"Typical Brown Girl" and Who We Are/Not

Recently, I was listening to a talk about faith, activism, and responses to harassment online. The talk, given by Balpreet Kaur, was beautiful in how it brought together a lot of elements that I respect and try to bring to my own work. Too often is it an either-or situation -- you either are an activist that keeps their faith at arm's length or a person of faith who is quiet on politics...

...but that rant is for another post.

Sometimes I get caught on smaller turns of phrase when I listen to talks like these. On the whole the ideas presented are solid and speak to me, but something just catches me off guard. In this case, it was the phrase "typical brown upbringing." Balpreet is not the first or only one to use this phrase, and it wasn't even the main topic of her talk. But for me, it triggered a bunch of emotions that I couldn't put back in the box.

Whenever I hear a South Asian American speaker, or an Asian American speaker in general, speak about being raised 'brown' or 'Asian', it's usually referring to strict parents and high expectations. Usually it's referring to stereotypes of doctor/lawyer/engineer (or, alternatively, preparing to be married) Asians who aren't allowed to pursue other goals, friendships, or sports. It conjures up an experience that may be true for some immigrant and second generation Asian Americans, but it is still just as bounded by privilege and experience as any other.

For me, this statement alienates my experiences. And I don't believe my experiences are all that unique. This statement paints all Asian American families with the same brush. It also gives a measuring stick for being "brown enough" that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It begs the question: is it not 'typical' for Asians to have supportive parents? Are we coming together on yet another set of stereotypes rather than uniting on something more positive?

When I think of other racial groups rallying around shared experiences, I think about blackness. There is still a lot of homogenizing with that term, but there is also a community pride in being black. It is a reclamation and defiance of commonly held stereotypes that black is something negative. 'Asian American' as a term itself collects a lot of different stories, just as 'black' does. And even within South Asian or East Asian groups, there are still many differences -- so many, in fact, that labeling a "typical upbringing" just doesn't hold water. It limits the ways we can come together because it unites us on the idea that we have 'survived' our childhoods, that we have been left with a confusing residue of cultural expectations and immigrant narratives. We are forever defying someone's experiences: more often than not, they are our own limiting beliefs.

We must be part of an active movement to create a broad variety of narratives, not just respond to stereotypes. We must trust that our listeners, Asian and not, will understand and connect to our specific experiences regardless of what they've heard before. Our stories can speak for themselves.

Let me know what you think on Facebook or on Twitter.

South Asian American History Lessons

"These personal accounts allow us to glimpse an alternate picture of South Asian American history, one in which migrants from the subcontinent built lives with and among people who had come to New York City--and to Harlem--from different parts of the country and the world and who shared class circumstances, living conditions, parallel experiences of racialization, and eventually neighborhoods and families, once they settled in the city. The stories of this hidden life of Harlem also make one thing certain: it is impossible to find the 'South Asian America' of the pre-1965 era as if it were a neatly delineated ethnic neighborhood, with clear borders and clearly marked signs; this South Asian America was and continues to be embedded within other Americas, within Puerto Rican America, Afro-Caribbean America, and African America."

-- Vivek Bald, Bengali Harlem

Please obtain this amazing book as soon as possible.

Brown Female Chronicles: The Social Observance of Purdah

Purdah: A social practice throughout South Asia that involves separating men from women; it was used historically as a way to keep men and women in their respective social roles and currently is used to varying degrees in contemporary social life.

I learned more about purdah in a class this semester. Western perspectives of purdah are conflicted - some take the view that purdah is a cultural practice that persists because it is woven into the fabric of South Asian society and others view it as wholly oppressive and something to be expunged with feminism. Indian feminists (yes, they did and do exist) are just as conflicted: what does it mean to uproot a common practice like this? To what extent does it need to be changed or eradicated?

The Shortest Path Home

Whenever we have the chance, my father and I dive into philosophical discussion. After dinner, before going to sleep, upon waking up (at the absurdly early time of 5:30am, mind you, because my body is still in time shift). We've been talking a lot about the abstract concept of home.

I've talked about 'home' writ large before - in relation to Asian Americans as a whole and my own South Asian identity. But being in Dhaka makes me want to revisit it yet again.

