Latest news with #Reconstruction
Yahoo
a day ago
- Politics
- Yahoo
Editorial: Why Juneteenth matters — The promise of freedom, liberty and equality must still be redeemed
Two-and-a-half years after Abraham Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, the enslaved people of Texas learned — via the victorious Union Army — that they were liberated. It was June 19, 1865, when U.S. Maj. General Gordon Granger issued an order, reading: 'The people of Texas are informed that, in accordance with a proclamation from the Executive of the United States, all slaves are free. This involves an absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property between former masters and slaves, and the connection heretofore existing between them becomes that between employer and hired labor. The freedmen are advised to remain quietly at their present homes and work for wages.' That 'absolute equality of personal rights and rights of property,' of course, while easy to assert on paper, has been devilishly difficult in the 160 intervening years to make real. In Reconstruction, Southern whites brutally kept freed Black people down. During Jim Crow, segregation and voting suppression and racism made the promise of fairness little more than a taunt. Even since the civil rights movement, which culminated in sweeping federal legislation prohibiting discrimination, the pernicious virus of bias infects too many institutions. Even if every last American were enlightened — which is most certainly not the case — the accumulated weight of generations of bigotry, much of it written into our laws, still weighs on the nation. Wealth and power are tightly intertwined, and the median white household has a net worth 10 times the median Black household, a disparity that adds up to more than $10 trillion. There are many reasons for this, some of which flow from individuals' decisions — we don't for a moment suggest that to be Black in America is to be invariably destined to a life of poverty and oppression — but the lasting burden of decade after decade after decade of injustice still makes shoulders ache. On Juneteenth, we celebrate those who carry that weight and dedicate ourselves to building a fairer future. _____
Atlantic
2 days ago
- Politics
- Atlantic
The Hollowness of This Juneteenth
This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. Five years ago, as the streets ran hot and the body of George Floyd lay cold, optimistic commentators believed that America was on the verge of a breakthrough in its eternal deliberation over the humanity of Black people. For a brief moment, perhaps, it seemed as if the ' whirlwinds of revolt,' as Martin Luther King Jr. once prophesied, had finally shaken the foundations of the nation. In 2021, in the midst of this 'racial reckoning,' as it was often called, Congress passed legislation turning Juneteenth into 'Juneteenth National Independence Day,' a federal holiday. Now we face the sober reality that our country might be further away from that promised land than it has been in decades. Along with Memorial Day and Martin Luther King Jr. Day, Juneteenth became one of three federal holidays with explicit roots in Black history. Memorial Day was made a national observance in 1868 to honor soldiers felled during the Civil War, and was preceded by local celebrations organized by newly freed Black residents. The impetus for MLK Day came about with King's assassination exactly a century later, after which civil-rights groups and King's closest associates campaigned for the named holiday. Memorial Day and Martin Luther King Jr. Day both originated in times when the Black freedom struggle faced its greatest challenges. Juneteenth—an emancipation celebration popularized during Reconstruction—was codified during what purported to be a transformation in America's racial consciousness. But, like its predecessors, Juneteenth joined the federal-holiday ranks just as Americans also decided en masse that they were done with all that. The 1870s saw the radical promise of Reconstruction give way to Jim Crow; the 1960s gave way to the nihilism and race-baiting of the Nixonian and Reaganite years. In 2024, the election of Donald Trump to a second term signaled a national retreat from racial egalitarianism. In his first months as president, he has moved the country in that direction more quickly than many imagined he would. Trump has set fire to billions of dollars of contracts in the name of eliminating 'DEI,' according to the White House. His legislative agenda threatens to strip federal health care and disaster aid for populations that are disproportionately Black. The Department of Defense has defenestrated Black veterans in death, removing their names from government websites and restoring the old names of bases that originally honored Confederate officers. The Federal Aviation Administration plans to spend millions of dollars to investigate whether recruiting Black air-traffic controllers (among other minority groups) has caused more plane crashes. The Smithsonian and its constituents