History is Written by the Victors

It’s hard to give the Brits much credit when you pause and consider the devastating role they played in the Transatlantic slave trade. The impact of that history, centuries of stolen lives, cultural erasure, and racial trauma, still echoes loudly today. And yet, somewhere in the complex mess of imperialism, colonization, and global conflict, there was a Brit, one among many, who stood out in the 20th century for his bold stand against injustice and tyranny. That Brit was none other than Winston Churchill.

Churchill, who served as the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom during World War II, is remembered for his unwavering leadership in one of the darkest chapters of global history. He became a symbol of courage and defiance, standing tall in the face of Nazi aggression. His words carried weight. His speeches stirred the souls of the British people and their allies, offering resolve when hope was dim and helping to shape the spirit of resistance that fueled their fight. The man knew how to use language, not just to inform, but to inspire, to ignite, and to galvanize.

One of Churchill’s most famous speeches contains the repeated line: “We shall fight.” He said it again and again: “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets…” That repetition wasn’t random, it was intentional. It was a rhetorical rhythm meant to convey a truth that could not be ignored: that the British people would not break. They would not yield. They would fight for their survival and their freedom. Words like those live long beyond the moment they were spoken. That’s part of what makes them so powerful. In fact, some believe it was Churchill who coined the phrase, “History is written by the victors.” Now, I’m not exactly up to date on my Churchill history, so I’m not going to pretend to know the exact context in which he said it, or even if he did say it, but regardless of its origin, the phrase rings true. In fact, it resonates deeply with my lived experience.

A close mentor, friend, and pastor of mine teaches a course called The Power of Story. In this course, participants are invited to write out their life stories, not just as a reflective exercise, but as a spiritual practice. The idea is simple yet transformative: when you write your story, you begin to see how God has been present in your life, even in the moments you thought He wasn’t. You also begin to realize the power your story holds in encouraging, comforting, and guiding others. Our stories matter because they carry truth, and truth, in the hands of the honest, can be a tool for healing.

A major takeaway from that course is just how powerful storytelling is. And when you look at history, or rather, the telling of history, you start to understand why those who hold the power are often the ones doing the telling. The victor tells the story. They choose what gets remembered and what gets conveniently left out. They shape the narrative. And in doing so, they shape how future generations understand what really happened.

As someone from the Bahamas, I’ve encountered pieces of African diasporic history that are rarely, if ever, told in the United States in the past. It’s not that previous American textbooks claimed certain events didn’t happen, it’s that they simply left them out. These omissions weren’t accidents. They were calculated. Because sometimes telling the whole story means telling on yourself. And that’s something institutions, especially powerful ones, don’t like to do.

This leads me to a harder question, one I’ve wrestled with for years: Should this kind of selective storytelling be the practice of church leadership?

Let’s be honest. If a secular government chooses to curate their national narrative in a way that protects their image, I’m not surprised. I might not like it, but I expect it. Institutions protect themselves. That’s what they do. But the Church? The Church is supposed to be different. We are supposed to be a people of truth, a people of light, a people who confess, repent, and seek reconciliation.

But sadly, many churches have fallen into the same trap of selective storytelling. We smooth over the rough edges. We downplay the failures. We hide the abuses. We guard the institution’s image with more devotion than we guard the well-being of the people we serve. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. I’ve sat across from people whose lives were shattered by the very place that was supposed to be their refuge, only to find that their stories were denied, silenced, or spun into something unrecognizable.

And in some cases, it’s not just a matter of silence, it’s strategic silencing. Churches offering NDAs in exchange for severance packages, asking people to keep quiet “for the sake of the gospel,” which often really means “for the sake of our reputation.” That, my friends, is not gospel-centered. That is fear-based, image-protecting behavior that reeks of manipulation. It says, “We care more about how we’re perceived than we do about what’s true.”

Does this make me hate the Church? Not at all. I love the Church. I believe in the Church. I have given my life to serve her. But I do believe that we have serious work to do. And part of that work is telling the whole truth. Even when it’s messy. Even when it hurts. Even when it makes us look bad. Because there is no healing without honesty.

Churchill was right, “History is written by the victors.” But it doesn’t have to be that way. We can choose to be people who tell the truth, even when we lose. We can choose to write a history that reflects not just the victories, but the valleys. Not just the triumphs, but the traumas. Not just the heroes, but the harmed.

Imagine what it would look like if the Church became known not just for what it protected, but for what it confessed. Imagine if our greatest testimony wasn’t our perfect image, but our honest witness. That’s a history I want to be part of. One where we name what’s broken, tell the stories that were silenced, and write a new narrative, one shaped not by power or image, but by grace, truth, and love. So yes, history may be written by the victors. But redemption? That’s written by the courageous. And we need more people brave enough to pick up the pen.