Truth, Theft, and the Courage to Remember: Reclaiming Our Stolen Histories

History, we are told, is about facts. Dates. Kings. Wars. Inventions. But the question I keep returning to is: Whose facts? Whose kings? Whose inventions? I didn’t grow up asking that question. I accepted the timeline I was taught — the one that began in Ancient Greece, skipped to Rome, fast-forwarded to the Enlightenment, then marched triumphantly into the Industrial Revolution. I was told this was progress. That this was civilization. But something always felt off.

Entire continents were reduced to footnotes. Entire peoples were painted as passive, conquered, or undeveloped. Africa was a land of slavery. Asia was a market. The Americas were waiting to be “discovered.” And the people from these places — people who looked like me — were almost never cast as heroes, inventors, or philosophers.

The Myth of the Western Timeline

The more I’ve learned, the more I’ve had to unlearn. The idea that democracy, science, and logic began in Europe is not just false — it’s dangerous. It props up a story of white superiority that still echoes in our systems today.

Before the Enlightenment, there was Timbuktu — with its vast libraries and schools. Baghdad, where medicine and philosophy flourished. Nalanda. Cusco. Benin. Long before Galileo, African astronomers were charting stars. Before Descartes asked, “What is the self?”, so did Indian and Islamic scholars — in more nuanced and spiritually complex ways.

Learning this wasn’t just academic for me. It was personal. Because it forced me to reckon with how much had been taken — not just from history, but from me.

Museums of Theft, Textbooks of Silence

I am certain that many Africans have walked into some of the world’s most celebrated museums and felt uneasy. Surrounded by the spoils of empire — the Benin Bronzes, Egyptian mummies, Aztec gold — They couldn’t help but feel like They were walking through a crime scene. But instead of evidence, these items were displayed as trophies.

Even worse is what’s left unsaid in classrooms. The Industrial Revolution is framed as innovation, not the direct result of stolen labor and stolen cotton. Colonization is painted as “exploration,” not exploitation. And so the cycle of silence continues. This isn’t just historical negligence — it’s an ongoing theft of dignity.

Why Memory Matters

I don’t write these things because I have all the answers. I don’t. I’m still learning — still piecing together the history I was never given. But I do know that memory matters. When young people don’t see themselves in stories of greatness, they start to believe that greatness isn’t meant for them. When we erase non-European contributions to knowledge, we reinforce a lie that whiteness is the engine of human progress.

I know what it’s like to internalize that lie. I know what it’s like to feel unseen — to question if your ancestors ever did anything “important.” That’s the power of erasure. That’s why telling the truth is not just about the past — it’s about reclaiming the future.

Truth Is the Beginning, Not the End

Someone once asked me what we can do to make things right. I didn’t pretend to be a scholar or a policymaker. I just said this: We must begin with truth.

And not just the truth of European brutality, but the truth of African brilliance. Asian resistance. Indigenous survival. Arab knowledge. Latin American vision. We must name what was stolen — not just land, labor, and gold, but memory. Identity. Possibility. We must unlearn the myth that Europe invented modernity. We must unlearn the idea that colonialism was a side story — it was the main story.

Reclaiming the Full Story

This isn’t just about inclusion. It’s about justice. It’s about rewriting syllabi. Returning artifacts. Funding indigenous and Black scholars. Rethinking institutions. Asking different questions:

• Who is missing from this narrative?

• Whose voice is being centered?

• Who benefits from the version we are told?

The truth hurts — but the lie kills. I write this not as an expert, but as someone trying to remember. Trying to feel whole again. Trying to reconnect with a stolen inheritance. Because memory isn’t just about what happened. It’s about who we are allowed to become. And maybe, if we remember with honesty and courage, we can become something better — together.