About two months ago I was perusing a bookshelf and found a short elementary reader published by Abeka, Pensacola Christian College’s program for Christian school and homeschool curriculum. The book is titled My America: 1986 Edition and comprises a series of rudimentary civics lessons. There are sections, for example, on the symbols of the United States, a few key figures in American history, and some major American landmarks and natural wonders. While I thought the sections on freedom of worship, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and freedom of assembly (pp. 6-10) are well put—reading them renewed my thankfulness for each of these freedoms—what I found both disconcerting and comical about the rest of the book is its insistence on American exceptionalism even as it keeps skirting close to undermining that insistence. The very first page says, “I think it is the best country in the world,” and a few pages later the book only slightly qualifies that claim: “Our country is not perfect, but it is still the best country in the world” (p. 4). Yet the rest of the book inadvertently sows doubts about this thesis.

I am not opposed to patriotism, but I take issue with a patriotism that comes at the expense of other nations. (You can be thankful to be an American without saying it’s better than being a Canadian or German.) More to the point, I take issue with a patriotism that’s propped up by half-truths and selective evidence. The trouble with this textbook is that to support its argument for American superiority, it has to omit any mention of the nation’s sins against ethnic minorities, particularly against Native Americans and African Americans. No mention is made of the expulsion and decimation of indigenous tribes, or of slavery or segregation. This may be why, despite the book’s contemporary photos depicting Americans from a variety of ethnic backgrounds, all the “Great People of America” catalogued on pages 21 to 33 (the Pilgrims, George Washington, Paul Revere, Benjamin Franklin, and Abraham Lincoln) are white. If Harriet Tubman or Frederick Douglass, for example, had been included in the list of great Americans, the book might have had to mention the peculiar institution they became great for resisting.

One could say that these issues were left out of My America because they weren’t considered age-appropriate, or that the author Judy Hull Moore wanted to leave it up to teachers or parents when to broach these sensitive subjects. But it’s impossible to tell the story of this nation honestly without giving considerable attention to these issues—and the irony is, the book betrays an awareness of this impossibility. It calls attention to the very omissions it has made, and I think even young readers would notice that something is missing. In its section on Abraham Lincoln, the book says he “led the states of the North in a war against the states of the South” (p. 31). The cause of the Civil War is entirely passed over, but any inquisitive child could be expected to wonder why such a great country would fight a bitter war within itself, and most likely would ask a teacher or parent about it. Similarly, during the section on landmarks and natural wonders, the text implies the expulsion of Native Americans not once, not twice, but three times: “We learn that Indians once lived [in the Rocky Mountains]” (p. 51); “Some Indians live on reservations” (p. 53); and “Indians used to live in Yosemite Valley” (p. 55). It’s not hard to imagine the young reader looking up and asking Mommy or Daddy or Mrs. Smith, “Why don’t they live there anymore? What’s a reservation?” Thus this little book reminded me of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” in which the narrator seems compelled to lead the police as close as possible to the hidden corpse even as he insists there’s nothing amiss. The very uncomfortable truths the text wants to side-step to prop up its claim that America is “the best country in the world,” it seems it cannot help but tacitly acknowledge.

Why do I mention any of this? Who cares what’s in a 40-year-old textbook meant for children? Initially, the book struck me as interesting because it gave me a tangible example of how American exceptionalism depends on historical amnesia. A few weeks later, though, I became aware that the current presidential administration is intent on (re)teaching American history in the same way it’s taught in Abeka’s My America. For proof, look at Section 4.a.iii of the executive order, “Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History,” issued March 27 of this year: it directs the Secretary of the Interior “to ensure that all public monuments, memorials, statues, markers, or similar properties within the Department of the Interior’s jurisdiction do not contain descriptions, depictions, or other content that inappropriately disparage Americans past or living (including persons living in colonial times), and instead”—and here the directive could be a jacket blurb for the textbook—“focus on the greatness of the achievements and progress of the American people or, with respect to natural features, the beauty, abundance, and grandeur of the American landscape.” Based on examples I’m seeing of how this directive is being applied, to “inappropriately disparage” includes saying anything that puts American history in an unflattering light. It would be nice if this historical revisionism were limited to children’s books from the 80’s, but we’re probably going to see a lot more of it for the time being.