Juneteenth for All?

Screw it, I’m starting with a different holiday. On Memorial Day — whilst parading or shopping or beaching — have you ever stopped and wondered where the tradition began in the first place? It’s a story worth retelling on Juneteenth.

Although Memorial Day became a federal holiday in 1971, the tradition began in the wake of the Civil War. For years, historians disagreed over the exact date and place of its origins. Then, a few years ago, Yale historian David Blight made a discovery that cast new light on those debates.

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On May 1, 1865, thousands of newly freed Black Americans in Charleston, South Carolina held what Blight and others now consider to be the earliest forerunner to Memorial Day. They built a cemetery and reburied Union soldiers who had been dumped into a mass grave, then enlisted the help of White abolitionists and missionaries for the purposes of an elaborate parade. Newspaper accounts reported that some 10,000 people attended, most of them Black, including thousands of children who sang The Star Spangled Banner before showering the gravestones with flowers.

“I expect [Juneteenth] will be 95 percent Black, like it always is. No Kings Day was the opposite, 95 percent White. It’s a tale of two mass gatherings.” — James Peterson

It didn’t take long for ceremonies honoring dead soldiers to crop up all over the country. What began as a small celebration of Black Americans quickly got sublimated into the broader American psyche.

In contrast, the legacy of Juneteenth has followed a very different trajectory. Until recently, it’s been treated as a niche holiday by most Americans (if they even knew about it), despite the fact that it originated from the same moment in time, owing its creation to the Civil War. On June 19, 1865, union troops arrived in Galveston, Texas (weeks after some were honored in Charleston) to enforce the Emancipation Proclamation. Texas was the last corner of the Confederacy where chattel slavery had remained, and the first state where Juneteenth celebrations would take place, one year later.

Like a lot of Black Americans, I had mixed feelings when President Joe Biden declared Juneteenth a federal holiday in 2021. I was worried that it would undercut the push for reparations. I was worried about Democrats embarrassing themselves with a second kente-cloth incident. More than anything, I worried the holiday would lose its meaning with White America suddenly taking notice. As Fortune 500 companies swooped in to sponsor Juneteenth events in major cities, I was left with a feeling of dread: In 50 years, would Juneteenth be all about hotdogs and watching F-1 fighters fly over baseball fields?

On Juneteenth and No Kings

While those anxieties never faded away, they roared back in full force last weekend while I was consuming some of the online chatter about No Kings Day, a day of protest that brought out hundreds of thousands of mostly White Americans. In a bout of allyship, many No Kings Day supporters encouraged the anti-Trump crowds to show up for Juneteenth and Pride events scheduled for the same week as well. In some cities with early Juneteenth festivities, like Atlanta, No Kings marches were intentionally drawn up to flow into the other parades.

I understood the sentiment. Indeed, there’s a shared message of liberation and freedom across Pride, Juneteenth and No Kings Day. But it still made me angry. Was the No Kings crowd inviting themselves to the cookout? Were they exploiting the enthusiasm of Pride for a separate cause? What’s the fine line between coalition-building and party-crashing?

Of course, I was ruminating on this while I sat in front of a computer screen. I didn’t even go to the protests myself. So I called one of my several friends who did, Dr. James Peterson, WURD host and Citizen contributor. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” he told me, as we both laughed at the fact that I’d clipped a social media post comparing No Kings Day’s protesters to the vampires from the movie Sinners.

It’s true that not every battle can be shared, but the inverse also applies: some issues must be everyone’s fight.

Peterson didn’t hesitate. “The most peaceful protest I’ve seen in the Trump era,” he said. “It was inspiring.”

What about the lack of racial diversity in the crowd? I asked. Peterson reminded me that most years during the Juneteenth parade in Philly, attendees are overwhelmingly Black. And this year, he expects to see the same while broadcasting live for WURD. “I expect it’ll be 95 percent Black, like it always is,” he says. “No Kings Day was the opposite, 95 percent White. It’s a tale of two mass gatherings.”

In other words, he expressed concerns that were the exact opposite of where I’d started from. Instead of worrying about White people infringing on a traditionally Black holiday, he forced me to wonder: What will be the consequences of both groups not showing up for each other at all?

“The politics of grievance and separation are so strong in the Trump era,” he said. “It’s a good reminder that we have the potential to recreate that Obama coalition, but we haven’t closed the dissonance between the groups.”

In 50 years, will Juneteenth be all about hotdogs and watching F-1 fighters fly over baseball fields?

That helped me realize that the politics of separation in America had taken a particular toll on me. I’d previously drawn inspiration from the racially-mixed coalitions that came together in the 1960s Civil Rights Movement — or more recently in 2020, during Black Lives Matter protests following the horrific murder of George Floyd — to spur real change. Five years ago, I witnessed a remarkably diverse group of Americans march side by side to achieve police reform, the rise of DEI policies, and corporate promises to reduce the racial wealth gap. Some of those gains have since disappeared. But it seemed like I’d forgotten about the victories altogether.

It’s probably no coincidence that Donald Trump’s return to the presidency, and his divisive ways, coincides with a backslide into more racially-homogenous mass gatherings. I’ve heard from some Black people who skipped No Kings Day because they didn’t feel like it was their fight. I know White people who’ll skip Juneteenth because they don’t understand what it’s about or out of fear that they themselves will be a distraction, despite wanting to show support. It’s true that not every battle can be shared, but the inverse also applies: Some issues must be everyone’s fight, especially now when so many of us are under attack. Is there a way to recapture some of that optimism and unity from yesteryear?

Which brings me back to the original Memorial Day. Back in 1865, the freed Black community in Charleston showed up in droves for something much bigger than themselves. They had every reason to stay home — but they chose to spend their newfound freedom by mobilizing around an important cause, one that transcended race or politics. In return, those of us today can return the favor by showing up for Black liberation on Juneteenth — this year, and every year going forward.

And if there’s another No Kings Day in the future, I won’t make the same mistake again. Count me in.