Trump's reversal of Fort Gregg-Adams back to "Fort Lee" isn't about honoring a different soldier—it's a barely disguised restoration of Confederate legacy that sends a devastating message to Black families and service members while potentially violating congressional law.
🏛️ The Name That Never Sat Right
Two years ago, Fort Lee in Virginia was renamed Fort Gregg-Adams, honoring Lt. Gen. Arthur J. Gregg and Lt. Col. Charity Adams Earley—two trailblazing African American Army officers whose service helped break racial and gender barriers in the U.S. military.
Lt. Gen. Gregg rose from a segregated Army supply clerk to become the Army's first Black three-star general in logistics. When he first arrived at Fort Lee as a second lieutenant in 1950, he was refused entry into the base's whites-only officer club. "At that time, there were two officers’ clubs," Gregg recalled. The cruel irony? The same officers' club that had excluded him would later host his retirement ceremony in 1981, and when the base was renamed Fort Gregg-Adams, that very club was renamed in his honor.
Lt. Col. Adams led the 6888th Postal Battalion, the only all-Black, all-female unit to serve overseas in World War II. At just 25, Adams was placed in command of the all-women, predominantly African American unit charged with delivering mail to nearly 7 million soldiers fighting in Europe. When a general attempted to undermine her command by threatening to "send a white first lieutenant down here to show you how to run this unit," Adams responded with steel: "Over my dead body, sir." The general threatened a court-martial, but Adams countered by filing charges against him for using "language stressing racial segregation." Both backed down, and the general later told Adams that her resolve had changed his perspective on Black service members.
Together, their names stood for courage, excellence, and the long-overdue recognition of Black Americans' service to a country that systematically excluded them.
But last week, Donald Trump reversed that honor—unilaterally announcing the base would return to the name "Fort Lee," claiming it would now honor Private Fitz Lee, a Black Medal of Honor recipient from the Spanish-American War. While Fitz Lee deserves recognition, this wasn't about honoring him. This was a barely disguised dog whistle—a restoration of the Confederate legacy that Robert E. Lee represented for over a century.
⚰️ The Ghost of Robert E. Lee
Robert E. Lee—slaveholder, traitor, and commander of the Confederate Army—was the original namesake of Fort Lee. As Congresswoman Jennifer McClellan noted when the base was renamed in 2023, Lee was "a traitor to the United States and an unapologetic proponent of slavery in America" who "worked to uphold coercive systems of power at a tenuous time in our nation's history".

In 2023, bipartisan efforts led by the Congress-mandated Naming Commission removed Lee's name and honored Gregg and Adams in his place. The commission's work wasn't arbitrary—of eight Virginians who were West Point graduates and Army colonels at the outbreak of the Civil War, only Lee chose to fight against the United States, and "the main difference between these eight was that Lee and his family enslaved other humans".
Now, Trump has reversed that decision, claiming to honor a different "Lee"—Private Fitz Lee. But the true intent is clear. During his speech at Fort Liberty, Trump specifically mentioned "Fort Robert E. Lee," revealing what this is really about. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has been able to sidestep Congressional law by renaming bases after people with the same names as the Confederate officials. This legal technicality fools no one.
This isn't just historical revisionism—it's a reassertion of white supremacy, cloaked in plausible deniability. It's racism by another name.
📜 The Law and the Lie
Trump isn't just breaking with tradition—he's openly defying federal law. The original renaming of Fort Lee followed the 2021 National Defense Authorization Act, which Congress passed with overwhelming bipartisan support after overriding Trump's veto. That law created the Naming Commission and included a provision forbidding the naming of bases after anyone who voluntarily served or held leadership in the Confederate States of America.
This wasn't some executive preference—it was a congressional mandate that became federal law when lawmakers overrode Trump's first-term veto. Now, he's brazenly defying that law, claiming executive authority to undo what Congress specifically required.
