Restoring Columbus Day's True Meaning
In defense of American tradition, President Trump said he was "restoring" the holiday celebrating the Italian explorer but inadvertently revived the day's original intent to reverse discrimination.
President Donald Trump persistently objects to anything that detracts from what he and other “Make America Great Again” followers consider integral to American greatness and tradition. The latest example is Trump’s stated intention-or desire, depending on your perspective-to restore and rename certain holidays.
Last week, Trump declared that he was “bringing back” Columbus Day, the October federal holiday commemorating the arrival of the Italian explorer in the New World. His justification was simple: the Italian-American community deserves to have the hero of their ancestral homeland recognized for his role in initiating the events that led to the formation of the United States.
There are a few problems with Trump’s declaration. First, Columbus Day was never canceled; it remains a federal holiday listed under that name. Second, the additional observance of Indigenous Peoples’ Day — acknowledging that Native Americans already inhabited the New World when Columbus arrived in 1492 — is largely ceremonial. Communities are free to recognize the holiday as they see fit.
Still, Trump framed his statement to suggest that something had been taken from Italian Americans — if not from all Americans — by elevating Indigenous Peoples’ Day alongside Columbus Day. The irony is that Columbus Day itself was born out of the racism and discrimination faced by Italian immigrants.
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, native-born Americans, particularly white Anglo-Saxon Protestants (WASPs), were highly discriminatory toward anyone who didn’t share their ethnicity or religion. Catholics were especially distrusted, viewed as taking orders from the Pope in Rome rather than respecting American democratic institutions. Irish, Italian, and Chinese immigrants were routinely vilified.
While no laws explicitly banned Irish or Italian immigration, Congress passed several measures that disproportionately curtailed immigration from those regions:
The Naturalization Act of 1790 restricted citizenship to “free white persons,” a definition that technically included the Irish and Italians but still reinforced cultural and religious discrimination.
The Immigration Act of 1917 restricted immigration from Asia and imposed literacy tests that discouraged Eastern and Southern European arrivals.
The Emergency Quota Act of 1921 limited immigration to 3% of the existing U.S. population of each nationality, favoring Northern and Western Europeans and severely reducing Italian and Polish immigration.
The Immigration Act of 1924 cut the quota to 2% based on the 1890 Census, virtually eliminating new immigration from Southern and Eastern Europe.
The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, while targeting Chinese workers, reinforced the idea that race and national origin were valid bases for exclusion. Though modestly amended in 1943 to allow 105 Chinese immigrants per year, it wasn’t fully repealed until the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965, which abolished national origin quotas.
Broader social movements underpinned these legislative efforts. The Know-Nothing Movement of the 1850s gave rise to nativist sentiment that fueled widespread discrimination. Immigrants — especially Irish and Italians — were harassed, denied jobs, and excluded from public life. As dramatized in the film Gangs of New York, ethnic and religious tensions often erupted into violence.
From 1840 to 1870, help wanted ads often included notes saying Irish and Italians “Need Not Apply.” Even as the signs and ads disappeared, prejudice endured in housing, banking, and political representation. Many nativists did not consider Irish or Italians “fully white,” and their treatment in some regions resembled that of freed slaves in the South.
Over time, the growing political influence of Irish and Italian communities began to change their fortunes. In cities like Boston and New York, they became powerful voting blocs. Boston emerged as a center of Irish-American political strength, culminating in the rise of the Kennedy family.
By the 1930s, Italian Americans, weary of marginalization, sought cultural affirmation. They lobbied the federal government to make Columbus Day a national holiday. For them, Columbus was not just an explorer — he was a symbol of Italian contribution to the American story.
Italian Americans had celebrated Columbus Day informally since 1866. In 1892, President Benjamin Harrison proclaimed a one-time national observance to mark the 400th anniversary of Columbus’s landing — and as a conciliatory gesture following the lynching of 11 Italian immigrants in New Orleans in 1891. In 1934, Congress passed legislation designating October 12 as Columbus Day, and in 1937, President Franklin D. Roosevelt established it as a federal holiday after lobbying by the Knights of Columbus.
Through this lens, Columbus Day is less about honoring a flawed and controversial explorer, who, notably, was not the first European to reach the Americas, and more about acknowledging the decades of discrimination faced by Italian Americans. It stands as a cultural and political milestone, much like Juneteenth, which recognizes the delayed emancipation of enslaved Black Americans and the legacy of slavery.
Other countries mark Columbus Day in ways that reflect the idea that it is less about the explorer and more about the wrongs done to marginalized communities. Italy, Columbus’s birthplace, does not formally observe the day. Spain, which funded his voyages, uses Día de la Hispanidad to celebrate national identity and global cultural influence, not the explorer himself. In much of Latin America, October 12 is recognized under names like Día de la Raza or Día de la Resistencia Indígena, where the emphasis is on indigenous resilience, cultural diversity, and the legacy of colonialism.
Rather than centering on Columbus, these commemorations reflect how different societies have grappled with the historical consequences of European expansion, often by shifting the focus away from the man and toward those affected by his arrival.
Columbus Day didn’t need restoration. But in attempting to stoke cultural grievance and rally his base, Trump has inadvertently spotlighted one of America’s darker traditions — its recurring tendency to exclude and marginalize groups based on race, religion, and national origin.