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juneteenth
Juneteenth Is Not a History Lesson We Can Afford to Forget
A PragerU video about the holiday is an example of how history can become propaganda.
Jun 23, 2026
Juneteenth celebrations in my town were lit. There were so many events I had a difficult time choosing which ones to attend. As a grandmother, I ended up at the event on the grounds of the Historic Harriet Barber house (circa 1875) in Hopkins, South Carolina, where my daughter and her 3-year-old son were drumming. The celebration was filled with spirited performances, great food, and camaraderie. Historical reflections centered on the origins of Juneteenth, commemorating June 19, 1865, when African-descended people who were enslaved in Texas finally learned of their freedom—more than two years after the Emancipation Proclamation had officially declared them free. Many gave shout-outs to African American ancestors for all of their visions, sacrifices, and accomplishments. It was a joyful space.
While we are still in the Juneteenth celebratory spirit, we should not sleep, lest it will be another two-and-a-half years when we wake up and realize that our freedom has been lost through a series of recent institutional white supremacist political maneuvers such as: weakening voting rights; attacks on Black political districts, and bans on African American studies.
In his classic 1933 book, The Mis-Education of the Negro, Dr. Carter G. Woodson, father of Black History Month, warned Black people not to believe the lies taught in school that are full of distortions, intentional inaccuracies, and omissions. He also warned that one of the most effective tools of institutional white supremacy is to recruit Black voices to legitimize and advance ideas that work against Black liberation. Nearly 100 years later, we are still facing the revision and erasure of Black history.
For example, PragerU—a conservative website that promotes conservative viewpoints via digital media—has produced a series of edu-tainment videos full of revisionist historical distortions and half-truths.
Juneteenth reminds us that freedom is not simply a legal status. Freedom requires historical memory, vigilance, and the courage to question what we are told.
One video, "The Inconvenient Truth About Juneteenth," is narrated by a young Black man, Xaviaer. In the 56 second TikTok-style video, the narrator presents himself as an “influencer” and is casually walking down the street, iced coffee in hand, as he opines that Black folks are mentally enslaved for believing the conventional story about Juneteenth.
Immediately, evoking the name of Rosa Parks, Xaviaer signifies that Rosa should have made the viewers sit in the front of the bus and take a history class. The cleverness of the misinformation, though, is apparent when he says that Democrats kept Black people enslaved two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation was signed. This slight of hand fails to clarify that the ideologies of the Republican and Democratic parties switched around 1870. Before that time, Republicans controlled the government and used its power to protect Black people who were formerly enslaved and guarantee their civil rights during Reconstruction. Most Democrats, particularly in the South, opposed many of these efforts. However, as the nation shifted its attention toward economic growth and industrial expansion, support for Reconstruction began to wane. Many Northern Republicans became less willing to invest political capital in protecting Black rights in the South.
By the mid-to-late 1870s, the Republican Party had largely retreated from its commitment to reconstructing Southern society and safeguarding the rights of African Americans. Following the Compromise of 1877 and the withdrawal of federal troops from the South, White Democrats regained political control across much of the region and systematically dismantled many of the gains Black people had achieved during Reconstruction. Over the following decades, political allegiances gradually shifted, and by the mid-20th century, many African Americans increasingly aligned with the Democratic Party, particularly as it became more supportive of civil rights initiatives.
Xaviaer concludes "The Inconvenient Truth about Juneteenth" by admonishing Black people for referring to Juneteenth as a Black Independence Day. He argues that the political left has repackaged the holiday through what he characterizes as a segregationist lens. He adds a mocking remark, suggesting that if viewers truly believe Juneteenth is a separate Black Independence Day, he does not want to see them "twerking on a boat" on the Fourth of July—not resisting the urge to slide in a stereotype.
The comment is intended to be humorous, but it serves a deeper purpose. By ridiculing those who celebrate Juneteenth, the video dismisses the historical reality that many enslaved African-descended people were excluded from the freedoms celebrated on July 4, 1776. Rather than engaging this historical contradiction, the video substitutes mockery for analysis and caricature for historical understanding.
From a critical perspective, Black people should not be getting history lessons from social media influencers, political propagandists, or organizations masquerading as educational institutions. History is too important.
Fortunately, other scholars have challenged the distortions and omissions that permeate traditional historical narratives. While Dr. Carter G. Woodson's The Mis-Education of the Negro remains one of the most important warnings about the dangers of accepting history uncritically, James Loewen's Lies My Teacher Told Me, exposed how textbooks sanitize and distort the past. Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States intentionally centers the experiences of people who were oppressed, marginalized, and excluded from dominant historical accounts.
Misinformation is not merely about getting facts wrong. It is about shaping how people understand themselves, their communities, and their possibilities. Dr. Carter G. Woodson once reflected that it took him 20 years after earning his doctorate from Harvard University to recover from what he described as his intellectual conditioning. James Baldwin similarly observed that it took years to free himself from the myths and falsehoods he had been taught about race, history, and human worth.
The stakes are especially high when misleading narratives are packaged in entertaining videos designed to reach young people. And by the way, Dr. Carter G. Woodson, father of Black History Month, cautioned that one of the most effective tools of institutional white supremacy is to recruit Black voices to legitimize and advance ideas that work against Black liberation.
Juneteenth reminds us that freedom is not simply a legal status. Freedom requires historical memory, vigilance, and the courage to question what we are told and the understanding of the need to seek truth from credible sources.
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This Juneteenth, Remember That Organizing Is Key to Democracy
As corrupt leaders advance efforts to weaken democratic oversight and centralize power, we must activate our own agenda.
Jun 19, 2026
This Juneteenth arrives at a moment when many of the hard-fought gains of the civil rights movement feel undeniably fragile. The Supreme Court’s recent Louisiana v. Callais decision gave state lawmakers the green light to reduce Black voting power by redrawing congressional maps. Meanwhile, the SAVE America Act and other proof-of-citizenship efforts propose new burdens for millions of eligible voters—especially voters of color who are more likely to face difficulty accessing required records.
