There comes a time in life when sharing our thoughts with a broader audience becomes essential. By doing so, we can spark conversations that delve into topics often overlooked but urgently needing discussion.

I am a Black person who grew up in Brazil and was adopted by the United States 25 years ago. Through hard work, I secured a great job that allowed me to travel across the globe, exploring many continents—though not yet Antarctica—over the past 17 years. Currently, I am on a short assignment in Panama City, Central America. This is my first time in this city, and I’ve been struck by its beauty and development.

I noticed that the city has a significant amount of black population. As I explore beyond tourist areas, I’ve noticed some bad areas basically populated by Blacks. While on a car ride to a football (soccer) game with a Panamanian coworker, I asked about the origins of Panama’s Black community. He explained that many arrived during the 19th and early 20th centuries from the Caribbean. Additional research revealed that enslaved Africans were brought here during Spanish colonization, and later waves of Afro-Caribbean migrants came seeking economic opportunities. Astonishingly, 31.7% of Panama’s population identifies as being of African descent.

This revelation was mind-blowing. In contrast, my experiences in other Central American countries like Mexico and Guatemala—where I lived for three years—showed much smaller Black populations: just 2% in Mexico and 0.2% in Guatemala. Cuba, however, is different. Having spent considerable time there, I was aware of its significant Afro-descendant population, which some estimates suggest makes up 35% to 60% of the total, considering those of mixed heritage.

As a Brazilian, I am keenly aware of my homeland’s diversity. Brazil boasts the largest Black population outside the African continent. According to the 2022 census, the racial composition of Brazil is 45.3% Pardo (Brown or Mixed Race) and 10.2% Black. Combined, these groups form a majority, highlighting Brazil’s deeply intertwined African heritage.

In Africa itself, during my three years in Angola and travels to other nations on the continent, I wasn’t surprised by the majority Black populations. However, my experiences in Europe were vastly different. I lived for over two years in countries like Russia, Poland, Germany, and France and spent 13 years in Great Britain. Across these nations, I met a diverse range of Black individuals, often forming meaningful friendships.

In Poland, for instance, the Black population is just 0.1%. Interestingly, when I asked a platform like ChatGPT about Black people in Poland, its initial response focused on racism rather than demographics. While discrimination may exist, my personal experience there was different. During my two years in Poland, I didn’t feel discriminated against. The same holds true for Russia, where the Black population is 1%. In every country I’ve visited, I’ve found that respectful behavior and adherence to local norms generally result in being treated well.

This brings me to the larger point of this reflection: wherever I travel, one striking observation remains consistent—Black communities often form the least affluent segment of society, even in my adopted country, the United States. But why?

When I posed this question to ChatGPT, it listed several reasons:

1. Historical Discrimination
2. Economic Disparities
3. Educational Disparities
4. Systemic Racism
5. Social Capital and Networks
6. Immigration Selection
7. Cultural Narratives and Stereotypes
8. Community Investment

While these factors are frequently cited, there are additional, less politically correct truths worth exploring. For example, Asian communities in the United States also faced discrimination but gained respect through hard work, educational focus, and maintaining family structures. Statistically, children raised by both parents have better chances of success, while those from broken homes are more likely to struggle academically and end up in prison.

In contrast, Black culture often prioritizes aspects that don’t contribute to long-term success, such as excessive partying or focusing on fleeting pleasures. I speak from experience—I began partying seven days a week at the age of 14. Fortunately, I recognized the need for change and adjusted my path. Yet, many do not.

Political engagement also reflects these priorities. Genuine efforts to improve society see limited participation from Black communities, whereas events like Carnival or protests following police incidents involving Black individuals attract significant turnout. However, issues like Black-on-Black violence often fail to garner the same attention.

There are successful Black individuals in the U.S. and globally, but their numbers remain insufficient. Many Black communities suffer from a victim mentality, clinging to a history of suffering they did not personally endure. They use the legacy of slavery as an excuse to avoid becoming productive citizens. This nostalgia for past pain, coupled with reliance on government assistance, perpetuates the cycle of stagnation.

It’s clear that systemic issues exist, but cultural accountability is equally crucial. Governments and platforms like ChatGPT often reinforce narratives that absolve personal responsibility, which ultimately hinders progress. I refuse to believe that this outcome is inevitable or desired.

Black communities must confront hard truths and embrace a mindset shift, prioritizing education, family, and self-improvement over victimhood and excuses. Only then can real progress be achieved, both within our communities and in society at large.

By Luis de Andrade