have come under attack for daring to present artifacts about slavery and segregation. Books about Black history are being disappeared from schools and libraries. The secretary of education has suggested that public-school lessons about the truth of slavery and Jim Crow might themselves be illegal. There were, perhaps, other possible outcomes after 2020, but they didn't come to pass. The Democratic Party harnessed King's whirlwinds of revolt to power its mighty machine, promising to transform America and prioritize racial justice. Corporations donned the mask of 'wokeness'; people sent CashApp 'reparations' and listened and learned. But the donations to racial-justice initiatives soon dried up. The party supported a war in Gaza that fundamentally undercut any claim to its moral authority, especially among many young Black folks who felt kinship with the Palestinians in their plight. When DEI emerged as a boogeyman on the far right, many corporate leaders and politicians started to slink away from previous commitments to equity. Democratic Party leadership underestimated the anti-anti-racism movement, and seemed to genuinely believe that earned racial progress would endure on its own. The backlash that anybody who'd studied history said would come came, and the country was unprepared. Trump and his allies spend a lot of time talking about indoctrination and banning DEI. But by and large, the campaign against 'wokeness' has always been a canard. The true quarries of Trump's movement are the actual policies and structures that made progress possible. Affirmative action is done, and Black entrance rates at some selective schools have already plummeted. Our existing federal protections against discrimination in workplaces, housing, health care, and pollution are being peeled back layer by layer. The 1964 Civil Rights Act might be a dead letter, and the 1965 Voting Rights Act is in perpetual danger of losing the last of its teeth. The Fourteenth Amendment itself stands in tatters. Five years after Democratic congresspeople knelt on the floor in kente cloth for nearly nine minutes, the holiday is all that really remains. This puts the oddness of today in stark relief. The purpose of Juneteenth was always a celebration of emancipation, of the Black community's emergence out of our gloomy past. But it was also an implicit warning that what had been done could be done again. Now millions of schoolchildren will enjoy a holiday commemorating parts of our history that the federal government believes might be illegal to teach them about. I once advocated for Juneteenth as a national holiday, on the grounds that the celebration would prompt more people to become familiar with the rich history of emancipation and Black folks' agency in that. But, as it turns out, transforming Juneteenth into 'Juneteenth National Independence Day' against the backdrop of the past few years of retrenchment simply creates another instance of hypocrisy. What we were promised was a reckoning, whatever that meant. What we got was a day off.
Time Magazine
2 days ago
- Politics
- Time Magazine
Juneteenth Reminds Us That the Fight for Freedom Is Far From Over
Juneteenth represents the long-delayed freedom of enslaved Black people in the United States. But Juneteenth isn't just a day to celebrate. For me, it's a marker—a moment to remember what came right after emancipation. Because every time Black people in this country have pushed forward toward freedom and justice, something has stepped up to push back. That pushback is the unfinished business of American democracy, and it's playing out right now. After the Civil War, the promise of Reconstruction was real. Newly-freed Black people voted, ran for office, built institutions, and claimed their rights. But the backlash was swift and violent. The Ku Klux Klan wasn't just a fringe group—it was an organized force, often aided by local power structures, meant to terrorize Black communities and preserve white supremacy. Klan members and others didn't just attack in the streets; they infiltrated sheriffs' offices, courts, and local governments. Their ideology seeped into institutions designed to protect justice. Reconstruction was ultimately undermined by this collusion—laws without enforcement, rights without protection. That same pattern is echoing today. Investigations have revealed that hundreds of individuals affiliated with extremist groups—like the Oath Keepers and Three Percenters—have served in law enforcement or the military. Members of the Oath Keepers and Proud Boys were convicted for their roles in the January 6 insurrection. Pardons have been granted and these repeated public calls for clemency have sent a message: some groups can act with impunity. Today, a long tradition of white supremacist ideology undermines public safety and provides permission for violence. It's important to distinguish between white nationalism and white supremacy. White nationalism is an organized, ideological push for a white-only nation—groups like the Proud Boys and Oath Keepers fit this mold. White