As Black Americans, this should concern us deeply. For years after the ratification of the 15th Amendment, our ancestors had to overcome poll taxes, literacy tests, grandfather clauses, and constant threats of violence to participate in our democracy. When Fannie Lou Hamer attempted to register to vote in Mississippi, she was fired from her job and forced from her home; Amzie Moore endured years of harassment and retaliation for helping Black Mississippians register to vote and build political power. But despite these hardships, they persevered.
Which is why one question continues to trouble me as a Black pastor and grassroots organizer: How did we move from a generation willing to risk everything for political participation to an overwhelming number of people believing participation doesn't matter?
Research shows that most Americans feel political leaders are out-of-touch with ordinary people, reflecting a deep and widespread sense that politics is reserved for an elite few. But we must remember that politics is simply the process of shaping the world around us—and by that definition, we are all politicians.
Organizing reminds people that change has always come from ordinary people deciding they have a stake in their own future.
At my organization, Live Free Illinois, we embrace our identities as politicians in our own right. For instance, in January, we successfully organized Gov. JB Pritzker to sign the Clean Slate Act, a transformational public safety bill that removes barriers to employment, housing, and education opportunities for people with past convictions. It took nearly five years of tireless organizing, but our bill crossed the finish line—and became a law with $5.6 million in funding to implement it. This victory makes clear that politics does not only belong to some unreachable class of leaders; it belongs to the people willing to organize and demand change.
Our ancestors did not organize because they believed the government was perfect. They organized because they understood that power would not listen unless it was confronted. They built churches, mutual aid networks, civic organizations, and political movements because they knew that liberation required disciplined collective action. That lesson is just as relevant today. The authoritarian forces seeking to diminish our democratic participation are counting on our exhaustion, our cynicism, and our disengagement. We cannot afford to give them any of those things.
That responsibility does not begin and end at the ballot box. It lives in church fellowship halls where neighbors gather to address violence in their communities, in voter registration drives after Sabbath, and in the courage of ordinary people who demand better from those in power. This may not look like the politics we’ve been taught to disdain, but they are among the most powerful political acts we can undertake. It is how our communities can transform shared concerns into lasting change.
I have spoken with many parishioners who have felt overwhelmed by the challenges facing our community. But when I encourage them to organize—to gather their neighbors, advance shared priorities, and demand accountability—something shifts. They begin to recognize that the power they were searching for was already in their hands. Organizing reminds people that change has always come from ordinary people deciding they have a stake in their own future.
Juneteenth is a timely reminder that our democracy demands more than participation; it demands organization. As corrupt leaders advance efforts to weaken democratic oversight and centralize power, we must activate our own agenda—and hold elected officials accountable to it. The future of our communities depends on whether we are willing to embrace that responsibility.
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Juneteenth and the Distance Between Freedom and Meaning
Freedom does not become real simply because it is declared. It becomes real because someone carries it into the world. Someone teaches it. Someone protects it. Someone organizes around it. Someone refuses to let it disappear.
Jun 19, 2026
As Juneteenth approaches, I find myself thinking about anniversaries.
Not because I am particularly sentimental about dates, but because anniversaries reveal something about how societies remember. They tell us which stories we choose to elevate, which contradictions we learn to live with, and which truths we have become comfortable leaving unresolved.
This year, those questions feel particularly urgent.
Communities across the country will gather to celebrate Juneteenth, commemorating the moment enslaved Black people in Galveston, Texas learned they were free more than two years after the Emancipation Proclamation had been signed. At the same time, the nation is preparing to commemorate its 250th anniversary, renewing familiar conversations about liberty, democracy, independence, and freedom. There is something meaningful about those two anniversaries sitting so close together. One asks us to remember the promise of freedom. The other asks us to remember the distance between a promise and its fulfillment.
Every democratic gain we now celebrate exists because ordinary people organized, challenged existing systems, imagined alternatives, and demanded that the nation become more than it was.
For many people, Juneteenth is understood as a story about delayed freedom. That is certainly true. But the older I get, the more I think it is also a story about delayed meaning. The people in Galveston were legally free long before they knew they were free. The law had changed. Their status had changed. On paper, their relationship to the nation had changed.
Yet their lived reality had not. The declaration existed, but the meaning had not yet reached them. That distinction matters because we often talk about freedom as though it becomes real the moment it is declared. We assume that once a law is passed, a court issues a ruling, or a right is recognized, the work is complete. History tells a different story.
Again and again, America has demonstrated that there is often a gap between what institutions proclaim and what people experience. The abolition of slavery did not end racial hierarchy. The passage of the Voting Rights Act did not end voter suppression. Legal victories did not eliminate the need for organizing, education, resistance, or vigilance. Rights may be secured in law, but they must still be carried into communities, institutions, and everyday life. Juneteenth reminds us of that reality. It reminds us that freedom is not simply a legal condition. It is also a social condition, a cultural condition, and a lived condition. It becomes meaningful only when people can actually experience it.
That lesson feels particularly relevant today.
Across the country, we are witnessing renewed debates about democracy, citizenship, rights, belonging, and power. We are watching efforts to restrict voting access, weaken public institutions, narrow how history is taught, and redefine who gets to participate fully in public life. At the same time, many Americans are being encouraged to believe that these concerns are exaggerated, that racism and inequality belong primarily to the past, and that the nation's democratic project is largely complete. What concerns me is not simply the political debate itself. It is the historical amnesia that often accompanies it. Too often, we remember progress while forgetting the struggle that produced it. We celebrate outcomes while ignoring the generations of people who fought to make those outcomes possible. We remember milestones but forget movements. We remember victories but forget the conditions that made those victories necessary in the first place.
