April Reign Collection - I See My Light Shining

In his interview, Texas-born political consultant Rudy Malveaux centers Black life in America not in New York or Atlanta, but Texas.

"Texas also has the largest population of African people in North America. It's in Texas. Houston, where I grew up, okay? When we think of Black folks in the United States, we think New York, we think Atlanta, we might even think Los Angeles. The truth of the matter is, it's Texas. Texas is the most racist place in the world, and I say that unequivocally. And the reason I can say it, if you think about where people are incarcerated the most, oppressed the most, where there are the most poor people, the worst healthcare, the lowest rates of insurance for healthcare and life insurance than any place in the United States, which is the most racist country in the world. So if you're the most racist in the most racist place, you've pretty much got racism locked up. And being a person of hue in Texas means that you are tough. The weakest among us are some of the toughest that you'll ever meet because we've had to deal with these racists on the ground that they defined." 
Rudy Malveaux

Malveaux underscores the significance of this setting and describes Texas as the most racist place in the world, with high incarceration rates, poor healthcare access, and the lowest rates of health and life insurance in the United States. Though these issues are prevalent across the nation, they are particularly pronounced in Texas. In her interview, educator and university chair Mary White describes her arrival in Texas from Indiana as stepping into a time machine: “When I came here and almost felt like I had stepped back in time because I was from Indiana. We'd tell a Caucasian person how we felt, we didn't bite our words, but I quickly learned no, you're here now, so I adapted, I acculturated."

Former police officer Damon Jackson, who grew up in Longview, describes sundown towns—communities that enforced racial segregation through local customs and violence, forbidding African Americans and other minority groups from remaining within town limits after sunset. Through his account, Jackson illuminates how violence perpetrated by individual actors is entrenched in wider social and cultural institutions, including schools and churches.

"So not necessarily the citizens. You wouldn’t have issues with the local citizens in that area, but it was local law enforcement, and many of those in local law enforcement were in positions of responsibility and authority. So not just that they were police officers, but their spouses were school teachers, or they were ministers at the local church, or they were involved in other things as well, so they really were ingrained in that community, and their word was not just in this environment, but in other environments as well, or their level of authority and influence." Damon Jackson

Throughout history, waves of Black Texans have left the state to escape discrimination and violence. But as explored in Reign’s interviews, those who have chosen to remain have built thriving communities in the face of discrimination. Several narrators describe the toughness of their communities, using terms such as “thick-skinned” to characterize Black and Brown Texans; in his interview, Malveaux Black Texas as the toughest people one might ever meet. Tracing family lines back before Juneteenth, many narrators Reign interviewed take pride in the identities and customs they’ve cultivated over generations, including Juneteenth celebrations.

Educator, musician, and family historian Sharon Jones affirms her and her family’s history in the state: “Texas is a state that is really rife with a long history of racism, current and recent history of racism, lots of movement right now towards erasing history. But I feel that because I can concretely, definitely point to at least five generations, well-documented, their names are in the cemetery, their stories are etched in stone, etched in our family's history and traditions, oral traditions, that I have as much claim to this state as anyone. So, I hear people say all the time, how do you live there? Why did you live there? Because this is mine. This is ours. This is—no one can tell me differently and try as they may to erase history or to not tell history, it's going to be told. It's not going to be erased. As long as families like mine stay here, stand our ground, raise our kids to go where they want to go but know from whence they came, that's just my story. That's how I feel about it. I'm a Texan, and I'll stand up next to any other Texan. I may not be wearing the boots and the cowboy hat [laughs], but this is my home, dammit.”

Juneteenth is now enjoying wider recognition and was federally recognized in 2021. In this collection, elders share their thoughts on the legacy and future of Juneteenth. 

Narrator Tammy Smithers reminds us that one can’t tell the story of Juneteenth without mentioning Ms. Opal Lee. Lee, sometimes called the “grandmother of Juneteenth,” is a Black Texan teacher, counselor, and activist who led the charge to make Juneteenth a federally recognized holiday. Tammy Smithers, a friend of Lee’s, remarks, “It’s like Ms. Opal likes to say. We are still not free because, you know why, we have homelessness, we have joblessness, we have all of these other issues dealing with incarceration and things that just—there’s so many injustices that really as a community, as a community as a whole, we’re not all free because we still have those things going on. But ultimately Juneteenth is to be celebrated, and as the saying goes, we’re not free until everybody’s free, right?"  

Some elders reflect on how their understanding of Juneteenth has evolved throughout their lives. Roxy Williamson, who learned the story of Juneteenth from her grandmother and mom, says, “Somewhere between junior high school and high school, it started to click that this is really about us as people. It's about our liberation.” Entrepreneur and community advocate Shuronda Robinson also describes an evolving understanding: “So my understanding of Juneteenth has evolved, and its meaning has evolved for me since, you know, I was ten, twelve years old to today where I just—I have such deep respect for the holiday. That it really should be a time of reflection. Celebration is beautiful, and we should absolutely celebrate our culture and be with family and community. I think what makes Juneteenth unique and obviously an American history but also as a celebration is that it is—it should be reflected around what it means to be free."

Many elders who were raised with the holiday describe frustration or worry with the rising popularity of Juneteenth, wary that the core intentions of the holiday will be lost or buried. "So Juneteenth, now that it’s a national holiday, does it really mean anything to everybody? No. So that means that we have to push even harder for people to understand why that symbol is important,” says Lydia Moore in her interview. She continues, “I didn’t think it should be a national holiday because I didn’t think the nation was ready for it. People have to study it. It’s not just a free day. People have to study why that day is important. What was sacrificed? And what is meant by it?” With the holiday’s emerging popularity questions of legibility and discernment arise for Black Texans. And so, many elders raise concerns about safeguarding the holiday against commercialization.

Community advocate Tatia Green-Goodwin recalls her reaction seeing Juneteenth themed merchandise: "I saw, at one of the retail stores where they had Juneteenth merch. [pause] I didn’t take that well. You want to commercialize a perpetuated lie that kept people in bondage a lot longer “than they had to be” and you know so little about its history that sticking a label on the side of a plastic cup is your idea of honoring it. Are you kidding me? Not even good plastic. [laughs] That’s not even the good stuff. I went into a couple places, and they had the napkins, and the plates, and the cups, and I’m like, “Okay. That’s different.” I was offended. My kids was like, “Mama, look at this.” They were like, “Ooh, no,” because they know better. That’s not cute. There’s nothing cute about that. I am sick and tired of us being pushed down into a commercial sector and turned into an anecdote, if you will. My history is your history, and, if you don’t make nothing of it, that’s fine, but I’m going to make something of mine. Like, all the folks running around, “I salute my flag,” but you’re not supposed to wear the flag as a piece of clothing in the first place. So, I know, now, you don’t even care about your own roots, so I know you don’t care about mine. We wore Juneteenth t-shirts, but they were culturally supported, funded by people who’re supposed to. It’s an extra twenty dollars, but okay. That’s fine. I’m willing to spend those extra dollars because I want to support what’s real."

For narrator Marsha Roy, “[Juneteenth] is important because we need to know where we came from. They say if you don’t know where you came from, you don’t know where you’re going. We need to know. You need to know. You need to know. That’s my thing with people, you need to know where we came—you need to know what we’ve been through."

April Reign’s collection is a testament to the power of Juneteenth—the history of struggle, the joy of recognition, and a reminder of the work that is left to be done.