Legacy Isn’t a Dream—It’s a Decision

My father’s family is from a little town in Arkansas called Marianna, about 30 minutes from Memphis. It’s so small. The roads are intermittently paved. The church has no signage, no decadence, holds about 30 people. There are no easily identifiable street names. To visit family I know to look for Clifford’s place (that’s my cousin’s house frame that he intends to build a proper juke joint on), the Boom Boom room (that’s the shed that my Uncle Johnny B built with his own hands behind his house), and Aunt Helen Sue’s (which you can spot from the large pig pen in back and riding mowers in the front). That little plot of land, nestled between these landmarks, is where my daddy was born, and both of his parents before him. They grew up sharecropping this little plot of land that is still in our family.  

Less than a 30-minute drive from my family’s land is Delta Dirt Distillery. Donna and Harvey Williams, a couple who grew up in Marianna and moved back, both after much schooling and successful careers, to reinvest in their hometown.  

They know the past, this land, the stories are filled with grief, suffering, sorrow and inequity. But they are experiencing it as a price that has already been paid, a story in which they have the power to choose the ending.  They understand the past, are clear-eyed about the present and resolutely focused on the future. That’s how I operate. 

And it’s how I understand people who come from different life experiences than mine. 
Who voted differently. 
Who views the world through their own layers of grief, memory, and identity. 

Remembering our past, we remain fully committed to living in the present and imagining the future. That trifecta is what keeps me grounded. It also keeps me connected to the legacies I’ve inherited and the ones I hope to leave behind. 

 
Juneteenth is an act of remembering. 

What Is Juneteenth? 

Juneteenth, short for June Nineteenth, commemorates the day in 1865 when the last enslaved African Americans in Galveston, Texas were informed of their freedom—two and a half years after the Emancipation Proclamation had officially ended slavery. 

Let that sink in: 
Freedom delayed. 
Truth withheld. 
Liberation still hard-won. 

It’s a reminder that justice is not simply declared—it must be delivered. And that those who have been denied freedom the longest often carry the greatest wisdom about what freedom actually means. 

Juneteenth is a celebration of freedom, yes. But it is also a call for accountability. It asks us to face the truth of our collective history and to honor the resilience, creativity, and resistance of those who endured—and transformed—unimaginable suffering into hope and culture, and legacy. 

Why We Remember 

We remember Juneteenth not to dwell in pain but to draw strength from it. 
We remember so we don’t lose sight of how far we’ve come—and how far we still have to go. 
We remember so our children and communities can walk forward with clarity, pride, and power. 

And we share it. 
Not just within Black communities, but across all communities. 
Because Juneteenth is not Black history—it’s American history. 
And we are all made better when we engage with truth. 

So, whether you are new to Juneteenth or grew up commemorating it, this is your invitation: 

• Tell the stories. Ask your elders. Read the narratives. Watch the documentaries. 

• Join the celebrations. Not just for the barbecues, but for the meaning. 

• Reflect. Ask yourself: What freedoms do I enjoy that someone else is still waiting for? 

• Act. Support Black-owned businesses. Elevate Black voices. Challenge systems that perpetuate harm. 

A Present That Honors the Past and Builds the Future 

This Juneteenth, I’ll be remembering my ancestors. 
The ones who survived, the ones who resisted, and the ones who dreamed of me. 
I’ll also be thinking about how I use my freedom—how I show up, speak truth, and create room for others to thrive. 

I hope you’ll join me in holding space for this moment: 
A toe in the past, a foot in the present, and our eyes on the horizon. 

Because freedom is not a finish line—it’s a living practice. 

And remembering is part of the work. 

In Honor of Our Ancestors, and Us, 

DeEtta