Virginia Senator Tim Kaine raises constitutional concerns about whether the President can override a congressionally mandated process. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has been able to sidestep the congressional provision by renaming bases after people with the same names as the Confederate officials. This legal technicality fools no one but may provide just enough cover to avoid confrontation with Congress.
The financial cost is staggering, too. The Army spent $1.4 million to rename Fort Lee to Fort Gregg-Adams and about $9.3 million overall to rename nine installations. Now, taxpayers will pay again to change it back, all so Trump can defy federal law to satisfy his Confederate nostalgia.
But legality and cost aren't the only issues. This is about truth. This is about memory. This is about who we claim to honor—and who we silence.
🧬 What Families Say
The families of Gregg and Adams weren't just disappointed. They were devastated.
Alicia Collier, Gregg's daughter, said, "My father worked his entire life trying to move the Army and, as a result, the nation forward, and now we're watching it slip backwards." Gregg was one of the first service members in recent history to have a base named after him while he was still alive. He died in August at the age of 96.
Stanley Earley, Adams' son, described the change as not just disappointing but "humiliating" and "terrible," saying it was "a lot of things, but mostly, it's just sad". He noted the bitter irony that this erasure came just weeks after Speaker Mike Johnson honored the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion with a Congressional Gold Medal.
The timing makes this erasure even more pointed. Just months before Trump stripped Adams' name from the base, Tyler Perry's Netflix film "The Six Triple Eight" brought her story to millions of viewers, with Kerry Washington portraying Adams as the commanding officer who led the only all-Black, all-female unit to serve overseas in World War II. The film premiered in December 2024 and became Perry's most-watched Netflix movie, reaching the Top 10 in over 85 countries. Adams' heroism was finally getting the recognition it deserved, only to have Trump erase her name from history months later.

Neither family was contacted before Trump's announcement. They learned about erasing their parents' legacy the same way the rest of us did—from a presidential speech designed to energize his base.
Just as telling: no coverage mentions Fitz Lee's family being consulted either. The Medal of Honor recipient died young at age 33 on September 14, 1899, just months after his heroic rescue mission in Cuba, and genealogical records show no mention of marriage or children, suggesting he likely has no living descendants. This makes him the perfect political prop—a Black hero with the right last name and no living voice to complicate Trump's narrative.

To be clear: Private Fitz Lee absolutely deserves recognition. He served with the 10th Cavalry Regiment (Buffalo Soldiers) and was among 50 soldiers chosen for a special mission behind enemy lines in Cuba to reinforce Cuban freedom fighters. On June 30, 1898, at the Battle of Tayacoba, after several unsuccessful rescue attempts, Lee volunteered with four other soldiers to rescue wounded comrades stranded on shore under enemy fire. They successfully surprised Spanish forces and freed all the injured soldiers. His Medal of Honor citation reads: "Voluntarily went ashore in the face of the enemy and aided in the rescue of his wounded comrades; this after several previous attempts had been frustrated." He was awarded the Medal of Honor on June 23, 1899.
Lee's health declined rapidly after the rescue mission, with severely limited vision, swollen limbs, and abdominal pain that left him bedridden for three months. He was medically discharged on July 5, 1899, just days after receiving the Medal of Honor. In constant pain and blind, Fitz Lee died at the home of a friend in Kansas, essentially dying from complications related to his heroic service.
By historical standards, Medal of Honor recipients routinely have military installations named after them. Of the 40 million Americans who have served since the Civil War, only 3,519 have earned the Medal of Honor, making it the nation's highest military decoration. His service rises to the level warranting base naming.
But the cruel irony is unmistakable: while Trump claims to honor this Buffalo Soldier, his administration is simultaneously erasing Buffalo Soldier history from American institutions. The Buffalo Soldiers National Museum in Houston lost access to a $500,000 federal grant after Trump put the entire staff of the Institute of Museum and Library Services on leave. The grant was specifically designed to support African American museums and the development of museum professionals preserving Black military history.
