Today is Juneteenth. June 19 commemorates the day when slaves in Texas learned that they were finally free through the Emancipation Proclamation. About 250,000 slaves were the last to finally taste freedom in Texas two years after then-president Abraham Lincoln signed the proclamation two years prior.
President Joe Biden signed Juneteenth into a federal holiday, which is lovely since we must celebrate freedom. After all, isn’t that what America is all about? “Land of the free…home of the brave.”
On Saturday, the Tucson Juneteenth Committee celebrated this occasion at the Kino Sports Park. It was a scorching day. I was invited to be a part of the Tucson African-American authors’ tent to sell my books. It was an honor to be a part of this group. Unfortunately, I had two issues: my latest poetry books would not arrive in time for the festival, and I had just returned from a 10-day European trip. I was very tired – jetlagged, and dehydrated. I decided to leave but left my postcards with a friend and author to give out to people.
However, as I pulled my suitcase full of other books I’d written and left the field, I looked back at the tent and saw that there wasn’t any space for us all. There were two small tents and six long tables. It was a tight fit, but we felt a bit compact as more authors came. Then, I said, “There’s no space for me.” Unconsciously, I didn’t feel “right.” I had forgotten a tablecloth; I didn’t bring the attachment for my Square to plug into my phone; I didn’t intend on selling the books I’d written five years ago, and I was being squeezed by a local pastor who had thick books and a banner that overshadowed me! In my spirit, it wasn’t the day for me.
Tired and hot, I sat in my car with the AC on and deeply breathed. I’ve done this before – with colleagues at the Tucson Festival of Books at the University of Arizona, and I sold out of my latest poetry book Dreaming At Night. I wasn’t prepared enough to share my wares at Juneteenth and felt disappointed. I wanted to be a part of my African-American community, and it was important to me to share my words and thoughts as a local and native Tucson author. A friend in the same booth asked me about my thoughts about the changes in our African-American community in Tucson. She is also a native Tucsonan. I told her I felt like I’d been sleepwalking, and she agreed. Then I said, “I don’t know people.” She looked at me and laughed, “Yes, you do!” But I don’t. As I looked around, a few people yelled, “Hey, Lisa!” I waved back. But there were a lot of unfamiliar faces, and I was in awe.
People ask, “Are there black people in Tucson?” Yes! Everyone notes that most black people migrate to Phoenix because it is a metropolis (a mini-L.A.), but they connotate Tucson as a “hick town.” As far as I can see, black people in Tucson are thriving very well. Most are transplanted from other parts of the country due to Raytheon and the Air Force Base.
But I asked myself, “Where have I been?”
I attend a large, predominantly African-American church and am fully engrossed and involved. I am getting to know many people in the community; however, I recognized only a few faces at the celebration! I’m not complaining; I’m just wondering why we must wait for a Juneteenth to come together? Where are we?
As I said before, I sat in my car and cooled down, and an idea came to me: an African-American Arts Fair! Having African-American authors, artists, musicians, and food together for a fair would be great! We could have a Spoken Word segment, poetry readings, music, and food. Artists and crafts can be displayed to sell their work and the authors. The goal is to showcase the talent of our community – get to know one another again.
Yet, I also know my community. And I will end it there.
The Roaring Lioness 