American Homecoming — Reverse Culture Shock and the Race to Survive

My guardian angel watches over me closely. Though not deeply religious, I’m often mystified when logic and serendipity intersect, creating scenarios that defy easy explanation. Some of these experiences were chronicled in my personal memoir, where intuitive voices led me to places that yielded unlikely outcomes. Still, as a man educated in math and science, I struggle to find plausibility each time an angel taps me on the shoulder and points the way. This week was no different. For the first time in seven years, my short-term housing business didn’t receive a single reservation for the upcoming week. For context, one or two days without a reservation in a given week is extraordinary; four consecutive days—in this case, Sunday through Wednesday—is unheard of. But it happened. On Sunday morning, I woke early to find the second floor slightly warmer than expected. The guests were still asleep. The second floor is where guests reside, while I lodge comfortably on the first. By 10 a.m., the...

                                                            From Democracy to Oligarchy: The Subtle Slide of Power I t rarely happens overnight. The transformation of a democracy into an oligarchy is a slow, deliberate process—one that often goes unnoticed until the balance of power has already shifted. But if you look closely, the warning signs are there, woven into the fabric of government and society. It often begins with the expansion of executive power. When leaders stretch their authority beyond constitutional limits, they start to overshadow the other branches of government. Congress, once a robust forum for debate and oversight, finds itself sidelined—its voice diminished, its influence waning. At the same time, the courts, which should serve as a bulwark against overreach, are systematically weakened...

The story of greatness is not always told by the builders, but by those who took what others built. It is a history where empires crumbled under foreign boots, their treasures hauled away in pickup trucks like the one I drove from L.A. to Savannah. I imagine people sitting atop riches, declaring themselves masters of the universe, and teaching their children that merit, not conquest, brought them to where they are today. This narrative, repeated across generations, is a kind of myth—a myth that Western wealth and development are the natural result of inherent superiority. The truth is that much of what is celebrated as Western advancement was built on the backs of others: from the gold and labor extracted from the Americas and Africa to the philosophies and inventions stolen from civilizations (and individuals) deemed "lesser" in kind. Consider our story. No group has endured more systematic deprivation, sabotage, and oppression than African Americans. Torn from our homeland...

Here in the American South, I've savored exceptional some meals at more than a handful of celebrated establishments. These restaurants have staying power: steady clientele, predictable hours, consistent quality. As a former restaurant owner, I value knowing the doors will be open and the experience will meet my expectations—every time. Yet I've witnessed another story, too. Many startups burst onto the scene with extraordinary food. Local headlines trumpet “Willie’s Bar-B-Q,” with lines snaking around the block and five-star reviews flooding in. Sadly, these spots are too often undercapitalized, understaffed, and tragically disorganized. Eighteen months later, boarded windows and silence are all that's left on the menu. Although Willie mastered the grill, he knew nothing about ledgers. He left that to his wife, Mable, who, despite her inexperience, tracked the receipts like a champion. Sadly, when their marriage crumbled, so did the business. In Michael Gerber’s acclaimed b...

One day, while on an overnight layover in San Francisco en route to Osaka, I stepped into a market not far from the hotel. Standing in the checkout line, I happened to overhear an elderly yet graceful gentleman who, for whatever reason, was sharing his résumé with the lady behind the counter. The thirty-something-year-old woman seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say—or at least pretended to be. "I used to be the Executive Vice President of XYZ company, had a zillion people working for me and my name is engraved here and engraved there blah blah blah," went the stately old man matter-of-factly. Shoot. Even I was impressed. Yet there he was, standing in the middle of the supermarket, draped in his Sunday best, trying to convince the lady at the register he was somebody important. I guess what he really wanted was for her to SNAP TO ATTENTION and SALUTE whenever his majesty graced the premises. I also got the distinct impression that, somewhere along the way, he had l...

To live in Cuyler-Brownsville, an historically African American sector of Savannah’s inner city, is to be on the front lines of change. Because of the rapid influx of residential developers and gentrification, the neighborhood is starting to shed its marginal feel.    But white residents don’t seem to be celebrating.    Most white folks barricade themselves inside their homes or duck inside their vehicles before hightailing away. Some say, “good morning”, when they must, but otherwise seem content to remain ghosts; rarely venturing beyond the sanctity of their own driveways.     Many are new to the area, while others have lived here for years. They are a mix of homeowners and renters and represent a variety of backgrounds.  What’s more, their increasing presence is a siren’s call to would-be investors, students, and even short-term tourists.        Yet for those of us who call Cuyler-Brownsville home, spotting a white...