From USA to Portugal: So What Had Happened was…

So, my husband and I decided to throw a Portugal-shaped wrench into the gears of our lives and move to Europe. To understand why, I'm gonna need to back up a little. Look, I'm sure most people don't wake up one day and decide to leave their home country! Wait, that's not true. Actually, lots of people leave their home countries for a variety of reasons. Some leave in search of adventure or another way of life. Others seek refuge from the clutches of fascist regimes, warfare, dangers, and oppression. Isn't that the foundation of the United States? Not the fascist regimes (can't deny the other stuff), but the hope of a future in a new free land! That and systemic racism. Can't talk about the US of A without acknowledging that old chestnut, but I digress! My point is that it's not anything new to immigrate to another country. But what I do think is rather new is for the United States to be the place that people are seeking refuge from. And for us, that's part of the reality.

I never thought much about politics when I was an early 20-something. But once I met my husband, I became more cognizant. Not super active or well-informed by any stretch, but at least I started paying attention. I remember we were living together in 2004 when George W. Bush got elected to a second term. A second term? After 9/11 and Iraq, all the f-ups, faux pas, and, I don't know...lives lost? A second freaking term! Color me dumbfounded. Bryan (my then-boyfriend, now husband) was livid and swore we needed to get the hell out of dodge. So we researched moving to Canada like every other Democrat at the time. It took 2 seconds to discover it was not a viable option. Canada didn't want us Americans coming in and stinking up the joint. Hence the knife's edge narrow path to entry.

When thinking about the US and Canada, I think of the old FOX show Cops. You remember right? The police would show up to the home of some drunk guy in a stained wife beater who was wreaking havoc. Someone had called the cops to the scene. The most likely caller would have been a neighbor. Someone who lived in earshot of the turmoil. Someone forced to bear witness to the violence and disgusting repeated patterns. That's Canada! But the drunk guy being hauled through a yard full of car parts and soiled mattresses is us. 'Merica!

Don't get me wrong, I am happy to have been born in the USA, and I realize the privilege that comes with that. I am less than enthused that my ancestors were human trafficked against their will. I'm not thrilled that their agency and dignity were ripped away. And the fact that they broke their backs for hundreds of years to build this country is less than rad. But, I am happy that I am now free. I am free to be unapologetically black. Also free to be racially profiled in Anthropology as a result of my aforementioned blackness. Still, when I went on my honeymoon in Botswana it was eye-opening. I saw villages ravaged by AIDS. I saw women risking their lives to collect the materials to make baskets to sell for their villages. Only to have tourists haggle for a better price. Seeing this, I became very aware of the alternative.

That being said, over the years, I began to question my place in this country. The 'Yay America' of it all filled me with complicated feelings, but I couldn't zero in on why.

It wasn't until I had children that things began to come into focus. Looking at the world through the lens of their lives and futures instead of my own changed things. Looking at their sweet faces, knowing that I would have to explain racism to them, changed things. I would have to explain how some people in this country will view them. I would have to explain how to handle police encounters to give the best chance of staying alive. This made the root of my unease crystal clear. I began to realize that my children would feel the things I've always felt but ignored. My children will have the same sense of trepidation driving for fear of being pulled over. They will carry anxiety when visiting certain parts of the country. Looking at you, Florida! They will fill with rage getting profiled in stores. They will mold themselves into non-threatening, palatable, and relatable black people. An unintentional but self-preservation skill that I have mastered.

My unease did not stop there though. The National Anthem became a point of contention for me. I realized that the anthem was not considering my ancestors. And celebrating the 4th of July also began to feel conflicting. My ancestors were in bondage at these points, so what was I celebrating? For more insight read: “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?", by Frederick Douglas. Freedom was being claimed by people who were simultaneously stripping others of theirs. Claiming lands they had no right to. Building a country where they would rule unchecked and with zero repercussions. Claiming all men are equal unless you're black, or not a man, or any other non-white anything. And I'm supposed to shoot fireworks and celebrate? None of this feels like a party to me or anything to celebrate. Sorry, not sorry!

The Pledge of Allegiance also began feeling wrong. It's a tribute that is lovely in theory, but dishonest. All the sentiment in it isn't the reality we live in. I would love an indivisible nation, but we don't. I would love liberty and justice for all, but there isn't. This brought up a very important question for me. Is it more patriotic to salute an idea of the country or to ask more of the country? And while this doesn't come without putting in effort ourselves, the latter was where my heart lies. We must demand and work to make our country live the ideals that it claims to represent.

As a family, we made some changes. We traded the 4th of July for Juneteenth. My husband and I abstained from the Pledge and the Anthem. All the while working hard to back politics that stood for what we stood for. We phone-banked, text-banked, canvassed, wrote letters and postcards for voters. We did as much as we could and involved our children and our friends in it all.