supremacy is the broader system that maintains racial hierarchy and inequality through laws, culture, and institutions. White nationalists exploit and reinforce that system while posing a direct threat to democracy and multiracial belonging. White supremacist forces during Reconstruction used law and policy to strip Black people of newly gained rights. Today, white nationalist movements aim to reshape who belongs in America by targeting the most vulnerable. Their ideology isn't confined to rallies or fringe forums—it's embedded in policy agendas that echo past efforts to define citizenship narrowly and weaponize government systems to exclude. Nowhere is this clearer than in the realm of immigration enforcement. In recent months, large-scale immigration enforcement actions have devastated immigrant and refugee communities. These aren't just isolated policy decisions—they are calculated assaults on the rights that Americans have fought for over generations. When white nationalist-aligned forces attack birthright citizenship, they're not just targeting immigrants. They're threatening the 14th Amendment—a cornerstone of post-slavery constitutional protection that guards us all against second-class status. These attacks are connected. Immigration raids, voter suppression laws, and attacks on educational freedom are part of a broader effort to redraw the lines of who belongs in America and to weaponize citizenship as a tool of exclusion. It's a dangerous project that strikes at the heart of multiracial democracy. In response, business owners, faith leaders, and civil society groups have organized legal challenges, rapid-response networks, and public campaigns. These acts of resistance echo the original spirit of Juneteenth—not just surviving, but fighting back. But the danger doesn't end with extremist groups. The deeper threat lies in the systems that allow them to thrive—flawed hiring practices, opaque oversight, and policies that enable racial profiling and targeted enforcement. It's the machinery of mass incarceration, deportation, and over-policing which is still disproportionately aimed at Black and Brown communities. This is why Juneteenth matters beyond symbolism. It's a call to vigilance and collective power. The fight for Black freedom and dignity is fundamental to any functioning democracy. When Black people are free—when our rights are secure—everyone moves closer to a society of shared voice, safety, and belonging. Each of us has a role in this long, disciplined struggle. We must organize from the ground up. We must educate our communities, demand transparency, and build new systems rooted in justice—whether that means ending harmful immigration practices, exposing extremist ties in public agencies, or investing in alternatives to punitive policing. When white supremacy infiltrates law enforcement and federal agencies, it doesn't just harm those directly targeted—it undermines democracy itself. Defending democracy means rejecting that infiltration and choosing to build something better, together. So, as we mark Juneteenth this year, let's carry two truths: a clear-eyed understanding of history's hard lessons and a fierce commitment to action. The freedom Juneteenth commemorates was never a finish line. It was always a starting point. If we answer that call—if we organize with intention, demand accountability, and center the long arc of Black struggle to build one nation, with liberty and justice for all—we can build a future where Juneteenth's promise is fulfilled for every person who calls this country home.
Associated Press
2 days ago
- General
- Associated Press
Rebuilding one of the nation's oldest Black churches to begin at Juneteenth ceremony
WILLIAMSBURG, Va. (AP) — A ceremonial groundbreaking will be held Thursday for the rebuilding of one of the nation's oldest Black churches, whose congregants first gathered outdoors in secret before constructing a wooden meetinghouse in Virginia. The First Baptist Church of Williamsburg officially established itself in 1776, although parishioners met before then in fields and under trees in defiance of laws that prevented African Americans from congregating. Free and enslaved members erected the original church house around 1805, laying the foundation with recycled bricks. Reconstructing the 16-foot by 32-foot (5-meter by 10-meter) building will help demonstrate that 'Black history is American history,' First Baptist Pastor Reginald F. Davis told The Associated Press before the Juneteenth groundbreaking. 'Oral history is one thing but to have an image to go along with the oral history makes a greater impact on the psyche of oppressed people,' said Davis, who leads the current 215-member congregation in a 20th Century church that is less than a mile from the original site. 