Immigration is not a zero sum game

There is a lot of talk of immigrants these days. It has got me thinking again of what it means to be one.

Very many immigrants have swarmed through the borders without being noticed, taken up sundry blue collar jobs, lurked below the radar. Others have come out of disenchantment and disaffection, willing to work in any job, hoping only that their children will live a far better life. Some have fled persecution, just to retain their humanity, just to stay alive.

And what of me? I came to America because I wanted more. More challenges for my mind. Greener pastures to frolick in. At that time it was really a simple plan: go to graduate school, which just happened to be in distant America. Just you. No family. You don't know anyone there. Cool.

It isn't long before the playful journey you had embarked on morphs into a stomach-churning mix of studying like mad so you wouldn't lose your teaching assistantship, desperately looking to make friends in a foreign land (how do you make friends with someone when you can't understand half of what they talk about), forcing down sickening dining hall food (afraid I would waste away if I only ate the alleged vegetarian fare of raw leavees), pining for family and home with no prospect of going back for at least another year for lack of money (very few phone calls, too expensive), meeting fantastically different and incredibly fascinating people from Italy, Germany, Iceland, Turkey, Greece, China, and, not least, the native Americans, feeding on the amazingly rich variety of TV programming, thrilling to new discoveries every day.

A few years pass. The thrill wears off. You have been there and done that a great many times over and over again. The question of what to do after graduate school creeps up out of nowhere and then starts nagging you day after day. Should I stay or should I go? It is a good life, memories of home are growing fuzzier by the day, you have gone to such great lengths to make a new life with so many new ideas and such a different perspective of the world altogether. And you are just beginning to understand and appreciate (some of) the American way of life! Why give up all that? And what do you go back to? There is too much space and time now between here and there.

You are an alien for a while, and get promoted to being a resident alien. Then you give in and get that citizenship. But not everything is a simply a practicality. When the Oklahoma building blows up, and the twin towers come crashing down, you are shocked, saddened, and frightened just like every other American. You belong, you care, and you know you are connected. But the white guys in the pickup truck don't think so. You don't look like them. They scream and jeer at you: go back. You ignore it because you don't want to cause trouble. You don't want confrontations and conflicts. You make yourself small because you don't want to cause trouble, and you are right back where you started.

I am not the kind of immigrant that America is talking about nowadays. I continue to have a most enjoyable career, I continue paying my taxes, and if all goes well I can even get that social security check coming in when it's that time. I have broken many of my ties to my country of origin, and am still making new ties with America. I love many things American and I love many things Indian. I am angry, upset, disappointed with many things American, as I am with many things Indian. As long as America and India don't go at each other, I cheer for both. But if they do, I know I will lose, no matter which team wins. Being Indian-American to me means being Indian and American. It's not a zero sum game.