Prelude

Hello! Here I am, back in Cleveland after spending 10 ten days in France and 7 weeks in England gathering immigrant interviews, expert interviews, going to immigrant filled joints, watching what they do, reading local newspapers and making lots of phone calls to get myself connected.  I made amazing friendships and learned incredible amounts about myself and the world. The following entries document my experiences and chart the way my thesis formulation slowly changed as my fieldwork progressed.

To explain the sudden influx of entries in two days, I’ve finally been able to go through all my entries ( AKA notes) carefully and refine them such that they are wholly understandable. The summer had been rather hectic for me because I was taking a correspondence summer course, and working on the establishment of a new ILR organization while doing my fieldwork and library research.  Getting acclimated to the surprisingly foreign British culture and my new ‘home’ once in Coventry also added much to the ‘hecticness’ believe it or not.

The following entries have been sitting on my USB key and accumulating in numbers since June 10^th. I’ve completed over 40 interviews (and am still doing phone interviews) so there’s just no way for me to relay stories of all the people who have touched my life. The entries I’ve written are snippets of key moments that revealed to me the gross differences within the West, and within immigrant communties.  

There will be pictures soon, probably no videos though. I broke my camera in France, and bought another one in England which broke too.  I’m now entirely reliant on others for visual documentation which so far, has not boded well!

The West Midlands and North England were utterly frigid so perhaps the absence of summer warmth in my pictures (or the absence of pictures altogether!) will prompt me to put up photos from my previous, pre-research travels in Germany, Hungary, Croatia, and Italy.

Till then…words it is!

Gravesend and my Grandma’s Street

 Today I planned out my future wedding to some future, unnamed man at some future unannounced date ten years down the road. It’s going to start on a boat in London where the sangeet and henna art will take place. The boat will travel down the Thames until it reaches the Gravesend dock. The bride’s procession will start at the dock and finish at the new, mindblowing guruduwara where the traditional Sikh wedding will take place. This guruduwara is ideal because not only is it a few streets away from half my family, but it is the largest one in all of Europe and the UK. (After doing a pilgrimage to all the major guruduwaras in east Punjab, I can attest that it’s also one of the largest and most majestic) The architects and builders are all from India which explains why the guruduwara looks like a Gaudi redesigned Taj Mahal. There are three buildings surrounding the guruduwara, a sports center, an arts center, and an education center. The land surrounding the guruduwara spans two professional football fields. Best of all, the parking lot has a separate parking for wedding buses which means all 150 of my family members can be bused along with my friends, my middle brothers friends, my little brothers, my husbands friends, my parents friends, and his parents friends. Of course I left room for error. Could it be that he comes from a family of five? No worries, there’s still enough bus parking space.

 

Of course, no typical five course Indian wedding is complete without a proper reception following the religious ceremonies. My reception will be in London and the music playing will be British grime DJ’d by Sunit and Raxstar. I realized the pair would be perfect one day while I was spending time at my grandma’s neighbors house. “You KNOW  Suni’? AN’ Raxsta’? Oi! I’d do nefin to tooch ‘is ‘and!” Then, I was promptly seated before a computer to watch Sunit and Raxstar music videos on youtube. Immediately I realized they’re perfect… for my one-day wedding and my thesis. The hybrid form of music and lyrics were incredible. For the first time, I was seeing something Asian media produced aside from books that made me feel as though I’m not split and teetering between two worlds. Seeing such a hybrid and knowing it’s in the mainstream automatically glued together two seemingly separate spheres for me. 

 

Here’s a little clip of Sunit and Raxstar’s latest song. The music starts at the 1 minute mark.

 

 

Anyhow, back to what I was saying…of course the entire hypothetical wedding is a joke, but I would like to have a marriage where my family history is. Which means not in India but in the West. Whether that be Los Angeles, Toronto, Shreveport, Winston-Salem, Montreal, Chicago, Vancouver, Las Vegas, Houston, Ottawa, Washington D.C, Dalhousie, my own town of Cleveland or the myriad of South English towns my East African family has settled into, I clearly belong in the West, more so than in India. As do many South Asians. We belong in the space that has opened for far away cultures recreated in suspicious environments.

 

It’s like parallel lives, you’re mentally present with the majority, but at the same time, you have different sensitivities and awareness’ that allow you to be present at different levels with various people. It reminds me of a movie I watched called “Waking Life” which is literally all existential dialogue but fortunately, in a non-fatalistic way. One piece in the movie discussed the new form of evolution that doesn’t alter populations but individuals. The speed of new information and stimuli spur evolution, and depending on who you are and what you experience, an evolutionary process can happen within the same lifetime.

 

While I’m not sure what I make of this, because usually an evolution has a physical manifestation, for instance, the Scientific Revolution’s discoveries ultimately spilled into an evolution in health so that you see disease less today, I at least think immigrants have a higher potential to recreate things for higher self actualization. Their own community space, jobs, family unit, philosophy, décor…everything really. The new guruduwara being built is financed entirely by donations from second generation yuppies. This is their space they are molding. They are doing more for their community than indigenous Brits are. I went to see where Pocahontas is buried ( would you believe it, she’s lying in Gravesend) and the church there is old, crumbling and miniscule in comparison to what is being constructed at present by second generation immigrants.

 

So I ended up continuing my research observations and note-taking once in Gravesend, which was supposed to be my repose with family. I did this simply because South Asian culture abounds here and frankly, I couldn’t help myself.

 

Here’s the story. Gravesend used to be filled with paper mills and Punjabi’s were recruited to work in them. Once the mills closed, the Punjabi’s remained but had to take up new jobs in the service sector, whether that be restaurants or finance. The family I am observing has a mother and father still working in factory life, but a son in the service life.

