Terrail Easley

The day is Bay typical in climate: not too hot, not too cold. Everyone's properly equipped with the necessary layers for maximum microclimate comfort. The air smells of entrepreneurial opportunity chased by the aroma of gaping socio-economic statuses…and the Tenderloin. 

As I sit here unsure of how I gained such a stigmatizing title, I admittedly confess, “Hello, my name is Terrail Easley and I am a Bay Area Transplant”. In unison, the Transplants Anonymous group of many thousands respond, “Hello, Terrail!” Some of us are from the Pacific Northwest, some from overseas, some from the New York City, a place San Francisco is accused of somehow emulating. I don't know.

Me, I was born and raised in Racine, Wisconsin. I also lived in Madison and Milwaukee before moving thousands of miles away for the first time ever. It happened to be on the Fourth of July in 2015. In the name of virtuous selfishness, I jokingly called it MY Independence Day. It was a time of true freedom or potentially liberated failure–leaving behind all I knew, a Midwestern brand of covert racism, social monotony and winter depression. I'll always have love and loyalty for Wisconsin (Packers, Bucks, Brewers and natural resources). 

My grandparents migrated to this northern region from the likes of Georgia, Mississippi and Alabama during the Industrial Revolution for a better life. I met my best friends there. I've ice-fished, snowmobiled, reluctantly shot guns and volunteered during the sled dog races. I'd also meet the love of my life there. In essence , it was quite the demographic steppingstone full of reverse psychological lessons gained in order to become this "privileged" Bay Area Transplant.

If I moved somewhere in Florida, per se, I’d be some dude who moved to Florida. No one would bat an eye. They would most likely just ask what everyone else typically asks, “There’s Black people in Wisconsin?!” 

What makes a transplant a transplant is relocating to a place where gentrification is rampant and cultural authenticity is outrightly compromised.

I also happen to work in technology–the industry mainly responsible for these issues. I am a Technical Writer. The average person doesn't even know what a tech writer is or does. No offense. It has the word “tech” in it though, so I’m automatically tossed into that box. You should see some of their faces when I share my secret. Like I'm in the same category as those rocking those red "Make America Great Again" hats. Guilty by association.

For instance, I met this random dude while hanging out at Missouri Lounge in Berkeley. Deductive reasoning might infer that this place was founded by someone from Missouri who saw an opportunity to open a bar in the new “it” region. Not so much. It’s one of the longest running dive bars, pouring since the 1950’s. And although she was indeed in the war, the late owner, “Argie”, wasn’t aboard the USS Missouri battleship during WWII either (inside joke).

Anyway, he eventually asks, “So what brought you out here? What do you do?” There is usually one of two multiple-choice answers: A) significant other, or B) an exciting career opportunity. I was on the significant other slash why-the-hell-not and potentially exciting career side of things. Whatever I said, where I went wrong was telling him that I was a tech writer. As his body language motioned away with the drinks he’d just ordered, he retaliated, “Well, I own my own carpentry business.” 

It was in a way that was both resentful and needing to let me know that he was successful too. “That’s dope, man!” is all I could come up with as he faded into the crowd of people towards the back patio. I truly meant what I said, of course. What is there not to appreciate about anyone having their own business full of people with Jesus skills? It’s just sad that he couldn’t get passed the buzzwords. If he only knew that I came from the same, but different, ‘hood and struggle. I’m just as Black in America as he is. Being an outlier has always had its alienating factors. I can be neither here nor there more often than not.

I’m still surprised and grateful that I was even let into the tech club, coming from a place that people here can barely pinpoint geographically. Never for a second will I ever get lost in the delusions of grandeur. No matter what, I’m guilty by association and referred to as a “techie”, a social slur that is so derogatory and shameful (haha). It doesn’t matter that I terribly lack the DNA to actually fit into the gene pool, or that I’ve used the word “hella” way before moving here.

…The mediator of the transplant group passes around the 12-step pamphlet. The first step: “We admit that we were powerless over our ethnocentric habits and that our lives have contributed to making other lives unmanageable.” I pass the stack to the right without taking one…

There are a number of contrived ways to pinpoint who might’ve hitchhiked here with sore thumbs. Aside from my occupation, my transplant qualifications are still a reach. Although, my giveaway would be meeting Marshawn Lynch (my apparent doppelganger) on the street and being incapable of not asking for a picture, which I heard he hates. Too bad, Marshawn. You can chalk it up as one of your first world being dope-as-fuck problems. 

Ultimately, as long as I'm in this country, the Bay is definitely home for me. Those who stomp all over any culture with Christopher Columbus-like entitlement is what make transplants vexatious. This ignorance gives those of us who didn’t actually come from privilege to take advantage of more privilege a bad name. The same goes for anything else. As long as homage is paid and credit is bestowed, it is, for the most part, fair game. 

Things like cultural appropriation would be endangered if there were legitimate citations and/or residual kickbacks given to the rightful owners. We are a long way from that, unfortunately. The best we can do is not forget and make ourselves aware. 

If we forget the rich history and contributions made by anything profound, who’s going to remind us, the so-called conquerors? Fuck no.

A major part of true human intelligence (to me) requires the ability to fairly see the resemblance in two or more subjects that are completely unalike. It’s an everyday struggle to get people on that level of thinking in America. With the morphing, for better or worse, happening in the Bay, I still don’t think Compton’s Cafeteria, the Black Panthers, Hyphy, the Hustle Mentality, PRIDE, Tree-Huggers, etc. will ever entirely lose its essence.

…As the Transplants Anonymous meeting ends, I’m thinking about calling an Uber to my hair appointment in East Oakland. Some linger chatting about new app ideas and what is and what isn't politically correct for a "progressive" world according to them. “Let’s do happy hour! Some Fernet at Victory Hall!”, says Chicago. I shake my head and make an exit without saying anything. Nonetheless, these are some of my first world transplant problems that I hope to continue carrying with dignity.