By John Q. Hosedrinker 
Today marks the deadline for the Smithsonian Institution to submit documents regarding current and upcoming exhibitions to the White House for review, as mandated by an executive order. The White House is scrutinizing the museums’ offerings to ensure they do not express “improper ideology,” and the institution’s federal funding is contingent on compliance. Initial correspondence was initiated in August with a call for a comprehensive review, and despite some initial submissions, the White House is now demanding further documentation. Concerns regarding the Smithsonian’s portrayal of American history and its potential impact on the upcoming 250th-anniversary celebrations are also highlighted in the December letter.
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Today is the Smithsonian’s deadline to give thousands of documents to the White House, and well, it’s not exactly being met with enthusiastic compliance, is it? It’s a pretty charged situation, and the underlying tension is palpable. The whole thing hinges on a demand from the White House that the Smithsonian submit materials about their current and upcoming exhibitions and events for review. The catch? The review will determine if the exhibits express “improper ideology.” That phrase alone sets off alarm bells, doesn’t it?
The immediate reaction is, frankly, one of outrage. It’s perceived as something akin to government censorship, a clear attempt to control the narrative. The comparisons being drawn – and I’m just synthesizing the collective sentiment here – are pretty stark. Chairman Mao’s China, Nazi Germany, regimes that actively sought to rewrite history to suit their political agendas. It’s hard to ignore those parallels. The idea of the state dictating what a museum can display, what history is deemed “acceptable,” is chilling.
And then there’s the pragmatism, or perhaps defiance, that surfaces. Suggestions of simply ignoring the deadline, of offering up a mountain of heavily redacted documents, or even, in a rather darkly humorous vein, of just handing over a single post-it note covered in black bars. The cynicism is thick, particularly when people recall that there were also deadlines for things like the Epstein files, which have yet to be fully released. The feeling is that deadlines have become, well, suggestions.
The crux of the matter seems to be a deep-seated distrust of the motives behind the White House’s request. The assumption is that this is a blatant attempt to purge anything that reflects poorly on the current administration or, indeed, anything that doesn’t align with their particular ideological bent. The National Museum of African American History, for instance, is seen as being particularly vulnerable to this sort of scrutiny. The fear is that the administration will censor history.
There’s a clear sense that this action is part of a larger, worrying trend. The United States is being accused of creeping towards authoritarianism. The comparison to regimes in history is not merely a figure of speech but a genuine expression of alarm. It’s about more than just the Smithsonian; it’s about the state of democracy itself. It’s about who gets to tell the story, whose voice is heard, and whose is silenced.
The irony isn’t lost on anyone, of course. The same political party that often rails against “wokeness” and “cancel culture” is now being accused of engaging in its own form of ideological censorship. The hypocrisy is pretty blatant. The anger directed at the White House is intertwined with the sense of being powerless. They’re stuck in a system where laws don’t seem to apply evenly. The DOJ is well past the deadline. They may arrest the Smithsonian personnel.
There’s also an acknowledgement that even if the White House were to lose their grip on power, the damage may already be done. That’s probably the most depressing thought of all. History will not be rewritten. The fact that Trump’s actions will be analyzed for a century. The focus is to hide anything that may portray slavery as bad or Jim Crow laws as discriminatory. The feeling that all of this won’t be resolved until 2028 is a scary one.
The proposed responses – ignoring the deadline, redacting everything, or simply providing a laughably minimal response – are all born out of a perceived lack of viable options. The Smithsonian is caught in a bind. The fear of losing federal grants is a powerful motivator, but the ethical implications of complying are equally significant.
Ultimately, today’s deadline is more than just a bureaucratic requirement. It’s a battleground for ideas, a test of institutional integrity, and a stark reminder of the fragile state of democratic principles. It’s a clear illustration of what happens when politics are allowed to intrude on the very foundation of historical truth.