Far Beyond the Stars: A Juneteenth Reflection on Freedom, Greed, and the State of Our World

by Agustín El Moro

Juneteenth has passed. For me, this is not just a date marked on a calendar, it is a living, breathing testament—a holiday that belongs to my people, and in truth to everyone. It is one that speaks to the very soul of this nation. And yet, this year, in the midst of celebrations and reflections, it was met with scorn from the highest office—a reminder of how fragile progress still is. I do not need to dwell on the words, but their echo remains. It tells us that the road is not finished. It tells us that if one of us is not free, none of us truly are.

Juneteenth, at its heart, commemorates that moment when freedom finally came—for some, at least. On June 19, 1865, Union troops arrived in Galveston, Texas, bringing word that the enslaved were now free—years after the Emancipation Proclamation had first been signed. And that delay was not a fluke—it was by design. Freedom was never given freely. It had to be fought for, again and again. And even after that hot June day in Texas, freedom remained incomplete.

The so-called end of slavery gave way to the long dark era of Jim Crow, of Black Codes, of economic exploitation, of lynchings, of systemic erasure. Civil rights were not born until much later. It was not until 1965—the year that I was born—that the Voting Rights Act was signed, finally guaranteeing, on paper, what had long been denied: a voice. But paper alone cannot mend wounds, and to this day, justice is still something we chase. I have seen the beatings. I have seen the blood on sidewalks. I have seen the headlines, the protests, the tears. Freedom is still a fragile thing.

When I think on this history, I often return to a certain episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, one that has always resonated deep within me—“Far Beyond the Stars.” In it, Captain Benjamin Sisko, wearied by war and loss, is transported into the body of Benny Russell, a Black science fiction writer in 1950s New York. Benny dares to dream—a story of a Black starship captain, of hope among the stars. But the world around him crushes that dream. Racism, brutality, indifference—it silences his voice. Benny suffers, and in his pain, I hear my own history. I hear the frustration of every creator, every thinker, every dreamer who dared imagine a better world but was told to sit down, to be quiet. As much as I know that home is not always where the heart is, I am glad that I was born and grew up in Atlanta, and in the family that I was born into. Why?... well for one thing, although I was very aware of racism, I was more a victim of classism. But even still, I was surrounded by elders, family and teachers who lifted us up, and said, "You can be anything you want to be, and never let others define you!" It was very powerful to hear as a young black boy. That's why I pursued Spanish, and Flamenco, perhaps a bit naively, when I was an adult, and full of dreams about becoming fluent in Spanish, with the typical "Gringo" accent, and playing Flamenco professionally. Anyway, I digress. In regard to the nature of freedom, greed, war and the state of our world.

So where are we at today? We live now in a world of endless war, endless greed. Bombs fall on Gaza. Iran reels under fresh attacks. Israeli hostages still languish in captivity since October 7. And yet the common people—the mothers, the fathers, the workers—they did not start these wars. They may have drove, but did not order these tanks to take to the streets. They may have guided, but not ordered the drones. It is the leaders—those consumed by greed and power—who manufacture the hate, the terror, the endless cycles of violence. They feed on ignorance, nurturing division.

As stated by the American Sociobiologist, Edward O Wilson, we are a race of Paleolithic emotions, ruled by medieval institutions, armed with godlike technologies. We have the tools to heal the world, and yet we choose instead to break it. Leaders enslave, terrorize, and create the very hatred they claim to fight. But we, the people, are not without guilt. The soil of common ignorance lets their poison take root. When we do not learn our own history, when we do not challenge power, when we do not stand for what is right, we allow the cycle to continue.

This is why Juneteenth matters now more than ever. It is not just a Black holiday—it is a call to the entire nation, a mirror held up to our present. It says: we cannot rest. We cannot forget. We cannot turn our backs on those still in chains, whether literal or systemic. We must work together—Black, white, brown—this country, this people, this human race. Our freedom is interwoven. We rise together, or not at all.

And so I write this today, not in anger, but in urgency. I speak from the flame of Juneteenth, from the sorrow of Benny Russell, from the hope of Sisko looking to the stars. We must be more than Paleolithic emotional driven beings, guided by these medieval institutions with godlike tools. We must become the dreamers—those who create a future beyond hate, beyond greed, beyond war. We must, together, build a tomorrow worthy of the stories we tell, a future truly, at last, far beyond the stars. But the pessimist in me, especially after this past week's happenings...the pessimist in me...well...the pessimist in me fears we are doomed.