The Philadelphia Museum of Art—in the city where the Declaration of Independence was drafted and signed—is marking the 250th anniversary of the founding of America with an exhibit that harps on our country’s flaws so obsessively that the wall labels read more like an indictment than a celebration.
Slavery and brutal treatment of Native Americans are both indefensible, and neither should be sanitized out of the American story. Yet rather than finding some sensible middle ground that acknowledges America’s imperfections while also celebrating the 250th anniversary, the museum’s show of American art is heavy-handedly accusatory.
All the guilt-mongering in the wall label text is a shame, because there are plenty of gorgeous pictures on display, many of them on loan from John S. Middleton, the owner of the Philadelphia Phillies baseball team, and his wife Leigh, from what is widely regarded as “one of the finest collections of American art in private hands.”
The guilt-mongering begins before you even enter a gallery. In a hallway leading into the American art section, there is a land acknowledgment: “The Philadelphia Museum of Art recognizes Philadelphia as part of Lenapehokink, the ancestral homelands of the Lenape peoples. A long history of broken treaties, forced migrations, and fraudulent agreements such as the Walking Purchase of 1737 displaced many of the Lenape from this land. This museum and our staff strive to understand our place within the legacy of colonization… by committing to build a more inclusive and equitable space for all.”
Entering the gallery, a wall label asserts that “The arrival of William Penn in 1682 and the founding of the Pennsylvania colony launched an era of British colonization that dramatically increased the number of European immigrants who encroached on and stole Lenape lands.”
The concept of “Lenape lands” is anachronistic because exclusive or permanent land ownership did not exist before Europeans arrived. The Pennsylvania Historical & Museum Commission had pointed out, but the wall label omits: “Consistent with the Society of Friends’ (Quakers) belief that all people are children of God and should be considered equals, William Penn attempted to treat Native Americans fairly. Although King Charles II granted to Penn in 1681 the land he called ‘Pennsylvania,’ a vast expanse including unexplored wilderness, Penn purchased each portion from Native American residents before selling subdivisions to colonists.”
Another panel distances the museum from the use of the words “Indian Chief” on a portrait frame. The label states: “Both words betray a European, colonial outlook that collapses individual identity and varied leadership roles in Lenape society into generic, stereotypic terms.” This is precisely the same kind of stereotyping the label criticizes but applies to different targets.
As if stealing lands from Native Americans is not bad enough, the museum proceeds to fault Europeans for bringing slavery to America with the sweeping accusation that “Nearly all works of art in the American galleries bear connections to slavery.”
If Native Americans and enslaved people aren’t enough victims of America, there are more. A wall label about the American Revolution proclaims: “When Thomas Jefferson famously declared in 1776 that ‘all men are created equal,’ his words did not ring true for many groups in the colonies. Enslaved people, Indigenous people, women, and others tried to discern what their opportunities might be in these new United States.” This is inaccurate; Jefferson’s words rang true, which is why these groups fought so hard for equal rights. The label also attributes some Revolutionary support by “white men” to hope that independence would bring westward expansion onto Indigenous lands—a theory with weak historical backing.
A four-sentence summary of the period 1740–1790 notes artistic freedom was not equally available: “artists of African descent, Indigenous artists, and women artists navigated limited opportunities for independence.”
A wall label about the period 1810 to 1840 follows a similar pattern. Its final paragraph castigates: “The freedom to experience the nation’s prosperity did not extend to all, however. This moment of American expansion and opportunity relied heavily on enslaved labor and the displacement of Indigenous people.”
Another label reports that President Andrew Jackson “advocated for the seizure of indigenous lands for colonial settlement, which led to violent displacement along the brutal ‘Trail of Tears.’” This flattens a complex story that includes Jackson’s opponents—also Americans—who argued against removal and at least considered his claim that the policy was meant to prevent annihilation.
The period 1850 to 1880 is described through “Manifest Destiny,” a vision in which Indigenous people were dismissed, dislocated, or destroyed.
Part of the problem here is structural. This is an art museum, not a history museum or American Indian Museum. While some historical context is necessary for the art, wall labels have limited space and don’t easily accommodate nuance.
Even with these constraints, the exhibit’s approach is over the top. The messaging reads like it was written at the peak of contemporary social movements and academic discussions on racial justice. It has not been updated to reflect changing national perspectives. Such messages generate backlash rather than bridge understanding. They also insult minority groups by depicting them as lacking agency—helpless victims of European colonizers without any humanizing flaws.
When wandering into another wing devoted to European art, curators have managed to display works without broad editorial denunciations of the cultures that created them—even though historical atrocities under Communism and Nazism dwarf anything seen in America. When I inquired about this disparity via email, I received no response.
It is difficult to escape the conclusion that part of the problem is political. Curators may believe any country electing Donald Trump must be irredeemable; they hate the president so much they disdain the nation that elected him. The same spirit underlies headlines such as “America Is Anxious About Its 250th Birthday—So Are Historians.”
Despite these flaws, America has produced some of the world’s most beautiful art. It is worth visiting Philadelphia to see them—ignoring the wall labels and focusing on the paintings instead. The best convey what the text misses: confidence, pride, and patriotic optimism that for all of America’s imperfections, 250 years in, it remains humanity’s best hope.