 

Their daughter considers herself fully British, yet she was able to take all her major highschool tests in Punjabi ( which is NOT a mainstream Indian language), she knows how to do flawless henna tattooing, she sings at Indian Functions, and teaches Sikhism at the local Sikh camp ( again, propped up by the second generation).

 

Moreover, she is immersed in the marriage culture and caste obsession of Punjabi’s. I found it so interesting how the strongly the caste system plays out for Punjabis which shouldn’t really be the case because Sikh influence abolished the caste system in that region once it was founded in 1599. The Punjabi caste system is less rigid than the mainstream Indian caste-system because one can move up or down the ladder, and it also  has less categories, but nevertheless it exists and directs.

 

The family I am observing is of a lower caste. The families filling my grandma’s street are of the higher jatt caste. In Gravesend at a wedding, I was able to observe the interactions between these two castes and was shocked how overt the jatt disdain for a lower caste is. I was, apparently, automatically grouped in the lower caste because I spent the whole night dancing away with my grandma’s neighbors. I’ll never know for sure.

 

But the idea of marriage is also bizarre because it’s wholly at odds with the ability to reach a higher level of self actualization. You cannot talk with other boys for fear of ruining your marriage prospects. The point of education is to be more marriable. Keeping your hair long increases such a likelihood too. Or doing dishes when asked. Or keeping away from Muslims. It’s ridiculous really.

 

My time in Gravesend helped me to see other trends that I had been noticing in the Midlands and North England. One is that immigrants can improve their space once they part with rural mentalities. The rural barriers that I found in the UK, such as honor killings or refusing to educate girls along with a marriage and caste culture, are things I find in the US and Canada amongst Punjabi’s nestled in their original communities and sheathed from exterior influences. My family, and many of their friends, come from villages in Punjab, but they have been able to blend both east and west to better themselves and those around them. I am not saying my family has not retained many of the Indian idiosyncrasies that I absolutely hate, but those are idiosyncrasies that can be overlooked when considering all the good they do.

 

The other pattern that I noted is that nothing is being done to redress the discrimination South Asians experienced for years in Britain. The poor housing, permanent bad jobs, isolation and violent abuse. Why shouldn’t Asian want to stay in their bubble? They’ve been forced to for so many years!   

 

And so I have case studies for North England, the Midlands, and South England plus ample quotes from experts. Importantly, I have a clearer idea of the way racism is manifested in the new global order and I am determined to do something, even if it’s only write. My hopes are, others will come to see that discrimination that is now executed against immigrants through detention and integration policies. The whole westernized world uses the illegal immigrant and war on terror as its license to abuse human rights. It’s like communism all over again. ‘Watch out for the commie!’ has been replaced with ‘Watch out for the terrorist!’. Except, all too often, these suspected terrorists are starving asylum seekers from Eritrea, the Congo, Iraq and Afghanistan. They are people fleeing horrible circumstances created by the west. Don’t we have a duty to extend democracy to them? The abuses to illegal immigrants and asylum seekers spills is an electoral ploy which spills over into the workings of settled immigrants. Integration becomes the new buzzword to assimilate thus, render a culture to be not as good and force a cultural conversion. The onus is all on the immigrant to change. The West has a short memory it. They create problems and then forget to solve them.

Last Leg of Coventry

Reality: July 30, 2008

My final two days in Coventry have been wonderfully hectic. Squeezing in as many last minute interviews as possible while packing, baking ‘thank you’ cakes, and writing a final paper for my summer course has forced me to amp up the efficiency and high speed my experiences.

The highlight of the two days was three interviews I managed to finally secure with three experts I had been desperately trying to contact over the past month. One of the desired was Arun Kundanani, deputy editor of the Institute for Race Relations and author of a number of well received books and publications. Another was Mohammad Anwar the ex-Head of the Commission for Racial Equality ( actually while I was there, Zig Layton-Henry came by asking Mr Anwar for lunch and I nearly fainted…I read his books ALL the time). And the last was Asaf Hussain, the author of a report I have been relying on for much of my newly formulated thesis. It’s amazing how dramatically fieldwork can change your understanding of a topic—I have been able to better narrow and focus my thesis because of my experiences in England and France.

My three culminating interviews tied my thoughts together and made me feel like I was leaving Warwick with solid material under my belt. They connected all the seemingly disconnected, yet fascinating interviews. My initial reaction to being in Coventry was that I would be lost, aimless, and leave with no concrete information for buffering my thesis. To my pleasant surprise, each and every interview I conducted has been shocking and forced me to rethink the main thrust of my thesis. Either the context, conversation itself or both presented so much detail about integration that I had never read before, I am just so glad I came here. An added bonus is that I’ve been able to learn more about my culture and family history as well!

The complexity and nuances in the British integration debates are vast, but I still managed to find a few prominent patterns in my interviews that I will use for my thesis. Two of these patterns are Sikh/Muslim violence and the transported caste system. The open level of discrimination I encountered within the South Asian community at present clearly outdoes English discrimination against South Asians. Yet at the same time, the official discourse of integration is a new form of racism that allows people to discriminate against Muslims. My last three interviews were vital in helping me understand how old British racism still prevails structurally and is now transforming to recontinue in the form of ‘managed migration’.

Thus, discriminated groups now face barriers on two fronts, within the South Asian community and within the British community. I honestly believe that integrating at a religio/cultural level is more important for releasing economic growth potentials than entering employment. My encounters with the British multicultural model have made it clear to me that having employment does not decrease tension amongst certain groups nor increase British cohesiveness. Besides, employment these days is evasive.

The form of integration I came across is so racially oppressive and gives people a mandate to exercise their once silent racist thoughts that I am going to examine race and class in my thesis now. These very real South Asian problems I encountered are unique. Canada has some similar pockets and a few honor killings ( which I would like to clarify, is not only a Muslim phenomenon but also a reality for Sikh Punjabis and Hindu Rajasthani’s) but it’s on such a different scale that it’s not even worth comparing.