In doing so, we begin to mistake progress for permanence. Juneteenth offers a corrective.
It reminds us that democracy has never been self-executing. Freedom has never expanded automatically. Rights have never sustained themselves. Every democratic gain we now celebrate exists because ordinary people organized, challenged existing systems, imagined alternatives, and demanded that the nation become more than it was. That is why I find myself thinking differently about the conversations surrounding America's 250th anniversary. I am less interested in celebrating a polished national mythology than I am in wrestling honestly with the tension at the center of the American story. The United States was founded on extraordinary democratic ideals while simultaneously denying many people access to them. Those contradictions are not incidental to our history. They are central to understanding it.
Yet Juneteenth is not ultimately a story about contradiction. It is a story about persistence. It is a story about Black people who continued reaching for freedom even when freedom arrived late. It is a story about Black people who expanded democracy even when democracy excluded them. It is a story about generations of Black Americans who carried hope, memory, responsibility, and struggle across time so that future generations might inherit possibilities they themselves were denied. That is what I find myself celebrating this year.
Not a perfect nation, completed democracy, or a tidy story of inevitable progress.
I am celebrating the people who carried the work forward anyway. The people who understood that freedom does not become real simply because it is declared. It becomes real because someone carries it into the world. Someone teaches it. Someone protects it. Someone organizes around it. Someone refuses to let it disappear.
The lesson of Juneteenth is not that freedom finally arrived. The lesson is that even after freedom was declared, someone still had to carry the news.
And generations later, someone still has to carry the meaning.
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National Park Service Grants Free Access on Trump's Birthday—And Ends It for Juneteenth, MLK Day
Critics have ripped the decisions as "truly disgusting" and "literally the sort of thing dictators do."
Dec 05, 2025
"Why is MLK Day not worthy of a fee-free day anymore?"
That's what Kati Schmidt, communications director for the National Parks Conservation Association, wondered in an email to SFGATE, which reported Thursday on the National Park Service's recently announced free admission days for 2026.
"That has become a day of service throughout the country as well as celebrating an American hero who has several park units celebrating his legacy," Schmidt noted of the federal holiday honoring Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. each January.
In addition to MLK Day, three other previously free days were left off the US Department of the Interior's announcement last week about "resident-only patriotic fee-free days." Visitors will now have to pay park fees on National Public Lands Day, the anniversary of the Great American Outdoors Act—which President Donald Trump signed in 2020—and Juneteenth.
cool that the official position of the administration appears to be that black people don’t really count as americans
[image or embed]
— jamelle (@jamellebouie.net) December 5, 2025 at 8:20 AM
In 2021, Congress passed and then-President Joe Biden signed legislation designating Juneteenth as a federal holiday to commemorate the end of slavery in the United States. After returning to the White House in January, Trump declined to recognize it on this past June 19.
As SFGATE reported:
"This policy shift is deeply concerning," said Tyrhee Moore, the executive director of Soul Trak Outdoors, a nonprofit that connects urban communities of color to the outdoors. "Removing free-entry days on MLK Day and Juneteenth sends a troubling message about who our national parks are for. These holidays hold profound cultural and historical significance for Black communities, and eliminating them as access points feels like a direct targeting of the very groups who already face systemic barriers to the outdoors."
Moore told SFGATE that his organization works to push back against "these kinds of systemic attempts that disguise exclusion as administrative or political decisions."
"Policies like this reinforce inequalities around access and visibly show how systems can create obstacles that keep communities of color from feeling welcomed in public spaces," he said.
Olivia Juarez, public land program director at the advocacy group GreenLatinos, said in a statement that "we condemn the omission of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday, Juneteenth, National Public Lands Day, and the anniversary of the Great American Outdoors Act from the list of free entrance days."
"The Great American Outdoors Act permanently funded the Land and Water Conservation Fund, which enhances outdoor recreation access for all people from national public lands to neighborhood parks," she pointed out. "These observances are patriotic days that celebrate freedom and safety in the outdoors. They should be celebrated as such by removing a simple cost barrier that can make parks more accessible to low-income households."
Other critics have ripped the free day decisions as "truly disgusting" and "literally the sort of thing dictators do."
Journalist Jennifer Schulze said: "I love our national parks but don't go on his birthday. Find a state park to visit instead."
Along with the free admission changes, the Trump administration is under fire for putting the president's face on the new "America the Beautiful" annual passes—a display that may be illegal—and for hiking prices for foreign visitors to national parks.
Utah-based Juarez and GreenLatinos California state program manager Pedro Hernández both denounced price hikes for noncitizens—a move that notably comes as the administration pursues Trump's promise of mass deportations.
"By imposing higher fees on people without state-issued ID," Hernández said, "the Trump administration is advancing a xenophobic policy that disproportionately harms vulnerable populations like international students, newly arrived immigrants, and families seeking asylum."
"This approach eviscerates the true meaning of public lands and sends a clear, exclusionary message that our most cherished national parks have become yet another pay-to-play system," he added. "People should be welcomed—not priced out from our public lands."
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Juneteenth and the Fight for Justice in Selma and Beyond
Juneteenth is a reminder of why the march for liberty and justice is not over, but a moment to recommit to the work ahead.
Jun 19, 2025
At Foot Soldiers Park, Juneteenth is more than a date on the calendar. It’s a declaration, a call to always remember, to resist, and to continue to reimagine what freedom looks like.
For the last four years Juneteenth has become a commemoration of historic significance that has become more powerful and more necessary. As a community, we gather not just to honor history, we gather to face the present and to envision a better future rooted in truth, justice, and collective power.
Juneteenth commemorates June 19, 1865, the day the last enslaved people in Galveston, Texas were finally told they were free—more than two years after the Emancipation Proclamation. That delay wasn’t a historical oversight, it was an intentional strategy of suppression that today, still shows up through the systems we confront daily.
