But not the first. Juneteenth refers to June 19, 1865, but I must back up a bit, to express the full significance of this date.

After 246 years of forced labor and captivity, a war between the U.S. government and the ceded southern states (the Confederacy) “ended” the institution of slavery in the U.S. On January 1, 1863, a federal order, the Emancipation Proclamation, declared "that all persons held as slaves within the rebellious states are, and henceforward shall be free." However, Black people in the Confederate states remained in bondage throughout the remainder of the war for the next 2 years. Finally, on April 9, 1865, the Confederacy surrendered, and slavery was abolished in all states.

Fast forward to June 19, 1865. The 250,000 Black captives in the state of Texas were finally released by military decree. This was two months and 10 days after slavery had officially ended in all other states and two and a half years since the Emancipation Proclamation. As well, some slaveholders across the U.S. south chose not to inform their captives, who had no access to information as they were forbidden by law to read, write or travel. Many people remained enslaved throughout the 1865 harvest season and were not informed of their freedom and released until many months after the abolishment.

Juneteenth

June 19, 1865 was a day of celebration for those who had been in bondage. The day has been acknowledged in many ways in parts of the Black community ever since.

I never knew about Juneteenth until I was an adult. By then, I was part of a small community of friends and family who had been re-defining our Black identity and establishing what we call our Village. We had been celebrating Kwanzaa, a Black American holiday, for many years and decided to also commemorate Juneteenth about 10 years ago. While Kwanzaa was celebrated with rituals and ceremonies, Juneteenth became a day of fellowship, reflection and veneration for our ancestors who endured the horrors of capture, the Middle Passage, and forced servitude with no hope of rescue. We share that history with our children and our community.

For us, Juneteenth includes our elders, who share with us and our children the truth of their American journey and experiences under Jim Crow, segregation, the Civil Rights Movement and up to this day. The men of our village talk to our boys about how they will be judged as Black men and share the inevitable “talk” about how to deal with police with the goal of coming home alive. So, do we celebrate Juneteenth? I wouldn’t use the term “celebrate.” It is more of a commemoration and an acknowledgement of our history. A chance to say we survived, and to define the manner in which we now choose to move forward.

The federal holiday

In 2021, when Juneteenth became a federal holiday, I had mixed feelings. In some ways I think I mourned the loss of this personal and private commemoration in our Black communities. I also had immediate concerns about what this holiday would become considering the current state of race relations in our country.

From the ‘macro aggressive’ police killings of Black citizens to the microaggressions every person of color endures daily; from discrimination in lending, housing, education and employment, to the way our hair grows and how we choose to wear it. Are we as a nation responsible enough to observe this day with respect? Would the spirit of Juneteenth survive the commercialization and inevitable monetization we seem to bring to everything? Will this be just another Monday off work?

Which brings us to today. How should I, as a Black person or ally, observe Juneteenth?

There is no one answer, but here are my hopes:

Be respectful in your observance. The original Juneteenth may have been a time of jubilee, but a lot has happened since then. Keep in mind the true meaning and continued impact of this history when you choose symbols and activities to commemorate this day. Please express yourself with integrity.

Include family in your observance—to honor families impacted by the aforementioned traumas and to model how we take steps towards racial healing and justice for future generations.

Reflect on how we can move closer to racial justice and equity. How can my family help? How can my community or church take action? How can my employer better reflect racial equity and inclusion? Open or participate in the discussion. Make a move to make it so.

Resist the commercialization of Juneteenth. At least minimize it in your observance. The irony of using a Black holiday to enrich predominantly white corporations is just one more trauma to an already traumatized community.

Make Juneteenth a stimulus for action. Make it an opportunity to connect with Black families and communities, to learn about the history of Blacks in America, to volunteer for or contribute to an organization striving for racial justice or to patronize a Black-owned business.

I wish you peace, blessings and prosperity as we all observe Juneteenth together.

For additional reading, find these titles from your library in the Libby app, compiled by Libby Life contributor and librarian Lynn Bycko:

Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi

Homegoing follows the parallel paths of these sisters and their descendants through eight generations: from the Gold Coast to the plantations of Mississippi, from the American Civil War to Jazz Age Harlem. Yaa Gyasi’s extraordinary novel illuminates slavery’s troubled legacy both for those who were taken and those who stayed—and shows how the memory of captivity has been inscribed on the soul of our nation.

Kindred by Octavia E. Butler

Dana’s torment begins when she suddenly vanishes on her 26th birthday from California, 1976, and is dragged through time to antebellum Maryland to rescue a boy named Rufus, heir to a slaveowner’s plantation. She soon realizes the purpose of her summons to the past: protect Rufus to ensure his assault of her Black ancestor so that she may one day be born. As she endures the traumas of slavery and the soul-crushing normalization of savagery, Dana fights to keep her autonomy and return to the present.

How the Word Is Passed by Clint Smith

Beginning in his hometown of New Orleans, Clint Smith leads the reader on an unforgettable tour of monuments and landmarks—those that are honest about the past and those that are not—that offer an intergenerational story of how slavery has been central in shaping our nation's collective history, and ourselves.

Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson

Bryan Stevenson was a young lawyer when he founded the Equal Justice Initiative, a legal practice dedicated to defending those most desperate and in need: the poor, the wrongly condemned and women and children trapped in the farthest reaches of our criminal justice system. One of his first cases was that of Walter McMillian, a young man who was sentenced to die for a notorious murder he insisted he didn’t commit. The case drew Bryan into a tangle of conspiracy, political machination and legal brinksmanship—and transformed his understanding of mercy and justice forever.

The Nickel Boys by Colson Whitehead

When Elwood Curtis, a black boy growing up in 1960s Tallahassee, is unfairly sentenced to a juvenile reformatory called the Nickel Academy, he finds himself trapped in a grotesque chamber of horrors. Elwood’s only salvation is his friendship with fellow “delinquent” Turner, which deepens despite Turner’s conviction that Elwood is hopelessly naive, that the world is crooked and that the only way to survive is to scheme and avoid trouble. As life at the Academy becomes ever more perilous, the tension between Elwood’s ideals and Turner’s skepticism leads to a decision whose repercussions will echo down the decades.

Borrow from your library on the Libby app.