When the 4th of July Meets Juneteenth: A Reflection on Patriotism, Paradox, and Progress

“What is Juneteenth?” I remember asking a friend over a decade ago when she invited me to a Juneteeth celebration. I was a Black woman living in the U.S., well-acquainted with the fireworks and fanfare of the Fourth of July, yet unaware of the significance of this other American holiday—one that commemorates the long-delayed emancipation of enslaved people in the United States.

In 2020, amidst a national reckoning following the murder of George Floyd, Juneteenth was declared a federal holiday. It was a symbolic victory, but symbols are not the same as justice. Understandably, some of us were skeptical. After all, Black Americans have been asking not merely for holidays, but for healthcare, housing, education, childcare, voting rights—and the simple freedom to exist without fear. The right to jog, shop, sleep, speak, and live while Black.

Still, I view this recognition as an invitation—a national entry point into conversations that for far too long have been hushed, denied, or deflected. Juneteenth gives us space to tell the fuller story. Yet even as the holiday was being signed into law, we watched as legislation like the John Lewis Voting Rights Act and the George Floyd Justice in Policing Act stalled. We witnessed increasing resistance to the honest teaching of American history in classrooms across the country, and the continued sanitizing of stories that need to be told.

I came to the U.S. as an immigrant, enamored with the ideals of liberty and justice. I believed that racism had been largely resolved. After all, slavery had ended. A Black president had been elected—twice. I was financially stable and warmly welcomed by many. To me, America was the land of the free and home of the brave. I even fell in love with the country-western lifestyle and music, penning my own song, Black Country Girl, a personal anthem born in Mississippi.

Setche - Black Country Girl (Official Music Video)

But exposure to celebrations like Juneteenth and Kwanzaa cracked open a window I didn’t know was closed. They stirred questions that led me deeper into the real story—the story of how systemic racism was built into the bones of this nation. I learned about redlining, mass incarceration, and the fine print of the 13th Amendment, which abolished slavery except as punishment for a crime—fueling the prison-industrial complex that continues to ravage Black communities today.

I came to understand the layers: how freedom in 1776 didn’t extend to everyone; how the enslaved weren’t emancipated until 1865; and how even then, they were released into a nation unprepared to honor their humanity. No reparations. No safety net. Instead, they met a century of Jim Crow, the school-to-prison pipeline, violent backlash against Black advancement, and policies designed to impede rather than empower.

What astonishes me most is not the depth of the harm, but the depth of the resilience. That African-Americans survived—and still rise, still build, still believe in change—is nothing short of miraculous. I used to think my own success was purely merit-based. That I had worked harder, believed deeper, behaved better. But now I know: I arrived here with privileges—of access, of distance, of blissful ignorance. And that ignorance, no matter how unintentional, still carried consequences.

In Black Country Girl, I attempted to hold both truths. You see me don American flag apparel with pride—and later, you see the shift. Police brutality, disillusionment, a raised fist in solemn solidarity. I wear the flag again, this time with the faces of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, and Breonna Taylor covering my mouth—because their stories are American stories, too. And we cannot change what we refuse to face.

James Baldwin said, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed unless it is faced.” That quote remains my North Star.

As Juneteenth continues to take root in the national consciousness, I hold both hope and caution. There is a real danger that, like MLK Day, Juneteenth could be flattened into a marketing moment. We’ve seen how Dr. King’s words are too often weaponized against the very causes he championed. We must safeguard Juneteenth’s meaning and protect its integrity.

We must also recognize that Black history is American history. And true patriotism isn’t blind loyalty—it’s the courageous act of holding your nation accountable to its ideals. It’s being willing to ask the hard questions, to examine uncomfortable truths, and to build a better future from the wreckage of what was.

So, as we approach this year’s Juneteenth, I remain patriotic—but with eyes wide open. I believe in the dream. I also believe in the work. For me, that intersection—where July 4th meets June 19th—is where the real America lives: a country in tension, in transition, in pursuit.

To all those who call yourselves patriots, I ask you this:

Are you willing to help America live up to its promise of liberty and justice for all?

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Ready to honor Juneteenth in a way that sparks real dialogue and lasting change?

Whether you're planning an event, looking for a dynamic speaker, or want to bring meaningful DEI programming to your organization—I can help you build bridges that matter!

📩 Email me at buildingbridges@setche.com to start the conversation.

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