We celebrate because freedom was never handed to us, we claimed it in 1865, in 1965, and we must claim it today.
Today one thing is clear, slavery didn’t end, it evolved. It’s been institutionalized in the form of mass incarceration, labor exploitation, generational poverty, voter suppression, and policies that consistently and disproportionately harm Black and Brown communities. One-hundred and sixty years later, Black and Brown people are still profiled, surveilled, underpaid, and denied full access to justice.
And yet, we are still here. Still resisting. Still building our communities up. Still rising.
Our hometown Selma is ground zero for the struggle for voting rights and the fight for the socioeconomic prosperity of people of color in our country. We both span two generations of Black people in Selma. One of us was among the 600 foot soldiers who bravely marched across the Edmund Pettus Bridge and demanded voting rights for Black people—ultimately leading to the passage of the Voting Rights Act in 1965. The other one of us was raised to carry that spirit of activism and determination to protect and preserve those rights for generations to come.
In 2021, at a historic moment for our country, we founded Foot Soldiers Park to preserve Selma’s legacy, memorialize the stories of the everyday people who fueled the civil rights movement, and to position the city’s historical significance into an engine for liberation, economic development, and racial justice.
With a mission rooted in the legacy of Selma’s foot soldiers, we don’t shy away from the truth, we walk directly into it. Because that’s where change is born and transformation begins. We don’t just preserve history, we activate it. We innovate. We organize. We lead.
Juneteenth is a reminder of why the march for liberty and justice is not over, but a moment to recommit to the work ahead.
Despite Selma’s historical significance in shaping the very fabric of this country, the majority-Black city is still struggling to overcome generations of institutional racism and overall neglect. Forty-one percent of the population lives in poverty. Thirty-percent are suffering from food insecurity, and an abysmal $27,000 a year is the average income in the city.
When we founded Foot Soldiers Park, we had a clear goal—to transform Selma; ask hard questions; and set a bold agenda to build generational wealth, protect our civil rights, and empower our youth to lead. We are campaigning to fund Selma’s first-ever community and education center, and foot soldiers memorial. This urgently needed hub will be a beacon for leaders, students, and educators to weave the rich tapestry of Selma’s civil rights movement and serve as a conduit for ongoing scholarship in this critical field. As our civil rights are again under attack, we’ll serve as a catalyst for community-led action and civic participation, healing and restoration, youth engagement and activation—building the bench for the next generation of political, business, and social justice leaders.
This Juneteenth we need to face the truth—there will be no erasure. What our history shows is how resilience can lead to transformation. Generation after generation we have turned pain into purpose, and memory into motivation to design systems that move us closer to justice.
As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. said, “A right delayed is a right denied.” Juneteenth reminds us that justice delayed is not justice at all. Freedom withheld is not freedom for all. And the arc of the moral universe does not bend unless we bend it. Together.
For us Juneteenth is not just symbolic. It is sacred. It is strategic. It is where truth, joy, memory, and action converge.
Every year we celebrate because our people’s story does not end in chains. We celebrate because our ancestors did more than survive; they organized, educated, resisted, and loved. We celebrate because freedom was never handed to us, we claimed it in 1865, in 1965, and we must claim it today.
In Selma, we never rest and we don’t sugarcoat the truth. We are the foot soldiers of 1965 and the foot soldiers of tomorrow—as agents of change, we will keep marching forward.
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This Juneteenth, America Must Choose to Live Up to Its Founding Documents
When we limit conversations about our complex past, we not only lose historical accuracy but also our capacity for growth and the honest reckoning that could finally help us fulfill our founding promises.
Jun 19, 2025
In 1796, 22-year-old Ona Marie Judge became one of America's most wanted fugitives. Born into slavery and held by President George Washington, Judge escaped from Philadelphia and fled north to New Hampshire. Washington immediately began hunting her, placing newspaper advertisements offering rewards for her return. For over 50 years, she would live as a fugitive, knowing that bounty hunters could appear at any moment to drag her back into bondage. Her story of survival reveals tensions that we're still grappling with today.
Judge's escape revealed the America we rarely acknowledge in our founding stories. As efforts to silence discussions of race and history spread nationwide—from federal agencies barring recognition of Black History Month to more than 44 states, including my home state of New Hampshire, limiting how schools can discuss racism—her story demands our attention.
Judge's escape laid bare the America we rarely acknowledge in our founding mythology.
The paradoxes Judge witnessed still define us. Washington was not the infallible moral leader of our imagination, but a flesh-and-blood man who owned other human beings and spent years trying to recapture the woman who dared seek freedom. New Hampshire was not removed from slavery's horrors—Portsmouth had been a major slave trading port since the 1600s.
Judge's escape laid bare the America we rarely acknowledge in our founding mythology. These tensions were the defining forces that shaped America's first century and continue to do so today. Judge's story illuminates how deeply slavery was woven into the fabric of the entire nation, connecting Black and white lives in ways our history books have long worked to hide. Understanding her experience becomes essential to understanding ourselves, especially as movements to obscure these complexities grow stronger.
The Pattern of Progress and Backlash
This current backlash against Black history education shouldn't surprise us—it follows a persistent American pattern. Every period of racial progress has triggered fierce resistance designed to roll back gains and rewrite the past. After Reconstruction brought Black political participation and civil rights, the country allowed Jim Crow laws to flourish and KKK terror to reign while Confederate monuments were erected across the South to rewrite the Civil War as a noble struggle rather than a fight to preserve slavery. The rise of the war on drugs and mass incarceration of Black Americans followed the 1960s civil rights laws. The election of the first Black president, Barack Obama, triggered the Tea Party movement and birtherism campaigns designed to delegitimize his presidency.
