For The First Time, I Was Not The Only Black Person In Attendance
What do you get when a group of Black people gathers for a celebratory event? Happiness and joy (and even acceptance).
If you are complacent in an environment where you’re only seen as an “other,” you run the risk of losing your identity. Surroundings such as this can prove challenging when trying to explore your origins or define who you are. Having no marker to which you can relate only adds to the insurmountable reality of isolation.
Being raised in a community with no diversity to draw from, and to a great degree, no exposure to a culture that would have benefited my childhood, my existence was marred by exclusion and guaranteed uncertainty.
A feeling of loneliness was often my default throughout my formative years, as I had no other emotion to rely on. Each day when I would look around my immediate space I saw no one who looked like me. What I did see were the constant reminders that my presence was only tolerated, was frequently questioned, and used as a punch line (or worse) for disingenuous curiosity.
Over the years I found myself gravitating toward those opportunities in life that would afford me a connection with other marginalized people — especially with those who shared my skin color.
A marriage between acceptance and self-discovery
In 2016 I went to Jamaica for a friend’s wedding. I had visited there once before but the circumstances at that time did not allow for exploration or for taking advantage of the country’s beauty. This most recent trip, however, made a huge impact on me that lingers to this day.
Normally, I would not take note of the makeup of those around me but seeing people in abundance who resembled me was profoundly overwhelming.
Instead of a sea of white, a sight I had grown accustomed to living in the suburbs of Boston, the beautiful sheen of dark skin took hold of my gaze.
Admittedly, I was taken aback a bit by confusion. Where all the white people at, I thought? Was I that conditioned?
It didn’t take long to abandon this thought and lean into the comfort of being around people who looked like me. For the first time, that I can remember, I was a part of a majority — if only for a weekend. My feeling of empowerment cannot be overstated.
The wedding itself was beyond explanation. Seeing all my beautiful Black and brown brothers and sisters celebrating, enjoying each other’s company, embracing the moment… I felt rejuvenated as I could finally breathe.
This event affected me on a profound level. The emotions, the feelings, the overall influence it had on me, are difficult to put into words. Those typical gushy wedding emotions one might experience when witnessing two souls expressing their love for one another are not what I’m referring to. My emotional awakening came as a result of feeling welcomed by my surroundings — a feeling foreign to me when back at home in the states.
What I did not see coming was the ease with which people would introduce themselves; unafraid, welcoming, and genuinely interested in getting to know me. Honestly, I half expected to be followed around all night and my every move scrutinized.
Would I be questioned about how many festival dumplings I took from the buffet? Certainly, I would be questioned as to why I was standing so close to the gift table. Oh wait, this isn’t the US, I must be in a Bizarro World where Black folks are considered equals and not always targeted.
I wasn’t used to that.
I was in shock. No “suspicious eyes” followed me to the bathroom, or inquisitive minds wondering if I belonged, and thankfully, no dismissive attitudes or overt hostility were directed toward me. What I did encounter were exuberant greetings from strangers, genuine inquiries about where I was from, and other friendly treatment I hadn’t before experienced. I was treated like everyone else.
Sure, I didn’t know most of the guests, their origin stories, or what traumas they might have experienced in life, but for a few hours, the collective spirit was intoxicating and it was as if a warm hug embraced all in attendance. I felt welcomed. I felt at home.
Home is where your people are
No doubt there will be some who read these words and take issue with my spotlighting the feelings of being Black in an all-white space and somehow trying to justify my reluctance to accept such an environment. In fact, I would venture to guess that the reverse experience might be at the crux of their arguments.
“Well, I’m white and have been to all-Black events and I didn’t have any issue with it.”
“Everyone can feel out of place at some point in their lives.” “What’s the big deal?”
“You should spend less time thinking about division and more time enjoying yourself.”
By no means is this an indictment of the white community but it is one of the treatment I’ve received over the years by many in said group.
When you are one of a few Black people who grew up in a predominately white community your frame of reference is limited by your surroundings and the experiences you have, tend to grow from your interactions with people who don’t typically accept your presence.
Finding that support system needed to successfully navigate such an atmosphere can be difficult so when opportunities to connect with a place of comfort present themselves, you learn right quick to acknowledge the impact it has on your self-worth.
After all, not all of us have shared experiences.
The American dream
The day we left for our return trip to the states, a wave of anxiety and sadness washed over me as if a part of me would be left behind, never given a chance to bloom. I wasn’t just a wedding guest that weekend, I had embraced my Jamaican roots, and this filled an ever-expanding void created long ago. Little did I know, that in my search for a connection to a culture, a connection to an identity… I would find it 1,714 miles away.
That wedding day was an epiphany of sorts not only for the friends who exchanged vows but for me as well. My acceptance by people I had just met felt liberating — a monumental shift in experience from life back in America.
When I think about how Black people are treated in this country every day, I remind myself of that brief trip to Jamaica and feeling welcome — how not being judged felt foreign to me. This is not to say that wherever you go in the world there aren’t any social injustices plaguing the landscape. It’s easy to get caught up in what is around you — good or bad, but our comfort must be paramount for our mental health.
Having to travel far away from home to experience inclusion can do a job on anyone’s sense of self-acceptance. Looking back I have questioned if what I felt at that wedding was nothing more than experiencing something I wasn’t familiar with. Doubtful.
One thing is for sure… for the first time, I wasn’t concerned about being the only one.
Thank you for reading!
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