While the changes to my thesis topic means that I will have to throw out over 50 pages of writing I did over the Spring semester, I think it’s worth it. I’ve learnt so much, thoroughly enjoyed myself and have a clearer idea of what I would like to do when I graduate.

I’m so thankful for being afforded this type of opportunity. It has let me explore subjects that my classes never touch, build my self reliance skills, and let me reconnect with my culture.

Ive also been able to reconnect with my family on such a deep level. I left Coventry for Gravesend on the “Thandi Coach”, a bus company run by Sikh Punjabi’s that starts in Smethwick, and ends in South Hall to spend my last with my family. The Thandi Couch stops at every major South Asian immigrant town on its way, is used almost exclusively by South Asians, and costs 11 pounds, as opposed to the 42 pound train ticket used by the ‘mainstream’.

I reached Gravesend and met my family at a large hall where a Punjabi women’s function was taking place for a special annual festival. The moment I go through the doors, it’s as though I left Gravesend and entered a new world. There are hundreds of Punjabi women dressed in their finest attire, loud dhols bang away, and young girls in traditional Punjabi clothing perform a song and dance called giddha. Everyone is speaking Punjabi and I am somewhat left out, but then again, I am not, because I too am Punjabi and I too have interest in seeing this culture thrive abroad. I cheer just as loud as the rest of the crowd as my cousin performs her dance.

The next day is my aunt’s birthday and my cousin again performs a dance, this time, one I taught her that combines hip hop with bhangra. The crowd, young and old, love it just as much as the traditional piece she performed at the Punjabi festival. It pleases me to see appreciation for the East/West hybrid.

But there are things about the East/West hybrid that aggravate me to no end. My aunt’s birthday took place in Ilford, a notoriously dangerous Muslim town. Sikh and Hindu friends and family alike would not let me take my ancy, orange soda-hyper cousins for a walk. “This is a Muslim town don’t you know?” they said. “Young girls wearing sari’s don’t go for walks in Muslim towns.” I heard myself say “Ok” again and again, till I got sick of asking to go for a walk because i could accurately predict the answer.

Now sitting on the beach of an English island with my family and chewing on the events at my aunt’s birthday, I think how absurd it is for what they said to hold any shard of truth. You should not be able to say, “Young girls don’t go for walks in Muslim towns” and have it hold an undeniable validity. But here in the UK, such statements are undeniably valid. I’ve experienced the danger, I’ve heard eye-witness accounts, and I’ve come to the realization that religious discrimination is back full force.

I think it’s of utmost importance to reduce the discrimination that is being directed towards certain South Asian communities. It’s time to consider religion for integration processes and identity formation in order to allow a firmer levels of cohesion to take place and ultimately manifest in labor market improvements and economic growth that these migration pundits (wrongly) proclaim comes naturally from immigrant settlement.

Who would’ve thought religious discrimination could be so deeply rooted in an increasingly atheistic society? Not I.

Looking back on my time here, it amazes me how much I’ve seen. And how much more I want to learn. And how much more I want to do. And how much more I can do! All because of a thesis.

Birmingham, ‘Clubbing’, and Thoughts on Citizenship

Last night I slept over one of my friends houses, which is ironically managed by that Punjabi CEO’s letting company. I stayed over because we had planned to see her boyfriend, Sunit, perform a DJ gig in Birmingham the next afternoon.  I couldn’t understand why he would be DJ’ing in the afternoon. ‘This is Birmingham not Barcelona’ I’d keep saying, ‘ What are you going to be doing?’

 

Nonetheless, the next afternoon, we went to a club called Oceania and were ushered in past the entire line because Sunit and Rex, his partner, were star artists for the afternoon. I didn’t think it would be a real club atmosphere so I was wearing flip flops and glasses. Inside the club, lights were flashing and music blaring; bodies were strewn and others, jumping; everyone was dressed up for a Friday night out. But it was a Wednesday.  

 

As we were walking, I said to Rex’s girlfriend, “Everyone here is so small!” Turns out, they were going to be performing for an underage event. I couldn’t believe the intensity at this event.  It was like this club event was catering exactly to the rebellious South Asians under the thumb of strict Indian parents.

 

While standing behind the scenes and watching the mayhem, I began to understand the importance of this new South Asian British culture. A conversation I had with a break dancer earlier in my trip came full circle as I saw the Asian hip-hop culture he was raving about. Asians define Britain. They are the cool and the sexy here, the desired but unattainable.   

 

 Bizarrely, I began to think of problems inherent in Britain’s citizenship tests. Things to note that made me think of citizenship policy distortion.

 

-The music is all South Asian and predominantly mixed of Indian and techno with heavy beats. It uses a form of rhythmic style called bass line where the mixer draws out the bass, kind of a condensed form of Benny Benassi.

-The DJ also played some remixed old bhangra songs which everyone danced to while mouthing all the words. The youth know the old and the new. The old from parents, the new from their friends.

- A West Indian man is DJ’ing and revving the crowd. He’s the usual DJ at Oceania.

-Oceania is considered to be one of the biggest and best clubs in Birmingham

-Two girls asked Sunit and Rex for a photograph and another two girls asked for their autograph. Apparently Sunit and Raxstar are really big in the Indian dominated towns of the UK. You can find their music on iTunes and their music videos on Youtube.

-While driving, Sunit discussed the breadth of South Asian media. It is considered to be mainstream popculture. Popculture reflects social constructs which means South Asians are a strong part of the British story.

 

 

That final point made me think citizenship is no longer absorbing the true social composition of England. It presents new immigrants with a test on knowledge of the past, not the present.

 

I had to leave Oceania early to go to the Indian Workers Association Archives, so I never got to see Sunit and Raxstar perform, but I was told they did very well.

