By Diahann van Van de Vijver
Black Migration to Africa and the Diaspora’s Ongoing Quest for a Homeland.
Essay by Diahann van van de Vijver for African Diaspora Studies @ Broos Institute 2025
In this essay I briefly reflect on the birth of two nations, their parallel to the current migration of African Americans (to Ghana specifically) and the hypothesis of a USA without people of colour. I finish with a short reflection on my own stance. I use the African American populus as a homogenic group instead of Afro Caribbeans who are scattered all over Europe to keep my essay brief and concise.
Introduction
The desire for a homeland, a place of unassailable belonging and self-determination, has been a persistent theme in the African American imagination since the first slave ships departed the shores of West Africa. This longing has manifested in distinct waves of reverse migration, each shaped by its unique historical context, motivations, and consequences. The nineteenth-century settlements of Sierra Leone and Liberia, as detailed by Nemata Amelia Blyden, represent one of the most ambitious early chapters in this narrative. Examining this historical precedent through Blyden’s lens provides a critical framework for understanding the contemporary phenomenon of African Americans retiring to Ghana, allowing for a nuanced analysis of its potential for success and a sobering reflection on the hypothetical – and impossible – consequence of a United States stripped of all its people of colour.
The Founding of Sierra Leone and Liberia
In her article, Blyden situates the founding of Sierra Leone and Liberia not as isolated events, but as direct products of the complex political and social currents of the late 18th and early 19th-century Atlantic World. The migration to Sierra Leone, which began in 1787, was initially a British endeavour. Its first settlers were the “Black Poor” of London, a group that included former slaves who had fought for the British during the American Revolutionary War and were granted their freedom in exchange for their service. As Blyden notes, this group was joined by a significant number of freed slaves from Nova Scotia and, later, Maroons from Jamaica. The settlement was conceived by British philanthropists as a “Province of Freedom,” an idealistic project aimed at resettling freed blacks in Africa.
However, as Blyden makes clear, this idealism was intertwined with less altruistic motives. The presence of a colony of free blacks in West Africa was seen as a strategic commercial and moral counterweight to the slave trade, promoting “legitimate commerce” and Christianity. The settlers themselves were motivated by a potent mix of push and pull factors. They were pushed by the pervasive racism, economic hardship, and limited prospects they faced in the Americas and Britain. They were pulled by the promise of land, self-governance, and the chance to create a society where their blackness was not a mark of servitude but of sovereignty.
The establishment of Liberia in 1822 followed a similar, though distinctly American, pattern. Spearheaded by the American Colonization Society (ACS), a coalition of politicians, clergy, and slaveholders, the project was deeply controversial. As Blyden explains, the ACS’s motives were a paradox. Some members were genuine abolitionists who believed black people could never achieve equality in the United States and would be better off in Africa. Others, however, were slaveholders who saw colonization as a way to remove the “problem” of the free black population, which they perceived as a threat to the institution of slavery. This duality ensured that the Back-to-Africa movement was never universally embraced by African Americans. While some, like Lott Cary and Daniel Coker, became ardent proponents, others, most notably the fiery abolitionist David Walker, vehemently opposed it, arguing that black Americans had a right to the land their labor had built.
A critical point illuminated by Blyden, and one that is central to understanding the challenges of these ventures, was the profound cultural disconnect between the settlers and the indigenous African populations. The settlers, many of whom had been born in the Americas and were steeped in Western culture and Christianity, arrived as “Africans” in name only. They saw themselves as bearers of “civilization” and Christianity to a “benighted” continent, an attitude that immediately created a barrier between them and the local peoples, such as the Temne and Mende in Sierra Leone and the various ethnic groups in Liberia. This dynamic established a problematic social hierarchy, with the settlers, who came to be known as the Krio in Sierra Leone and Americo-Liberians in Liberia, positioning themselves as a ruling elite, often replicating the colonial structures and prejudices they had ostensibly fled.
Despite immense hardships—disease, hostile environments, conflicts with indigenous nations, and initial high mortality rates—these settlements endured. They became independent nations, with Liberia declaring its sovereignty in 1847 and Sierra Leone following in 1961. The legacy of this migration is deeply ambiguous. On one hand, it represented a monumental achievement of self-determination and created enduring nations. On the other, it planted the seeds for future civil conflicts rooted in the social divisions between the settlers and the indigenous populations, a tragic irony for a project conceived in freedom.
The ‘Right to Return’ Retiring to Ghana
The contemporary migration of African Americans to Ghana, particularly upon retirement, echoes the historical precedent of Sierra Leone and Liberia but operates within a radically different context. The push factors, while still including the persistent sting of American racism, are often less about sheer survival and more about quality of life. Retirees seek a lower cost of living, a warmer climate, and a slower pace. The pull factors, however, are powerfully spiritual and cultural. This movement was significantly catalysed by Ghana’s proactive “Year of Return” in 2019, which commemorated the 400th anniversary of the arrival of the first enslaved Africans in Jamestown, Virginia. The Ghanaian government explicitly invited the global African diaspora to “come home,” framing the migration not as colonization but as a return.
This shift in framing is crucial. Unlike the early settlers who saw themselves as civilizing agents, modern African American migrants to Ghana typically arrive with a posture of learners and re-connectors. They are not coming to establish a new, separate society but to integrate into an existing, sovereign nation. They seek to learn local languages, participate in cultural ceremonies, and contribute to the Ghanaian economy through investment and spending. This approach has the potential to mitigate the kind of settler-indigene conflict that plagued the earlier experiments.