"What Type of Asian Are You?" (And Other Problems)

This is part three in a series of posts on Asian Americans, inspired by and in concert with a charity event being put on by the Columbia student group, Asian American Alliance. Click here to read the first and second posts in the series: "Who is an Asian American?" and "'Will All The Asian Americans Please Stand Up?': The Politics of Self-Identification" and make sure to join in the conversation!

So, we've found our Asian Americans. They are on board to identify as people that are politically and culturally distinct, but who want to organize and represent themselves as a group. Where do we go from here?

Take a moment, first, to envision who you view as an "Asian American" based on just the term alone. What does this person look and sound like? Where are they located? What type of job are they doing?

"Will All the Asian Americans Please Stand Up?": The Politics of Self-Identification

This is part two in a series of posts on Asian Americans, inspired by and in concert with CultureSHOCK, a charity event being put on by the Columbia student group, Asian American Alliance. Click here to read the first post in the series: "Who is an Asian American?" and make sure to join in the conversation!

Yesterday, I mentioned the idea of self-identification for Asian Americans - a topic that can be the fly in the butter for many individuals, but also for many groups trying to organize around this identity pool. Why is it such a challenge? Let me give a personal example.

In the United States, I am highlighted by my difference. I am a Bengali woman (or, more often, the generic "Indian" woman). But when I interact with my family in Bangladesh or otherwise abroad, I am categorized as an American. But what is an American? In the US, non-white peoples are already coded as "less American" or otherwise foreign, so it can feel very strange to have to pick ethnicity or nationality as one's primary identity.

As Asian Americans, are we more of one than the other? Do we identify most with our ethnic group, with our nationality, with our politics, or with something else entirely? We carry within us unique experiences that can relate to any one of those questions. The task is to integrate them and find where they intersect as we conceive of ourselves as whole people.

Tomorrow: representation of these complicated Asian American folk.

Who Is An Asian American?

This weekend, Asian American Alliance (a campus group that I am a part of) is putting on their annual charity culture show, called CultureSHOCK. It's going to be an electrifying event with a great lineup including Hari Kondabolu, Kelly Tsai, Brown Star, and many other Asian American performers and designers as part of our fashion show. All the proceeds will go to supporting CAAAV, the Committee Against Anti-Asian Violence. As with all of our work, we'll be working to highlight the broad variety of cultures and politics that exist in the Asian American community. Simple, you say? I think not.

Throughout the planning of this event, we've tried to encompass as much material as is possible to put into one show about Asian Americans - and it raises a lot of intense questions. Who gets to perform? What type of representation do we want to lay out there? How political do we get and how do we get that political message through the jovial/de-politicized atmosphere of a cultural showcase? And then there's the nagging question that undergirds our club's entire existence. The one that the Facebook event for CultureSHOCK puts with a little more vulgarity than I will in this post: "what the f*** is an Asian American?"

While the show will give you some ideas in its jampacked all-star lineup, I want to put down some answers this week in plain text form. Let's begin:

Who is an Asian American? 

Caught My Eye: Writing Like a White Guy

Image credit: The Poetry Foundation

This article caught my attention (and held it rapt) quite some time ago, but I just now have had a moment to sit down and reflect on it in written form. I'm an English and psychology major (some days one more than the other) and have come to questioning what these two courses of study really entail. Particularly with the English major, there is one important question that continues to test my commitment to it: is being an English major a colonization of myself? I found it hard to form a response. My words get all caught up.

As a South Asian woman whose country was colonized by the British and who spurns canonical literature, I use English (the "master's tools" for anyone with Audre Lorde on the brain) in a wholly different way than they would be by a white author. Yet I still have grown up in a culture that prizes certain works, makes reference to them, and uses English as the medium through which all "proper" and "high" literature is considered. Anything else is lost in translation or sub-par. Minority authors are just that - part of a specific subset that is not as revered or canonical as the classics. So am I also prizing certain literature over others? Am I making English a prioritized language and disrespecting my ethnic heritage, my mother tongue (for which a war was fought to preserve, no less)? I have been consistently frustrated by this question, going back and forth over whether its even relevant and whether anyone has the same concerns I do.

