If the change isn't transformative, I don't want it.
Reflecting on gate-keeping our safe spaces, Black joy in the summertime, the cultural legacy of Black food + an alté playlist for your next cookout.
June reminds me of transitions, the beginning of a new, brighter season. It is a time for socializing, re-energizing, and new experiences. On this beautiful June afternoon, I'm enjoying a day off at the agency I'm currently freelancing at in observance of Juneteenth, which is a first for me, as it is for many others. While I find it annoying that there are people who benefit from the oppression of Black folks that are now getting a paid day off to "raise awareness" and celebrate "freedom," I will take this day off because I am tired AF. I have no desire to regurgitate the many social media talking points surrounding this, instead, I want to reflect on what this holiday and time of year mean to me.
What Juneteenth reminds me of most is not slavery or delayed emancipation but community and specifically Black community. As most of you know, I was born and raised right outside of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Unlike its midwestern counterparts Detroit, Chicago, and St. Louis, it was not until very recently that people began to regard Minneapolis (and its twin city St. Paul), as a place inhabited by a significant Black population. Which in my opinion is largely due to the killing of George Floyd (and not the existence of Prince for some reason). I never had the experience of growing up in a Black neighborhood like Bronzeville, Harlem, or Bed Stuy pre-gentrification. As a result, one of my favorite films growing up (and perhaps an early catalyst for my eventual move to New York) was Crooklyn. I wanted to have a home the same color as my skin with a stoop to sit on and play games with friends who looked like me.
I wanted to live within walking distance of a bodega where I could steal a bag of potato chips and get let off easily because the owner knew I was just some knuckle-headed kid and not a cold-hearted criminal. I longed for a gang of friends who would defend me when some mean girl picked on me instead of kids who pretended to be my friend only to tease me, call me racial slurs, or spit in my hair. For me, Crooklyn was aspirational. It represented a place so drastically different than what I knew. While I longed for the experience of a Black neighborhood, I was fortunate to find a sense of belonging in spaces that seemed hidden, and in retrospect, protected from people outside of the community.