Freedom Still Rings: Why Juneteenth Matters Now More Than Ever

On June 19, 1865, in Galveston, Texas, Union Army General Gordon Granger stood before a crowd and read aloud General Order No. 3, announcing that all enslaved people were now free. Though President Abraham Lincoln had signed the Emancipation Proclamation more than two years earlier, it wasn’t until that summer day—months after the Civil War had ended—that freedom reached the last group of enslaved African Americans in the United States.

That day became known as Juneteenth, a blending of “June” and “nineteenth.” And though the name might sound quaint, the significance of what it represents is profound. Juneteenth is not just a celebration of freedom—it is a reckoning with the delay of justice. It is both jubilation and lamentation. A recognition that freedom was not given, but delayed—and still, our ancestors rejoiced.

More than 150 years later, Juneteenth has taken on renewed urgency. It was declared a federal holiday in 2021, spurred by a national outcry for racial justice after the killing of George Floyd. But long before it was recognized on a national level, Black communities across the U.S. had been observing Juneteenth with parades, prayer services, storytelling, music, and moments of reflection. For generations, it was the Black Fourth of July—our day of true independence.

But now that Juneteenth is being embraced more widely, we must ask: What does it truly mean to celebrate this day? Juneteenth is more than just a day off work or a reason to fire up the grill. It is a day that demands we confront the full, complex history of this nation—the parts that are painful, the truths that are often silenced, and the resilience of a people who were never meant to survive, let alone thrive.

It’s important to remember that Juneteenth does not mark the end of slavery in the United States—it marks the enforcement of emancipation in the last Confederate state. Even then, it took time for the news to reach every plantation. Some enslavers withheld the information for as long as they could. Others fled to Mexico to avoid freeing those they held in bondage. So while we celebrate freedom, we must also acknowledge that it was slow, uneven, and far from absolute.

Yet, despite this, Black communities turned Juneteenth into a symbol of hope, resistance, and cultural pride. It became a space for storytelling, for passing down traditions, for honoring elders and educating youth. It was a reminder that freedom is not just a legal status—it is a lived experience. And that experience must be protected, preserved, and fought for.

In celebrating Juneteenth today, we carry the spirit of our ancestors forward. We celebrate not only what they endured but what they built: music, language, families, faith, and movements. We acknowledge their labor in shaping America—work that was done under duress and duress alone, yet still produced brilliance and beauty.

But celebration must be paired with reflection. We must ask ourselves: What does freedom look like today?

Are we free when our children still face inequities in education?
Are we free when Black mothers are more likely to die in childbirth?
Are we free when Black men are disproportionately incarcerated?
Are we free when neighborhoods are overpoliced but underfunded?

Juneteenth calls us to celebrate how far we’ve come, while challenging us to keep pressing for the freedom that is still unfinished. It invites us to envision liberty beyond chains—to see it in economic opportunity, in restorative justice, in fair housing, in health equity, and in joy. Yes, joy—because joy is resistance too.

In a country where Black pain is often commodified and Black history is often censored, Juneteenth remains a powerful act of reclaiming. It is our way of saying: We were here. We mattered. We matter still.

Now that Juneteenth is a federal holiday, there is a responsibility to ensure its meaning is not diluted or commercialized. It cannot become another sales event or an empty nod to diversity. It must remain sacred—a time to listen, to learn, to teach, and to honor. Institutions, companies, and schools must be intentional in how they observe the day. This is not about performative allyship. It’s about truth-telling and transformation.

For our part, we must continue to center the voices of our elders and historians, those who’ve kept the stories alive through decades of silence. We must engage our youth in learning the full scope of African American history—beyond slavery, beyond civil rights—into the art, innovation, and radical imagination that has shaped the soul of this country.

We must also support Black-owned businesses, protect Black spaces, and advocate for policies that close racial gaps in every sector. In other words, we must live Juneteenth—not just celebrate it.

And we must remember that Juneteenth is not just a Black holiday—it is an American one. It’s a reminder that freedom delayed is freedom denied, and that the work of justice requires more than applause—it requires action.

As we gather this year to observe Juneteenth—whether through a block party, a history lesson, a family reunion, or a quiet moment of reflection—let us carry the weight of the day with pride and purpose. Let us honor the joy and the sorrow, the gains and the gaps, the story and the struggle.

Because Juneteenth is not just about the past. It’s about the promise we still owe to the future.

Freedom didn’t come easy. It didn’t come on time. And it didn’t come for everyone. But it came. And now, it’s our turn to ensure it keeps ringing—for our children, for our communities, and for the generations still to come.