The white oak in my backyard is living history. When calculating the age of a mature tree, the rule of thumb is to measure its circumference at chest level. By that metric, this oak has been standing for about a century and a half, dating to the end of Reconstruction. But instead of growing straight up, its trunk forks four times, creating a massive, multipronged crown. With trees, as with history, what is measured matters as much as how.
The oak took root in a Northern Virginia landscape recovering from the overplanting of tobacco and the scars of the Civil War, arriving just a decade after Juneteenth’s genesis. On June 19, 1865, on a sandy island outpost along the Texas Gulf Coast, enslaved people there were among the last to receive word of the Emancipation Proclamation signed two years earlier. The following year, they celebrated the date by establishing Jubilee Day, and after a name change, that local commemoration spread and became a federal holiday in 2021 — Juneteenth National Independence Day. This year, the nation’s second day for celebrating its freedom occurs a few weeks before the 250th anniversary of its first.
Today, Juneteenth signifies both the end of slavery and the rebirth of a nation. Emancipation gave the country a new start and the opportunity to live its principles more fully. War consecrated the effort. And the holiday is born of the idea that the Civil War and the abolition of slavery are as central to the American story as the Revolutionary War and a declaration of national independence. In this way, Juneteenth symbolizes the beginning of a more perfect Union, a second founding.
New life emerges from the ruins of war. The oak in my backyard came of age when the environment reclaimed vast acres of unattended land, ridged for tobacco plants. By the early 20th century, family farms cleared massive plots for dairy cattle and crops worked by tenant farmers or prisoners. Then, a few decades ago, developers bought up the land amid the suburban sprawl and laid out neighborhoods. In each era, the oak served a different purpose, as a shade tree, a property border, or its present role as a suburban amenity. At every stage, someone had to decide it was worth keeping — or at least left alone.
Juneteenth should be so lucky. After issuing proclamations for Juneteenth each year of his first administration, President Donald Trump promised in his 2020 reelection campaign to make it a national holiday. President Joe Biden signed it into law the next year. Though the law establishing the holiday passed the Senate unanimously, more than a dozen House Republicans voted against it. In explaining his opposition, Rep. Chip Roy (R-Texas) said the holiday’s official name “needlessly divides our nation on a matter that should instead bring us together by creating a separate Independence Day based on the color of one’s skin.”
Trump’s second administration has pursued a focused agenda against diversity initiatives, civil rights protections and examinations of unflattering histories. Since being back in office, Trump has barely acknowledged Juneteenth. Last year, in place of his usual proclamation was a complaint posted to social media: “Too many non-working holidays in America.”
Since then, he cut free admission to national parks on Juneteenth — replacing it with Flag Day, which coincides with his birthday. Most Americans know of the holiday now, support its observance and appreciate the day off, even if it’s not a paid holiday for workers in many states. It’s survived, amid the administration’s actions opposing diversity, equity and inclusion. But the vast majority of Americans don’t celebrate — there’s no national custom yet — and that makes it harder for the idea of a second founding to take root.
Early celebrants called the first commemoration Jubilee Day after a passage in the Old Testament. Jubilee is described there as a sacred observance held once every 50 years, most notable for requiring the freeing of enslaved and indentured people, the forgiveness of debts and the restoration of land. It was a chance at a fresh start, especially for those faring the worst. Writing in the landmark study Black Reconstruction in America, W.E.B. Du Bois argued that the United States’ only real chance at survival is if it lives its creed. “Either extermination root and branch, or absolute equality. There can be no compromise. This is the last great battle of the West.” A fair challenge for a nation in its fifth jubilee year.
Multiple forks in an oak’s trunk can weaken the tree. The bark’s uneven growth in the V-shaped stems and the pull of gravity can cause them to fail, splitting the trunk in two or toppling the whole thing. The white oak in my backyard avoided that fate because of its position on the ridge where, for years, a flood of morning sun supported new growth. The tree’s gamble to routinely split the stem and make room for another paid off, culminating in an extra-wide canopy that offers protection against the competition — whether from other trees, modernization or changing winds. Each fork, a new start — another founding, all its own.
The post What a 150-year-old oak teaches about Juneteenth appeared first on Washington Post.