Today's attacks on how we discuss race and history represent the latest iteration of this cycle. When we limit conversations about our complex past, we not only lose historical accuracy but also our capacity for growth and the honest reckoning that could finally help us fulfill our founding promises.
Why Local Stories Matter
This ongoing struggle is why the work happening in New Hampshire—a politically purple state where Black residents make up just 2% of the population—offers constructive lessons for the rest of the nation. If honest conversations about Black history can flourish here, they can do so anywhere; however, success requires understanding what we like to use as a guideline: the rule of thirds. One third will support, one third will be persuaded, and one third will oppose. The progress is determined by the persuadable middle. We've seen how we can make real change by reaching that crucial middle group in New Hampshire.
Look no further than our annual July 4 readings of Frederick Douglass' "What to the Slave Is Your Fouth of July" speech, which has grown from one participating town to 22, with communities reading simultaneously across the state. From synagogues to rural town halls, people gather simply to hear Douglass' words—no discussion required, no positions demanded. This creates space for reflection and connection without the political battles that often shut down conversation before it begins.
Judge's legacy calls us to specific action: Resist erasure wherever we encounter it—in our children's schools, local libraries, state legislatures, and national debates.
Building unexpected alliances has proven equally powerful. Working with the Daughters of the American Revolution to install historical markers honoring Black Revolutionary War heroes demonstrates that historical truth enriches rather than threatens our understanding of patriotism. We've now placed nearly 40 markers throughout the state, each one making visible stories that were always there but rarely acknowledged.
This success stems from focusing on education and storytelling rather than confrontation, allowing facts and local narratives to speak for themselves. New Hampshire residents hunger for authentic stories about their own communities, even when those stories complicate their narratives about the past.
From resistance to Reckoning
The power of personal narrative will be on full display this Juneteenth, as Portsmouth hosts an unprecedented gathering where direct descendants of America's founding fathers and the people they enslaved come together to explore our intertwined histories. Shannon LaNier, the ninth-generation descendant of Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings, will join Laurel Guild Yancey, descendant of Portsmouth's Prince Whipple, a Black man who fought in the Revolutionary War while enslaved by Declaration of Independence signer William Whipple. In a profound twist of history, the Whipple family would later become the very people who provided sanctuary to Ona Judge when she sought refuge in Portsmouth—the same family line that had owned Prince Whipple would become her protectors, demonstrating how the arc of justice sometimes bends through the most unexpected transformations.
When descendants sit together sharing these narratives, they reveal how the stories of America's founding fathers and the people they enslaved have been inseparably linked across generations. These family histories, passed down through centuries, offer living proof that our nation's racial past isn't separate and distinct, but intimately woven together from the very beginning. Their gathering in Judge's adopted hometown creates a bridge across time, connecting her story of resistance to our current moment of choice.
After all, her choice to flee slavery, knowing the dangers ahead, required extraordinary courage. She lived in poverty, often depending on charity, and had outlived her three children and husband when she died in 1848. Yet she chose uncertainty over oppression, a fugitive's life over bondage, never abandoning her claim to freedom despite facing consequences far more severe than anything we encounter today.
The free Black families in Portsmouth who risked everything to shelter her further demonstrate that resistance has always been collective work, requiring people to see their own freedom as incomplete while others remained in chains. Their courage offers a template for our current moment, when we need that same spirit of collective action.
Judge's legacy calls us to specific action: Resist erasure wherever we encounter it—in our children's schools, local libraries, state legislatures, and national debates. Speak up when school boards attempt to ban books that tell the full story of American history. Engage with the persuadable middle in our communities, attend town halls, and vote for leaders who understand that historical truth strengthens, rather than weakens, our democracy. Most importantly, discover the complete stories of all who have lived in your community—Indigenous peoples, Black families, immigrants, and others whose experiences have been overlooked—and support those working to bring these histories to light.
This Juneteenth, as conversations unfold in the place where Judge found refuge, her story asks us to choose: Will we allow fear to silence these essential truths, or will we find the courage to engage in the honest reckoning needed to fulfill the promises of equality our founding documents made to all Americans?
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Juneteenth Was Not Freely Given—It Was Won
On Juneteenth's call to justice and the U.S. Supreme Court's role in the eternal quest for Black liberation.
Jun 19, 2024
Juneteenth resonates as a symbol of freedom and resilience, encapsulating the enduring struggle against oppression and the relentless pursuit of equality. It’s a day of remembrance, celebration, and reflection on the journey from bondage to liberation. Beyond its cultural significance, Juneteenth challenges the United States to confront its history of racial injustice and commit to building a future where every citizen enjoys true freedom and equality under the law. Juneteenth is a verb.
In the annals of American history, the Supreme Court played a pivotal yet contradictory role in the quest for Black liberation. As we reflect on our Juneteenth journey, it is evident that the Court has been both a catalyst for progress and an obstacle to justice.
From the infamous Dred Scott decision of 1857, which denied citizenship to African Americans, to the landmark Brown v. Board of Education ruling in 1954, which dismantled the legal basis for racial segregation, the Court's decisions have swung like a pendulum, shaping the contours of racial justice in America.
The Supreme Court's rulings have occasionally propelled the nation toward equality. The Brown decision 70 years ago, declaring state laws establishing separate public schools for Black and white students to be unconstitutional, ignited the Civil Rights Movement. This was a moment when the Court stood on the right side of history, challenging entrenched systems of racial oppression and setting a precedent for future advances in civil rights.
As we look to the future, let us draw inspiration from the resilience and courage of those who have fought for justice before us—those who fought for freedom from bondage.
However, the path to Black liberation is not linear, and the Court has often regressed, reinforcing racial hierarchies and undermining progress. The 2013 Shelby County v. Holder decision, which invalidated key provisions of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, serves as a stark reminder. By weakening federal oversight of voting laws, the Court opened the door to a new era of voter suppression, disproportionately affecting Black communities.
