Like Nemesis of Greek tragedy, the central problem of America

W. E. B. Du Bois, prophet of justice and seer of America’s deepest wounds, wrote with the weight of history upon his pen: “Like Nemesis of Greek tragedy, the central problem of America after the Civil War, as before, was the black man: those four million souls whom the nation had used and degraded, and on whom the South had built an oligarchy similar to the colonial imperialism of today, erected on cheap colored labor and raising raw material for manufacture.” In this mighty sentence he unites past and present, myth and history, tragedy and truth. He invokes Nemesis, goddess of retribution, to remind us that sins against humanity return upon the sinner, and that America’s greatest trial lay not in battlefields, but in how it would treat the millions once enslaved, now set free yet unwelcomed.

The origin of this saying is found in Du Bois’s classic work Black Reconstruction in America (1935), in which he sought to correct the distorted histories that painted Reconstruction as a failure of Black freedom and portrayed slavery as benign. He shattered those lies with clarity, showing that after the Civil War, the United States stood at a crossroads. Four million freed people carried not only the scars of bondage but also the hopes of democracy. Yet instead of honoring their humanity, the South rebuilt its power on systems of exploitation—sharecropping, Jim Crow laws, and terror—that mirrored the imperialism of European empires abroad. Thus, Du Bois declared, the tragedy of America was its refusal to embrace its Black citizens as equals.

The meaning of this statement runs deep. Du Bois teaches us that the end of war does not end injustice. The Civil War destroyed slavery, but it did not destroy the hunger for dominance, nor the structures of wealth built on stolen labor. The South, like empires overseas, relied on cheap colored labor to grow raw materials—cotton, tobacco, rice—that fed the engines of industry. The oligarchy that rose in the ashes of war differed little from colonial powers in Africa or Asia, exploiting human beings as resources rather than honoring them as souls. Nemesis, Du Bois warns, would not let such crimes go unpunished.

Consider the real story of Reconstruction’s betrayal. For a brief time after the war, Black men were elected to office, schools were built, and communities flourished with the hope of equality. Yet through violence and manipulation, white supremacists dismantled these gains. The Compromise of 1877 marked the retreat of federal protection, and the South fell into decades of segregation and disenfranchisement. Four million freed souls had been promised liberty, but instead were thrust into a new form of bondage. Du Bois likened this not only to domestic oppression but also to colonial imperialism, where nations proclaimed civilization while profiting from subjugation.

History bears witness to the Nemesis Du Bois foresaw. The refusal to heal the wound of slavery poisoned America’s future. Jim Crow bred resentment and despair; lynchings terrorized generations; systemic inequality haunted schools, jobs, and homes. And still, as the twentieth century dawned, the nation found itself struggling with the same question: how would it treat the Black man? In Du Bois’s words, this was not a side issue, but the central problem of democracy itself. A nation that denied justice to millions within could never fully claim to be free.

Yet Du Bois does not leave us with despair—his words are also a call to courage. He invokes Greek tragedy not to doom America, but to warn it: tragedy may be inevitable when hubris blinds a people, but wisdom can come through recognition and change. The Nemesis of racial injustice need not destroy America if America has the strength to repent, to reform, to embrace those it once cast aside. The tragedy lies not in fate, but in the stubbornness of men who refuse to learn.

The lesson is plain for all who hear: beware of building prosperity upon the degradation of others. Whether in nations or in personal lives, injustice done to the weak will one day return upon the strong. To exploit is to invite Nemesis; to honor is to invite peace. In your own life, see those whom society forgets, and lift them up. Do not profit from the silence of the oppressed, but stand beside them, for their struggle is bound to your own.

Practical wisdom demands this: educate yourself about history, not as it was falsely told, but as it truly happened. Confront injustice wherever it lurks—in the workplace, in law, in daily speech. Support those who labor under systems designed to exploit them. And above all, remember that the health of a nation is measured not by the wealth of its few, but by the dignity of its many. Du Bois has handed us the warning: the tragedy of America is its treatment of its Black citizens. If we would avoid Nemesis, we must strive for justice.