First stop, Malaysia
My first ever trip to Asia was exciting but also very uncomfortable. I traveled from Portland, Oregon to Malaysia by way of Los Angeles, Honolulu, Seoul, Singapore and finally Kuala Lumpur. Although I’d already started my airline career, my tenure wasn’t long enough to earn offline airline flight benefits and I purchased a sketchy airline ticket that ended up requiring a few additional stops at the last minute. In a 1995 travel world this meant that the information I’d provided my friend Amni, who was picking me up from the airport, was useless.
After almost 40 hours of travel, the plane touched down in the Malaysian capital city. I was exhausted and uncertain how I would meet up with my friend. The plane pulled into a gate next to an Iran Air flight, also just arriving, and a pang of fear raced through my travel-grit covered body. What was I doing?
The door of the Singapore Airlines A300 opened up to a gush of dense tropical air, like that of a steam room with hints of citrus and banana. We disembarked from air stairs immediately across from the Iran Air flight and almost all at once I found myself in amongst a crowd of women wearing full hijabs, covering everything but a little slit for the eyes. Most men from both flights wore full length muslim inspired robes that seemed so freeing while my sweat soaked dress shirt clung to my chest, practically suffocating me as I awkwardly walked with the tightly packed group to immigration.
The airport had no air conditioning and the humidity was oppressive even at 1am in the busy terminal. Everything was foreign to me except the Roman alphabet. New smells and sounds with a heavy muslim influence swirled around me. I was the only western looking person around, and people stared and even pointed as some of the men dressed in the full length white robes sneered at me. I had no way to reach Amni because we hadn’t discussed any contingency plans and I was now about 6 hours later than expected. The woman at the airport information booth wouldn’t page my friend and I continued to wander around the chartreuse colored 1960’s era terminal — the uncomfortable feeling now transforming into panic. Jet-lagged and grimy, I did one more sweep through the building and Amni and I literally backed into one another.
Eventually I got used to round-the-clock 95 degrees with full humidity — but still felt out of my element. Amni is not a strict muslim, so he was kind and helped me usher in a new understanding of the religion, but I often said or did the wrong thing while in public. People stared at me a lot. The call to prayer felt ominous and I had to be super careful of food and water, which, even in a new apartment building, required boiling in order to drink. Since Amni worked normal business hours I had to push myself to get on the bus and go exploring each day — on my own.
Yet, the more I tried to adapt, connect and push to express curiosity, the more the uncomfortable feeling dissipated. As I smiled more at people, they smiled back. My earnest desire to better understand was met with humor and kindness and I left Southeast Asia in love with the gentle Malaysian people.
For those paying attention, travel is a gift that offers transformation from uncomfortable to meaningful connections.
The current protests in my city of Seattle and all over the world have introduced an uncomfortable feeling to my life that is very similar to my Malaysia story. As if this is the first time I’m living in a new version of the United States. The path forward for the nation may be excruciatingly painful for those with earnest hope for equality.
Honoring American history is uncomfortable
I remember visiting a plantation near Charleston, SC last fall and noticing that the tour about the history of slavery was a seperate add-on. Otherwise, you got to see the fabulous home with doilies and walnut bedposts and the lower level kitchen turned into a gift shop to buy homemade jams and biscuit mixes.
I asked the person at the ticket booth why they don’t mention slavery on the main tour and he responded, “it makes some of our guests uncomfortable.”
To me, this is the very basic first step to move forward in understanding the honest history of how our nation was built and the steps that were purposely taken to lead the USA to the current state of gross racial inequity.
It’s very painful to look under the surface and acknowledge the privilege I’ve enjoyed my entire life based on the color of my skin and the circumstances of my particular upbringing. While this is not my fault, it bears the burden of fighting to make things right — reversing hundreds of years of systemic racism and inequality.
Black Lives Matter — in Seattle and everywhere
For the first time in my life, I recently marched in a peaceful protest from Cal Anderson Park in my neighborhood of Capitol Hill to Seattle City Hall. I didn’t know what to expect when arriving to the soccer field overflowing with people of all ages and colors. Uniting with others for this cause was an important step to create movement forward for me.
I’m enthusiastically absorbing all kinds of media, knowing that one African American cannot possibly speak for a whole group of people and that verifying information sources is crucial in this current age of dis-information. I’m watching movies, reading books, and listening to podcasts produced by social scientists, community organizers, and black citizens.
I also acknowledge that systemic racism is a white problem and it’s not up to my black and brown friends to educate me. This means, in addition to learning from a variety of media sources, conversations with family and friends are crucial to move to the next step of pushing for real change and action. While at times uncomfortable, I’m going to pay for the ‘extra slavery tour’ with them and lean into these awkward but important conversations.
Travel pushes me to constantly grow, using self awareness to challenge myself to change for the better, so this story doesn’t have an ending because I’m only beginning in my own personal journey toward listening and better understanding how I can contribute to this reinvigorated movement toward real equality.
I’m getting on a proverbial airplane that will take me from our current country to one that is anti-racist. The uncomfortable part will always be a necessary piece of the journey — and it feels essential to the fabric of life.
Like my personal journey in Malaysia, that, while uncomfortable, was worth every moment, since I grew as a person and a traveler.
Please join me on this flight.
Matthew
PS: If needing a little nudge to help start your own journey, I found this CNN piece by Ana Navarro helpful. 19 ways to fight racism.