 

At the Indian Workers Association Archive, I decided to look for material indicating the IWA’s involvement in race relations. Their involvement was plentiful. The archives offered an amazing insight into the ways Asians have impacted British politics and social conditions. I remebered reading an article by an American Indian women who lamented that one reason why Indians in America have a limited isense of dentity is because they have never challenged authority collectively. There was no strong, unifed Indian presence she could be proud of. The high level of activity by the IWA starting in the 1950’s was astounding, because I myself was unaware of this side of South Asians or their affintity to link unions with other causes. (One of my interviewees told me that a Sikh Punjabi started a major Communist uprising in the 30’s! ) 

 

 I saw through historical newspaper clippings, memo’s, and leaflets how unions create positive and lasting social change when they link with other grassroots organization mobilizing for change as well. The Birmingham Archives showed me how profoundly South Asians are a part of the British culture and how their history ought to be a part of the British history for citizenship tests…not “Who was Henry VIII?”…a history even the indigenous Brits have forgotten.

Bradford Continued

Reality: July 18th

 

 

The next morning, Ed woke me up for coffee with his house mates. I crawled out of bed in my pj’s and mumbled a “g’morning” in the kitchen as I gratefully clutched my “coffee”. We all went outside with lawnchairs and sipped on Nescafe while enjoying the rare morning sunshine. One of Ed’s housemates is a singer/song-writer and the other is a rugby player who likes gardening. We sat outside for ages chatting away about banalities that seemed so fascinating when out of their mouths. The harem culture of sperm whales. The decreasing amount of flowers because bees are having difficulty pollinating them. The texture of sand used for babies to play in. When Ed told them that I’m interested in the riots, both agreed that the riots were a mere creation of the media and political pandering by the ‘fascist’ British Nationalist Party. ‘Bradford is a peaceful and happy place’, they insisted.  

 

We finally wrapped up our morning sun basking around 12 when the clouds rolled through. Ed, an organic chef as well, taught me how to make delicious risotto which we ate for lunch with grilled veggies. We squabbled again over American politics, and I realized, this is something non-Americans love to do.

 

He took me to meet one of his law school friends for tea after lunch so I could interview her before my train home. She’s a single Pakistani mother whose on her way to becoming a lawyer with four daughters! Her husband left her because she only had girls. The story she left me with was so poignant I nearly cried. Also, it contrasted starkly with my previous interviews who were all interfaith particpants.To me, this signified the positive impact of interfaith projects.

 

I left Bradford feeling incomplete. I would have loved to spend more time doing research there. I wanted to see areas where the riots took place. I wanted to have more interviews to compare the interfaith impact. And I wanted to bond more with my new friends! Ed invited to North Ireland, so perhaps that will happen soon.

Home of Britain’s Worst Riots- My Bradford Trip

Reality: July 17, 2008

 

It’s been a long time since I last wrote, reason being is that my days have been sheer insanity. Over the past week, I’ve done four interviews per day which does not seem like a lot (and I guess you could say it’s not a lot) but think of it this way. Each interview averages 1 hour and 15 minutes ( the outliers: shortest= 45 minutes, longest= 2 hours and 45 minutes). Add to that travel with public transportation and there’s at least an additional hour and a half tagged onto each interview. Everyday day, I’ve been leaving for interviews at 8 am and returning at 9 pm so unfortunately, my blogging was sidelined.

 

Looking back, it amuses me to think how excited I was when my agenda started fill up, then relieved when it actually did fill up, but then horrified when it became overfilled and I heard myself decline interviews time and time again. I never thought I would reach such a point when I first arrived.

 

On Friday, I had another weekend full of interviews in a different setting. I had taken a train 4 hours up to North England to go to Bradford. I wanted to do a case study on that city and to see how it has managed since the summer riots of 2001. I had done ample research on the Bradford riots last semester and found them fascinating because Pakistani Muslims were the main victims and transgressors.

 

The riots struck the summer of 2001 and were the most violent in England’s history. Bradford is an over-researched place and the reason is because it’s the clearest indicator of structural racism’s effects. Despite this, I chose to go because I wanted to get first hand information on racism from a perspective I hadn’t been able to find- a religiously oriented grassroots organization.

 

The Sikh/Muslim violence and animosity all my interviewees have been expressing is shocking. These immigrant interviews have made it apparent to me that considering religion is extremely important for integration, yet policy isn’t taking it seriously. Whether it’s because secular democracies have made it taboo, I can’t say, but what I can say is that the preponderance of religiously motivated violence is not yielding an appropriate policy response.

 

I reached the Bradford train station with certain expectations and understandings of what the city and people would be like. The city would be dirty, poor and have smog stained buildings. There would be dilapidated houses and unkempt gardens. The people would be mixing in white vs. Asian cliques and I would see evidence of disaffected youth roaming aimlessly through the streets with their baggy jeans and brass knuckles.

 

My preconceived notions quickly evaporated.

 

Bradford proved to be a pleasant surprise, both the place and the people. I started off my weekend of ‘work’ at Touchstone, an interfaith project and asylum seeker aid mission. The woman I had been corresponding with is a Pakistani Christian named Awais and she took me around for half of the day. She met me at the curb where the taxi dropped me of, waiting for me with an umbrella overhead. Shielding me the instant I set foot outside the taxi, she exclaimed how glad she was I made it. I had deliberated about coming- it cost me 76 pounds for a train and a necessary surgery foregone- so deliberation was natural. My final decision to go may be a little idiotic, but this trip set the foundation for my thesis and also solidified wonderful friendships so all in all… I’m glad I was an idiot!

 

 Once in the warm indoors, she led me to a table where I chatted with a Methodist minister/politician while she prepared tea to have with the cake I baked her. From this point on, conversation never stopped throughout the day and I just kept learning till the moment I laid my head on my pillow to sleep.

 

After talking at length about the political importance of factoring in religion to political decisions with the minister/politician, Awais and I left Touchstone for lunch. It was nice to hear someone vocalize the importance of religion for behavior, and Awais and I picked up where he left off over lunch.

