United States of Racism

As so many white Americans question the validity, value and life of brown Americans such as myself in this sick and twisted time in the United States, I share here one of my own stories, the final one before I left the States. As I have had far too numerous episodes to mention, from childhood onward, this was just one slice of what I, and many others, have gone through in working towards the so-called American Dream as I’ve encountered racism, prejudice and hatred in a place that I once called home….

The last straw for me with regard to wanting to live life in the States as a brown American came a few years back (right around the end of 2019).

I was near the end of completing one of the largest, most complex projects for one of the Disney Parks in Orlando, as Principal Production Designer, when I decided to grab a drink at one of my favorite watering holes.

I seated myself at the bar, with an ice cold beer to celebrate the coming finish line, when a conversation was struck up between myself and the patron next to me.

After some short introductory talk, and not more than five minutes in, the tone of the man I was chatting with became incredibly hostile and racist with him soon actually asking if I even “belonged” in America.

He questioned my browness, my citizenship and my belonging.

He was disturbed that a brown person such as myself could hold such a position, with great income, over a white person such as himself.

He couldn’t see past his own shortcomings, his own prejudices, his own weaknesses.

Instead he only saw a brown person that he felt didn’t deserve what America had to offer, but which in reality she offers us all.

He viewed my brown skin as other, inhuman, un American.

In his mind, because I wasn’t white, I shouldn’t be there, I shouldn’t have access to the same American dream. He felt he could diminish who I was.

He couldn’t understand that my America is one from which I came, it is my story and that of many others. It is a story of growing up around East Los Angeles, a story of multi-cultures, of tacos and tortas, of being a minority.

It is America, not just for me, but for many.

It is America just the same.

That moment, that discussion with that man in that bar, completely cemented my life trajectory and confirmed my beliefs. It drove me to search for a better life, a more valued life, a more respected life, elsewhere.

So now, here I am, living my best life in beautiful Chiang Mai, Thailand, and I couldn’t be happier.

Now, nobody looks down upon me, nor speaks ill of me, for the color of my skin, for my nationality, for my beliefs, for me being me.

Here I am valued, respected and loved my those close and by my community.

I shall never return to the Divided States.

Never.

I guess, in a certain sense, I owe thanks to that unhappy racist who put me on course to opening my eyes, for sending me on this journey of joy and for showing me what America can be and is in so many regions, and for revealing to me that which I no longer wish to be part of…