This duality underscores a broader truth: legal victories, while crucial, are insufficient on their own. They must be accompanied by sustained activism and grassroots mobilization to ensure that the principles of justice are translated into lived realities. The Court's decisions, influenced by the prevailing political and social climates, highlight the importance of a vigilant and engaged citizenry.
Recent Supreme Court rulings on affirmative action vividly highlight the Court's profound limitations placed on Black liberation, spanning both public and private sectors, with innovations from Black women entrepreneurs poised for continued suppression. Amid decisions that perpetuate systemic inequalities, we confront entrenched patterns of injustice and demand an unwavering judiciary committed to equality and justice for all.
In the context of ongoing struggles against systemic racism and for Black lives, the Supreme Court's role remains pivotal. Advocating for a judiciary that reflects the diverse experiences and needs of the American populace is imperative. This necessitates championing justices who possess not only legal acumen but also a steadfast commitment to social justice.
The conversation about the Court's role in Black liberation must extend beyond the judiciary itself. It requires a holistic approach that includes legislative and policy reforms, educational initiatives, democracy and economic policies aimed at dismantling the structural barriers that perpetuate racial inequities.
It is through the collective efforts of individuals, communities, and public institutions that we can hope to achieve a more just and equitable society.
As we look to the future, let us draw inspiration from the resilience and courage of those who have fought for justice before us—those who fought for freedom from bondage. Juneteenth was not freely given—it was won.
The journey toward Black liberation is far from over, and the Supreme Court, while a powerful institution, is but one arena to reform in this ongoing struggle. It is through the collective efforts of individuals, communities, and public institutions that we can hope to achieve a more just and equitable society.
On this Juneteenth, our task is to remain vigilant, to hold our leaders accountable, and to continue the fight for a society where justice is not merely an ideal, but a reality for all.
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Juneteenth and the Need for a Reimagined, More Progressive Tax Code
Policymakers can only make sensible decisions when they understand what the tax system’s shortcomings have done to Black communities.
Jun 18, 2024
Juneteenth is a reminder of the hard-fought victories that helped Black Americans secure their delayed freedom, justice, and suffrage. And in the chapters about tax policy, the tales are no less fraught. From America’s prologue to the last paragraph of the Civil War, governments raised more tax revenue from the taxation of Black bodies than any other source.
Though Black Americans are no longer taxed as property, their relationship with the property tax system remains challenging. Today, for instance, Black families pay more property taxes than white Americans who own comparable properties. Black people went from being literally taxed as property to being slighted by the property tax system – perpetuating deep economic inequality for a group of people who have always suffered on the soil of this land.
The good news is that progress has been made. Genuine tax equity is not only possible, but it’s within reach.
The civil rights battles of the past 70 years showed how Black leaders and lawmakers can work together to achieve progress in housing, voting, education, jobs, health care, and taxes to redress racial harms. The time is now for policymakers to continue the march toward a more equitable tax code for Black households.
Understanding what led us to this point means acknowledging the brutalization of Black Americans through slavery. This inhumane institution included the taxation of Black people as property. This was no minor issue. Slave taxes were a massive revenue source that paid for public investments that benefited white slaveholders and non-slaveholders alike. For example, these taxes financed the Louisiana Purchase which resulted in material and economic gain that built the foundation for the racial wealth gap we see today.
The conclusion of the Civil War chapter and the abolition of slavery ended the taxation of Black men, women, and children as property. It also ushered in overdue civil rights for Black people in America. This was a jubilant section of the American story. Legislatures in some states raised property taxes to invest in public education and other programs to help formerly enslaved Black Americans get acclimated to the economy they built for free.
The excitement did not last long.
Ultimately, the Reconstruction chapter continued tax injustices against Black people in other forms, especially against Black elected officials. In 1875, Alabama created a new constitution that placed tight property tax limits still in place today. Tax limits make it more difficult to adequately fund high-quality services that heavily depend on property taxes, like schools, roads, and firefighters.
At the turn of the century, a new part of the story began to unfold. On the tax front, this often took the form of blatantly discriminatory property tax assessments. White policymakers — particularly in Mississippi — used highly restrictive property tax limits and supermajority requirements to weaken school funding in Black communities, disempower Black residents, and shift the tax base to more inequitable revenue policies like sales taxes. Mississippi shifted its tax base from white property owners to poorer Black households in 1932 through the advent of the modern sales tax. Black people, with substantially less income, kept paying just as much as their white counterparts, if not more, and contributed significantly toward funding white-only schools while their own schools deteriorated.
In the years that followed, exclusionary housing policies bolstered white wealth while locking many Black families out of homeownership. The impact of those policies is still felt today. Predominantly white neighborhoods can generally make larger investments in public services like education and transportation, because they have larger revenue bases with higher home values, while Black people are overrepresented in under-resourced communities.
Today, as home prices continue to rise, an unbalanced property tax system hinders Black households’ means of accumulating wealth. Black families in gentrifying areas that do not offer income-based property tax solutions struggle to afford their tax bills while Black renters, who pay property taxes indirectly, cannot even save enough for a down payment. Against this backdrop, a staggering racial homeownership gap persists.
Reforming property taxes, a vital source of funding for state and local government, can advance tax justice for Black renters and homeowners and reverse some of the damage of the past four centuries. Property taxes vary widely, so lawmakers at the state and local level must bring Black community leaders and advocates to the table and discuss ways to fix these policies that acutely affect Black renters and homeowners.
Policymakers can only make sensible decisions when they understand what the property tax system’s shortcomings have done to Black communities. Having inclusive conversations can reveal fundamental problems like inaccurate assessments, discriminatory appeals procedures, and a lack of consideration of ability to pay in setting property tax bills. Focusing on these issues would allow legislators and community advocates to reimagine a property tax system that does not exacerbate racial inequities.