 

We went to an Indian restaurant/bar where I ordered spicy fish kebab on a naan and she ordered a chicken burger. I had originally ordered a chicken burger too, but she wouldn’t allow me to order something so banal and ‘western’ as she put it. What amused me though is that my dish had French fries poured on top and her chicken burger had masala and green chilies.

 

We ate and she educated me on Islam, how she became a Pakistani Christian, her family history, how she came to England, and what the Touchstone interfaith project does. We talked until two minutes before my first interview, and then raced out of the restaurant in the pouring rain.

 

As we ran, I thought about the customer’s in that restaurant. All the veiled women, and everyone was Indo/Pakistani except for one man eating alone. The room swelled with conversation in Urdu and English- often both coming out of the same person’s mouth. In some ways, it unnerved me, in some ways, it intrigued me. I was in Bradistan. 

 

I kept noticing ways that the city retained literal chunks of Pakistan, all the way until I climbed the steps to my first interviewee’s home. I enjoyed this interview a lot because, while the interviewee was rather bland, her mother-in-law was hilarious. She was one of the first three Asians families who came to Bradford in the 1950’s and the stories she had to tell about her initial assimilation had me clutching my stomach. ( I would share but they are a little inappropriate for a school blog though. )Despite her being here since the 1950’s, raising three kids, and having all British neighbors surrounding her, she still spoke nearly no English. Thankfully, this non-English speaker spoke Punjabi, so I could make out what she’s saying.

 

In the middle of our conversation, her grand-daughters came home and walked in to give her a kiss hello. They were wearing navy blue kurta pajamas, which turned out to be their uniforms! 

 

While the grandmother’s children had gone to local schools, her grandchildren attend an all-Muslim, all-girl school.  The sustained level of conservatism surprised me. In many ways, my own family is like that. My grandmother and other first generation South Asians broke away from the caste hierarchy of India, yet it’s my uncle and other second generation immigrants who have brought it back.

 

At any rate, my other interviews Awais set me up with were of a similar nature. Relatively bland, all very happy with the level of cohesion, noticing no tensions, yet all second generations dressed in traditional clothes, married with children and not working.

 

After my series of interviews, I went to meet Ed Mowlan, the temporary director of an asylum seeker housing project and a law student. We became good friends immediately over smoothies and a loud argument about politics in a restaurant filled with young Pakistani’s. Ed is an avid atheist, Euro- skeptic, green- lover, highly knowledgeable, fabulous cook of a beer drinking law student. Our long conversation/arguement was interrupted by a downpour of rain on par with a South Asian monsoon. How fitting in Bradistan!

 

We needed to walk to an interfaith prayer service but my umbrella could not handle the rain so we had to resort to a taxi. The taxi service was all Pakistani Muslim, but when they would talk to you, it was in a thick North English accent.

 

The interfaith service was beautiful and featured all the seven major religions plus Ba’hai. The services normally have about 100 people in attendance, but because of the rain, there was a smaller showing. Better for me though, because I got to enjoy thirds and fourths of dessert at the post-prayer barbeque!

 

After the service and a few interviews, Ed and I went to the asylum seeker shelter where he works to leave leftover food from the barbeque. I stayed up late talking with one failed asylum seeker from Uganda. He had left because of the current government, but his pleas failed. I found his tory fascinating. My uncle went back 7 years ago to try and reclaim his property but was threatened to be shot if he asks one more time. My grandfather was actually murdered while trying to reclaim his. I wonder how ‘false’ this asylum seekers claim could have been? Or perhaps, the definition of ‘danger’ has become absurd and there essentially needs to be a full blown war for danger to be legitimate. Or maybe even that doesn’t count because Iraqi and Afghani refugees are constantly denied asylum.

 

I got tired so after a few hours, Ed and I went back to his house to warm up and get ready for bed. We had one last long chat over tea before drifting off into a deep and restful sleep.

 

 

Finding Home in the Grey Areas

Today, I better learned how foreigners find home in England. It’s been hard living here. The weather is awful. The people aren’t friendly. Nor are they particularly helpful. They stick to themselves. The British food is bad ( Fish & Chips? Blood Pudding? Hagus? No thank you.) And the soymilk is hopless.

 

Thus, foreigners forge a new community containing streams from their past. Their communities provide care and comfort, love and happiness. Their communities are the most vital part for a quality life. Without a community, British life is just unbearable. Mind you, I’m not in London! 

 

For instance, yesterday I had to go to the hospital, my landlord, Junita, and guyfriend took utmost care to my every need. When I came home, Junita sat up with me till 2 am, and we drank tea and chatted about Madonna and her feng shui practice

 

 The point of this quick tale is that I was finally finding a reliable and caring network, but none were indigenous Brits. I’ve heard people say time and time again, the indigenous Brits are very reliable for fun at the pubs–and that’s that!

 

The next morning I woke up, and made an omelet for myself and Reza, and then went back to my room to read news online. Junita called me to see if I wanted to go for a walk with the dog (she knows the only reason I’m homesick is because I miss my dog) and I obviously said ‘Emphatic yes please’. I packed my stuff for the library and we went walking together in the rain. She if I would still be there at the barbeque and I assured her I would, pain or no pain. While we walked, I got lots of phone calls from people I had recently met to see if I was feeling well. Again, all non-indigenous Brits showing care and solidarity.

 

Later that evening, I went to Junita’s barbeque held for tenants to meet one another. There was an Indian from Hong Kong who speaks Cantonese and flawless English, a Greek girl doing a masters in drama and education, her Taiwanese boyfriend doing a masters in math, a Turkish IT technician, and her son, half Singaporean, half British. We ate Thai grilled chicken, Italian sausages, burgers with onions, modified Chinese friend rice, salad, rose wine, Indian sweets with Turkish coffee, and then hand picked raspberries from her garden.  The bizarre medley of food was fantastic, the conversation was great, and everything about the ambiance was comfortably cheery.

