In the days following the divisive presidential election, students in Minnesota vandalized their high school bathroom with “Go back to Africa’’ graffiti. In Durham, N.C., someone painted “Black lives don’t matter and neither does your votes’’ on a fence.

By Nov. 18, the Southern Poverty Law Center received more than 700 reports of hate crimes.

Meanwhile in the South, the Klu Klux Klan marched in celebration and Confederate flags were waving in California.

These disturbing stories were particularly hard to digest after spending time at the newly opened National Museum of African American History and Culturein Washington, D.C. The signs of “Colored’’ and “Whites only’’ on display in the museum are reminders of a not-so-distant segregated past. Or what we thought was a not-so-distant past.

Earlier this month, high school students in Jacksonville taped “Whites only’’ and “Colored’’ signs above water fountains in their school.

The National Museum of African American History and Culture won’t make you feel better about the recent news, but it will help you put it into historic context. This museum is sad and joyous, disturbing and uplifting. If you attempt all 400,000 square feet of the Smithsonian’s latest offering in a day, you’ll leave feeling drained, but perhaps encouraged after following a sometimes brutal 600-year timeline that begins with the first slaves brought from Africa to the Americas, up to the inauguration of the first African-American US president.

This is not a museum that is always easy to traverse, both physically and emotionally. I saw many somber faces and a few tears in the three subterranean history levels, where the permanent collections unflinchingly confront slavery and segregation. It is information overload in tight quarters that heightens the experience — and the horror.

By the time you reach an atrium four levels up, there is a well-placed area called a “contemplative court’’ which allows you to pause a moment. Above ground and back in the light, the four upper levels cover education, community, and culture. It’s a necessary respite that lets visitors celebrate the achievements of the African American community.

Since its opening in late September, the museum has become the hottest ticket in Washington, D.C. Tickets are free, but timed passes are necessary to gain admittance. Currently those passes are booked through March. A limited number of passes are released daily, but they are snatched up quickly and must be used that day. On the weekend of my visit, a family arrived at 2 a.m. to receive a same-day pass. Although the museum doesn’t open until 10 a.m., the passes are generally gone by 7 a.m.

The building itself is a striking contrast to anything else on the National Mall. A distinct three-tier exterior structure — referred to as a “corona’’ by architect David Adjaye — is made up of 3,600 bronze-colored cast-aluminum panels. These panels surround the glass museum like a shield. The patterns on the panels cast intricate shadows throughout the upper floors in the afternoon sunlight. The design of the exterior panels is intended to resemble the 19th century ironwork created by slaves in New Orleans. Unlike the grandiose white monuments that dot the mall, the NMAAHC is modern, squat, and becomes more imposing as you walk nearer.

Construction began in 2012 on five acres adjacent to the Washington Monument at a total cost of $540 million, $270 million of which came from private donations.

It is impossible to tell the story of black America in a single museum, but the Museum of African American History and Culture certainly comes close. Its collection, which took 15 years to build with donations from attics to fine art museums, pieces together a history that begins in the most cramped and claustrophobic segment of the museum.

A glass elevator sinks 70 feet into the ground and important dates flash by as you descend. When the doors open, you find yourself looking at artifacts from the earliest days of slavery and schematics of the nightmare ships that brought slaves to America under unimaginable conditions.

You’re confronted by a whip used on slave ships, shackles that would have bound those taken from their villages, and a slave auction block. You know before you enter the museum that you’ll see these objects and hear the stories, but that doesn’t prepare you for the emotional wallop to the gut.

There are glimmers of hope throughout. Harriet Tubman’s shawl and hymnal appear. A Bible belonging to Nat Turner, who led a slave rebellion, is on display. These reminders of courage are enough to keep you moving forward.

The stories told in the underground galleries (60 percent of the museum is underground), feel like an unending game of tug-of-war. Advances inevitably lead to setbacks. In the “Era of Segregation’’ concourse, Emmett Till is murdered in Mississippi (there is a room devoted to Till), but a few months later Rosa Parks made history by refusing to change seats on a bus in Montgomery, Ala. Four girls were killed in a Birmingham church bombing, but the bombing galvanized support for passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

By the time you reach “1968 and Beyond,’’ the black power movement was rapidly changing the landscape and representations of African Americans in pop culture were moving at a rapid clip. Diahann Carroll makes history as “Julia,’’ the first weekly series to depict an African American woman in a nonstereotypical, lead role. Blaxploitation cinema, Aretha Franklin, “Good Times,’’ hip-hop culture, and Oprah Winfrey all lead up a ramp toward a display about the country’s first black president.

By the time you reach President Obama’s victory, it almost feels as if you can breathe again. But in the back of your head, you see another tug of war already brewing. President-elect Donald Trump has a contingent of followers who embrace and perpetrate acts of hate against people of color and the LGBT community. Some of Trump’s choices for his cabinet have poor records on supporting minorities, or have shown outright hostility. An unfathomable unspooling appears underway again.

The three floors of intensely-packed history below ground are balanced by four upper floors that are a celebration of community heroes. This is a more expected museum experience, and far more uplifting. Trayvon Martin will stay in your head, but the excitement of seeing Muhammad Ali’s boxing gloves, Michael Jackson’s fedora, Jimi Hendrix’s vest, Althea Gibson’s tennis racket, Jesse Owens’s cleats, and Louis Armstrong’s trumpet are a thrill.

When your mind slips back to the morass of hatred surrounding the 2016 presidential election, it’s helpful to remember the history of the museum’s inception. It took 100 years of persistence (in the face of endless bureaucratic heel-dragging and opposition) for it become a reality. Once controversial, it’s now hosting unprecedented crowds. The timing couldn't be better. It’s a welcome moment of ­progress in an otherwise murky moment in history.

Christopher Muther can be reached at muther@globe.com. Follow him on Twitter @Chris_Muther and on Instagram @Chris_Muther.