Reflections on Leadership and Juneteenth

Stewardship in the Face of Health Care Inequity

That understanding continues to inform how I lead today. While I co-lead a statewide health justice organization, leadership still feels less like authority and more like stewardship. The communities we serve are not abstract stakeholders; they are the people to whom we should feel accountable. They are the reason I show up.

In health justice, accountability means looking directly at the gaping wounds of systemic inequity.

When we talk about “access to care,” we aren’t just talking about insurance cards or hospital buildings. We're talking about whether a Black mother is heard when she says she is in pain, whether a neighborhood is systematically starved of nourishing foods or clean air, whether a family can access true wellness.

Inequities are not accidental. They are the modern iterations of the same redlining that shaped my childhood. Leading a statewide nonprofit means refusing to let inequities be sanitized by government administrations or corporate jargon. It means demanding that our systems recognize health as a fundamental human right, not a luxury reserved for the privileged.

The Reality of the Room

That sense of responsibility travels with me. Often, I find myself in UNSAFE spaces, being the only Black woman in the room or at the table. Sometimes I see the surprise on people’s faces. The room may fall noticeably silent. I can feel an unspoken requirement to, yet again, prove why I’m included in the discussion, or to defend my knowledge.

Earlier in my career, I interpreted those moments to mean I needed to study and learn more. Over time, I noticed something else: I kept getting invited back. The silence may have been absorbing the shock of a new perspective entering the room. Now I intentionally look for opportunities to offer alternate viewpoints and include experiences outside of the status quo – those rarely requested.

The Trifecta of Leadership: Giving, Asking, and Owning

Through this journey, I have come to understand that leadership is sustained by a delicate, powerful trifecta: what we give, what we ask, and what we own.

Giving comes naturally to Black women: we have historically poured out labor, our wisdom, and our emotional bandwidth to keep communities afloat. But I have learned that giving must be intentional, not sacrificial.

Asking is where the friction often lies. Society expects us to be resilient and silent, but true stewardship requires asking for what our communities actually need – demanding resources, capital,and institutional changes without apology.

Owning is the final piece. I have had to learn to own my space, my expertise, and my authority. I no longer wait for permission to lead. I own the reality that my voice belongs at the table, not as tokenized inclusion, but as a rightful architect of our collective future.

Juneteenth 2026: Freedom and gratitude

It was about 100 years ago when my grandmothers celebrated Jubilee Day. When they attended community picnics, barbecues, baseball games, rodeos, cheered on local performers, and drank traditional strawberry sodas. Because I know them, I know they found ways to serve the community. They showed up. They asked what was needed. They gave from what they had. And they worked collaboratively to help create the kind of community they wanted to live in.

Now, as we mark Juneteenth in 2026, the word "Freedom" feels heavy and complex. We celebrate the survival, the legacy, and the culture of our people. Yet, we cannot ignore the cultural backlash, the rolling back of civil rights, and the ongoing exhaustion of fighting the same battles our ancestors fought.

How do I hold gratitude in times like these? I hold it by looking back and forward at the same time. I am deeply grateful for the broad shoulders of my grandmothers, who paved the way for me to co-lead a statewide organization. My gratitude is not passive compliance – it is a fierce, active energy. It's the fuel that drives me to enter unsafe rooms and demand better for the next generation.

Ubuntu

“Ubuntu” is an ancient African proverb that translates to: I am because you are. Leadership is responsibility to the people or community you serve. Being a Black woman who gets dismissed because I’m female, ignored because I’m Black, or perceived as having nothing of consequence to contribute – I know this must happen to others who are also perceived to be undeserving of time, consideration and humanity.

These experiences explicitly shape how I show up as a leader. I own the responsibilities to offer experiences and wisdom from my people when in homogenous spaces, and to ensure that all characteristics of my humanity are brought to the table.