Meanwhile, the Army plans to close more than 20 base museums in the next three years, many of which house irreplaceable Buffalo Soldier artifacts and exhibits. These cuts will eliminate educational programs, veteran services, and youth engagement that preserve the very history Trump claims to honor by naming a base after Fitz Lee.
The museum's CEO, Desmond Bertrand-Pitts, perfectly captured the contradiction: "We are American history. There are so many freedoms that we now enjoy that would have not been possible had it not been for the United States Colored Troops and for the Buffalo Soldiers." Yet Trump's policies systematically defund the institutions that tell these stories.
Suppose this were truly about honoring Fitz Lee. Wouldn't genuine respect have involved a thoughtful process of researching his legacy and engaging historians rather than simply using his name as a convenient cover announced during a political rally? The timing and manner of this "honor"—coupled with the simultaneous erasure of Buffalo Soldier history—reveals its true purpose: maintaining the "Fort Lee" name while providing plausible deniability for what is really a restoration of Confederate legacy.
🪞 What This Means for Us
This is not just about a sign outside a base.
The broader pattern is systematic erasure. Trump has already ordered the removal of "improper ideology" from Smithsonian museums, targeting the National Museum of African American History and Culture. The Army plans to close over 20 base museums that preserve military history. Federal libraries are being purged of books about civil rights leaders.
This Fort Gregg-Adams reversal isn't an isolated incident—it's part of a coordinated campaign to erase Black achievement from American memory. The question is whether this country is truly ready to reckon with its past, or whether it prefers to disguise racism in new, palatable packaging. Will progress prove performative or permanent? Will Black excellence be respected, or replaced, when it becomes politically inconvenient?
Will we—those who believe in justice, equity, and a history that tells the truth—keep fighting when the backlash comes? Because it will. It just did.
The Common Dreams analysis connecting Trump's actions to broader Confederate mythology is essential reading here. As writer Jeff Idelson notes, Trump's administration increasingly resembles "devotees of the Confederacy" who "have never surrendered the Lost Cause mythology." This Fort Gregg-Adams reversal is part of that larger pattern.
🧭 What We Can Do
📞 Call your Representatives and demand they defend the Naming Commission's original work. Ask them to block any funding or legislation that enables the reversal. Tim Kaine's office is already raising constitutional concerns—amplify that pressure.
🔎 Support Fort Gregg-Adams' legacy. Share the stories of Gregg and Adams from independent sources before they're erased. Here's where to start:
6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion (National WWII Museum)
Lt. Gen. Arthur Gregg biography (Wikipedia)
Charity Adams Earley (National Women's History Museum)
Army's first Black three-star general (Military Officers Association of America)
📚 Challenge the narrative. Don't let "Fort Lee" become normalized again without resistance. Teach what that name once meant—and why it was changed.
💸 Demand accountability for the wasteful spending. $1.4 million to rename, then millions more to change it back—all for the GOP’s confederate nostalgia.
🕊️ P.S. This Isn't Just About Bases
The same regime erasing Fort Gregg-Adams has made its racism explicit in other ways since the inauguration. Trump fired the only Black Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, calling him a "diversity hire" despite Gen. Charles Q. Brown's distinguished military record. The Education Department terminated $600 million in grants for minority teacher training, explicitly objecting that recruiting strategies were "based on race"—which was the entire point. Trump confronted South Africa's president with false claims of "white genocide," playing videos to support his fabricated narrative while ignoring actual violence against Black South Africans.
Trump has also retroactively made legal immigrants illegal, then sent ICE agents like the Gestapo to raid Home Depots, schools, and workplaces where brown people might be found. This administration has banned federal agencies from teaching about systemic racism, claiming that acknowledging America's racist history somehow makes the country "inherently racist." They've placed Palestinian students in deportation proceedings for peaceful campus protests, while declaring that "hard work" and "individualism" are aspects of "white culture" that museums shouldn't criticize.
When they say "heritage," they mean hierarchy. When they say "honor," they mean obedience. When they say "Fort Lee," they still mean Robert E. Lee.
Let's call it what it is: racism, by all its names.