A Reflection on Freedom on Juneteenth

What does Freedom actually mean?  Can any one person have freedom, if it’s not available to all?  Today is Juneteenth, the day marking the end of Slavery in the United States.  The day that marked the end of one system of oppression to trade for another, more hidden, slippery system that still exists today. 

Freedom is defined as:

·      the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint.

·      absence of subjection to foreign domination or despotic government.

·      the state of not being imprisoned or enslaved.

It’s hard for me, a white, cisgender, educated woman, to see my own freedom, my own secret benefits.  We are psychologically wired to see our shortfalls more easily than we see our strengths.  I see my differences before I see my similarities.  And the differences trigger a sense of less-than.  I see my hurtles as sanctions: a rejection of my romantic relationships with people who were the same sex as me, or trans; falling into the story that my income determined my class or social standing; sliding back and forth between a plus size and prescribed size body; managing a hidden acute and chronic health condition.  These are my stories.  My limiting beliefs. 

But none of these limitations rivals the way my freedom would be limited if I were a Black citizen in this country.  I have taken for granted so many things:

·      I have a great education.

·      My parents had a great education, and so did their parents.

·      When I turn on Netflix or Youtube, I know I’ll see mostly people of my own race.

·      In filling out a renters application, or any application, I will not be evaluated or rejected based on the color of my skin.

·      I will not be followed while I shop, period.

·      I can assume in any public discussion, race will not be a factor in individual responses to my ideas.

·      If a traffic cop pulls me over, I will be less likely to get a ticket.

·      If I sit in my parked car to eat lunch, no one will give me any mind.

·      If swear often, no one assumes that’s because I’ve got bad morals. 

These are the things I don’t see.  Didn’t see.  Perhaps I didn’t want to see.  But I’m learning. The process of learning moves from gross to the nuanced understanding.  I have seen the gross - in both senses of the word.  I remember when I was very young, seeing the video of Rodney King and the riots that followed the shady trial.  None of that felt okay.  It wasn’t, still isn’t.  This is particularly relevant now as we’ve seen more and more documentation of this kind of horrific brutality.  But I also remember the Charleston Massacre, only five years ago, that left nine Black people murdered during Bible study.  In seeking truth, compassion, and love, they were killed.  It’s just senseless.  And it needs to stop.  All of it.

I used to teach a short story called “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” by Ursala K. LeGuin for a Dystopian Literature class.  In the tale, readers learn of a utopian world filled with prosperity and joy that all depends on the perpetual misery of one individual child.  And in it, we are asked if that is true joy.  It’s not.  This has to change.

One law doesn’t end slavery.  Laws are the outward manifestation of the inward changes we need to make as people.  Freedom was granted, on paper.  But how do we truly grant freedom to a population who’s had it hijacked for the duration of this country? 

We look within.  We notice our own scarcity mentality.  We recognize where we benefit from holding someone else down.  And then we give a hand, a voice, a signature, our time, money, and essentially, love. Black lives are worth that.