I have a special place in my heart for Texas. It’s the first state I moved to after I left home. I went through Basic Training at Lackland Air Force Base and was stationed in San Antonio for years. I was on my own and completely independent for the first time in my life, so I fell in love with the fierce independent streak on which Texans pride themselves. I immersed myself in the local culture: I hung the Lone Star flag, listened to Tejano music, wore cowboy boots, and always visited the Alamo whenever I strolled through the Riverwalk.

That tiny stone building, an abandoned Spanish mission that briefly became a fortress in 1836, still looms large in Texas folklore. Every school child is taught the story, and Texan public school teachers are literally required to describe the Alamo defenders as “heroic.” It was here, the legend goes, that Texas freed itself from a tyrannical dictator, Santa Anna, with American heroes led by Davy Crockett, William Travis, and Jim Bowie. Students are taught these Americans put up an epic struggle against overwhelming Mexican invaders, and that they all died for Texas’ freedom. Though the battle was lost, their sacrifice inspired Texans across the land to fight with the rallying cry, “Remember the Alamo,” which has long been the official state motto.

It’s a great story of heroism and patriotism, but there’s one big problem: None of it is true.

In order to teach history, we have to be willing to face history. This means being willing to follow the historical record wherever it leads us, even if it contradicts false narratives we were taught our whole lives. Instead, Texas is desperately trying to cling to the fake heroic Anglo narrative.

The state has recently passed laws that whitewashed slavery, forcing discussions on “multiple perspectives” of “controversial issues,” to include the “pros” of slavery and even “opposing views” on the Holocaust, whatever that means. Texas Gov. Greg Abbott has even required “patriotic education”—little more than thinly veiled propaganda—to be distributed across the state. The fierce grasp of these lies might seem bizarre, but it’s rooted deep in the mythology of Texas’ history; its entire foundation is based on the so-called “cradle of Texas liberty.” These new laws are, I believe, a reaction to the truth about what Texas is and always has been all about.

In June, three Texas historical researchers released a book called Forget the Alamo: The Rise and Fall of an American Myth, which gives the facts about what really happened; it’s not quite the story of heroism that is taught across Texas and the rest of the U.S. The response to the book was swift. Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick, who ironically has railed against “cancel culture” all year, personally intervened to cancel a discussion about the book at a museum where he is a board member. This followed Abbott signing a bill that created “The 1836 Project,” named after the year the Battle of the Alamo was fought, in order to “promote patriotic education and increase awareness of the Texas values.” It echoed Donald Trump’s failed attempt to whitewash history in America’s schools with his now-defunct 1776 Commission last year. Both were obvious sneers at Nikole Hannah-Jones’ Pulitzer Prize-winning The 1619 Project.

Abbott also signed a ridiculous “critical race theory” bill that severely restricts how teachers address uncomfortable history. Texas’ Republican leaders want truth dismissed as propaganda, while insisting the “heroic Anglo narrative” be taught as the truth. This entire struggle over indoctrination in schools, and the greater struggle for the GOP when facing any harsh reality—whether it’s election losses or simple scientific facts—is encapsulated in facing the reality of Texas’ favorite myth.

Colonial Williamsburg

In May, I wrote about how living museums, like Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia, were struggling to depict the honest facts of American history, specifically when it comes to Black Americans. When the historically-recreated town was founded by John D. Rockefeller, Jr. in the 1930s, it was likely that this issue never crossed his mind. After all, he just wanted a glowing, educational tribute to our Founding Fathers.

The full narrative of other cultures doesn’t fit neatly into our nation’s sanitized mythology of white heroes. Yet to its credit, Colonial Williamsburg has been tackling this difficult issue head-on, adding not just slave quarters, but recreations of stories of joy and success featuring populations who have long been ignored, including African Americans, Native Americans, and even LGBTQ colonists.

The result? A more accurate, and much more interesting, historical site.

Many of us already know the fable of the Alamo. After all, Texas has chosen most of our nation’s textbooks, which feature a very skewed narrative of not just the Alamo, but our nation’s founding. For decades, conservative activists have recognized the importance of infiltrating our schools with their brand of right-wing propaganda and white American exceptionalism. Here are just a few examples: Enslaved people are referred to as “workers,” Moses is described as a Founding Father, and Native American victories against the American Cavalry are characterized as “massacres,” while Anglo victories are simply “battles.”