During the Obama era, we thought things were getting better. But with the election (and for me, the nomination) of Trump, we realized that we were wrong. This was a low point for sure. I cried all the time, for months. My husband was in a very dark place as well. It was disgusting to see how many people supported racist, misogynistic, dangerous ideas. It was demoralizing to watch someone appeal to the worst part of humanity. It created real fear in me. I feared for my children's future and for democracy. I feared for our safety.

Then, to add insult to injury, here comes the good old Pandemic. Thank you, Coronavirus, for letting us know that we had miles yet to fall. The splat at the bottom of this well of misery was not going to relieve us yet! The early days were crazy. No childcare, working around the clock, late-night tater tots, and White Russians. Lots of weeping at random times on the kitchen floor. Just me? The isolation, the Q-Anon craziness, the anti-science sentiment...it was out of control. Marriages in trouble fell apart. Families stopped speaking to each other because of conspiracy theories and politics. Trump being an asshat was too much on top of George Floyd, protests, fires...AHHHHH! We went through homeschooling, the insurrection, and getting vaccines. We got a new President (thank God!) despite all that stop the steal nonsense. And we started to get back to life (kinda).

We knew we'd be forever changed but hoped things would repair themselves. We hoped that society and democracy would heal. But as mass shootings climbed and the political divide got wider, we began to worry. Would life or this country ever resemble something that we could recognize?

The last straw for us was a week before our daughter would finish 6th grade. I was driving through my neighborhood and saw a giant sign for a gun superstore going up. Mind you, this gun warehouse is less than 1000 feet from where our son would attend kindergarten that fall. We were horrified. We reached out to the Vice Mayor and he informed us that many people were concerned. And that some council members were working on fixes. I came to discover that my town had the 2nd highest amount of gun stores per capita in the US. Disgusted is an understatement. He made plans to call us the next week to discuss more.

The next week, my daughter's last week of school, was when the tragedy in Uvalde happened. Bryan and I were beside ourselves with rage, fear, grief, and disgust. We were disgusted with our country's toxic gun culture. We felt rage with our nation's leaders. We felt immense grief for those children and their families. And we were fearful for the lives of our children. How could the lives of children mean less than the gun lobby in this country? And why was our own town letting this many gun stores open? Thankfully we were not alone! Some folks started to organize on social media. They planned a protest on the opening day of the store! Many of us spoke at council meetings, and we tried to get everyone we knew to write letters. I was determined, but also disappointed. So many people had been outraged by the sign, but only a small section of the community came out to protest. And for the first time, both of us wondered if there could be something else for us, somewhere else.

Shortly after this, Roe v. Wade was overturned. Then it looked like marriage equality and access to birth control were on the bubble as well. I was horrified that it was even a question. The idea that my marriage might not be federally protected was shocking. And the idea that access to birth control might not be a guaranteed right for my daughter sent me over the edge.

Bryan remembers sitting in our home office, side by side. We were each reading horrifying articles on our computers before work. He turned to me and said, "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm really starting to hate it here." I knew exactly what he meant. He meant he was starting to hate living in a society where half of its people operate outside of facts or truth. Believing whatever narrative fits what they want to believe. A world of 'alternate facts'. He meant living in a society where the rights of gun owners supersede the lives of children. He meant living in a society where we have to fear sending our kids to school. He meant living in a society where we have to worry for our son's life as he gets older merely because he's black. I responded by saying, "Maybe we don't have to be here." That's where it began. We began serious research, seeking, and considering another way of life somewhere else. Up until then, we both still believed that things would rebalance.

We had believed that this crazy, unhinged America we were seeing was a phase. The racism, sexism, authoritarian leanings, rhetoric, and conspiracy theories were not America. Not the REAL America! But we realized at that moment that we had to wake up. While we don't all subscribe to such heinous ideas, this IS the real America. It's A real America and a much larger part of it than we were willing to admit or acknowledge for a long time. This got us thinking. If this is America, perhaps WE don't belong here anymore.

Challenging and frightening as it was, we moved forward with a singular focus. We had to leave the US and we had to do it before school started or the election cycle began. We had to get out, for our safety and sanity. We had to get out on our own terms.

Today, we are living in Portugal. Gone is our home with a pool and yard. Renters now inhabit the space that we never imagined we'd leave. Our home is now a 5th-floor apartment, just outside the center of Cascais. It's a huge change. It's exciting, a relief, panic-inducing, invigorating, difficult, and wonderful. This is a grand adventure/experiment. Your guess is as good as mine on how it's gonna shake out. But we would regret not at least trying because the US had us stressing. We will vote from abroad and hope that change comes, for us, and for those we love back home. And if things don't change, we at least hope it will be easier for others to make the leap since we made it first.