Home (Ain’t) Sweet Home

For almost two decades, I’ve been able to travel to various destinations worldwide. I don’t mention this to boast but rather to acknowledge the opportunities many individuals cannot access due to financial constraints, restrictive travel policies, or fear. In many places with a high concentration of Black or Indigenous populations, it’s disheartening to see people endure challenging living conditions. This stark reality serves as a reminder of systemic racism. It persists across different regions but manifests in diverse forms. Despite the adversity, there is a remarkable resilience within these communities that is both inspiring and thought-provoking. Their unwavering spirit and strength helps them find happiness and contentment amidst challenging circumstances. This observation has deeply impacted me and reinforced the understanding that while racism may take on varying appearances, its detrimental effects remain consistent.

Additionally, as a Black man from America, I’ve noticed a notable contrast in the way I am perceived and treated when traveling abroad compared to my experiences in the United States. The uncomfortable vibes based on race prevalent in the U.S. seem less pronounced in many other countries. This realization has led me to recognize the existence of a pervasive caste system in America, where individuals like me often find themselves positioned at the bottom, subjected to discriminatory actions by those occupying higher echelons of this unspoken societal structure.

One particularly impactful experience was my first visit to the Dominican Republic. Despite being familiar with stories about the country due to its substantial Dominican population in the northeast region of the U.S., I was genuinely taken aback by the prevalence of individuals with dark skin. The sense of belonging and acceptance I felt in this environment was unparalleled. After riding around for miles and miles, for the first time ever, I didn’t stand out or feel the discomfort of being visibly different. It was a unique and indescribable experience that left a lasting impression on me.  It was a pleasant surprise since I was under the impression that so many Dominicans in America have lighter skin or are White.  I felt invisible at times, and strangely enough…I loved it.  As long as I didn’t talk, I was OK jajajajaja.  I used to go down to the rural parts of the South growing up, visit family in Detroit (the highest percentage of black people in a city of over 100,000 people in America), and use to live in Atlanta, GA. Still, there was something unique about my first visit to DR I can’t put into words.    

Now, moving along to other places in the world where there weren’t as many Black people, I felt another type of weirdness. Citizens in these other countries didn’t pay much attention to me. They weren’t fearful of me. They didn’t stare at me. They didn’t call the police on me. It took me a couple of times to travel to different places internationally, regardless of the Black population, to realize how comfortable I felt and also realize how others didn’t really seem that uncomfortable around me. I remember one night when I was in Tokyo, Japan, my friend and I were walking down a dimly lit street at night, and there was a young lady about fifty feet in front of us.  I was slightly uncomfortable because I know in America, two Black men walking down a dimly lit street at night with a woman alone in front of them could result in a life-changing moment with the police or some other person who wants to play neighborhood hero.  However, this young lady did not walk faster, didn’t look back, and appeared to walk as if no one was around, even though I knew she heard the voices of my friend and me talking.  This was strange to me, and my brain wasn’t processing it. I asked my friend how she could be so comfortable.  Why isn’t she scared of us?  She knows we are behind her.  My friend said Japan has a low crime rate. She knows more than likely we won’t do anything to her.  His answer made sense but didn’t make sense.  In America, some of the places that I often feel the most uncomfortable are in areas with low crime rates because I am not viewed as a harmless Black man.  I can quickly become a suspect once I cross the invisible borders of some US towns. 

At that moment, I realized my brain had been wired to always make sure others were comfortable around me so I could survive, even if that meant I had to immediately adjust my mannerisms, expressions, or physical appearance.  At that moment, I also realized how good it felt to casually walk somewhere at night and not have someone be fearful of me.  It was a great feeling, but simultaneously a very uncanny feeling because I almost wanted to stop and ask the lady why aren’t you scared of me and my friend? You’re supposed to be scared of us? It’s the norm for most Black men to experience the uneasiness of others around us, but that night, the abnormal became the norm, but my brain was not comprehending the unique moment. 

After about ten years of traveling to different countries and continents, my brain was confused about how I could be the most comfortable as a Black man outside of America. America is my home, and it’s a place I am more familiar with than any other place in the world.  I know it’s not only my opinion because I read about numerous Black people who moved from America to different countries. One of the primary reasons many Black Americans relocated was because of racism.  W.E.B DuBois eventually moved to Ghana. James Baldwin moved to France.  They both wanted a break from good ol American racism.  Even now, you hear about so many young Black Americans becoming expats in certain European and Asian countries because of the racism in America. 

Often, when I tell people I’ve experienced less racism or discomfort outside of America, they’ll say, “Why don’t you move then? Why don’t you leave?” “If you feel like America treats you terribly, why don’t you move to another country better than America? I tell them I don’t plan on permanently leaving America. Ever.  I’m not running from a place where my ancestors fought so hard for me to prosper. My ancestors shed blood, fought, and built the economic foundation of this country for hundreds of years. I’m not going to move and let everybody else reap the benefits. Another reason I’m not leaving is because I want to use the privilege, education, knowledge, and money that I have here in America to influence other Black people here and around the world. I believe Black people in America are the most educated and socioeconomically stable Black people in the world. And when I say educated, I don’t mean just books.  We are educated freedom fighters. Revolutionaries. Our culture is copied across the globe. So, the bigger question is, why can’t others change their behavior, views, thoughts, and racist ways? Why does it seem like the people in the wrong always bully and stand their ground, while those who are right and loving get tired first or give up? As strange as it sounds for someone born and raised in America, whose family roots in America go back at least two hundred and fifty years…home ain’t sweet home.

No social justice without economic justice

Jonathan Travis

12/01