The Battle of the Alamo is perhaps the most infamous bit of revisionist U.S. history; most people educated in the States are familiar with the grandiose narrative told in San Antonio for the past 200 years. In the mid-20th century, Hollywood really spread it on thick with several shows and films about the Alamo.

Walt Disney, convinced that communists were behind his labor strikes, decided he needed to counter their influence with “American values.” Disney created a mini-series depicting a completely made-up version of Davy Crockett, showing him killing Native Americans and dying a heroic death at the Alamo. Boys in the U.S. were soon buying Crockett merchandise, like coonskin caps and cap guns. The Disney version was so popular, it made it to Europe, where one of those Crockett-loving boys grew up to become a famous musician. England’s own Phil Collins has accumulated a massive collection of Alamo memorabilia since childhood, and recently donated 400 pieces to the historic site, although several pieces seem to have dubious authenticity.  

The Disney series was followed by John Wayne’s infamous movie, The Alamo, which was directed by Wayne himself, who also starred as Davy Crockett. Wayne spent $1.5 million of his own money to make the film, in large part because he wanted to turn the Alamo into a “national political symbol, a romantic bulwark against shifting political winds.” He succeeded. 

YouTube Video

Yet everything about this story of the Alamo is just plain wrong, including the reason the “heroes” were fighting in the first place. The white immigrants at the Alamo weren’t fighting for freedom or independence. They were fighting for slavery.

The truth about the Alamo

In the early 1820s, a newly independent Mexico was attempting to colonize the vast lands of Texas (called Tejas at the time) as an economic strategy, and invited settlers to come and live there, as long as they paid import duties. Mexico abolished slavery in 1829, but the nation allowed an exemption in the Tejas region because of the outcry from the white settlers, whose entire economy was based on cotton and thus very dependent on slavery.  

That is, until 1833, when Gen. Antonio López de Santa Anna was elected Mexico’s president. One of the first things Santa Anna did was abolish slavery in the Tejas region. For white settlers, this was a bridge too far. Stephen F. Austin, the so-called “Father of Texas,” wrote many letters to Mexican authorities about the importance of slavery for the Anglo settlers. William Travis’ letters about fighting for freedom get a lot of attention by Texan historians, but Austin’s letters speak about the settlers’ true concern: 

American settlers in Tejas tried to circumvent the new law by converting enslaved people to lifetime indentured servants, but Mexico responded by passing a law saying such contracts could not last longer than 10 years. Mexico was a post-colonial nation founded on egalitarian principles, and Santa Anna was determined to enforce the end of slavery throughout Mexico, including in Tejas.

While it is true that Texas had formally declared independence from Mexico a few days before the battle at the Alamo, no legitimate historian believes that declaration was the reason for the battle. While delegates were meeting in Washington-on-the-Brazos to declare independence from Mexico on March 2, 1836, the Alamo had already been under siege for days. It fell under Santa Anna’s full assault on March 6, so it was unlikely the defenders even knew that independence had been declared. 

The Battle of the Alamo, in fact, shouldn’t have even happened. Travis was warned multiple times of Mexican armies approaching, but decided to ignore the warnings until it was too late. Gen. Sam Houston even sent Bowie to destroy the Alamo, saying it was too remote and unnecessary to defend. Bowie also decided to ignore those orders. The siege at the Alamo lasted for as long as it did because the men at the mission had no choice but to fight, as they were encircled and trapped.

Crockett, despite Hollywood depictions of a legend who went down fighting, likely went down another way, according to the evidence. Jeff Long’s well-researched Duel of Eagles showed Crockett to be an “aging, semiliterate squatter of average talent” who surrendered and begged to be spared. Multiple sources verify this. In fact, Crockett’s surrender was even used as evidence by American newspapers of Santa Anna’s brutality. Yet in the 1950s, when Disney and Wayne were building the mythology of the Crockett character, that didn’t fit the hero narrative they wanted.