 

The Greek girl had hated being in Britain. She desperately wanted to move back to Greece where the people were friendlier. That was until she met Junita this summer. Now, she’s reconsidering doing a second master’s as opposed to jetting back to Greece… much to the satisfaction of her boyfriend who does not want to live in Greece.

 

Apparently, she would once lament ‘The British people just have nothing meaningful to offer me. What’s a job if you’re not happy? What’s money if you have no where to use it? What do I want with all these pubs?’ But, I swear, after meeting Junita, and getting to know some of her tenants, she’s changed her mind. The community Junita helps her tenants build is so essential for their wellbeing and this showed me how essential a community is for immigrants well being. It all makes sense now why religious centers are the center of a community—religious centers bring together disparate communities and individuals.

 

Kavit, the Indian boy from Hong Kong, is in med school at Warwick. He confessed to me that he’s doing some soul-searching to figure out who exactly he is, but interestingly, he’s looking to the Indian region he’s from, not to the English culture he’s ultimately going to be a part of.

 

And this is a main way foreigners in England become part of England: by becoming part of a hybrid community that offers the basic structures of being British- the language, the laws, the etiquette- with the warmth and care that comes naturally from being a part of a non-western foreign country. The interior stays foreign while the exterior appears to be British. 

 

Who are you in Britain? As Junita would say, ‘We become everything but English.’ While it’s not quite appropriate for me to say why, after living in a white working class neighborhood, and being able to compare it to a South Asian working class neighborhood, I can honestly say that I understand her, and I don’t think that’s good.

 

But thank God I’ve finally found a niche, one with Junita’s tenants and one with some people from the pub outing.

 

I was real lonely and felt more ‘foreign’ than ‘South Asian’. A Punjabi with an American accent is too much for people. ‘God, this is so weird seeing an Asian without a British accent’ they would say. The fact that I adore country music makes them slam their hands over their ears. ‘No more! Please! Asians aren’t like that. They listen to techno’. And I immediately stop being Asian in their eyes and turn foreign.

 

And as a foreigner, I find myself fitting snuggly into the grey areas. The areas that are ill defined and redefined daily. The areas that are neither South Asian nor British, but ‘foreign’ so as to enscapsulate everything else. These are the areas where other cultures which avoided systematic British discrimination fall into. It seems coming off as American means I no longer am in the Asian pool. I avoided the categorization and defined boundaries created by past discrimination. And perhaps, current too.  

The Caste System at the Pub

Reality: July 6^th, 2008

 

In the car with my Delhite interviewee, we picked up one of his friends on the way who’s a married Sikh Punjabi. He told me he’s a coconut-brown on the outside, white on the inside- and never learned the language. I found it  interesting how once we reached the pub, we were literally surrounded by Punjabi’s everywhere. He starts joking around with his friends and saying phrases in flawless taiht Punjabi—a village dialect of the Punjabi language- but earlier claimed that he does not speak the language!

An interview I had with a specialist on Punjabi culture in Punjab and the UK told me that with social science research, you must observe a person in a variety of situations because particularly with Indians, their personality changes from place to place. The way they act with elders is entirely different from the way they act with people their age, which again is entirely different with how they act with people from different religions and castes. I was about to see this behavior full fledged at the pub.

The majority of the group I was with was Punjabi with the exception of one first generation Zimbabwean girl, a Scottish girl, and an English girl. They all knew a lot about Punjabi culture, and had just gone to a Punjabi club the night before. The Zimbabwean girl started imitated Punjabi dance moves, included a very popular one called ‘The Lightbulb’, which literally looks like someone is twisting a lightbulb.  

The Scottish girl told me how she was in Scotland the week before and was thrilled to come back to England where there’s curry and naan. Driving to the pub, I saw signs advertising curry and beer. A government councilor told me that racists in the British National Party will lobby for a repatriation of South Asians and then go out to eat a curry afterwards. Apparently, all the white working class people on my street eat curry and other types of Indian food for dinner.  I don’t even eat that much Indian food!!

Being at the pub was fascinating because everyone was so different from the Indians I was accustomed to in Cleveland, OH. This was my first experience with second generation Punjabis in an informal setting. I talked with a lot of people and really enjoyed myself. Two conversations worth noting were with the CEO of a well established letting service (Letting= ‘renting’ in England). and a young fashion designer. 

It turns out nearly everyone at the pub was indirectly connected to his letting company which was founded with only 50 quid ( or so the story goes). Today, he’s a millionaire with minimal education and factory workers for parents. Of interest to me is the gang fights he talked of while in college that were all orchestrated along religio/cultural lines—Sikh gangs, Muslim gangs, West Indian gangs. He has large scar marks running through his shaven head from being clubbed with a crowbar by a Muslim gang and indents along his jaw bone from being punched with a chrome ring by again, a Muslim gang. His life story finally allowed me to see the clashes resulting from the deeply embedded religious problems South Asians in the UK have developed and now face. South Asian identity starting in the 80’s began to splinter off along religious lines and now it’s deeply cemented and dictatorial.

Another form of identity and grounds to discriminate was made apparent to me by the young fashion designer. I had read about but this form of discrimination but not yet witnessed it. While we were sitting around a table outdoors and chatting, the young fashion designer came to know I was Indian. She turned to me and asked, “What’s your caste?”

I was floored. What’s my caste? I had never been asked that before. It took me a few moments to reply and when I told her, it turned out we’re from the same caste. She immediately opened up entirely to me and we ended up becoming very good friends. It amazed me that someone so liberal could judge me based on my caste.

