Yesterday was Juneteenth and I am uncomfortable admitting that it was the first Juneteenth that I honored with reflection.
I mean, I knew about Juneteenth, but I didn’t KNOW Juneteenth. Didn’t make time to feel the deep hope of freedom that the day commemorated. Yesterday, ’cause this has BEEN A YEAR, I felt called to ponder.
I pondered the role my ancestors played in perpetuating the cycle of enslavement. Strickland. Stone. Stallings. Coppedge. May. Green. Rowlett. Dodson. So many wills, probate documents, and tax records. So many traces of Lucys, Reubens, and Armisteads deliberately obscured from my family story.
I pondered my role in perpetuating the erasure of my “cousins by consequence.” *
I reread the “full disclosure” posts I have written in the past about ancestral enslavement with my shoulders hunched, face scrunched. The tone makes me cringe. My white saviorism is on full display. I am embarrassed. I don’t know the right way to share this information. When is it my story to tell?
I hesitate to return to this work.
But that is what racism looks like, isn’t it? Silence of white folks.
So I make a promise this Juneteenth to walk the journey of discomfort, to tell the full family story. And I hope that folks will participate with me in the comments, to hold me accountable when the tone is off, or share when the story resonates; to find joy when a clue is dropped or ask a question when the digging can go deeper.
*Term used by Michael W. Twitty @KosherSoul.