On "On Juneteenth"

A Review of Annette Gordon Reed’s On Juneteeth

By Sierra Trammell

Annette Gordon-Reed, the author of On Juneteenth, is one of the greatest historians of our time. She is the sort of historian that novices in the field dream of emulating. Her work on American presidents, particularly Jefferson, is unparalleled. It is not surprising, then, that On Juneteenth is a book that is so attention-grabbing; it compels its readers to reread it, despite its short length. It explores the holiday through the twin genres of history and personal memoire; reading it feels more like a conversation than a lecture, the way many books of this nature do.

The author’s anecdotes about her family add color and life to the reader’s understanding of Juneteenth. Most Americans can tell you that June 19 is honored as the day that the news of emancipation was spread throughout Galveston, but Gordon-Reed brings a little of her relative’s excitement into the narrative, saying “Juneteenth was different. For my great grandmother, my grandparents, and relatives in their generation, this was the celebration of the freedom of people they had actually known”. They feted the occasion with a jubilation born only in the hearts of people who have known its opposite, and at last felt relief- “we were able to gather together as a family to celebrate. Family members who were lost, were lost to death, in the way that all families lose people. No one was being sold away”.^[1] This palpable joy is often only present in history books for those willing to do the work of digging between the lines, and it is clear that the author’s familial background is a driving force behind her understanding of the past.

Of equal importance are her own personal experiences. Annette Gordon-Reed was one of the first black students to integrate her city’s schools, an event both momentous and mundane. She began her academic career “a la Ruby Bridges, with the chief difference being that I was not escorted to my first day of school by federal marshals… I would just arrive at school and begin first grade as if there was nothing to it. There was, of course, something to it”.^[2] Much has been written about the effort to racially integrate American schools, but Gordon-Reed’s perspective is uniquely valuable, as she was one of the ones actually bearing the burden of the job, and as a child no less. The cruelty and violence she experienced from both the White and the Black residents of her town, as described in the book, was shocking.

It is easy to assume that the resistance to educational equality was one-sided, but in fact, “the move towards integration… took some valuable things with it. The notion of ‘separate’ being inherently unequal didn’t take account of what it meant for Black students to have Black teachers, particularly at that precise moment in history”.^[3] These students and teachers could develop a sense of community that was absent in integrated classrooms; Black teachers could act as genuine role models for their pupils. This was, tragically, not an option after integration. As the author explains, “the children were to be integrated, not the teaching staff. Putting Black teachers at the head of classrooms of mainly White students was never the school district’s priority.” ^[4] Whatever benefits Black students derived from their black teachers, and whatever benefits White students could accrue from them as well, were abandoned as large groups of Black educators were removed from classrooms and were reassigned to administrative duties. This is an aspect of school integration that is rarely discussed, despite how obvious it was in retrospect. On Juneteenth is full of perspectives like this, to its credit; there are few experiences so satisfying as learning a new thing that is obvious.

Ultimately, this book is a love letter to Texas, but not of the flowery sort written to woo and beguile. It is more like a letter written to a soulmate of many years. It is honest, and hopeful, and joyful without being superficial. In a way, it is very much like its namesake holiday: equal parts celebration and somber reflection. The last paragraph of the Coda sums it up with a grace rarely achieved by historians. This is the ultimate lesson we can learn from both the book and the holiday, “Love does not require taking an uncritical stance towards the object of one’s affections. In truth, it often requires the opposite.” ^[5] To sugarcoat the history of a place dear to one’s heart is to be faithless, both to truth and love. Texas’ past is not an honorable one, when all is said and done, but pretending otherwise would break Her heart.

[1] Gordon-Reed, “On Juneteenth,” 135-136.

[2] Gordon-Reed, “On Juneteenth,” 33.

[3] Gordon-Reed, “On Juneteenth,” 49.

[4] Gordon-Reed, “On Juneteenth,” 51.

[5] Gordon-Reed, “On Juneteenth,” 141.