Juneteenth offers an opportunity to reflect and resolve

Juneteenth is a day of pro­found sig­nif­i­cance, yet it’s one that, for most of my life, I wasn’t even aware of. 

Growing up, I learned about the Emancipation Proclamation and the Civil War in his­to­ry class (from a high school Social Studies teacher who, upon reflec­tion, seems awful­ly racist). With our cur­rent polit­i­cal land­scape, it felt impor­tant that I acknowl­edge the priv­i­lege that I, as a white per­son, have his­tor­i­cal­ly enjoyed in this coun­try and under­stand why we all should celebrate—and mourn—on this day. 

As I write this, sev­er­al weeks before Juneteenth, I shud­der think­ing about what horsecrap­pery might spew from our president’s socials when this day arrives.

Celebrated on June 19^th, Juneteenth marks the day in 1865 when enslaved African Americans in Texas final­ly learned that they had been freed by the Emancipation Proclamation, which was issued more than two years pri­or by President Abraham Lincoln. While the Emancipation Proclamation was signed in 1863, many enslaved peo­ple in the South remained unaware of their new­found free­dom due to the Civil War’s slow progress and deep-root­ed sys­tems of oppres­sion. Texas, which was remote and far from Union-con­trolled areas, became the last strong­hold of slavery. 

Imagine being an enslaved per­son in Galveston in 1865. You’ve been work­ing under oppres­sive con­di­tions for years, only to find out that the Emancipation Proclamation, which you didn’t hear about until now, had freed you. It’s like walk­ing into a par­ty two hours late, real­iz­ing the entire event is already over, and now every­one is just eat­ing cake. In the case of Juneteenth, the cake is free­dom, and it must have tast­ed so sweet. And bitter—because who wouldn’t be pissed that they had spent two more years under the worst con­di­tions imaginable?

As a white per­son, I’ve nev­er had to expe­ri­ence the bru­tal effects of slav­ery or the last­ing trau­ma it has left on gen­er­a­tions of Blacks. I was born into a soci­ety where my skin col­or auto­mat­i­cal­ly grant­ed me priv­i­leges, many of which I took for grant­ed through­out my life. Juneteenth chal­lenges me to reflect on this privilege—how free­dom has not always been a giv­en for every­one, and how, in far too many ways, the strug­gle for equal­i­ty is far from over. The free­dom to live with­out fear, the free­dom to thrive, the free­dom to pur­sue dreams with­out the weight of oppres­sion? These are things I have tak­en for grant­ed, things that are not guar­an­teed for many Blacks, even today.

Juneteenth is not just a cel­e­bra­tion of free­dom, but a reminder that the jour­ney toward true equal­i­ty is ongo­ing. It is essen­tial for me to not only acknowl­edge this his­to­ry but also rec­og­nize the role that my own priv­i­lege plays in shap­ing the present. 

Let us hon­or the past, cel­e­brate the present, and con­tin­ue to build a future that is root­ed in the prin­ci­ples of equal­i­ty and jus­tice for all. Let this day serve as a reminder that while the road to free­dom is long and often dif­fi­cult, the light of hope, resilience, and sol­i­dar­i­ty will help guide the way.