On Juneteenth

“About the difficulties of Texas: Love does not require taking an uncritical stance toward the object of one's affections. In truth, it often requires the opposite. We can't be of real service to the hopes we have for places - and people, ourselves included - without a clear-eyed assessment of their (and our) strengths and weaknesses. That often demands a willingness to be critical, sometimes deeply so. How that is done matters, of course. Striking the right balance can be exceedingly hard.”
- Annette Gordon-Reed

The older I get, the more I've found myself disappointed in Texas. That was an easier feeling to deal with when I wasn't living here. Disappointment from afar, and heartache for the friends and family still there. Now that I'm back in this state, presumably permanently, this quote in particular gives me hope - that being uncritical is not necessarily loving, and being critical doesn't mean you can't love the thing.

Similar to the author, and maybe all public-school-educated Texans, I took Texas history in probably fourth and seventh grades. I say probably because I don't especially remember much about fourth grade. It was right before we moved to a different part of Dallas-Fort Worth, one that hadn't yet been swallowed whole by the sprawl of the Metroplex.

What I remember most about my schooling on this subject does not have anything to do specifically with Texas history. It has to do with my fifth grade social studies teacher, and her teachings on the Civil War. She fucking LOVED Robert E. Lee - spoke of him with reverence and practically was a heart-eyes emoji, had that been a thing in 1997. And of course, I was a little white kid in a school full of other little white kids, and didn't understand until much, much later how fucked up that sentiment was.

I am like, 98% positive the subject of the end of the Civil War (as it pertains to Texas) and Emancipation in Texas never came up, in any of my K-12 history classes. Maybe not even in my college history requirements.

Despite recognizing a lot of the historical names in On Juneteenth, it has been far too long since I learned anything about Texas history. Gordon-Reed did a fantastic job of blending historical and autobiographical concepts in this slim book of six essays. There was a lot, particularly regarding indigenous history, that was completely unfamiliar to me, including entire tribes that I had never heard of that occupied this land.

I'm left questioning if I really did learn anything in those two long-ago Texas history classes.

I loved Gordon-Reed's writing, her childhood ideas and grown-up realizations, the way she integrated her own story - and that of other Texans - into a more fleshed-out historical narrative. Of course, as she mentions, no history is ever complete, but now more of the picture is filled in for this Texan.

I absolutely, unreservedly recommend On Juneteenth. I will be seeking out more of Gordon-Reed's work.

A very quick read that reminded me of ‘meditations on a specific theme'. Some of the thoughts that arose for the author are memories of her family and growing up in segregated Texas, history of slavery in Texas, the origins of Juneteenth, and how her family celebrated.

It helped me understand a bit more of the world that I didn't grow up in.

Impossible to sum up. Despite ostensibly dealing with Juneteenth, and bracketing it in its preface and last chapter, the inner book itself is a swirly mix of history and memoir covering the long history of Blacks in what we now call the state of Texas along with the author's recollections of — and mature adult reflections on — growing up there. It's a profound work: the word “nuanced” isn't nuanced enough to describe the complexities of Gordon-Reed's relationship with her home state; with her unlearning of the “history” she learned growing up.

You may not give a damn about Texas — I never have, and in fact nearly gave up on the book when I realized it was so Texas-centric — but I can guarantee that you'll learn, and gasp, and grit your teeth reading this book. You may think Texas is a subhuman shithole today (or at least the white male power base), but compared to past centuries it's nirvana. And it's important to understand that history in order to understand the U.S. today.

Footnote: thank you anonymous donor; thank you host of the Los Pueblos Little Library; thank you inventor of Little Libraries; thank you Universe. This was a surprise find.