However, the potential for success is not guaranteed and faces significant challenges. The success of this migration hinges on several factors:
Cultural Integration vs. Expatriate Bubbles
The risk of creating insulated “expat” communities, where migrants socialize primarily with each other and fail to integrate, is high. True success requires a genuine effort to build relationships with native Ghanaians beyond transactional interactions, navigating cultural differences in communication, social norms, and business practices.
Economic Realities
While the cost of living may be lower, migrants must navigate a different economic system, potential bureaucratic hurdles, and, for some, a reliance on fixed incomes from abroad, which can be vulnerable to currency fluctuations. Their success can also breed resentment if they are perceived as driving up local prices or engaging in economic enclaving.
Legal and Social Standing
Unlike the settlers in Sierra Leone and Liberia who arrived with the backing of colonial powers and eventually formed their own governments, modern migrants are guests in a sovereign state. Their long-term security depends on navigating visa regulations, property laws, and, ultimately, accepting that they are citizens of Ghana by choice, not by birth, with all the limitations that can entail.
The potential for success is high if the migration is approached with humility, a long-term commitment to integration, and a desire for mutual exchange rather than a sense of entitlement. It can be a profoundly fulfilling culmination of a lifelong search for identity and belonging. However, it can just as easily falter on the rocks of romanticized expectations and a failure to engage with the complex, modern reality of Ghana.
The Unthinkable Exodus: An America Without People of Colour
The final question – what would happen to the USA if all people of colour left – is a theoretical exercise that serves to highlight the profound and irreplaceable role that communities of colour play in the American fabric. Such an event would be an unprecedented demographic, economic, and cultural cataclysm.
Demographically, the United States would lose nearly 40% of its population overnight. Beyond the sheer numbers, it would lose a disproportionately young and growing segment of its populace. The median age of the nation would skyrocket, creating an unsustainable dependency ratio with a massive elderly population supported by a shrunken workforce, crippling systems like Social Security and Medicare.
Economically, the collapse would be swift and severe. The entrepreneurial drive of Black, Hispanic, and Asian communities, which are creating businesses at a rapid pace, would vanish. Vital sectors of the economy—from agriculture and service industries to technology and healthcare—would be paralyzed by a sudden, catastrophic labour shortage. The loss of trillions of dollars in consumer spending power would trigger a depression far worse than any in history. Innovation, heavily driven by diverse perspectives in fields from science to the arts, would stagnate.
Culturally and socially, the nation would become a hollow shell. American culture, as the world knows it, is a Creole culture, a vibrant synthesis of African, Latin, Asian, and European influences. To remove people of colour is to erase jazz, blues, hip-hop, and rock and roll. It is to silence the voices of Toni Morrison, Langston Hughes, and Sandra Cisneros. It is to remove the contributions of scientists, jurists, activists, and athletes who have defined the American story. The nation’s cuisine, its slang, its fashion, its very soul, would be irrevocably stripped away.
Perhaps most importantly, the moral character of the nation would be fundamentally altered, and not for the better. The struggle for justice waged by people of colour has been the primary engine for expanding the meaning of “We the People.” The abolitionist movement, the Civil Rights Movement, the fight for voting rights, and the ongoing battles against discrimination have forced America to confront the gap between its ideals and its reality. Without this constant, necessary pressure, the United States would risk ossifying into a state that pays lip service to freedom and equality but is structurally incapable of achieving it. The “American experiment” would, in many ways, be declared a failure, having purged the very diversity that was essential to its evolution and strength.
Conclusion
The migration of black people to Sierra Leone and Liberia, as chronicled by Blyden, was a bold, fraught, and historically significant attempt to forge a destiny beyond the oppressive confines of the Atlantic World. It was driven by a complex mix of humanitarianism, political expediency, and black self-determination, yet it was marred by the tragic replication of colonial hierarchies. This historical mirror reflects both the profound yearning for a homeland and the immense difficulties of its realization.
The modern movement of African Americans to Ghana represents a new, more spiritually attuned chapter in this long story. Its potential for success lies in its difference – its basis in return and integration rather than settlement and supremacy. Yet, it too must navigate the delicate terrain of cross-cultural encounter.
Ultimately, the thought experiment of a United States devoid of its people of colour reveals a profound truth: the identity of America is inextricably linked to the presence and contributions of its minority communities. Their departure would not create a purified utopia but would instead trigger the nation’s collapse, exposing the fact that its strength, its culture, and its very soul are woven from the diverse threads of all its people.
The dream of a return to Africa, whether in the 19th century or the 21st, speaks to a deep and legitimate desire for wholeness. But it also serves as a powerful reminder to America itself: that the belonging and equality denied for so long are not merely aspirations for those who might leave, but are essential nutrients for the health and survival of the nation itself.
Where do I stand?
Having taken all of this in, I feel that after a lifetime of living in Europe and loving every bit of it; French food and museums, Italian and German opera, Scandinavian culture, and all the food… I must leave and move to a Caribbean island. Even if it is for a while, just a couple of years. Be under the sun, surrounded by people who look like me. Shed the coat of subtle prejudice and microaggressions. Away from judging eyes and underestimation. Stand on a beach, look at the water, exhale and relax. And when I am sufficiently recharged, I will visit. Maybe 4 months out of the year. During the winter, so I can look regal in my lilac fur coat and black mink hat. I’ll quickly swing by the opera house, enjoy a champagne afternoon tea and swiftly return to my rice and peas and oxtail. That’s the dream. That’s all I need.
