It wasn’t until I moved to Minnesota that I heard the term “Juneteenth.”
Makeda Norris
It seems that when Texas declared the 19th of June to be a holiday in 1980, the idea caught on in the larger Black community and became a national observance. “Juneteenth” was born. Today, Juneteenth is commemorated as an “American holiday.” And we all know what that means: parades and festivals with food and merchandise vendors and folks spending lots of money.
I grew up in Odessa, Texas, on the south side of the tracks – the “colored side” of town. My Daddy was a minister and civil rights leader there. His day job was barbering. My Momma was a reluctant stay-at-home housewife. Daddy insisted on making sure that his wife didn’t have to work to support the family. My three sisters and brother and I went to the segregated schools where, with all the other children in the community, we learned reading, writing, arithmetic and “Negro History” from our Black teachers. Since the books we were issued were old, outdated castoffs from the white schools, the teachers taught mainly from their own knowledge and resources – we only pulled out the books when some white person came to “inspect.” Our learning was reinforced by our parents and community when we weren’t in school.
For us the “19th of June” was more of a day of reflection. We gathered together for a special early evening meal – barbecue, potato salad, baked beans or black-eyed peas, peach cobbler and homemade ice cream. Daddy would say the blessing and as we ate, he and Momma would tell us the stories of our people, our family. We heard about how Lincoln freed the slaves. We learned that slaves in Texas didn’t know about the Emancipation Proclamation that had freed them until two years after it happened, on the day a Union general read those federal orders in Galveston, June 19, 1865. We heard how some of Momma’s ancestors had run away from their former masters because they feared that they weren’t really free – at least not for long, which would prove to be the truth of what was to follow.
A solemn occasion
We did not “celebrate” this day. We still lived in Jim Crow territory, and being blatant about this day would have been a very dangerous thing to do. Besides, there was nothing to be overjoyed about as our people and our family had been robbed of precious time; many had even died while still enslaved in Texas for those two, long years. Over the decades, as I grew into adulthood, I have kept that spirit and meaning of this day — the “19th of June,” a day of reflection and remembrance – a solemn occasion.
Today I plan to observe it by preparing a special meal to share with my son and grandchildren as we talk about what this day is about. We’ll call family and friends and watch a movie or two – for certain “Glory” and another about our people’s history in this country, but I’ve still got nothing to celebrate. Our people still have nothing to celebrate.
Makeda Norris is an African-American elder residing in the Twin Cities. She works as a consultant and community connector in health access and career development.
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