The Bullock Texas State History Museum is an impressive piece of Texana, a hulking granite-faced structure across the street from the University of Texas campus.
Step inside and you’re confronted with a giant mural of longhorns, horses, and cowboys that promises to tell you “The Story of Texas.”
There are equally oversized quotes from famed author Larry McMurtry and others, telling you what an amazing state you’re currently standing in.
It’s an impressive introduction to the state’s official history museum, projecting an aura that feels akin to the great history museums of New York and Washington, DC. But after taking the tour, I’m here to tell you that the story of Texas, as told by the Bullock museum, leaves a lot to be desired.
It is, literally and figuratively, a whitewash. A (mostly) warts-free story told by people who want you to know that Texas is a great place and that almost nothing bad ever happened here.
That’s a problem when state leaders are doing their best to erase the reality of slavery from public schools, universities, and libraries. The late lieutenant governor’s passion project hasn’t been spared from an agenda that values spin over truth. The Bullock Museum is, to put it bluntly, a beautiful facade for public relations copy.
I’m not alone in my assessment: Just a few years ago, celebrated Houston Chronicle journalist Chris Tomlinson called it “a propaganda outlet.” (More on that later.)
“Historical accuracy really matters, especially around slavery, racism, and the displacement of indigenous people,” said David DeMatthews, a professor at the University of Texas’ College of Education and a former history teacher, in an interview with The Barbed Wire. “Because if students don’t understand the past injustices, it’s hard for them to make sense of what might be some present-day realities.”
Of course, this problem isn’t specific to Texas. The fight against so-called “woke” exhibits has been a national issue, too, with President Trump recently trying to influence the Smithsonian Institution’s framing of history. But Texas often sets the tone for the conservatism that spreads to rest of the country and, with more than 9 million visitors, the Bullock Museum plays a prominent role in showing how those in power view our state’s history.
Or, at least, how they want it taught.
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As I walked in on a recent Friday morning, a college-aged student was buying a ticket. The ticket seller asked where she was from. “Germany,” she said. Cologne, in particular.
Soon after entering, she buried herself in her phone.
In fairness to her, the first floor is pretty dry. It’s devoted almost entirely to the remains of a French ship, the “La Belle,” part of explorer Robert La Salle’s mission to establish a French colony on the Mississippi River. The La Belle sank off the coast of Texas in the late 1600s and the museum shows a large part of the remaining hull. If you want to see thousands of glass beads, or axe heads, or ammunition, recovered from the wreckage, they’re on display.
The ground level nods to Texas’ Indigenous peoples — and early colonizers. A touchscreen “Bison Matching Game,” challenges visitors to pair “American Indian objects” with the body parts they’re made from.
If the first floor represents a high point of historical accuracy, the climb upstairs takes you somewhere else entirely. On the second floor, the story shifts. Here, Texas is glorified as the noble project of freedom-loving colonists who were practically saints — and while slavery is (very briefly) acknowledged, it’s treated as little more than a historical footnote.
We learn about the “Father of Texas,” Stephen F. Austin, and other colonists who settled in Texas in the 1820s. The fact that they owned slaves, a major reason for their decision to revolt against Mexico, was only barely alluded to.
The closest you get to the S-word is a display about the beginnings of the colonists’ discontent with the Mexican government.
“While they envisioned a Texas that functioned and prospered like the American South, they were content to do so as Mexican citizens,” a display read. “Frustrated with their lack of representation in the Mexican government, they proposed Texas become a separate state in Mexico.”
As I got closer to the Texas Revolution I was informed that “men like (former Texas governor) Sam Houston and (Alamo commander) William Travis were independent minded and impatient with Mexico’s inability to provide adequate resources and defense of the Texas frontier.” (Presumably from Indigenous peoples who weren’t happy that they were there.)
It went on: “They wanted Texas to separate from Coahuila and then move toward complete independence.”
