Federalizing Black History
by Anthony Arnold
June 2021
Recently, President Joe Biden signed into law a bill making June 19th, or “Juneteenth,” a Federal Holiday. While many of you are no doubt familiar with what the day means by now, having heard it relentlessly discussed over the last several days, there’s still a basic question that has gone unanswered: Do Black people want it?
For some, it has always been a part of the Black experience, or at least it’s always been a part of mine. There’s a tension between wanting to take pride in your heritage, and embracing the history that comes with that, and wanting to integrate with society at large, even if that means suppressing the parts of your history that are more unique, more painful.
In many ways that’s not even unique to Black people. America is built on this ever changing mixture of cultures, a constant mixing and remixing of ingredients that always forms something new. But as any chef can tell you, sometimes the best way to make a dish is to remove something that doesn’t go with the other ingredients. So, sometimes the best way to fold yourself into society is by subtraction, not addition.
What does this have to do with Juneteenth?
Before the law made it a federal holiday, for Black people, the decision over whether or not to celebrate the day was a personal one. We didn’t really discuss it with each other, and we certainly didn’t discuss it with outsiders. The choice was ours, and each of us was free to make the choice that we felt was best for ourselves.
For some, the day is one of jubilation. A day to celebrate when the promise of freedom began being fulfilled. For others it’s a more painful day that forces us to recall the ugliest parts of our history here, and it’s one we’d rather not talk about. Our history here is messy and complicated, and deciding what parts of that we want to discuss, and who we want to discuss it with, is a choice that comes with great intimacy and weight.
Until now, the private nature of the day allowed Black people to be protective of it. It was ours, and we could celebrate it how we chose to. A private party, attendable by invitation only, and one where the host had absolute power.
But now, none of that will be the case. The day belongs to everybody now, and I suspect it will suffer the same fate as every other holiday. Robbed of its focus, it will be reduced down to something that can be easily consumed. Which is to say that it will be smashed into a form where a profit can be made, and stripped of its meaning in the process.
Has this not been the case for Christmas, Easter, July 4th, and Memorial Day? Sure, we may give a token nod towards the original meaning of those days. But for most people they now represent nothing more than an extended weekend, and an excuse to spend money. I worry Juneteenth will proceed down a similar road.
I also worry that the intimacy that was attached to the decision of whether or not to share my Juneteenth will be lost. People, no matter how well-intentioned, will reach out to their Black friends. They’ll want explanations, and plans. They’ll make demands, even if they don’t quite see it that way.
And those demands will place some of us in a very awkward position. Because in many cases the bond simply isn’t there. The trust required to expose you to our most private feelings hasn’t been built up, and we’d rather not be put in a position of having to reject you. But, we will be.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate the thought behind the gesture. I do. America is having one of its moments, and there’s always a push to “do something”, whenever that happens. And perhaps this small gesture can be the push we need to do something more. There’s certainly a case to be made for that. One that I fervently hope proves correct.
But, as I watched the celebrations and expressions of joy unfold, I was struck by another thought. Black people’s happiness doesn’t have to be dependent on anyone’s approval. It’s this thought, more than any other, that drives my reasoning here.
Juneteenth being an official federal holiday doesn’t permit us to do anything we weren’t doing already. As news reports have pointed out, many Black people around the country already celebrated the day. That’s the case for other meaningful days as well, such as Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year for Judaism. The fact that the day isn’t recognized by the government, or outsiders, doesn’t necessarily detract from its power or importance.
Now, I understand that the history of slavery is American history, and should therefore be elevated to the same level as days like Independence Day. There’s certainly something powerful about that narrative, and it does have the ring of truth to it. Early American history is inseparable from slavery, and the lingering consequences of that history continue to haunt us, even today.
But does making Juneteenth a holiday address that? Does it advance the narrative forward; or does it provide yet another fracture point? Is the day elevated; or does it doom it to a slow move toward irrelevance, like other days?
Did Black people need it? We could have continued celebrating the day in our own communities, on our own terms. Yes, the outside world would have been ignorant, but that would have been their loss. And by keeping it in-house, we could have ensured that it was protected, elevated, and revered in the way we saw best.
It seems wrong, somehow, to suggest that Black people should be selfish with their culture. We are, after all, Americans. This country provides both tragedy and opportunity, even if it doesn’t always provide those in equal amounts. Yet, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting.
The reality is that this country has not always been a good steward of Black culture. It hasn’t taken care of our historical figures, and it hasn’t honored our deeds and accomplishments. And on the occasions it does take notice of us, it often tries to repackage what it discovers into a form that’s more pleasing to the majority; and frequently less Black.
<
Even Dr. King, our most celebrated Civil Rights leader, has not been immune to this. Decades after his death his words and messages have been twisted and warped to justify the exact behavior he once condemned; while the parts of his message that are truly confrontational have been almost entirely forgotten.
That’s what I’m afraid of here. I worry that this day, by being exposed to these same forces, will suffer the same sad fate. I’m worried that it will eventually be robbed of its power, and that Black people will, once again, be left holding an empty bag.