Jaswinder Bolina's "Writing Like a White Guy" article articulates an answer to this question in a truly remarkable and sensible way.

Caught My Eye: Fire

Image via DesiStudios

This movie came out in 1996, and I didn't hear about it until college. Clearly, I was deprived of some amazing works of art in my youth.

Fire is a movie about two Indian women who are in arranged marriages within the same family; the marriages are loveless and often they must bend to their husband's will regardless of whether he is being dutiful as well (sounds like a familiar narrative...).

The difference is that in Fire, the two women do get to fall in love - with each other. It's an amazing transition from viewing their acts as something wrong to finding the passion they need in one another.

Wow, You Look Great! Did You Get Paler?

Summer is fast on the approach in the northern hemisphere, and though it may be a blessing to some, it can seem a curse to those who want to keep their skin as pale as possible. Today, I take a look into skin-lightening creams.

Finding My South Asian Identity in Literature

I want to explore a little bit more about South Asian identity and where it comes from for young South Asian Americans. I grew in a multi-racial (but still primarily white) neighborhood with few Indians and no Bangladeshis my age, so I may only speak for myself in this post, but where I found a lot of my role models was in books. After the jump, I give some examples.

"Where Are You From?" (Race vs. National Identity)

I went through many of my old posts this week to make my new About Me page, and was struck by The South Asian Question in a New York Minute, a post I wrote on the conflicts within South Asian American identity. In the year and a half since I wrote that post, I have found even more to say on the topic. In particular, I want to focus on the intersections and conflicts between racial and national identity, which often duke it out in the question "where are you from?"

Where are you from?

Right over there.

CED Round-Up: Allergies, Aliens, and South Asian Lovers

I have been experimenting with short fiction this week, or at least scenes that tell a standalone story; I have written about everything from aliens (as part of my new serial fiction, The Observer) to time travelers, allergies, and South Asian lovers. Check out what I've been writing (and knitting in between keyboard marathons) after the jump!

Project x Project: Pressing the Record Button

A project that I have wanted to launch for a while, but have not yet dared to test out, is to read some of my work aloud and read them as podcast-like posts for this blog. Today I am taking the plunge. I will start with a story* that I wrote for a creative writing class I did last semester, since that seemed related to the previous post I put up about academics and creativity. Enjoy, and be sure to tell me how I did in the comments!

*This story will also be posted after the jump for people who choose to or can only read it rather than hear it. Yay!

Mid-Week Observations: Where is Home?

Home has been a strange concept for me since moving to New York, and perhaps even since I started thinking about my own cultural identity. I feel as if I am only renting in this life - both the physical space that I inhabit and the thought processes that I use to define my life and personality. Going to Bangladesh this year presents another sort of home. An ancestral home, a place that I have relatives that are not in my nuclear family. And in some ways that strengthens my sense of home and in some ways it fragments it.
Let's start with the first one.
Having more homes in my life will be a good thing, I believe. It will bring me away from my thoughts that there are only 3 of us - my father, my mother and myself - and widen the bonds between all of us. Bangladesh is also an adventure, a faraway place that I don't remember very well and haven't had much connection with since a very young age. These things all foster my sense of "home" and may allow me to find it.
But, as for the second issue, it also introduces a completely new place that is hard to reach and also disparate from the two homes that I have struggled to forge in the States. I live in New York, but I am from Seattle and the Seattlite in me wants to go home while the New Yorker in me wants to stay and appreciate the beauty of this big dirty city that I love. Seattle is comfortable and it has all the old friends; New York is hard to put up with at times, but has been a big factor in some of the most fulfilling moments of my life. Bangladesh... where will that fit in?
Having multiple homes is something that a lot of people struggle with - for me it's a struggle of personal identity, but for others that I know it's more about the literal space. Living in China and living in New York, for instance. All international college students and people who hail from faraway states can echo my sentiments. Who are the people that you want to know forever? Who are the people that you want to have around you? What kind of house/apartment are you going to live in wherever you choose to be? These are the questions that plague us and excite us at the same time.
So, when I think about my own situation, I think about the negatives a lot. The fragmentation of my culture from my location, the separation of my family members across oceans and large tracts of land. But there is always a silver lining, a bright patch in the cloud of negativity. It is the new connection and safety net that I will garner from having people I know I can trust around the world. And if that bright patch shines enough, it might just blot out all the sadness of being isolated here on my own.