At the same time, it is important to avoid backsliding. Lately, too many policymakers are promoting old ideas that are detrimental to Black people like pairing property tax cuts with sales tax increases or establishing firm property tax limits – policies that will do nothing to advance the position of Black Americans and may actually roll back some of the modest progress seen in recent years.
Instead, policymakers should adopt antiracist and practical appraisal practices, use robust property tax circuit breaker programs, and implement and monitor fairer appeals practices to fix these ongoing issues.
Slavery remains America’s greatest sin and the tax policy stemming from it undermined Black people’s attempts to climb out of poverty, build wealth, and become truly free. Lawmakers cannot undo the past, but they can surely learn from it.
A key philosophy behind the American story is justice. Lawmakers must use that ethos for Black taxpayers in this latest section of the narrative. Juneteenth provides us with a chance to reflect on this history and begin writing a new chapter toward tax and racial justice.
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A Juneteenth Reflection on America’s Unfinished Business
This year, as we celebrate the end of chattel slavery in the United States, we must remember the work that Frederick Douglass called upon us all to do remains unfinished.
Jun 18, 2024
“What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July?” asked Frederick Douglass in his Fourth of July Oration in 1852. “I answer: a day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty” of America.
Douglass’s speech remains among the most powerful and poignant in United States history more than a century and a half later. With the Civil War nearly a decade away, and the system of chattel slavery still going strong throughout the South and powering the economy throughout the country, Douglass pointed with undeniable clarity at the “venomous creature [that] is nursing at the tender breast of your youthful republic.”
As we celebrate Juneteenth in 2024, the work that Douglass called upon us all to do remains unfinished. The Civil War, the Emancipation Proclamation, and the Reconstruction Amendments formally put an end to the widespread practice of enslavement of Black people in this country. But the work of reconstructing our society and creating the truly equitable and free society promised in our founding documents has a long way to go.
Today we have the job of coming to grips with our history and charting a new path for those who come after us.
That is why on this Juneteenth, we should all ask: What, to us, is Juneteenth? For all of us, and especially for the Black community, it is a day of joyful celebration, marking the anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation, as it has been for a century and a half. It marks the end of that “venomous creature” in the republic. To be sure, each one of us should celebrate that important day in 1865, as the Black community did so memorably in Texas that year.
But on Juneteenth, we should also remember that while the snake may have been slain, too much of its venom remains in our system. The venom still takes the form of racism, racial inequity, and the enduring power of white supremacy.
What, to each of us today, is Juneteenth? For those of us in the white community of the United States, I see it as a call to action to do our part to continue the work of reconstruction. We can and should imagine a truly equitable, multiracial America—one we have never before encountered but one which remains a real possibility. There is a fierce pushback against this work today, but this is a pushback we must resist as we continue the unfinished work of Reconstruction.
Like many white Americans whose families have been in the United States for a long time, and in fact came to these shores before the nation even existed, my family has both been involved in the business of enslaving others and has fought for the end of slavery. As Douglass pointed out in his soaring Fourth of July oration, ancestors of mine have done terrible things to others in the name of Christianity, in pursuit of money, and out of ignorance and hate. Others have valiantly fought against friends and families to create a better, fairer society.
Today we have the job of coming to grips with our history and charting a new path for those who come after us. That is why white people must join with others in the work of making our communities and institutions more diverse. Those of us who identify as white and male have a particular obligation to reflect on Juneteenth and consider how we can use what we have to be part of overcoming in the name of a brighter, more sustainable future. We have power to wield, and should wield it, in making our economies more equitable and inclusive.
In Chicago, where I live, there is a fact that I cannot shake. I can’t get it out of my head that a baby born in the predominantly Black neighborhood of Englewood is expected to live 30 years less than a baby born on the same day in the predominantly white, and more wealthy, neighborhood of Streeterville downtown. That is a difference of six miles—and 30 years.
The promise of abolition, a healed and equal society, has not yet been realized. And we can only get there by working together with friends, community, and in solidarity.
This disparity of life expectancy is a combination of a multitude of factors of which racial identity is one, but it boils down to this: a Black baby born in one part of our nation’s third largest city is less likely to enjoy as long and healthy a life as a white baby born a few miles away. There is no way to imagine that this marks an equal society. Health disparities such as this one affect Native American communities and Latin communities across America, too.
Alongside health, consider gaps in education, earnings, and wealth between racial groups in the United States, in state after state. These, in the words of Douglass, remain among our “national inconsistencies.” Black Americans consistently enjoy fewer of the fruits of the republic than those of other racial and ethnic groups. To achieve true racial healing in America, to get the venom truly out of our system, requires us to keep at the work of racial equity.
The promise of abolition, a healed and equal society, has not yet been realized. And we can only get there by working together with friends, community, and in solidarity. At the MacArthur Foundation, we put this approach into practice each day as we collectively strive to lead with a commitment to justice. The progress we have made in the past, and any progress in the future, requires collaboration between people from all kinds of backgrounds.
Juneteenth is a call to do better as a nation, to create an America in which every child born today—no matter their race, their ethnicity, their gender, their neighborhood—has an equal chance to thrive. We remain a long way from that reality. No matter our race, we should do our part on the unfinished work of creating a free and equal society.
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Juneteenth Can Be a Call to Action on Climate and More
On Juneteenth, we should clearly celebrate the emancipation of the formerly enslaved and call out the continued struggle for freedom, voting rights, economic opportunities, and beyond.
Jun 19, 2023
On June 18, 2021, The Biden-Harris Administration signed Senate Bill 475 (S.475), the National Independence Day Act, which proclaimed Juneteenth a federal holiday. The president defined it as a day to “commemorate the past; celebrate the emancipation of the formerly enslaved; and remind us of our capacity to “heal, hope and emerge in new ways.”
