Juneteenth is often remembered as the day freedom finally reached the last enslaved people in Texas — June 19, 1865. It is a powerful moment in American history. But it is also something more personal than many of us realize. For some families, Juneteenth is not just a date. It is a story carried forward through generations.
In my own family, that story includes my great-great-grandfather, Alfred Berriman — later standardized to Berryman — who served in the U.S. Colored Troops as a member of Company G of the 45th Regiment. His name is inscribed on the African American Civil War Memorial in Washington D.C., on Plaque No. C-58.
Historical records show that the 45th U.S. Colored Troops participated in the Appomattox Campaign and was present at the surrender of General Robert E. Lee in April 1865. Following the war’s conclusion, the regiment was ordered to Texas, where it served along the Mexican frontier, including in Brownsville.
The arrival of Union troops in Texas — including regiments of U.S. Colored Troops — was essential to enforcing emancipation in regions where it had not yet been realized in practice. While individual actions are not always recorded, soldiers like my ancestor were part of the broader military presence that made freedom tangible in the months following its announcement.
Juneteenth is not only about an announcement. It is about the people who carried that announcement — often at great personal risk — and the generations that followed.
Years ago, I taught fourth grade at Longfellow Elementary School in Oak Park, where students were introduced to early American history, including the Civil War. I remember teaching those lessons with care, understanding their importance, but not yet realizing how deeply that history lived within my own family. At the time, I did not know that I had multiple direct ancestors and extended relatives who had served in the Civil War, including my great-great-grandfather in the U.S. Colored Troops.
As an educator, researcher, and someone trained in clinical psychology, I have spent years thinking about how people understand their past — especially when that past has been fragmented, erased, or misunderstood. In my current research on early African American families in colonial Maryland, I have encountered records that challenge the idea that freedom began neatly in 1865. There were families navigating complex legal systems — indenture, racial classification, and shifting definitions of status — long before the Civil War. Freedom, in that sense, has never been a single moment. It has always been a process.
I saw that process reflected in my own life as well. Growing up in Weirton, West Virginia, I was among the early African American students to attend schools that had previously been segregated. Like so many others, I experienced what it meant to enter spaces that had only recently begun to change.
Juneteenth invites us to celebrate, but it also invites us to remember that freedom has always required effort, presence, and persistence. It reminds us that behind every historical milestone are individuals whose names are sometimes known, and often forgotten, but whose actions shaped what came next.
For me, seeing my ancestor’s name etched in stone in Washington D.C., is a reminder that history is not distant. It is personal. It is carried in families, in records, and in the work we do to understand it.
As we commemorate Juneteenth, we honor not only the moment freedom was announced but also the people who helped make that announcement meaningful — and the generations who continue to uncover and tell those stories.
That work, in many ways, is still unfolding.
Bonita Berryman Gilliam holds a doctorate in clinical psychology and has worked as an educator and researcher. She is the author of the forthcoming book, “Elizabeth Proctor: Lineage, Law, and Legacy in Colonial Maryland.”