As I said, slavery was briefly acknowledged. In another placard about daily life in Texas, I was told that “many colonists still saw themselves as Americans, and were determined to build a slave-based farming economy in Texas.” But we’re never told who the “many colonists” were. Did they include Austin? Houston? Travis? The museum is quiet on that subject.
Finally, we come to the Texas Revolution. The Texans, it said, wanted “more autonomy” away from the “centralist government” that was being formed by the government in Mexico (which had outlawed slavery, the museum didn’t point out).
As a result, “Texans, both Anglo and Tejano, feared their liberties, property, economy, and way of life would soon be threatened. They knew revolution was inevitable.”
There was no mention of what that “property” was. The museum portrays the six-month Texas rebellion that ended in 1836 as a fight for patriotism and freedom, while omitting the fact that the state’s new Constitution explicitly legalized slavery — seven years after Mexico had abolished it.
The fact that Texans fought largely to preserve slavery was not just downplayed — it was essentially left out, even though it was a main cause of the rebellion. The museum treated the subject like an alcoholic family member who couldn’t make it to Thanksgiving (best not discussed around the dinner table).
Nonetheless, enslaved people couldn’t be completely ignored; they were a huge part of Texas’ growing population. According to the museum, Texas’ enslaved population totaled more than 182,000 people in 1860. That was about 30% of the state’s total 604,000 residents at the time.
Still, while in the Bullock museum, I heard or saw virtually nothing from that third of the state’s population.
Only one small exhibit was devoted to enslaved people in Texas, or “enslaved craftsmen,” as the exhibit called it. It contained no photos, just some pottery, a brick, and a pair of handmade chairs.
“Enslaved life was physically, emotionally, and mentally demanding,” a sign read. “Enslaved men and women worked long hours in poor conditions, suffered brutal treatment, and could be taken from their family at any time.”
There was never a mention of who owned the enslaved people.
Then the exhibit got inexplicably cheery: “Despite this, their work laid the foundations for Texas’s modern economy …. Some men and women later applied their skills in sewing, metalwork, pottery, building, and other crafts to become small business owners.”
According to the Bullock museum, while slavery may have been rough, it taught valuable entrepreneurial skills.
There are many drawbacks to teaching such revised versions of history, said DeMatthews, the professor at the University of Texas’ College of Education.
Leaving out the experiences of Black, Latino, or Indigenous communities sends a harmful message to students, he said.
“It sends a message to them that they don’t really exist, and they don’t really matter, their voices are not heard,” he said.
I reached out to the Bullock museum last week with questions about how certain subjects — like slavery — seemed to be downplayed in “The Story of Texas.” As of press time, I did not receive a response.
In lieu of direct answers, the Bullock’s website states that the museum’s core values include “leadership, excellence, accessibility, diversity, engagement, and relevance.”
“We believe that the exploration of our history nurtures personal and collective identity in a diverse world, that it teaches vital skills, that it is the foundation for strong, vibrant communities, and is a catalyst for economic growth,” it states. “History helps people envision a better future, inspires leaders, and when saved, preserved, and shared, becomes the legacy from which future generations expand their opportunities for growth in a civil society.”
There are, to be sure, attempts from the museum to celebrate the history and culture of Texans of color, like a 2021 event called Reclaiming Our Stories: Preserving Texas’ African American Placemaking History or a celebration of American Indian Heritage Day later this month.
Still, the fact remains that the museum’s central display repeatedly minimizes hardships that marginalized groups faced.
Who controls the Bullock Museum? Pretty much who you’d think.
The museum is a division of The State Preservation Board, which also oversees the Texas State Capitol and grounds. The board of directors includes chairman Republican Gov. Greg Abbott; co-vice chairman and Republican Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick; co-vice chairman and Republican Speaker of the Texas House, state Rep. Dustin Burrows; and Republican Texas state Sen. Charles Schwertner.
Texas has long presented a revised version of its own history — and lawmakers have worked hard in recent years to further sanitize its slave-owning origins. Last year, Texas approved a Bible-infused curriculum that critics said downplays the country’s slave-holding origins.