Juneteenth can be all that and more. The formerly enslaved African Americans who celebrated the first Juneteenth have much to teach us about living within, surviving, and overcoming the ills of an extractive economy that depletes and commodifies our human and natural resources. It’s a lesson with new urgency and relevance in the era of climate change.
The origins of Juneteenth and its commemoration are very particular to African Americans. Considered the oldest African-American holiday, it celebrated the news of emancipation of enslaved Africans in Galveston, Texas, two years after the signing of the emancipation proclamation. There are similar Emancipation Day celebrations in Columbus, Mississippi (aka (8ofMay), Western Kentucky (aka — 8thofAugust) Washington, D.C. (April 15) and elsewhere. These are joyous celebrations of freedom. But there can — and should — be more to Juneteenth than barbecues and music festivals.
Juneteenth is an opportunity to remember and honor the ancestors on whose shoulders we stand.
As a national holiday, Juneteenth must be relevant to all Americans. It can provide a platform for all Americans to remember and lift up our ancestors, their wisdom and their ways of living under harsh circumstances. With that wisdom, we can rebuild a culture and civic infrastructure to withstand the ongoing disruptions to our natural, built, political, economic, and social environments.
Juneteenth tells a cultural story of resilience, family reunification, mutual aid, educational uplift, community building, collective economics, “commoning” and stewardship of the land. These values and ways of living were indispensable for the formerly enslaved to overcome daily hardships, for thriving in a resource-limited world, and for building new communities and new possibilities after emancipation. We celebrate Juneteenth today because of the struggle then and now to build a cooperative and communal culture. “It took a village” to overcome the challenges.
Black-owned cooperatives were one way to do so. Collective Courage, by Dr. Jessica Gordon Nembrand, documents over 160 legally incorporated Black-owned cooperatives since the mid-1880s. These coops were a way to survive, to provide family security and prosperity, and create stable, lasting systems for housing, food, and land conservation. African Americans also created self-sufficient communities: Maroon communities, built by runaway slaves, and Freedman settlements, built by formerly enslaved Africans after emancipation. While many of these towns — such as “Black Wall Street,” the Greenwood district in in Tulsa, Oklahoma; Rosewood, Florida; and Wilmington, North Carolina — were torched and their Black residents were run out of town, hundreds still exist.
Building community resilience was clearly born out of necessity, but more importantly, it was grounded in a shared African cultural ethos of Ubuntu, meaning, “I am because you/we are.” Ubuntu uplifts our oneness and recognizes that well-being flows from caring relationships with each other, our community, and nature. Ubuntu maintained us through enslavement and reconstruction, and while somewhat eroded over time through assimilation into western culture, it is finding a resurgence. The cooperative spirit of Ubuntu is central to the Juneteenth story, and provides a way forward in this new era of climate, political, economic, and social disruptions.
While the African-American experience of slavery is singular, this cultural ethos is not unique to African Americans. There are similar stories by those who lived the legacy of the Trail of Tears, the Holocaust, Japanese internment, the potato famine, immigration, wars and political oppression, as well as racial, gender, and religious discrimination and persecution. Juneteenth affords Americans the opportunity to take pride in our unique and common history of resistance and resilience, to remember the communal values and behaviors of sharing and care, and to restore and carry forward these principles and practices. These cultural values and lifeways are essential for mitigating and adapting to climate change.
The Climate Connection
Now more than ever, America needs a climate breakthrough. Our solutions are predominantly technological in nature: greening our buildings, cars, and transit systems, fuel sources and communities — Scope 1 and 2 emissions. These measures are important and necessary, but insufficient. Most emissions come from the massive, global supply chain of material extraction, processing, and distribution, powered by underpaid (if not enslaved) labor, to feed consumer demands.
If we are to mitigate and adapt to climate change, we need to resist the market demand for massive production and conspicuous consumption. We need new economies that are localized, generative, and cooperative. We need community energy, food, and housing systems. We need to restore the commons.
This, in turn, requires a major cultural shift. The western, Cartesian philosophy of “I think, therefore I am” spawned an ego-centered, utilitarian belief system that has us on the brink of environmental, social, and economic disaster. This culture of individualism and materialism is driving a global economy that reveres mass production, mass consumption, massive waste and massive wealth accumulation from the privatization and extraction of the commons. The paradigm is both unsustainable and unjust.
Surviving and adapting to climate change in a resource-limited world demands more than new technologies to decarbonize our economy. It compels us to rethink how we live with each other and nature. It calls us to ferret out the root causes of our current crisis and fashion alternatives to systems of extraction and degradation of our natural and human resources.
Ubuntu is one such alternative. It reminds us that we can’t thrive if the planet is dying. We can’t thrive without community. It recognizes that humans are part of a larger and more significant relational, communal, societal, environmental, and spiritual world. It is the belief in a universal bond of sharing and being responsible for the gifts and limits of nature. It is the foundation of building the society that protects the well-being of people and planet.
Similar beliefs and practices are found in Native American, East Asian and other cultures, such as Kapwa in Filipino cultures. These are the cultural roots to mitigate and adapt to climate change and to create the social capital to withstand the resource competition that has bitterly divided our nation.
Juneteenth Call to Action
On Juneteenth, we should clearly celebrate the emancipation of the formerly enslaved and call out the continued struggle for freedom, voting rights, economic opportunities, and more. But this holiday is also an opportunity to remember and honor the ancestors on whose shoulders we stand. By uplifting their wisdom and ways of being, we can envision — and build — alternative economies and lifestyles grounded in an ethos of interdependence, cooperation, and respect for nature. Let’s use Juneteenth to build the political will and community action to do this.
Just as MLK Day is a day of service, let’s make Juneteenth “Heritage Day” — a call to action to reclaim, and celebrate our legacy and cooperative traditions, and to strengthen the bonds of collective struggle and community resilience — past, present and future — that we share.
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