It’s the fall of 1989. I’m 17 and just arrived at college, fresh from the suburbs with the big hair to prove it. They let us spend the first week auditing different classes. I wander into a literature course called The Myth Of America just in time to hear the professor say, “We will explore classic narratives of American exceptionalism and the reality that this country was built on slavery and genocide.” I gasp out loud. That idea had never entered my head. I’m 44 now and this moment is with me every time I hear “Make America Great Again.”

I wish I could go back and tell Professor Bercovitch what that one sentence has meant in my life. I just checked and he passed away a couple years ago. Maybe it’s for the best that he isn’t around to see us today. He brought what light he could for as long as he could. Now it’s on us.