“Not if you’re Black”On Tuesday’s episode of The View, Whoopi Goldberg and Alyssa Farah Griffin ignited a passionate debate with global implications: Is life in the United States in 2025 really that different from life in Iran?
The discussion, emotionally charged and culturally revealing, fell serendipitously on the eve of Juneteenth—a day meant to commemorate the delayed enforcement of freedom for enslaved African Americans, a reminder of how long justice can take, even in a country founded on liberty.
An animated Griffin reponded: “No! (In Iran) I can’t have my hair showing. I can’t wear a skirt. I can’t have my arms out. They don’t even have free and fair elections in Iran! It’s not even the same universe!”
Goldberg countered: “But every day we (Black people) are worried. Do we have to be worried about our kids? Are [our] kids gonna get shot because they’re running through somebody’s neighborhood?”
When Griffin reasserted her point— “I think it’s very different to live in the United States in 2025 than it is to live in Iran in 2025”—Whoopi closed with a solemn mic drop: “Not if you’re Black.”
This isn’t just television. This is America, asking itself uncomfortable but necessary questions—especially on Juneteenth.
Let’s start with the obvious: Iran is a theocratic regime where the government enforces Islamic law through the morality police, punishes political dissent with imprisonment and torture, and executes citizens for “crimes” like homosexuality or apostasy. There is no freedom of the press, no independent judiciary, and women are required by law to cover their hair and bodies or face jail time. Protesters, including teenage girls, are routinely arrested or “disappeared.”
Griffin is not wrong. The Iranian government’s human rights abuses are flagrant and systematic. It is not a free society.
But is that the whole story?
Goldberg didn’t claim America and Iran were morally equivalent—she claimed that for certain Americans, specifically Black Americans, this country is still not truly free. And on Juneteenth, of all days, that claim requires examination.
Juneteenth commemorates June 19, 1865, the day Union troops arrived in Galveston, Texas, to enforce the Emancipation Proclamation—two and a half years after Lincoln signed it. Even when slavery was legally abolished, it took military force to implement justice. For many, that tension—the promise of freedom delayed by the machinery of oppression—still defines the American experience.
Consider:
In Iran, human rights abuses are inflicted by a totalitarian state. In America, they are perpetuated by systemic bias, historical neglect, and unequal access to justice. Different in kind, perhaps—but not in consequence.
Here’s where the conversation becomes more nuanced. Both Griffin and Goldberg are right, but their arguments are incomplete.
Griffin is right to call out Iran’s grotesque human rights record. The Iranian regime treats women and LGBTQ+ people with cruelty that is legally sanctioned and brutally enforced. Living as a dissident, journalist, or reformer in Iran is life-threatening. America (although school is still out on Trumpism) does not (yet) imprison people for expressing political dissent or wearing certain clothing. Goldberg is right to point out that Iran’s human rights abuses do not excuse our own sins. America’s greatest illusion is its belief that human rights are a settled matter. They’re not. They’re a daily fight. Try mentioning DEI to citizens on the street—you will get some very different reactions and viewpoints.
If we measure human rights by government repression, Iran is worse. But if we measure by the failure to protect all citizens equally under law—regardless of race, class, gender, or sexual orientation—America is far from perfect.
So, what should we do with this national moment of reflection?
First, we can stop pretending that human rights abuses “over there” are unrelated to our own struggles. We can advocate for women’s rights in Iran and voting rights in Georgia. Call out executions of gay men in Tehran while, at the same time, questioning why Black trans women in the U.S. face disproportionately high rates of violence and homicide.
Second, we can own our history without shame—but also without denial. Goldberg’s point wasn’t to demonize America, but to demand that it live up to its ideals. That’s what Juneteenth asks us to do.
And finally, we can recognize that human rights issues are often personal, not just political. Where children walk to school in fear and mothers worry about traffic stops; where voters wait seven hours in line to cast a ballot, or women fight for autonomy over their bodies, affected Americans take these issues personally.
Did you watch the show? Who won the debate—Goldberg or Griffin? I don’t have the answer, but I do know this: America loses when she views human rights only through the lens of geography or nationalism. Juneteenth is not just a day to celebrate the end of slavery. It’s a day to measure the distance between freedom promised and freedom delivered.
We are not Iran. But our grand experiment is not yet complete. If Juneteenth teaches us anything, it’s that justice—delayed, denied, or deflected—must always be confronted.
Mark M. Bello is an attorney and author of 9 Zachary Blake Legal Thrillers and other legal themed novels and children’s books. For more information, please visit https://www.markmbello.com
