On June 19, 1865, more than two years after the Emancipation Proclamation, enslaved Black people in Galveston, Texas, were finally told they were free. This day, now known as Juneteenth, represents both a celebration of liberation and a painful reminder of how far justice can be delayed for Black people in America.

And today, nearly 160 years later, here in Concord, New Hampshire, the delay continues, not by chains, but by invisibility.

In Concord, we often speak of freedom. We cherish our small-town charm, democratic ideals, and civic pride. Yet when Juneteenth arrives each year, I am confronted not with celebration, but silence. No public parades in the heart of our city. No cultural exhibitions. No community conversations about America’s real history of oppression and resistance. We do not celebrate Black people, not truly, not fully, and this silence speaks louder than any anthem.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once wrote, “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” That silence echoes loudly here. When our city fails to acknowledge Juneteenth with the dignity it deserves, it sends a message: Black history is not our history. Black liberation is not our shared responsibility. Let us speak the truth. Concord is not diverse, and it is not inclusive.

As of the most recent U.S. Census data, less than 2% of Concord’s population identifies as Black or African American. In city leadership, our school boards, city councils, and public services, there is a strong absence of Black representation. In our curriculum, our public programming and our historical commemorations, the Black experience is often excluded or reduced to a small part. This is not accidental. It is how our systems are structured.

Systemic racism is not always about hate. It is about exclusion. About who gets remembered and who gets erased. About whose pain is healed, and whose struggles are hidden. It is about which stories we tell in public spaces, and which are buried in our homes, our minds and our silent moments.

Malcolm X once warned us that “the most disrespected person in America is the Black woman.” But here in Concord, I would argue that the most invisible person is the Black citizen.

Why don’t we celebrate Juneteenth with the same respect as the Fourth of July? Is it because Juneteenth forces us to confront the blood on our national hands? Is it because it demands we acknowledge that “freedom” came late, if at all, for so many of us?

The truth is, Juneteenth tells the uncomfortable story of justice and institutional deception. It teaches us that freedom has always been a struggle, not a gift, and that struggle continues today in the form of unequal education, discriminatory policing, economic disenfranchisement and cultural neglect.

Nelson Mandela taught us that “education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” But in Concord, do our schools truly teach students the full truth of American slavery, Jim Crow, the Tulsa Massacre, COINTELPRO or the prison industrial complex? Do they teach about the Black heroes who helped build this nation, like Bayard Rustin, Fannie Lou Hamer and Fred Hampton?

We need leadership in Concord that is not only willing to “talk about DEI” in boardrooms, but to live it out loud in our streets, our schools and our celebrations. Where are the Black leaders in city governance? Where are the Black-owned businesses in downtown Concord? Where are the city-sponsored public forums on racial justice and equity? Where is the funding for multicultural education, youth empowerment and racial reconciliation?

The fight against racism is not just about hearts and minds; it is about systems and power. We cannot pray our way to justice while ignoring its absence in policy. Kwame Ture (Stokely Carmichael) once said, “In order for nonviolence to work, your opponent must have a conscience. The United States has none.” That may sound harsh, but when a community like Concord cannot bring itself even to celebrate Juneteenth, what else can we conclude?

I write this not because I am upset, but because of frustration and a deep hope that Concord can be better, must be better. Our youth deserve a future where they see themselves reflected in their leaders, in their textbooks and in their holidays. They deserve a Concord that celebrates their history, not just tolerates their presence.

James Baldwin said, “To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.” But we are not calling for rage. We are calling for recognition. For respect. For representation.

So for this and future Juneteenths, I invite Concord to do more than just another day off from your jobs and businesses. Let us commit to real, public celebration and education. Let us invest in Black-led organizations. Let us correct our curricula. Let us make room at the table.

Fisto Ndayishimiye is the co-director of Project S.T.O.R.Y. and the lead organizer at Change for Concord. He also formed One Concord to represent different marginalized communities in the city.