'Black Americans have been part of this nation's history before and since the Declaration of Independence.' The original building was destroyed by a tornado in 1834. First Baptist's second structure, built in 1856, stood there for a century. But the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, a living history museum, bought the property in 1956 and turned the space into a parking lot. Colonial Williamsburg had covered the costs of building First Baptist's current church house. But for decades it failed to tell the church's pioneering history and the stories of other colonial Black Americans. In recent years, the museum has placed a growing emphasis on telling a more complete story about the nation's founding. Colonial Williamsburg's rebuilding of the church is an opportunity to tell Black history and resurrect the stories of those who originally built it. Telling Virginia's untold story Rebuilding First Baptist's original meetinghouse will fill an important historical gap, while bolstering the museum's depiction of Virginia's 18th century capital through interpreters and restored buildings. More than half of the 2,000 people who lived in Williamsburg at the time were Black, many of them enslaved. Rev. James Ingram is an interpreter who has for 27 years portrayed Gowan Pamphlet, First Baptists' pastor when the original church structure was built. Pamphlet was an enslaved tavern worker who followed his calling to preach, sermonizing equality, despite the laws that prohibited large gatherings of African Americans out of fear of slave uprisings. 'He is a precursor to someone like Frederick Douglass, who would be the precursor to someone like Martin Luther King Jr.,' Ingram said. 'Gowan Pamphlet was leading the charge.' The museum's archaeologists uncovered the original church's foundation in 2021, prompting Pastor Davis to say then that it was 'a rediscovery of the humanity of a people.' 'This helps to erase the historical and social amnesia that has afflicted this country for so many years,' he said. The archaeologists also located 62 graves, while experts examined three sets of remains and linked them to the congregation. Scientists at William & Mary's Institute for Historical Biology said the teeth of a Black male in his teens indicated some kind of stress, such as malnutrition or disease. 'It either represents the conditions of an enslaved childhood or far less likely — but possibly — conditions for a free African American in childhood,' Michael Blakey, the institute's director, said in 2023. 'It was a marvel' In the early 1800s, the congregation acquired the property for the original church from a local white merchant. The land was low, soft and often soggy — hardly ideal for building, said Jack Gary, Colonial Williamsburg's executive director of archaeology. But the church's congregants, many of whom were skilled tradespeople, made it work by flipping bricks on their side and making other adjustments to lay a level foundation. 'It was a marvel that they were able to build a structure there, but also that the structure persists and even grows bigger,' Gary said, adding that the church was later expanded. Based on their excavation, archaeologists surmise there was no heat source, such as a fireplace, no glass in the windows and no plaster finish, Gary said. About 50 people could have sat comfortably inside, possibly 100 if they were standing. The congregation numbered about 500, which included people on surrounding plantations. Services likely occurred outside the church as well. White planters and business owners were often aware of the large gatherings, which technically were banned, while there's documentary evidence of some people getting caught, Gary said. Following Nat Turner's rebellion in 1831, which killed more than 50 white people in Virginia's Southampton County, the congregation was led by white pastors, though it was Black preachers doing the work, Gary said. The tornado destroyed the structure a few years later. Boards are being cut The museum is rebuilding the 1805 meetinghouse at its original site and will use common wood species from the time: pine, poplar and oak, said Matthew Webster, the museum's executive director of architectural preservation and research. The boards are already being cut. Construction is expected to finish next year. The windows will have shutters but no glass, Webster said, while a concrete beam will support the new church directly over its original foundation, preserving the bricks. 'When we build the earliest part of the church, we will put bricks on their sides and will lay them in that strange way because that tells the story of those individuals struggling to quickly get their church up,' Webster said. 'And then when we build the addition, it will be this formal foundation that really shows the establishment of the church.' Janice Canaday, who traces her lineage to First Baptist, said Williamsburg's Black community never forgot its original location or that its graves were paved over in the 1950s. 'They will never be able to expunge us from the landscape,' said Canaday, who is also the museum's African American community engagement manager. 'It doesn't matter if you take out the building. It doesn't matter if you ban books. You will never be able to pull that root up because that root is so deep.'
