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Juneteenth is a reminder of why the march for liberty and justice is not over, but a moment to recommit to the work ahead.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
On Juneteenth's call to justice and the U.S. Supreme Court's role in the eternal quest for Black liberation.
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.