YouTube Video

Yet if there’s one person responsible for the myth that surrounds the Alamo today, it’s Travis. His infamous “Victory or Death” letter, sent to the U.S. government during the battle, begged for reinforcements. The letter was woven with flowery language about fighting for “liberty, patriotism, and everything dear to the American character”; this would be considered “spin” in today’s parlance. His words didn’t get him any reinforcements, but the letter did succeed in making Travis a martyr. Travis never mentioned his refusal to abide by Mexican laws abolishing slavery in any of his letters.

The heroic Anglo narrative of the Alamo also excludes the many local Tejanos who fought alongside the white rebels, including Juan Seguin, Gregorio Esparza, Jose Toribio Losoya, and others. Monuments were built to Bowie and Travis—who were actually Mexican citizens, while Crockett was officially an immigrant.

However, Losoya, unlike Crockett, didn’t surrender. He died fighting at the Battle of the Alamo. Seguin, who hated Santa Anna because he saw him as a dictator, joined the Texas Revolution and served as a captain, leading troops against Santa Anna’s rule.

But good luck finding any T-shirts in the Alamo gift shop with their likeness.

Esparza was the last Texan defender to enter the Alamo. He was instrumental in the taking of the squares on the north side of the city during the siege of Bexar. A former principal of Esparza Elementary School, Melva Matkin, realized that her students, mostly Hispanic, had no idea who Esparza even was. She rectified this by creating a two-week schoolwide unit on Esparza.

Statue of William Travis at the Alamo drawing a line in the sand, which never happened.

Several African Americans also fought at the Alamo, both free and enslaved, men and women, who were also written out of the historical record. A man named Joe, enslaved by Travis, fought bravely but remained enslaved even after Travis was killed. Greenbury B. Logan, a freedman serving as a private, fought so heroically that he was issued a donation certificate for 640 acres of land; at the same time, a Texas legislator submitted a formal proposal barring free Black people from emigrating to Texas.

Speaking of Travis, the popular phrase “drawing a line in the sand” came from a supposed gesture Travis made at the entrance to the mission. You can see it when you visit the Big Lie shrine. As cool as that move might have been, it simply didn’t happen. Some five decades after the battle occurred, an amateur historian described the moment in an 1888 book entitled A New History for Texas Schools; an ignored and forgotten footnote read: “Some unknown author has written the following imaginary speech of Travis.” 

Of course, a bunch of racist settlers refusing to follow Mexican laws on abolition, with most killed because it was too late to escape does not make for much of a hero story. Yet this kind of revisionist storytelling has had real damaging consequences, even affecting our foreign policy. American politicians have often referenced the Alamo as a justification for spreading American democracy to third-world nations, including Texas’ own President Lyndon Johnson:

Vietnam Women’s Memorial in Washington, D.C.

The most celebrated aspect of the Texas struggle for independence—the vow at the Alamo to fight to the death, to never retreat—took a darker turn in Johnson’s decision to pursue the war in Vietnam.

“Hell, Vietnam is just like the Alamo,” Johnson told the National Security Council.

“Hell, it’s just like if you were down at that gate and you were surrounded and you damn well needed somebody. Well, I’m going to go—and I thank the Lord that I’ve got men who want to go with me.”

Another Texas politician, George W. Bush, loved to reference the Alamo in his speeches; Texas soldiers even erected a large replica of the Alamo on a military base outside of Baghdad. Even Donald Trump, who has no connection to Texas, brought up the Alamo in service of his personal persecution complex during his last State of the Union address.

Memorial on the Alamo grounds

It’s been pointed out to me many times that without the Alamo myth, the story of Texas is no different than the founding of Iowa … except it’s actually worse. After all, at least Iowa wasn’t founded as a slaveholding republic. Yet many Texans feel they need the Alamo story. As one of the authors of Forget the Alamo stated, the myth speaks to what many Texans desperately want to believe about their state: that it arose from heroic circumstances, and that there’s a reason Texas is special. This includes the current crop of Republican Texas legislators.

Instead of allowing critical thinking and a serious examination of the historical record, Abbott and his allies decided to go the despotic route and unilaterally declare the false mythology is now fact. In a move that critics decry as a pure expression of fascism, the Texas governor requires his “patriotic education” to be provided at state parks, landmarks, monuments and museums. Additionally, a pamphlet about Texas history, devoid of any negativity, is distributed to anyone who receives a Texas driver’s license.

