What Independence Means to Me, a Daughter of Immigrants
Right before the Fourth of July, I finished reading Honor by Thrity Umrigar. It’s an amazing novel about an Indian American journalist finding parallels in her experience with a woman in a village not far from Mumbai. I’m not going to give away spoilers, just that the stark contrast of women’s rights issues in the villages of India compared to rural parts of the United States, in my opinion, could never compare. And yet, that doesn’t make what’s happening to women’s rights in the United States any better.
Growing up, both of my parents felt the need to remind us how lucky we are to be in America. “Growing up, we didn’t have this nutritious food,” my mom would occasionally say in an effort to get us to eat our vegetables. “You think we’re strict? You should see some Indian families”, my dad would say whenever we complained. Sometimes, they would threaten to send us to military school in India! If they were exaggerated fabrications, it didn’t matter. My parents had sold us on the belief that we were lucky to be in America and not India. A long time ago, I asked my parents why they moved to America. They both gave the same answer—for better opportunities. The choices and options are available. The quality of life. The ability to make more money and send some back home to family. America came with a different sense of security, stability, and options they’d never dreamed of.
Despite this, they never spoke badly about India. They would probably be upset to hear that I read a book about the treatment of women in Indian villages, or at least they would try to distance themselves from it. “That’s North India. That doesn’t happen in Kerala”, my dad would say whenever we heard about a girl or woman raped in the international news. To them, India is so much more than its problems; however, when I learned about India outside my family and community, it wasn’t always painted in the most accurate or positive light. I was 12 when my Social Studies teacher made us read a TIME article about brides being burned in India for not having enough dowry. In high school biology class, we watched a documentary about arranged marriage in a rural Indian village, and the people were painted as poor, impoverished, and unhappy. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of high school that my AP World History teacher played a Bollywood movie that my White classmates enjoyed, but even then was not an accurate depiction of Kerala, where my parents are from. When people who were not Indian tried to speak about my parents’ culture and society, it was hard to not say, “Hmm, not quite”.
They’re usually the same people who are also quick to remind me of how lucky I am to be a woman living in America, especially when I mention the attacks on women’s rights here. Some people who knew I was ethnically Indian would try to “put me in my place” by deflecting to India when I brought up American rape culture, abortion access, and domestic violence. It’s difficult being a first-generation Indian American woman and speaking out against sexism in the United States. I find the spirit of the commentary I receive racist and sexist, but also that the content of the commentary is true—things are much better for me here in the United States than it is for women in India.
For one, American women are already raised with value placed on their individuality. We’re told that our ability to not be like other women makes us special and that moving away from typically girly things makes us inherently more valuable and likable. Women who come from communalistic cultures are not afforded the privilege of individuality, or the right to be themselves. Some of the things American women like to do, we don’t bat an eyelash towards; in other cultures, these same things would be outrageous. The ability to wear what you want, say what you feel, work where you want, go where you want, have whoever in your company, and have credit and money to your name are privileges I believe many American women take for granted.
So, how do I negotiate the America that I came to know and love through my parent's eyes, the land of opportunity, options, and choices, with the America I’m seeing today? The America that tells me that I have to give birth and become a mother, even if I don’t want to be? The America that may potentially criminalize me in the future in some states if I am seen with another woman or a person who is not a cisgender, straight man? The America that, despite my pulling myself up from my bootstraps, tells me that my job has no value because it’s emotional labor? The same America that manufactures trauma in the name of gun ownership and makes my devalued job more necessary than ever?
When Independence Day came this weekend, I wasn’t in the mood for celebrating. It seems like every day there’s another problem that our country isn’t willing to acknowledge, and we’re being stripped away of our healthcare rights at the same time. It feels odd to celebrate freedom when not everyone gets to experience freedom without margins. People in the Black community and other communities of color have felt this way a long time, and it looks like White women are starting to just now realize that there’s no independence worth celebrating. So how do I negotiate the marginalized independence and freedom I have in the United States with the little that women in India get?
Listen, I won’t lie. If I had to choose between India and US, the US wins each time. Why? I get to be myself here. The people I love in my family get to be themselves here. I’m almost 30 and unmarried living on my own in New York City. That hardly makes me unique in America, but it makes me a bad omen in India. If I was living in some parts of India the way I do in New York, I wouldn’t be safe! Sure, there are people that disagree with my lifestyle and choices, but they can’t force me to live life by their standards. They can’t drag me to the alter and make me marry someone against my will (yes, my non-South Asian friends, it happens). Even with abortion rights at risk, I live in a protected state where I’m untouched. I know that living in New York doesn’t guarantee complete protection. I recognize that there’s some amount of cishet privilege to saying all of this, too. And it’s not going to stop me from criticizing a country I love, just like I criticize and love India.
Expressing gratitude for my country of citizenship doesn’t mean that I ignore the problems. That’s toxic positivity. Gratitude for one’s country and recognition of its problems can coexist. I often teach my clients the Yes/And method when dealing with complexity and the hard “shoulds/oughts/musts” of life. YES, I am so lucky to be born and raised in America with a quality education and opportunities, AND that doesn’t make the sexism and racism here any more okay or tolerable either. Both things can be true.
For me, Freedom means having options. It means that I have the ability to be myself without restriction. Freedom means that my individuality is valued and that I deserve the right to have access to choices that are the most authentic to my identity. It means that my choices and my right to practice them won’t be reduced to numbers or a money game. It means I get to talk back because I have freedom of speech. It means I don’t have to conform to my culture’s way of life, because of the freedom of religion. It means I get to defend myself as a woman in crisis because I have the right to bear arms. It means I get to say no and walk away from someone who I know isn’t right, hell maybe even dangerous for me, regardless of what my family wants. Freedom means I get to break generational curses that affected the women who came before me, and that currently affect women in the world today. Freedom means I get to break the cycle and be my ancestor’s wildest dreams.