Assimilate at what Cost?
How Survival Became Our Inheritance
“America is a dream that many immigrants fall asleep to. But what happens when you wake up?”
My parents are from the Caribbean. My father migrated to New York in his twenties, and my mother was raised in Brooklyn. When my father first arrived, he couldn’t believe his eyes walking through American grocery stores—aisles overflowing with food, choices he’d never imagined.
To him, America looked like abundance. A place where, if you worked hard enough, you could finally rest. But that’s the paradox: a land that promises opportunity while quietly bleeding you dry. A place where we’re taught to be grateful for scraps and conditioned to forget how much we’ve already given.
The Weight of Questions
As a child, I sensed the contradiction. I couldn’t play along like everyone else. I asked dangerous questions: What part of Africa are we from? Why do we pray to people who don’t look like us? Why do you work so much overtime, Pops?
I didn’t realize it then, but I was already resisting. Something in me refused to follow the herd. I was drawn to people who questioned everything who saw that the world wasn’t set up for everyone to thrive, only for a few to win while the rest survived.
Survival is in Our Bloodline
My family had been in survival mode for generations. After slavery ended in the Caribbean, many including my ancestors migrated to Panama to help build the Canal. But the conditions weren’t far from bondage.
They were given the most dangerous jobs: digging ditches under a blistering sun, battling malaria in a tropical climate, and setting dynamite to clear land. They worked for unequal pay, endured heat waves, and survived on what little they were given.
This is a pattern we know too well. As a people, we’ve mastered turning crumbs into full-course meals—baking pies so good others steal the recipe and sell it as their own.
The Contributions They’ll Never Teach Us About
My ancestors came from Jamaica and St. Lucia, part of a massive wave of Afro-Caribbeans seeking survival and opportunity. They stayed in Panama permanently, transforming the nation’s economy and culture.
They helped build a five-billion-dollar port that powers global trade. They introduced foods like ackee, breadfruit, mango, and papaya to the region. They planted cultural seeds that grew into movements—like reggaeton, now one of the world’s most popular music genres.
But history rarely gives them credit. Their accomplishments are minimized, rebranded, and whitewashed. We’re taught to forget our power and sold the lie that the grass on the other side is whiter, brighter—and therefore better.
The Cost of Gratitude
If we added so much value to Panama, why didn’t we reap the benefits of our collective contributions?
The system is designed to work you to the bone while keeping you grateful for scraps so grateful you won’t even demand what you’ve rightfully earned. Deep down, we know why. Our livelihoods have always been on the line. Survival has been the price of our silence.
Waking Up
Maybe it’s time to stop mistaking survival for success. To stop accepting crumbs and start asking the questions that make people uncomfortable: Who benefits from our labor? Who profits from our creativity? Why are we still running, still searching, still dreaming someone else’s dream?
Because when we wake up, we’ll realize we were never powerless.