A few moments later, this caste nonsense happened again from a Sikh Punjabi. Sikh’s have a different caste system, even though technically it’s outlawed in the religion. The Indian culture has permeated not only Sikh Punjabis but also Pakistani Muslims which is the only Muslim country to have a caste system.

Here’s a sampling of the caste system intricacies, using myself as the example. My mom comes from a Hindu kshatriya family, which is the warrior caste, and my dad comes from a Sikh jatt family, which is a farmer caste. Supposedly, both are top castes, but both have never played even a slight role in my life… until I came to the UK. The idea of caste meant little in terms of my identity or social sphere. I came to know I was a kshatriya after reading  book and asking my mom what the word meant. I came to know I was a jatt simply because I’m not from the city. I can still recall my grandpa saying, “Village Sikh’s are loyal and true, City ones are sly and conniving.”  Knowing that I’m from a small village in Punjab, that I’ve visited many a time, I made a simple deduction that I’m a jatt. To be clear, this is not a proper understanding of the Punjabi caste system. As I would learn in England, it’s a lot more complicated than ‘jatt’ or ‘city’. To see caste distinctions so active amongst the youth in the UK conflicts me- is it abominable or is it natural?

During an expert interview I was warned that the caste system is very prominent amongst the South Asian diasporas in the UK but I never imagined it would be such a guiding force for young, second generationer’s.

The next day, I became more aware of the caste differences manifested in BritAsian institutions. A Ramgharia guruduwara for the lower caste Sikhs. The religious divisions on the immigrant filled Foleshill Road. The refusal by two of my interviewees to let their children marry out of their kshatriya caste. The ‘oohs’ and ‘aah’s I get when I say my boyfriend is a Kashmiri pundit. He’s not that great, I swear.

 

It makes me sad to see people bring such archaic ideas abroad. In Hinduism, there is the concept of dharma, which means life’s purpose. This idea was solidified in what’s called Hanuman’s Laws which essentially outlines different dharma’s and the way they should be followed. According to this interpretation, the universe is only in balance when people abide by their dharma. Thus, a carpenter will always be a carpenter, a shoe maker will always be a shoe maker, and a wealthy landlord will always be a wealthy landlord. According to my one intervieww, South Africa’s apartheid was influenced by India’s caste system as was Hitler’s concept of Aryan supremacy (Aryan’s are the supposed invaders, subjugators and civilization creators of India but this historical trajectory is starting to become recognized as a British colonial manipulation of fact. )

I guess it’s a catchy model to strive towards because of the immense advantages for those in power. I’m reading a book called A Fine Balance  by Rohinton Mistry and parts of the storyline show the treatment of the lower caste in India. Again, I was never aware of any of this before I came to England and it deeply affected me to see an India like that.  Examples of the caste system’s disgusting remnants in the 20th century: If a lower caste Dalit looks up at an upper class Brahmin, his eyes are gauged. If a lower caste Chamar overhears prayers coming form a temple, molten lead is poured in her ears. If lower caste Shudras touches the food of a Thakur, their hands are cut. It’s so appalling and violent, but the worst part is that it continues today in the villages.

As mentioned, the centuries of ordaining a strict social structure is even manifested in Pakistan, which is the only Muslim country in the world with a caste system. So I really should not be surprised that the caste system’s effects have seaped into the UK. I guess the real question is, why didn’t I notice it in America? Is it because I am surrounded by people of my caste naturally? When I thought about it, my parents social sphere consists entirely of educated, well-off jatt  Sikh Punjabi’s or kshatriya Hindu-Punjabi’s. Their friends from other regions (and perhaps castes) could easily be confuddled with acquaintances. So perhaps I never noticed the caste system abroad because my Indian community is pulled only from my caste?

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Barriers

Reality: July 6^th, 2008

 

I went for a walk with my Iranian housemate to a pond that’s on my way home from Warwick. My housemate bought pita bread to feed the ducks but when we reached the pond, I was dismayed to see no ducks anywhere.

 

“Just wait one second, ok? Watch, I’ll drop this piece in the water and… “ One duck paddles towards us out of nowhere. My housemate throws a few more pieces. I’m standing a little further back so part of the pond is concealed by tall reeds. He motions me forward and as I peak over the reeds, I literally see sixty different ducks, geese, and Canadian geese rapidly paddling towards us. At first it’s cute, and I’m thoroughly excited about feeding the baby ducks, but soon the entire shoreline is covered in birds hissing, biting and flapping each other. A few more pieces of pita in the water and they drop all inhibitions and start jumping out of the water.

 

 I have a few truly bizarre fears, which oddly, are all water-related. Bull sharks, lone barracudas, Canadian geese… and a few more. The hissing geese are getting far too close for comfort and it’s making terribly anxious so I tug on my housemate’s sleeve to get moving. We turnaround to continue our walk but there is a line of Canadian geese marching straight towards us on the towpath. My housemate does not quite understand my fear of Canadian geese and won’t let me walk off of the side path in case I muddy my shoes. I was so worried about walking through the oncoming geese herd that I forgot to drop the bread in my hand and the geese’s necks swatted me as their gaping mouths lunged towards my hand. Probably the worst 30 seconds of my Coventry experience.

 

The conversation between my housemate and I somewhat rectified the bird attack. He was talking about his experience after coming here. In Iran, he was a professor, who had published two books, and started a new college with some colleagues. The change in government forced him to shut down the college and also made it unsafe for him to be in Iran. He left for England, but unfortunately, upon arrival, his specialty in nuclear physics and electrical engineering meant he was not allowed to continue working in any related professions.

 

He had to get a new masters, and he chose something computer related. He now works in the Warwick IT department answering students and staff questions about their computer problems and making survival wages. “This country just does not want to use my talent,” he said.

 

I would hear this line many more times throughout the course of the day.

 

I arrived home, made lunch, and began typing up my interview with Professor de Genova as I waited for my next interview. One hour later, my interviewee arrives and I’m surprised to see a first generation Delhite wearing what seemed to be a blues band outfit.

