Juneteenth is not just a holiday. It is a mirror—reflecting how this nation has long believed that Black people deserve nothing more than scraps. E
Juneteenth is not just a holiday. It is a mirror—reflecting how this nation has long believed that Black people deserve nothing more than scraps.
Even when we fight for basic dignity, for acknowledgment of stolen time and stolen lives, we are met with resistance. With dismissal. With people—yes, even some white women and white men we stand beside in solidarity—whispering or shouting that we’re getting too much.
They act as if our wins are handed to us the moment we ask, as if we haven’t endured centuries of silencing, struggle, grief, and bloodshed. As if our tears are “whining,” our mourning “drama,” and our demands for truth-telling “divisive.” “Victimhood.”
But let’s tell the truth here:
Juneteenth has been celebrated in Black communities since the late 1800s. And still, it took until 2021 for it to be signed into law as a federal holiday by President Joe Biden.
That only happened because of the unrelenting work of a Black woman named Opal Lee, who, at age 89, walked for miles to campaign for its recognition. She is a living embodiment of what it means to carry a movement on your back when no one else wants to carry the truth.
And yet, even now, people call Juneteenth “divisive.”
But somehow, those same voices have no problem with:
Schools that are predominantly attended by Black children, but named after Confederate generals
Mandatory field trips to plantations presented as charming estates
The bizarre reality that, for two years, Martin Luther King Jr. Day in Virginia was shared with Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson
Black people get nothing in this country without generations of resistance.
Not because we ask too much—but because too many people think we should ask for nothing at all.
We are constantly told to:
Soften our language
Stop making people uncomfortable
Be patient
Be grateful
Be quiet
We speak.
We march.
We grieve in public.
We raise our children in truth.
We honor our elders who died waiting.
And let me say this plainly—as an advocate, don’t think colleagues around me didn’t gawk when some of the most racist folks flocked my way. But pain recognizes pain, just like game recognizes game.
That’s why even some of the most prejudiced Survivors of abuse find themselves drawn to Black-led movements:
Because they know what it is to be silenced.
To be blamed.
To carry shame that was never yours to begin with.
To keep pushing forward through systems built to stop your healing and steal your power.
So no—Juneteenth is not just a celebration.
It is a reminder that we are still here.
Still rising.
Still telling the truth when the world would rather we forget.
🔥 Juneteenth Companion Affirmations
For Those Who Know the Cost of Truth
My freedom is not a gift—it is a legacy fought for, earned, and defended by generations.
I am not asking for too much. I am demanding what should have never been denied.
My pain is not “whining.” My story is sacred. My truth is whole.
Even when they try to shrink my power, I stand in the full dignity of my people’s fight.
I do not have to soften my voice to be heard. My voice was born from fire.
I am part of a lineage that turns grief into movement, mourning into momentum.
When they dismiss me, I remember: game recognizes game—and pain recognizes pain.
I will not be ashamed that others are drawn to my strength. They feel the truth I carry.
I am not here to be palatable. I am here to be free.
I honor the work of those before me by refusing silence, even when it is costly.
I do not need permission to celebrate survival. Juneteenth lives in my bones.
When the world calls my truth “divisive,” I call it divine.
I am not alone. I walk with the voices of those who demanded freedom and refused to die quiet.
I am the prayer of someone who never saw freedom—and I carry that with grace and purpose.
My resistance is love. My presence is protest. My legacy is undeniable.