As part of Republicans’ war against critical race theory, another new Texas law severely limits how teachers can address slavery, the Holocaust, or other “controversial” topics. The Texas law requires “multiple perspectives when discussing widely debated and currently controversial” issues.

Gina Peddy, executive director of curriculum and instruction for the Carroll Independent School District, recently addressed teachers in a training session on what books they are allowed to have in classroom libraries. She conceded that teachers are “terrified” of the law, and offered advice, using an awful example with the Holocaust.

The only books that offer a “differing perspective” that the Holocaust was a good thing or didn’t happen are white supremacist, Nazi garbage. Yet the new Texas law demands that those viewpoints get represented.  

Furthermore, one of the prohibitions under the law is that teachers can’t talk about the belief that one race is superior over the other. The problem with that is Texas’ founding documents specifically declare that the Caucasian race was superior to the African American race as a justification for slavery. That’s in the historical record. A teacher therefore can’t have a discussion about widely held beliefs during that time period—a belief which directly led to the Civil War. However, it’s perfectly acceptable for a teacher to have a lesson plan that argues the “pros” and “cons” of slavery, because, you know, balance.

Without a hint of irony, Abbott also approved a ludicrous law that forbids social media companies from “censoring” conservatives, even if they violate user agreements designed to slow the spread of dangerous disinformation. So on one hand, teachers are being censored from teaching the realities of Texas’ history, while on the other, Texans can sue Facebook if the platform flags a post recommending people eat horse paste instead of getting a lifesaving vaccine.

It’s beyond frustrating, but despite the failure in leadership, my love for Texas and its people (and its barbecue) endure. Its right-wing slant is due to a combination of voter suppression, a constant campaign of disinformation, and of course, extreme gerrymandering.

Yet the Republican Party continues to lose its grip on power ever so slowly, which is why they have resorted to extreme fascist tactics to curb democracy, such as promoting white supremacist propaganda, attacking voting rights, and severely oppressing women and minorities.

Yet these extremists have gone too far. Texas is not the deep red bastion that their political representation would have you believe it is. There are far more democracy-loving citizens who believe in education than hatemongers who want to use white supremacist propaganda to hold onto power. If enough Texans get angry enough to vote, the Republican dominance of Texas could end—along with the multiple pain points that its citizens are suffering right now. It will happen, sooner or later.

Facing reality with the Alamo is a good place to start. I understand people’s fear of the truth, but the truth is what history is about. And there were true stories of heroism from that day, but we can’t learn about them if we insist on teaching a myth. Learning the negatives about the Alamo doesn’t wipe away any of the positives, and the honest perspective can show how much progress has been made. In the case of Colonial Williamsburg, the new buildings and programs make the place seem much more real, much more inclusive, and much more compelling. I saw more people of color there than I’ve ever seen before, and white visitors didn’t stop buying tickets. The museum simply grew up, and it’s time the Alamo did as well.  

I recently visited family in San Antonio, and returned to the Alamo for the first time in two decades. The visitors were overwhelmingly white, and there’s a good reason for that. My Tejano friends told me that, as children, they hated the Alamo part of social studies, because they were made to feel less American. A Tejano public artist put it this way: “You feel like you’re a bad person, a bad Mexican, when you’re there.”

The best way to remember the Alamo, ironically, is to forget it—or at least the false myth being presented as fact for conservative propaganda. Real history happened at the Alamo, and learning about it won’t make the Texas experiment any less amazing—it will just be much more honest and inclusive.  

However, that’s not the goal for Republican lawmakers. This is another tactic for mobilizing white grievance over what they believe is their right to dictate the heroic narrative. Republicans have much to fear in Texas, to include their state’s rapidly changing demographics, and Americans’ increasing willingness to confront racism.

Separate protests for voting rights and reproductive freedom.

Whether they admit it or not, these Republican lawmakers are acting out of fear because they realize that their day of reckoning is upon them. No matter how many book events they cancel, no matter how much they try to control what teachers teach, and no matter how much they try to suppress their citizens’ right to vote, it won’t stop the change coming to Texas.

The citizens of the Lone Star State are angry and taking a stand. It’s kind of their thing, even if that’s not exactly what happened at the Alamo.