Earlier this month, on Sept. 5, I turned 23 years old. After spending most of my birthdays since entering adulthood crying, like one does (shout-out to my Virgos), I decided that I would break the pattern and go out of the country. After researching different islands, my college sweetheart and I landed on Belize.
I knew nothing about Belize; honestly, I had only heard about the small island in passing. But with our first option, Jamaica, experiencing the rainy season, we booked our flight and found an Airbnb in Caye Caulker, Belize.
The trip was truly transformative. I faced my fears and went snorkeling with sharks, ate fresh food and lived life slowly. As they say, go slow, but don’t be late. One thing that truly stuck with me, however, was the welcoming spirit.
From the moment we landed in the tiny airport to the moment we left the island, we were greeted with smiles and people willing and wanting to help us and to talk about their island, people who wanted us to experience the beauty of their home.
We met one man who went by the name Yankee, who was born on the island but went to school in the United States (hence the nickname). When we were lost trying to find our snorkeling tour, Yankee asked if we needed help and offered us a free ride since we were on the complete opposite side of the island. He told us about how there’s a real community on the island and that it’s nothing like how he viewed the States.
As we were leaving the island, suitcases in hand, local men we’d never seen before waved us off, asking if we enjoyed our time and encouraging us to come back: “You’re always welcome!”
In response, all I thought was, “This is how it should be.”
Flying back to America was a different experience. Gun-toting officers, yelling and confusion awaited us after landing in Miami, and we had to complete a biometric scan just to get back into a country we already lived in.
A ‘Tone-Deaf’ America
Born only six days before 9/11, I had only just arrived home from the hospital in Lee Summit, Mo., when my parents watched in horror as the United States—which had been slowly entering a phase of hope, unity and opportunity—witnessed an event that reverted itto being divisive and largely unwelcoming.
Like many other people born in 2001, our entire life has been in a post-9/11 America—an America where being anything except white could be a criminal sentence. An America where “un-American” is code for being anti-white supremacy. An America where bigotry, racism and hate has been rebranded as merely opinion. And as we all were taught, “We must respect ALL opinions.”
As a direct result, the U.S. went on a 20-year War on Terror, subsequently resulting in the deaths of 4.5 million to 4.6 million people in the Middle East, about 3.5 million of those indirect deaths, all in response to the 2,996 lives lost on 9/11.
But that is the American way.
In a country that was violently stolen from Native Americans, built off the backs of African slaves and eventually inhabited by immigrants—many of whom were people of color fleeing from countries that also felt the violent disruption of colonialism—it is not only tone-deaf, but extremely hypocritical to then dictate who can and cannot live here and who is and isn’t welcomed here.
Was it only the land of the free and opportunity for those who came to Ellis Island? For those who were only considered white once they arrived in the U.S.? Whiteness is an American condition. Just like Blackness. Just like many facets behind the ideology of race that were systematically created in America to justify white supremacy.
Now all we hear is, “Why does everything have to be about race?”
The United States has invaded 68 countries. And yet, the American people are conditioned into believing that we are the land of democracy and freedom. We are the peacekeeping force that keeps the world from falling apart. It is our God-given right. It is our Manifest Destiny.
In reality, the American presence and its ideals can be a death sentence. Our policies can be death sentences. Our policing, our politics, our politicians, our economic structure, even down to the food we eat can be death sentences in some circumstances. The oil we pump in our cars, the iPhones we buy and the Amazon hauls we just can’t get enough of are death sentences—not just for international citizens, not just those living in the states, but for the entire ecosystem.
We learn so much in school about fascist regimes that we are blind to the fact that we could be one presidential election from living in one.
Gone are the days of white hoods and burning crosses; now are the days of guns and the American flag—all to defend a version of a country that never even existed. It is a myth that there were once “good ol’ days,” even for white folks.
Octavia Butler’s “Parable of the Sower” is not just a fantastical novel, but a near-future. We can no longer stand by and allow hate to fester all because we’d rather not get involved or because we’re “not really into politics.”
It is a privilege to not be into politics. It is a privilege to not get involved. And unlike the rhetoric we constantly see, having privilege doesn’t make you a target, it makes you a resource; so use it correctly.
We are in critical times, where right and wrong are no longer distinguished; they have been blended together and are up for interpretation.
We are in critical times where Haitians are labeled as “cat-eaters,” and folks blindly follow it, without even a simple Google search to tell them the claims are exaggerated and false.
We are in critical times where children are being taught that slavery was a choice.
We are in critical times where the Congo and Palestine are being ripped apart, as we stand by and watch.
We are in critical times where someone who shouldn’t have had access to such a destructive weapon shot up yet another school and where law enforcement has killed yet another Black woman, as one Republican vice-presidential nominee gets to stand behind bullet-proof glass.
We are in critical times where weather experts and scientists are pleading that we do something about climate change.
We are in critical times where a presidential nominee gets to say they have “concepts of a plan” and still be seriously counted as a candidate.
That is unacceptable. It is embarrassing. I implore you, no, I beg you, if you have not yet opened your eyes to state we are in, let this be your wake-up.
It will take time, but one foot in the right direction will allow the other foot to follow. As I learned in Belize, we can go slow, but we cannot be late.
This MFP Voices essay does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.
