategy employed by supporters of the “Big Beautiful Bill” mirrors the linguistic gymnastics of Douglass’s era. Just as slavery was euphemistically called the “peculiar institution,” today’s harmful policies are wrapped in the language of “fiscal responsibility” and “economic growth.” The White House frames the bill as “a once-in-a-generation opportunity to cut spending, fuel growth, and level the fiscal footing”, but for families who depend on social safety net programs, these cuts represent a direct assault on their ability to survive and thrive.
Douglass’s genius lay in his ability to expose the contradiction between American ideals and American practice. He forced his audience to confront the uncomfortable truth that their celebration of freedom was built on the backs of the enslaved. Today, we must ask similar questions about our own moment: How can we celebrate American prosperity while implementing policies that increase inequality? How can we claim to value opportunity while cutting programs that provide pathways to success?
The answer, as Douglass understood, lies not in abandoning our ideals but in finally living up to them. His speech was ultimately hopeful, calling on Americans to fulfill the promise of the Declaration of Independence for all people, not just the privileged few. Today, that same spirit of accountable patriotism demands that we reject policies that sacrifice the many for the benefit of the few.
As we navigate this moment of political tension, we would do well to remember Douglass’s words: “Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, neither persons nor property will be safe.” The cuts embedded in Trump’s legislation represent more than fiscal policy; they represent a fundamental choice about what kind of nation we want to be. The question remains whether we will choose the path of genuine democracy or continue down the road of selective freedom that Douglass so eloquently condemned over a century ago.