 

As we talked, it became clear to me that this would be a successful immigrant interview in Coventry. While I had had many expert interviews, the immigrant interviews totaled three at this point and to me, they were pretty empty of content. This man talked so much, and was able to inform me of a South Asian world I was completely unaware of (to my betterment I suppose).

 

He too made a similar complaint about talent unused. “Why should I pay 30,000 quid in taxes? What did this government ever do to help me? It just put up barriers and bureaucracy to make sure that I have as difficult as time to be successful”.

 

 My interviewee is a first generation immigrant, but acts like a third generation immigrant. He wants to break all the rules, get what he believes he automatically deserves, but not do the time necessary to achieve that. He wants to be a famous automotive designer, bigger than Ferrari, and win a Grammy for playing the blues ( he’s in a band, and was once a heavy metal guitarist in Goa). He’s thirty years old, has no savings, no wife, no real worries except what will he spend his money on the next week, is full of utterly fanciful goals- more so since he dropped out of college- and truly no solid agenda for achieving his dreams.

  

Despite this, he had a keen eye for the nuances of British culture, South Asian integration and Indian power. I was really pleased with the interview. Or maybe, I was pleased with someone finally opening up. Coventry may just end up rivaling my Paris and Gravesend interviews.

 

As we talked, I mentally began to compare him to my neighbor, a tenant of Junita and now good friend, who’s also straight from Delhi and doing his college education in England. His parents are UN diplomats in Burma and he gets to travel around the world. He loves to body build and drive fast cars. When I asked him about his social sphere, he had hardly any Indian friends. He said, ‘Everyone here is so old-school. I have nothing to talk about with them. I would rather be friends with a Spaniard than an Indian here’. Which is like what my current interviewee was saying. “Indians here don’t understand India there. They recreate an India that doesn’t exist and then are shocked when they bring back a wife from India who ends up being more of a hellion then they are.’ But other more relevant things to my research are that they can’t integrate with others because they are obsessing with creating a world they vaguely remember or as Salman Rushdie adequately said, pine over an ‘imaginary homeland’. This outdated concept of preserving an India abroad, that is more Indian that India, is also a barrier.

 

To drive the point further, both the Delhites are Punjabi’s and neither speaks the language.

 

But returning to the moment, at my interviewee’s request, I listened to some of the music he recorded with his past bands which were not bad at all. He even had an original rock demo sung in Hindi. At his prodding, I agreed to go out friends to a pub later that night with a few of his friends. ‘It couldn’t hurt’, I thought, ‘I haven’t been out for a while’.

 

Little did I know this outing would establish an endless series of immigrant interviews and drama for the rest of my trip. 

 

Before he left, I listened to some of the music he recorded and at his prodding, agreed to go out friends to a pub later that night with a few of his friends. ‘It couldn’t hurt’, I thought, ‘I haven’t been out for a while’.

 

Little did I know this outing would establish an endless series of immigrant interviews and drama for the rest of my trip. 

 

Grappling with Discrimination

Reality: July 5^th

 

 

I interviewed an American professor today named Nicholas de Genova. I consider this interview integral in helping me focus my research. Though his work is entirely centered on the States, I found our discussion to be very applicable to my own research. Understanding immigration through history and the new securitization obsession places a whole new spin on the way discrimination is exercised in the West—and the way I will structure my thesis.

 

Our talk made me think about my own experiences being South Asian in America. I never felt or noticed discrimination due to the color of my skin. Certainly when I was little, people made fun of my name, but within 2 weeks it would grow old and I always had plenty of friends to play with. The “you have a weird name” and nose crinkle started again briefly in highschool when I had to use my given name “Lakhpreet” as opposed to “Preeti” for all my college applications.

 Yet still, I never felt as though I had walls surrounding me that needed to be broken down because I’m brown. In fact, I’ve had so many doors open for me that I ended up having to close some for the sake of sanity. So in short, the color of my skin never posed a barrier to my desires.

 

The truth is that I experienced severe discrimination by Indians. For being a girl, for being talkative, for playing sports, for not speaking my language well, for preferring sushi to chicken curry, for going out with boys, for not liking science, for wearing shorts, for applying make up, for cutting my hair (it’s against my religion)… the list is endless. And the sad reality is that ever since I was a little, I just could never be myself and remain an accepted member amongst Indians so I would have to carry a split personality around at all times, ready for disposable at the shortest notice.  Well, I shouldn’t say Indians but rather Punjabi’s because I never knew another type of Indian till I was 12 and had a fight with a friend over how to count to 10. When I went to highschool, I quickly came to understand India is like a continent in itself with over 100 languages, cultures, and philosophies. From then on, my curiosity about my Indian culture has been insatiable.

 

I only began to percieve discrimination from the dominant American society later in life. It resonated from not being known and not being able to know myself.  Nobody knew anything about Indians, the role they played in America, about Sikhism and the force it has had on world religion or social revolution in India. But nor were there venues to allow for my own self exploration. The way prejudice exercised itself upon me was from the mainstream choice to ignore my history, to overlook Indian achievements, or Sikh suffering and relegate all of us to a third world.

 

I’ve always felt ignorance is another form of prejudice, another form of affirming you’re not worth as much as others. The interview with Prof de Genova only made it more clear to me that the way I think is not a perverted and bitter view, but a common American reality.  Discrimination through ignorance.

 

Time would tell this is a British reality too… but an absolutely absurd choice on their part. The deeply interwoven histories between the two regions, the highly visibly presence of South Asians everywhere, and the violent contentious politics of South Asians (at times, terrorism) means that Brits are basically shooting their progeny in the foot. As one of my interviewees said, “We were once ruled by the Brits, now we rule the Brits”. The lack of understanding from both ends is permitting a persistence of parallel lives and the world ( especially the UK) is too small for that.