Today is Juneteenth. I almost decided to rant about why more people don’t know about this day, but I think I’d rather focus on the incredible experience I had instead.
I’ve mentioned a few times that B and I have really focused our efforts this summer on getting more involved with our local community. We want to find ways to support and get involved with our neighborhood, not just DC in general. Along those lines, we jumped at the chance to try to participate in the Juneteenth/Black Lives Matter march for our community. I didn’t have the day off work but B did, so she went over to the start of the march a few blocks away, and I worked outside from our porch since I knew the march route would go through our park.
The group marched to the Frederick Douglass House (have I mentioned how much I love living a block away from that?) and then came to our park. I thought they would just march through, but they stopped for some reflection, so I ran across the street to join and listen. The gentleman who had the megaphone talked about the incredible leaders and freedom fighters who strolled up and down this lane on their way to and from Frederick Douglass’ house. He talked about the fact that this park – Old Market House Square – was in fact a working market, which means enslaved people were bought and sold here.
He then told us he would say the names of people lost to police brutality and gun violence, asking us to respond “Say their names!” after each one. Eric Garner. George Floyd. Sandra Bland. Tamir Rice. Breonna Taylor. Trayvon Martin. Ahmaud Arbery. Philando Castile. Freddie Gray. He kept reading, and we kept responding. At one point he got so emotional (and he wasn’t the only one … many of us were opening crying) that he had to pause, at which point someone in the crowd yelled a name, and we all responded. People kept shouting names, and we kept responding “Say their names!” Some of the names I knew, some I didn’t and wondered if they were neighbors, family members, friends. So many people gone, taken too soon from this community and others.
We then knelt or sat in silence for 8 minutes and 46 seconds to honor George Floyd. That was the longest almost 9 minutes of my life. It was the same as the march, thinking about the discomfort and the time passing. But as I got close to the 8-minute mark, I thought about how he had less than one minute to live at that point, and it just crushed me. I wept and wept, for George but for everyone in the Black community who has been touched by countless injustices throughout their lives. It was heavy, and rightfully so. It was celebratory, and also rightfully so.
The moment passed, and the crowd moved on, marching another block to one of the busiest streets in the area. I know that because I could hear all the honks of approval and solidarity from my house for the group as they marched down the street. This Juneteenth affected me so profoundly, and I feel immeasurably blessed to live and grow in this community.
Ell Gee Writes 