Revolt and Refuge: #2
Refuge in the U.S.
A Two Part Series
This piece may have some sensitive information about political unrest. Any opinions/statements made in the piece are not intended to be incendiary or incite violence. Part Two of Revolt and Refuge discusses Anon’s life after the revolution. Casted from his home country, he and his family were forced to rebuild their lives in a new one. He recalls his first experiences in America and how travel during and following the revolution, shaped who he is today. To maintain anonymity and protect the speaker, some details have been altered. All else, including historical detail, remain as told.
The first step parents take to become permanent residents is to apply for a green card, and then bring the kids to the US. This is exactly what happened to us, except in my case. Because of my activities and role in the government, the United States gave me a green card and pulled me out of Grenada.
Upon Arrival
I arrived in the country on a Wednesday, and by Monday, I was enrolled in school. My mom was a stickler for education and academics, so she wasn't playing. It was March, in the middle of the spring semester. My very first class was American history with a teacher called Ms. Micheals. It took me ten minutes to find the right room, and while everyone talked I took a seat. One guy was even smoking. I thought “This is crazy. This is a school?” Immediately, my mind went back to high school in the Caribbean. This was unheard of. Smoking in a classroom would definitely get you a serious beating. The bell rang and a really tall kid entered the room. I remember his name, it was John Forrestor. I knew by the way he walked in, that this guy was a bully. He put his foot up on Ms. Michaels' desk, took her notes, and used them to shine his shoes, before throwing them in the garbage. And Ms. Michaels said in a coddling voice, “John Forrestor be a good boy. Behave yourself.” I was like “What?” This was my first day of school in America. My very first class, and this is what's going on here.
Travel
Because we traveled when we were very young, we began to appreciate the similarities in people, in different places in the world. We noticed that food wasn't just food. If you just say food, absent of everything else, then you're talking about nutrition. Food is political, and can be used as a weapon. It is influenced by economics and is shaped and created by those cooking and producing it.
Those travel experiences influenced me and made me a better person, but they also influenced my culture and worldview. When I travel, I always compare and contrast it to where I’m coming from. Keep in mind, what people learn depends on how they see the world and themselves in it. If I didn't travel, I don't think I would have experienced the world the way I experienced it today. I would have had a very limited outlook on life. Another person without the educational or political background that I had, would have traveled to the exact same places I've been and come out of it with a very different outlook. The mechanism to process all of these things were rooted back home, in Grenada. I still see myself as a Caribbean person, as a Grenadian.
Existing in the US
As revolutionaries, we never agreed with the United States’ foreign policy. Hell, we don't agree with their domestic policy, in terms of how they treat their minority populations. In actuality, we saw our struggles inextricably linked to the struggles of black people in the US. If the United States treats its nation born minority population like this, imagine how the first world country deals with its immigrants. When the US talks about modern human rights, democracy, and freedom for the rest of the world, it’s nonsense. Not much as changed. The United States still treats its minority populations terribly. Right now Donald Trump, the President of the United States, bashes minority groups openly. There is no disguising it. Which has real consequences for poor and oppressed peoples.
And as long as I've been in the United States, it still doesn't feel like home. I've lived here a very long time, almost three decades, but I still don't feel a sense of belonging. I feel more like a refugee than anything else. It's the typical immigrant experience because we always talk about back home. But back home has changed. The people that I knew and grew up with have either moved or are no longer with us. Whenever I go back home, I feel like a stranger because I don't really know the people that are there, and they don't know me. I was born there. I grew up there, but there is no longer the same as I remember. It has changed radically. So I don't know there anymore.