I consider myself a sacred activist who puts her body, time, words, and energy where her values are. My values include respect, unity, diversity, equal opportunity, needs for food, shelter, education met easily, peaceful interactions, physical and emotional safety in the world, body sovereignty, world citizenship, Earth stewardship, and the freedom to love who we choose. Sad that those are considered Liberal or Progressive political beliefs and not universally accepted. In these uber-charged times, they are sometimes seen as virtue signaling buzz words. For me, they are as natural as breathing.
Yesterday, Juneteenth was validated by Presidential proclamation as a National Holiday. It marked a pivotal moment and a recognition of a shameful time in our country’s history. Although enslaved people were ‘freed’ 2 1/2 years earlier, the state of Texas had not yet acknowledged it. Hard to wrap my mind around it all. As I often do, when I envision the existence of people bought and sold like objects, to be used at the whim of their owners, I feel rage, fear, revulsion, and a determination, as a white woman to join my voice with others who are appalled by the injustice that people of color face simply by virtue of being born in Brown or Black skin.
To honor that day, I ventured 45 minutes south of my Bucks County, PA home to Bristol, PA for a Juneteenth celebration. When I arrived at the riverside park, I heard the sounds of lively music and inhaled the aroma of food cooking as both wafted through the air. Joyful expression as families gathered on the lawn and meandered the paths, checking out the vendor and information tables. Overhead was an announcement that COVID 19 vaccinations were being offered. I’m hoping that many took them up on the opportunity and that the unmasked folks there had already been vaccinated. It was one of the first times I have been with a group of people sans mask. A woman behind one of the tables called out to me and said she liked my purple hair. A conversation ensued as I told her where the vegan hair dye I used could be purchased. Her beautiful dreads were a sunshine tone.
As I walked through the park, I beheld a standing strong statue of Harriet Tubman pointing the way that reminded me once again of the reason for the day’s event. Bucks County was a pivotal way station on the Underground Railroad.
As I was doing my research on the Underground Railroad, I discovered that a B & B in New Hope, PA, owned by friends of mine, called The Wedgewood Inn was one of the stops on the journey to freedom. Turns out that the gazebo where I have stood numerous times, including when officiating weddings, was a cover for a tunnel where people made their escape. The next time I visit, I will have a deeper appreciation for the history of the site.
The next stop on my journey was another Juneteenth gathering in Landsdale, PA (45 minutes or so in the other direction) as it was intended to be an honoring of and support for the Black community and Black-owned businesses. After making the circuit around the park, I sat on a bench and gazed upward under sheltering branches of trees that hovered above and imagined what it was like for those who were escaping enslavement, to view that same sky.
As I was heading to my next destination, I wondered about timing and if the exact leavetaking from each place was meant to bring me to Doylestown’s Pride Fest at the precisely perfect moment. Always amazed, but never surprised when that occurs. I found the ideal parking spot and walked across the street to the entrance where a table was set up to check names off a list of those who had purchased advanced tickets. I had not. The woman in front of me was explaining to the two at the table that she had an extra ticket, since the friend she had bought it for, couldn’t make it and they could give it to someone else. I spoke up and asked if I could pay her for it. She declined with a smile and I thanked her with a (by consent) hug after the iridescent pink wrist band was handed to me. Right place, right time affirmation.
I strolled over to St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in the heart of town and joined numerous others of all ages (the youngest, carried in her father’s arms, looked to be around 2-years-old), skin hues, body types, gender identities, sexual orientations, and socio-economic backgrounds in singing, dancing and hugging (yes, this Hugmobster Armed With Love was back out there, fully vaccinated, embracing other willing humans).
A few minutes after I arrived, a small group of protestors, wielding their signs and spewing hateful rhetoric, approached and for at least an hour, kept up their rant. No one was spared their venom as they were equal opportunity insulters. Homophobic, sexist, racist, body shaming, sex-shaming. What I was most appalled at was when, multiple times, they dared people there to kill themselves. Considering the numbers of people in the LGBTQ+ community who do that, it bordered on the criminal. When, I wonder, do people’s First Amendment Rights cease if what they say, incites suicide? As a psychotherapist, it is an all too familiar dynamic for me. I wanted to reach out to calmly remind them that the God they profess to believe in and the Savior they claim to follow, is about love and not hate. I wanted to ask what happened in their lives that had them living in opposition to the word of God. Their minds must be such a dark and scary place to dwell. I also felt concerned for the children they might go home to and teach this stuff, thus creating another generation taught how to hate. I wanted to say, “Hugs, not hate!” but I didn’t want to get any closer than I needed to.
At one point, the minister of the church, came over with a banner and several of us took turns holding it, proclaiming a powerful message of love to counter the hate. We belted out songs to prove that love is louder including Build Me Up Buttercup, This Little Light of Mine, and YMCA (complete with dance moves). As the day was winding to a close, the wind picked up and a light rain fell. I wondered how each group would interpret the celestial intervention. They might have seen it as retribution. I saw it as renewal and refreshment since it had been a beamingly hot and sunny day and a feeling of washing away the odious ooze splattered in the name of One who came to share love.
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This post is republished on Medium.
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All photos were taken by Edie Weinstein