For example, a kindergarten lesson tells students that George Washington and Thomas Jefferson “realized that slavery was wrong and founded the country so that Americans could be free,” omitting that both men enslaved people. Meanwhile a second-grade lesson says “slavery was wrong, but it was practiced in most nations throughout history,” while ignoring the uniquely race-based system in America.
That has effects on not just students, but teachers, too.
“It constrains teachers, it creates confusion… and has this overall chilling effect, discouraging teachers from teaching anything that’s complex or controversial, even when it’s historically grounded,” DeMatthews said.
This has serious consequences for our ability to self-govern in the future.
“If students are not learning an accurate history, they’re not as prepared to engage in our democracy, they’re not necessarily able to fully understand certain policy debates,” DeMatthews said. “They may not know what justice should look like if they don’t understand some of the civil rights victories that happened in the 1960s and ’70s.”
Texas, of course, is famous for mythologizing itself, as generations of schoolkids are taught about historical events like the Battle of the Alamo, sometimes with little context.
Despite every Texas gradeschooler going through Texas History classes, the state was largely disregarded by the elites writing history during the country’s early years.
For decades, prior to the discovery of oil in the early 1900s, Texas was a backwater and ignored by prominent American historians, DeMatthews said. In that vacuum, it made up its own stories.
“Historians from 100 years ago weren’t really focused on Texas history,” he said. “I think what’s happened is, we missed a full accounting of historical truth and instead, myth has replaced it.”
But Texas was good at concocting exciting stories to fill the void.
Texas’ myths can be captivating, said Jason Stanford, co-author of the book “Forget the Alamo,” which examined the role slavery played in the famous battle. And they’re adopted by longtime residents as well as newcomers, he told The Barbed Wire.
“You come to a place and you want to be accepted,” he said. “It’s just part of being human… And it’s a very seductive myth. It’s a lot of fun.”
As a result, though, “kids are gonna get on school buses and they’re gonna go to the Alamo and be taught this heroic Anglo narrative… and it has been happening for generations.”
Which can easily lead to ingrained narratives that persist into adulthood. For instance, Stanford said his book didn’t contain anything that historians didn’t already know about Texas history.
One example: Despite the myth that Alamo defenders valiantly fought to the death, historians now agree that many, including Davy Crockett, probably surrendered and were executed.
“But to regular people who had been raised on fourth-grade Texas history, they were like, ‘What the hell?’” he said.
Teaching kids incorrect information may sometimes come from good intentions, Stanford said, but there’s a significant downside.
“The problem is when the historiography of an event … matures to a point where historians are saying, ‘Yeah, that’s not actually how it happened,’” he said. “And the politicians are saying, ‘Shut up.’ That’s what’s happening now.”
And that’s what happened when Stanford’s book was released in 2021. GOP politicians quickly lost their minds after being confronted with pesky historical facts, no matter that they were widely accepted by historians. Reviews from The Wall Street Journal and The Washington Post agreed that it built on widely accepted academic research.
Texas leaders, on the other hand, were enraged. A promotional event for the Penguin Press book — coincidentally at the Bullock Museum — was cancelled on the orders of Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick.
On social media, he called the book a “fact-free rewriting of Texas history” that had “no place” at the museum.
The controversy rocketed the book to the top of the Amazon sales charts. Some statewide candidates even mentioned it in their stump speeches, Stanford said. Chris Tomlinson, one of the book’s co-authors, claimed the move proved the Bullock Museum “is a propaganda outlet.”
At the time, Texas leaders were riding a right-wing backlash to the 2020 social justice protests that arose from the murder of George Floyd.
In 2021, Texas lawmakers passed the 1836 Project, a state-appointed advisory committee tasked with promoting a “patriotic” version of Texas history. (Sound familiar?)
It was a response to the Pulitzer Prize-winning “1619 Project,” which examines U.S. history from the date when enslaved people first arrived on American soil. (It also sparked a widespread backlash from the right, including in Texas.)
The 1836 Project’s main product was a pamphlet now given to new Texas drivers, highlighting themes like economic prosperity, opportunity, and iconic moments in state history.
