Gary Ablett caps off milestone win over sloppy Suns with vintage 60m bomb

Juneteenth - not the Fourth of July - was the real Independence Day

I don’t begrudge anyone’s choice to celebrate the Fourth. But for many Americans the holiday evokes ambivalence, at best I do not celebrate the 4th of July. This choice, which I made several years ago, is one that I wouldn’t previously have called expressly political. I didn’t stop celebrating the fourth of July in an attempt to formally renounce the occasion for its utter hypocrisy, though I certainly believe I would have been more than justified in holding that sentiment. I stopped observing the holiday because I felt ridiculous doing so.

 I won’t deny that the years I spent gathering with friends and family, wearing the colors red, white, and blue, and staring upwards into an evening sky illuminated by dazzling light shows were, for me, filled with an irreplaceable innocence and optimism. But as I moved into adulthood, learned the expansive and ongoing history of American imperialism, experienced blatant racism, homophobia, and transphobia, and internalized that my ancestors were held in bondage and considered chattel far beyond the date and year that I was supposed to consider the demarcation of American “freedom”, the idea of celebrating the holiday became untenable.

As WEB Du Bios argued in The Souls of Black Folk (1903), a “double consciousness” exists for Black Americans – a perception of self that must contend with both a rich inner world and a sense of intrinsic value, and a racist dominant society. This state of duality is further complicated by a phenomenon that legal scholar Kimberlé Crenshaw named intersectionality in 1989. The term describes how interlocking systems of oppression result in hybridized forms of subjugation for individuals who occupy multiple marginalized identities. 

In this current climate, as a Black American who is also queer and trans* identified, there is not a day that goes by when I don’t feel fear. I fear that I will be harassed, legally denied goods and services, accused of a crime I didn’t commit or assaulted by a stranger who is incensed by my very existence. Worse, I fear that my name might become a hashtag – my death made a viral internet sensation by onlookers recording my final breaths, as my life is taken by someone who swore to serve and protect me.

It is difficult to take pride in being American, to celebrate “Independence Day”, when I am deeply aware of the ways in which my citizenship is constrained by a society laden with intolerance and oppression. However, this year, in particular, a new sort of pride is swelling within me. American activists, advocates, abolitionists, and, globally, individuals across a broad spectrum of lived experiences, are protesting. People are taking to the streets – and the internet – decrying white supremacy and police brutality, toppling racist monuments, demanding that their voices be heard, and insisting that Black Lives Matter. These are the sources of pride that the Fourth of July could never give me. Acts of resistance, however small, fill me with renewed optimism – and hope that one day I might move through the world with less fear.

 

In addition to the ongoing protests, this year was the first year when Juneteenth celebrations seemed to finally receive clear recognition in the US sociopolitical landscape. The holiday, celebrated on the nineteenth of June, commemorates the announcement of the abolition of slavery. Though in years prior Juneteenth seemed to have been relegated to a niche cultural status, this year, acknowledgment of Black freedom exploded into prominence and popular discourse. Around the country, Black Americans found cultural resonance in a celebration of emancipation and survival.

 

Donning a mask, on Juneteenth I marched through the streets of the nation’s capital with a crowd of Black folks of all ages. In the rain, I walked until my feet ached and wound up in Black Lives Matter Plaza, the massive yellow letters painted onto the ground creating an implied gathering space. As I looked into the crowd, into the eyes of other celebrators, I saw my joy, and my fears mirrored back to me. In that space, one of both celebration and resistance, we moved synchronously. We danced as we marched. I recognized that this was the feeling I had never truly felt on the Fourth of July. A feeling of true belonging. Suddenly, my decision not to celebrate the national independence day felt expressly political.

 

Although I personally do not celebrate the Fourth of July, I do not begrudge other Black Americans their decision to do so. I think there is something important to be gained by marginalized Americans inserting ourselves into the traditions that were never created for us, subverting an exclusionary nationalist narrative, and creating new ways of celebrating. This year, I will draw my own sense of celebration and pride from my experience on Juneteenth – all that I felt in the streets of DC, and my small sense of hope renewed by resistance and activism. So on the evening of the 4th, as fireworks explode in the distance and many Americans are staring upward into an evening sky illuminated by the dazzling light shows, I will be at home, tacitly awaiting the 5th.

 

Kelsey Smoot is a Ph.D. candidate at William & Mary in American studies. They use they/them/theirs pronouns

Since you're here ...

... we have a small favor to ask. Millions are flocking to the Guardian for quality news every day. We believe everyone deserves access to factual information and analysis that has authority and integrity. That’s why, unlike many others, we made a choice: to keep Guardian reporting open for all, regardless of where they live or what they can afford to pay.

 

As an open, independent news organization we investigate, interrogate and expose the actions of those in power, without fear. With no shareholders or billionaire owner, our journalism is free from political and commercial bias – this makes us different. We can give a voice to the oppressed and neglected, and stand in solidarity with those who are calling for a fairer future. With your help we can make a difference.

 

We’re determined to provide journalism that helps each of us better understand the world, and take actions that challenge, unite, and inspire change – in times of crisis and beyond. Our work would not be possible without our readers, who now support our work from 180 countries around the world.

 

But news organizations are facing an existential threat. With advertising revenues plummeting, the Guardian risks losing a major source of its funding. More than ever before, we’re reliant on financial support from readers to fill the gap. Your support keeps us independent, open and means we can maintain our high-quality reporting – investigating, disentangling, and interrogating.

 

Every reader contribution, however big or small, is so valuable for our future.

Follow us