Even the confederate states, in active rebellion, celebrated some form of Independence Day in the first few years of the Civil War. With unmitigated hubris and imperviousness to irony, confederate leaders connected their armed movement to preserve slavery with the Spirit of ’76. They cast Washington politicians in the light of the British monarchy and their own shameful movement for conquest and brutality against Black Americans as the just continuation of the Revolutionary War. The thin veneer of Southern reverence for independence quickly wore thin as the South lost critical battles in July 1863 that put the Civil War on track for an American victory. Some white communities in the South stopped celebrating Independence Day at that point until well into the 20th century.

But not Black Americans in the South. For newly-freed former slaves, Independence Day took on a new significance. In the postwar years, until the white-footed boot of Jim Crow rested harshly again on the necks of Black Americans in the South, Independence Day was a decidedly Black holiday south of the Mason-Dixon Line. There was Black joy around Independence Day as cookouts, patriotic parades of Black national guard troops, fireworks, and dancing the Too-la-loo became common, even in the cradle of the defeated confederacy, Charleston.

For Independence Day 2022, in light of the attempted coup by Donald Trump and his Republican confederates, and recent Supreme Court decisions that reduce liberty and relegate more than half of Americans to second-class citizenship and servitude, it’s hard to think about this day without considering how Americans celebrated, or ignored, Independence Day during other tumultuous periods in the history of our democratic republic. It’s entirely within our culture and American tradition to approach this day with a wide array of feelings, especially discordant and conflicting ones.

As for me, I honor the Spirit of 1776. I respect the amazing minds that conceived of self-government, even if their conception of liberty was imperfect and as yet unrealized. I reflect on Frederick Douglass and his powerful words spoken on July 5, 1852 in Rochester. I recognize that Southern whites hated Independence Day for many years after the emancipation of Black Americans. I honor the sheer Black joy that accompanied Independence Day celebrations after 1865.

I won’t be at the picnic today; I won’t watch the fireworks. For me, Lee Greenwood can take a seat as his music rings hollow to my ears in 2022. What I will do is rededicate myself to the cause of liberty and justice — not just for myself and people like me — but for all Americans.

Liberty and justice for all.

Here are some links to further reading that helped me gather my thoughts around today.

• Frederick Douglass speech
• When Southern Whites Boycotted and Blacks Embraced the Fourth of July During Reconstruction - The Reconstruction Era
• What Did Independence Day Mean to Southerners About to Secede?
• Too-la-Loo for the Fourth of July

With today’s result in the Senate, the bill now goes to Governor DeSantis, who has indicated that he will sign it. Unfortunately, over the weekend, the Governor’s spokesperson compared LGBTQ advocates, parents, and teachers to pedophiles and those who would groom children for assault. While we hope Governor DeSantis will disavow these hateful comments and veto this harmful legislation, it’s becoming hard to hold out hope for a just result from elected politicians in Tallahassee.

If this bill becomes law, it will surely be challenged in court. There are serious equal protection concerns for LGBTQ students who have been singled out for invidious discrimination by the legislature. There are civil rights concerns related to teachers and counselors being prohibited by law from creating supportive and nurturing school environments for LGBTQ students, and for the children of LGBTQ Floridians.

A state law that is homophobic and transphobic cannot withstand judicial scrutiny. Like the previous Florida ban on gay people adopting and the previous Florida ban on marriage equality, this hateful new law, which discriminates by definition, cannot stand.

Jimmy Midyette is a Florida Attorney and the Legislative Director of the Jacksonville Coalition for Equality.

I’ve attended Pride events in Jacksonville since my first, on a very hot August afternoon in 1995. Some of my favorite memories of Pride over the years include marching proudly with my JASMYN family in the first parade in 1997, speaking from the stage about the importance of our political activism at the beach in 2006, and canvassing multiple events with teams from Equality Florida and Jacksonville Coalition for Equality collecting petitions leading to the passage of our expanded human rights ordinance for Jacksonville.

These memories came flooding back to me yesterday. Seeing Duval Democrats marching with elected leaders like Angie Nixon and Tracie Davis. Candidates! Tracye Polson, Josh Hicks, and Charles Garrison, the latter two being family and running for office with pride and purpose. Visiting with DL Cummings, the head of the local Libertarian Party, who brought his family to support our basic freedom to be who and what we are; allies are so important.

There have been negative Pride experiences, too. It’s important to remember these, along with the good memories. In 1997, the parade being met by protestors, condemning us to hell. Infiltration by so-called “ex-gay” groups, preying on the vulnerable. Entire Pride events skipped due to poor planning, lack of community spirit, and even a global pandemic.

There was a loud echo of those events as the park security guard made eye contact yesterday, and leaned in close. He said, “There’s been a bomb threat and we don’t know if it’s credible.” I asked if JSO was aware and he said they were. He asked that we check our bags and be sure there was nothing suspicious among our table supplies. He said he would let us know if we needed to evacuate.

I looked immediately at my boyfriend and thought about sending him home. Then I looked at the crowd around us, including toddlers decked out in rainbow stickers and paint; tweens in rainbow wings; an elder with a rainbow flag attached to their walker. We checked our bags and I scanned the broader crowd with suspicion. A millennial woman and her girlfriend noticed the change in my demeanor and came over to ask if they should be worried; I sometimes forget how visible I am in such spaces.

“The haters want us to leave,” I said to her. “This is how terror works; they make threats all the time to try and silence us, to push us back into a closet of their convenience and comfort.” But Pulse. The Olympic bombings. Haters murdering with cars. Violence and state terror against our BIPOC trans sisters. As we talked, we decided amongst us that we’d be vigilant, but unmoved.

The flow of the day resumed soon after. Before I knew it, the parade was emptying into the park and the security and police were visibly relaxed. The threat was real, but there would be no bombing of River City Pride on that glorious October afternoon. LGBTQ people visited the vendor booths, enjoyed good food and drink, and danced into the Florida dusk, thriving and vibing with the entrainment and community.

Pride in Jacksonville is done for 2021. Now our collective attention turns to Coming Out Day Breakfasts, World AIDS Day remembrances, and Equality Florida Connection events. I like that; the routine of the life of our community. I feel greatly privileged to be a part of what we were, are, and will be. Our rainbow community is diverse and beautiful. As I reflected on all of this, I couldn’t help but think of the words of Maya Angelou, who said:

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise….

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I’ll rise.