“Hmm. Didn’t know where to go. Turned us out just like, you know, you turn out cattle. [ laugh ] I say. Didn’t know where ta go.”
—Laura Smalley, former slave in antebellum Texas; interviewed the Library of Congress’ Born in Slavery: Slave Narratives from the Federal Writers’ Project
Laura Smalley’s recollection of living in Texas as African slave before being freed two years after the Emancipation Proclamation foregrounds the quiet troubles I have with Juneteenth.
For starters, the holiday reminds me of more trauma porn Texas slave owners and their masses of aspirants were able to enjoy — at the expense of the joy slaves continued to be denied of. I have a hard time raising a watermelon juice glass to that.
Next, Smalley’s quote delivers a direct, between-the-eyes disclosure of her living situation and also serves a broader description of the trauma-promise-denial cycle African descendants experience throughout American history.
Turned out. Unprepared. Unequal — from June 19, 1865 and forward.
Even slave owners were paid for the inconvenience of freeing their slaves — $300 per head, for example — thanks to the District of Columbia Emancipation Act.
Acts of terrorism and the compromise of 1877 followed the historical pattern that defined melanated life throughout the 19th and 20th centuries: progress, followed by violent Conservative pushback, and cemented by fearful Liberal recoil in the name of compromise.
As if a universe that lies between the worlds of inequity and equity is an existence anyone can be proud of.
Half a voting right, anyone?
How about half the school funding your community really needs?
But back to 1865 — keeping people enslaved and illiterate for 200 years carries along trauma that takes generations to heal.
Little boys and girls don’t suddenly emerge from the womb — wrapped in 200 years of slavery — believing they can live their dreams. Shoot, it shouldn’t be surprising that even their dreams are limited.
And like I already mentioned, America’s continued pattern of inequity and so-called compromise did little to help the healing process.
Think of how many generations of mentally wounded people couldn’t show up for their communities.
African slaves were freed to experience the Black codes; KKK raids; Jim Crow; redlining; housing segregation, disguised as urban renewal; decades of selective government stimulus programming; and gentrification.
I could go on.
Let Juneteenth serve as a reminder that we need to fulfill America’s promise that all children can have limitless dreams and have a reach that’s just as long.
“Turned us out just like … cattle.”
Freedom doesn’t happen through incantations. Look at the decades after June 19, 1865 as evidence.
Never has — from either side of the protest.
Freedom also means access to the tools everyone else has to pursue the lives they desire, as long as they don’t harm others.
I know — this isn’t the Juneteenth vibe that you saw on your party invite. but give my words some thought while you hit the potato salad …
song currently stuck in my head: “more than love” – samantha schmütz and adrian younge
mentalunrest.com 