It portrays Texas settlers as heroic pioneers, devotes little space to the Alamo, and briefly acknowledges slavery without detailing its central role in the state’s founding conflicts — or the brutality enslaved people faced.
Historians, though, say the pamphlet largely sanitizes or omits the perspectives of Indigenous people, Tejanos, Black Texans, and women, presenting a celebratory and incomplete story of Texas’ past.
Such minimization is found throughout the Bullock Museum.
The Civil War portion focused mostly on military glories, safeguarding the Texas coast from the Union navy, as well as lots of guns and Confederate uniforms. I also noticed a big cannon, ostensibly pointed at Union troops.
Slavery was acknowledged as a cause of the war, but it was also excused to a degree.
A display tells visitors that “countries without slavery also profited from enslaved labor in the United States,” singling out Britain which outlawed slavery in 1833 but “its textile industry needed Southern cotton.”
The implication was that slavery, while not great, was a necessary evil at the time.
Deeper in, there was a video called “Civil War Diaries,” in which we heard the words of people who lived through the cataclysm. Most focused on the lives of Southern whites, their military service, and struggles in their daily lives as the “Yankees” invaded.
Enslaved people got two short clips at the end. Equal time was given to a young girl who was preparing a pet turkey for the arrival of a Confederate general.
It was a common theme: very little about root causes, lots of ink spilled on guns and military valor, limited to no input from the people who actually experienced the atrocities.
Elsewhere, whenever subjects like civil rights came up, the museum let passive voice do the heavy lifting.
“Texans have experienced discrimination and oppression, sometimes violent, based solely on their race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, or disability,” one display read. “It is a struggle that continues today.”
Left unsaid was who was doing the oppressing. Perhaps the museum’s curators thought it was impolite to mention that the oppressing force was often the Texas government.
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On the third floor, the museum got into more comfortable Texas territory, with big exhibits on the space program, the oil and gas industry, and the much-loved “Austin City Limits” live music show.
I learned that oil and gas are “integral in all parts of our modern lives” and was treated to a full wall display of petroleum based products, like Crocs, basketballs, kayaks and frisbees.
A display informed me that 96% of manufactured products contain derivatives from natural gas and crude oil.
If the museum mentioned climate change at all, I missed it. Under a section about environmental impacts, it assured us that oil spills, explosions and habitat damage “were not uncommon” in the early days. However, “today’s oil and gas industry is working to limit environmental impact by learning from past mistakes,” it said.
It’s probably just a coincidence that some of the major donors to the museum are oil companies like Chevron and Hunt Consolidated.
The museum also featured far more voices of color in its Austin City Limits exhibit, complete with a walk-in theater with lots of clips from the show.
The message was clear: If you are a person of color who can play the guitar, the Bullock Museum was happy to show you off. But if you are a person of color who was victimized by Texas, you were almost invisible.
I’d seen enough. While the Bullock Museum wasn’t exactly one of those creationist museums with a life-sized Noah’s Ark, it was still too invested in its own mythology, presenting Texas as a paradise, settled by saintly white figures with few (if any) blemishes.
It doesn’t outright ignore events like slavery, but it minimizes them as much as possible and ignores almost all nuance. Mostly, it felt like I’d paid $17 for propaganda.
But there are serious consequences to teaching history like this — and to ignoring the truths of Texas’ origins. Telling the truth may be harder, but it’s necessary.
“Telling someone that Mexicans were essentially dispossessed in Texas, which was Mexico at the time, and that South Texas ranchers were kicked off their land by white Anglos, that changes what we have to do now,” Stanford said.
“Unfortunately, it also makes people feel attacked. Because we’re kind of immature in this country about history,” he added. “We think of it as good or bad, and that it reflects well or badly on you, something that happened 200 years ago.”
As I left the museum, I passed a group of school-aged kids examining a large buffalo statue on the first floor. The adults in charge were trying to get them to head up to the next floor.
“Come on boys!” one woman gently urged them. “Come on!”