Yahoo
13-06-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Opinion - 5 years after George Floyd: What we've learned from the ebbs and flows of progress
Five years ago, the world watched as George Floyd slowly died under the knee of Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin. Brother Floyd was not the first Black man killed by an overzealous police officer, nor even the first caught on video. But the combination of his constant refrain of 'I can't breathe' and the expression of utter disregard for human life demonstrated on Officer Chauvin's face etched this moment into the consciousness of our nation. Floyd's murder ignited nationwide protests, the largest since the civil rights movement. In communities large and small, people marched in fury and in grief, demanding justice not only for George Floyd but for every life cut short by police violence. They called for something deeper: an end to the systemic racism that has brutalized Black communities for centuries. For a while, it felt like real change was possible. Cities debated reducing bloated police budgets and investing in addressing the root causes of violence in our communities. Corporations made commitments to racial equity. Politicians, even some who had long ignored calls for reform, found their voices and joined the chorus calling for change. Unfortunately, as in every era when victories against racism have been won, the backlash against reforms came swiftly. We are seeing that now. But our fight for justice must continue. Over the past five years, we have witnessed an aggressive effort to claw back not just the gains from 2020 but decades of progress on racial equity. Politicians and media figures turned 'wokeness' into a slur. In 2022, Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis signed into law the 'Stop W.O.K.E. Act,' restricting schools and workplaces from providing education about systemic racism, and thousands of books about race and marginalized people were banned. Corporations eager to support equity initiatives in the aftermath of Floyd's murder appeared relieved to be freed of the responsibility for Diversity, Equity, Inclusion and Accessibility by the edicts of Project 2025 and the current administration's flood of executive orders. In abandoning these responsibilities, they also abandoned people as they rushed to curry favor with politicians. This backlash of hate and bigotry, the abandonment of principles of equity and fairness, the flaming of fear, and the theology of scarcity cannot stand. Every step toward reform is met with retrenchment, a doubling down on the very racist and unfair systems we seek to dismantle. After Reconstruction came Jim Crow. After the civil rights movement came mass incarceration. And, after Barack Obama and Black Lives Matter came Project 2025. Despite this reactionary tide, we must remember the many victories we have won, and understand deep in our being that there is no victory without a fight. Illinois, where I live, was one of the few states to take real, tangible action in the wake of the 2020 uprisings. While much of the country settled for symbolic gestures, the Illinois legislative Black caucus championed and secured the passage of several omnibus bills aimed at addressing systemic racism throughout our state. Among them was one of the most ambitious packages of criminal justice reforms in recent memory. Illinois became the first state in the nation to eliminate the use of money bond, ending a system where freedom was bought and sold, which disproportionately harmed Black and minority communities. Guardians of the status quo prophesied chaos and destruction, and stoked the flames of fear and division; yet, a year later, crime rates are dropping, and individuals accused of crimes are appearing in court as required. Results prove that centering safety and justice works. Ending the outdated and absurd practice of forcing people to purchase their freedom while awaiting trial was a direct response to calls for systemic change. It demonstrated what is possible when we collectively raise good trouble. It serves as proof of democracy in action, showing that public outcry can lead to concrete policy shifts and that marches can result in tangible legislative changes. Good trouble, or Holy mischief, is not just a civic ethic but a spiritual principle central to the ministry of Jesus. Pretrial fairness demands that those who claim a faith tradition consider: do we believe in compassion, redemption, restoration and equity, or is our faith nothing more than a hollow trinket used for personal status and psychological comfort? But Illinois was an exception, not the rule. Across the country, police budgets have ballooned, and reform measures have been walked back. Still, that revolutionary summer of 2020 mattered. It demonstrated the strength of collective action, even in the midst of a global pandemic. It reminded us that millions of people from diverse races, classes and ethnicities were willing to leave their homes and publicly declare that this is not the country we want to live in. These are not our values. We can do better. The backlash has been loud, but we can be louder. We must remember that half of the country didn't vote for the current administration and that most Democrats, along with a quarter of Republicans, believe we could do more to advance racial equality. And we can. We must keep pushing the needle forward, just as generations before us did. The fight for racial justice will take time. It may feel hopeless at times. But that hopelessness becomes real only if we silently comply. With our nation once again at a historic crossroads, it is essential for us to recommit to uprooting racism and resisting forces that seek to dismantle our democracy. The future of our country depends on it. Rev. Dr. Otis Moss III is the senior pastor of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