You may also be interested in reading my post The South Asian Question or my opinion piece Discrimination and Mixed Metaphors.

The South Asian Question in a New York Minute

The New York Minute
Living in New York is a mixture of fast and slow moments - this week, I've experienced the latter half. But, even when God deals you an idle hand, you must embrace it. And therefore, we must write.
Thus, this week, I present to you a warm-up article for the actual one that I am writing to (hopefully) enter into Awaaz, our South Asian publication. This article is only an editorial, but describes some key issues I have been exposed to this week.

The South Asian Question
Second-generation immigrant children get a bad rap for living between worlds.
Though we may learn the language of both countries, we speak with an American accent. The schools we attend teach colonial history with an anglophile’s fervor. The food and clothes we prefer may shock and numb our parents and revert them to pointless adages such as “when I was your age…”
The source of these discrepancies, especially for a South Asian-American, rarely comes from a sense of abandoning culture and rebelling against it, but from a more ambiguous place. Cultural confusion and ambivalence reign strong in American teenagers – they are just trying to find their niche in a society where one needs the right clothes and the right slang to fit in.
Living between two worlds entails that we meld with both our parents’ South Asian society and the society of our peers, which is often multicultural and largely based on mainstream media. The expectations are high. Sometimes they are overt, such as when I am asked by my father’s friends what I am majoring in; when they hear “creative writing,” they will nod and change the topic, no doubt wondering how I will make an income in the future. Other expectations are much more subtle, such as, when going out of the house, I become hyper-conscious of how short my skirt is – even when I’m wearing tights. Even while living on the Barnard campus (where no one is short of personal expression), I sometimes feel as if I’m straddling a cultural boundary when I explain to people that I am not a vegetarian just because I don’t eat pork and the location of my home country, Bangladesh, is not north of India, but to the east.
Most people at Columbia, I am glad to say, are receptive to the idea that there is not just one type of South Asian. But simple acceptance is often not enough. South Asian youth are often muddled into one category, Indian, with little more than a second thought.
But what is Indian? And, for that matter, what is Pakistani, Bangladeshi, or Sri Lankan? Just below the surface of this seemingly innocent question lies a startling answer that is mired in vague terms and body counts. If the issue is surrounding the unity of the subcontinent as a whole, these ties are sorely lacking. Following colonialism, border wars have continued daily – from the massive extinction of Muslim brother by Muslim brother in the 1971 independence war of Bangladesh to the long-ignored Sri Lankan conflict that is the longest running civil war, uniting the states of South Asia presents more problems than solutions.
And why shouldn’t it be difficult? We are of contrasting backgrounds, histories, cultures and languages. Our children grow up eating different types of meat or none at all, the education of our parents depends on their location, and even religious progress is questionable in a society where caste determines whether you are liberal or conservative or have no say at all.
This struggle is what South Asian immigrant parents retain with them as they travel the ocean to America – consequently, the way they teach their children about culture is reflected along the same lines. A Hindu may not understand a Muslim and a Sikh may not understand either of them, but Americans tend to see black as black, white as white and brown as brown. Thus, when expected to make new friends, second-generation immigrant children forego these distinctions and make friends of all stripes and colors. The question is: does this mean we are losing our culture? Are we, as the sons and daughters of parents who have left their countries, expected to uphold their legacy or walk our own paths? The question is one of stirring debate that has plagued every immigrant community, not just those of South Asia.
As youth in America, we are emboldened by the freedom of choice. There is always the possibility to forge your own path and make your own destiny; however, the culture lines that make our country the great salad bowl are still visible. Caught between two worlds, the children of the subcontinent must carve out a unique space in America – one that satiates individual expression and satisfies their quest for identity in a multicultural society.

If you're interested in more opinion pieces, take a look at Discrimination and Mixed Metaphors and Single Sex Education for Women and Girls.
You may also enjoy my audio-recorded story about South Asian women.
Check out some more posts featuring my photography.