By Erin Fallen
On June 17, 2021, Juneteenth was officially recognized as a holiday in the United States. While the Fourth of July celebrates American independence, Juneteenth holds deeper significance for Black Americans—it marks the true end of slavery, when the last enslaved people in Texas were finally freed in 1865, more than two years after the Emancipation Proclamation. In simple terms, Juneteenth is our Fourth of July.
As a Peace Corps volunteer serving in Dominica, I’ve found new meaning in Juneteenth. Being in the Eastern Caribbean has allowed me, as a Black American, to witness another perspective on the legacy of slavery—one shaped by different histories, languages, and cultures, yet rooted in the same brutal system and shared struggle for freedom.
Recently, Dominica celebrated May Day, a public holiday honoring workers’ rights with deep ties to post-emancipation labor movements. While May Day and Juneteenth differ in their origins and dates, the underlying themes are strikingly similar: resistance, delayed justice, and community celebration. Watching Dominicans gather in pride and remembrance that weekend reminded me so much of Juneteenth—how we, too, acknowledge our painful history, but reclaim our power by celebrating our survival and resilience.
The more time I spend here, the more I see the quiet echoes between our cultures. Sundays on my island are for church, big meals, and fellowship, like at home. My Dominican host mom might serve stew chicken, while my family would have fried chicken, but the spirit is the same. Faith is central in both places; every family seems to have that praying grandmother you can count on.
Even our foodways tell a story. Grits in the American South and cornmeal porridge in the Caribbean were once “slave foods”—cheap, sustaining meals. Now they’re cherished comfort dishes, symbols of endurance and cultural pride.
Living in Dominica has expanded my understanding of Juneteenth. It’s no longer just a U.S. commemoration, but part of a broader story of Black resilience across the diaspora. Through shared meals, holidays, and traditions, I’m reminded that the fight for freedom wasn’t isolated—it spanned oceans. We are the 1% who made it through the trans-Atlantic slave trade—and every act of remembrance is proof that we were never meant to disappear.