I’d say it began in sixth grade history class.
When learning about World War II in America, students are generally taught about the tragic Pearl Harbor surprise attack, which claimed the lives of several thousand American soldiers. In retaliation, the American government saw this as its justification for dropping atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, which claimed the lives of several hundred thousand innocent civilian lives.
Those who were not completely and instantly incinerated later died of radiation poisoning and the cancers that developed subsequently. Now, you can imagine, as an eleven year old boy, how displeasing this can be, especially, in the aftermath of 911 and the intense feelings of patriotism that followed.
It was clear to me then, that America and Americans, to an extent; do not respect the sanctity of life outside of US soil.
Though, these feelings were only embers at that time. The raging fire began when I learned about the kidnapping of my ancestors from Africa and their subsequent enslavement that saw over three hundred years of blacks in shackles. Following their freedom, without reparations or even guidance from the government, blacks drifted through the land.
Some settled in the south among their former masters and endured decades of racism, random lynchings and bombings; not unlike contemporary terrorist ideology. These perpetrators, however, almost never suffered any real consequences for their actions.
Those who did not settle in the south migrated north where the atmosphere felt more liberal. Many former slaves even relocated back to Africa and settled in Liberia; the first and only American colony in Africa. It is worth mentioning, that Liberia is one of the poorest countries in the world.
Decades afterwards, conditions hadn’t much improved for blacks in America. Separate but equal policies disintegrated any attempts toward real, sustainable advancement of people of color.
Since then, I’ve learned and heard first-hand accounts of the terror America has caused the world over. I thought, “Why does this not bother other Americans, as it bothers me?” I realized that Americans are well protected from the truths of the world. So much so, that a sort of numbness exists in them; which relegates any feelings of grief toward world issues to “thoughts and prayers” and of course, forgetfulness.
So, I decided to leave and once I did, I realized that I’d never return, at least not permanently.
Some call it “unpatriotic”, but nationalism was never my métier. America is my birthplace, but it is not and will never be my home. I see America as the place my parents lived when they decided to conceive me.
Ultimately, it became impossible for me to happily reside in a country that unapologetically robbed my people of any chance of autonomy and happiness for the foreseeable future. There are still white people who believe that blacks must respect the American flag and be thankful for the atrocities the American military has committed worldwide, all in the name of freedom and prosperity; prosperity that my people do not have the privilege to enjoy as we are being murdered by police and thrown in jail for petty crimes. Not to mentioned, suffering from an endless cycle of poverty, that in turn, leads to crime.
Now, while I enjoy a peaceful life in Germany, another former colonizer, I look toward home and hope for the chance to make a change toward a better future.
Home is somewhere on the continent that has, for decades, suffered from poverty, disease, civil wars, starvation, crime and genocide. My home is a place that was raped by Europeans for centuries and left for dead.
There, in the middle, or perhaps in the west, somewhere, is my home. The bush, the dirt and the blood; I am a part of them as they are of me.
Yes…I left America and have never looked back.
T.E. Stroud 