Joel Stien on Immigration , New Jersey's Indian influx

[paksarzameen]

I am very much in favor of immigration everywhere in the U.S. except Edison, N.J. The mostly white suburban town I left when I graduated from high school in 1989 — the town that was called Menlo Park when Thomas Alva Edison set up shop there and was later renamed in his honor — has become home to one of the biggest Indian communities in the U.S., as familiar to people in India as how to instruct stupid Americans to reboot their Internet routers.

My town is totally unfamiliar to me. The Pizza Hut where my busboy friends stole pies for our drunken parties is now an Indian sweets shop with a completely inappropriate roof. The A&P I shoplifted from is now an Indian grocery. The multiplex where we snuck into R-rated movies now shows only Bollywood films and serves samosas. The Italian restaurant that my friends stole cash from as waiters is now Moghul, one of the most famous Indian restaurants in the country. There is an entire generation of white children in Edison who have nowhere to learn crime.

I never knew how a bunch of people half a world away chose a random town in New Jersey to populate. Were they from some Indian state that got made fun of by all the other Indian states and didn't want to give up that feeling? Are the malls in India that bad? Did we accidentally keep numbering our parkway exits all the way to Mumbai?

I called James W. Hughes, policy-school dean at Rutgers University, who explained that Lyndon Johnson's 1965 immigration law raised immigration caps for non-European countries. LBJ apparently had some weird relationship with Asians in which he liked both inviting them over and going over to Asia to kill them.

After the law passed, when I was a kid, a few engineers and doctors from Gujarat moved to Edison because of its proximity to AT&T, good schools and reasonably priced, if slightly deteriorating, post–WW II housing. For a while, we assumed all Indians were geniuses. Then, in the 1980s, the doctors and engineers brought over their merchant cousins, and we were no longer so sure about the genius thing. In the 1990s, the not-as-brilliant merchants brought their even-less-bright cousins, and we started to understand why India is so damn poor.

Eventually, there were enough Indians in Edison to change the culture. At which point my townsfolk started calling the new Edisonians "dot heads." One kid I knew in high school drove down an Indian-dense street yelling for its residents to "go home to India." In retrospect, I question just how good our schools were if "dot heads" was the best racist insult we could come up with for a group of people whose gods have multiple arms and an elephant nose.
(See TIME's special report "The Making of America: Thomas Edison.")

Unlike some of my friends in the 1980s, I liked a lot of things about the way my town changed: far better restaurants, friends dorky enough to play Dungeons & Dragons with me, restaurant owners who didn't card us because all white people look old. But sometime after I left, the town became a maze of charmless Indian strip malls and housing developments. Whenever I go back, I feel what people in Arizona talk about: a sense of loss and anomie and disbelief that anyone can eat food that spicy.

To figure out why it bothered me so much, I talked to a friend of mine from high school, Jun Choi, who just finished a term as mayor of Edison. Choi said that part of what I don't like about the new Edison is the reduction of wealth, which probably would have been worse without the arrival of so many Indians, many of whom, fittingly for a town called Edison, are inventors and engineers. And no place is immune to change. In the 11 years I lived in Manhattan's Chelsea district, that area transformed from a place with gangs and hookers to a place with gays and transvestite hookers to a place with artists and no hookers to a place with rich families and, I'm guessing, mistresses who live a lot like hookers. As Choi pointed out, I was a participant in at least one of those changes. We left it at that.

Unlike previous waves of immigrants, who couldn't fly home or Skype with relatives, Edison's first Indian generation didn't quickly assimilate (and give their kids Western names). But if you look at the current Facebook photos of students at my old high school, J.P. Stevens, which would be very creepy of you, you'll see that, while the population seems at least half Indian, a lot of them look like the Italian Guidos I grew up with in the 1980s: gold chains, gelled hair, unbuttoned shirts. In fact, they are called Guindians. Their assimilation is so wonderfully American that if the Statue of Liberty could shed a tear, she would. Because of the amount of cologne they wear.


Joel Stein on Immigration, New Jersey's Indian Influx - TIME

 

[paksarzameen]

Editor's note: Rahul K. Parikh is a physician and writer who lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Follow him on Twitter.

(CNN) -- Dear Joel Stein,

Where do I begin? Normally, I write about health care, but your essay in Time, "My Own Private India," caught my attention for reasons that have nothing to do with medicine. Before I read it, I barely had any idea who you were. Your name was vaguely familiar, probably from having seen you on VH1 while channel-surfing in the wee hours.

I'm not the only one who noticed. Last I checked, your essay was one of the most read and e-mailed articles at Time.com. Good work. You earned your paycheck. But you did it with a xenophobic, even racist, rant against Indian Americans like me and a lot of other people I care about and deeply respect.

Have no illusions, sir. What you wrote was not funny, insightful, smart or unique. No. Every word, phrase, sentence and paragraph you produced did nothing more than distill the ancient, proud and diverse culture of India down to nothing more than clichés and stereotypes.

Calling us dot-heads and Guindians, speaking of spicy food and multilimbed gods with elephant noses -- clarification, Joel: Ganesh has the elephant nose; Siva has the multiple arms. You did it even when you were laying on the backhanded compliments. "We all assumed Indians were geniuses." Thanks for that.

By the way, I am not some bitter old man trying to lecture you. You and I are contemporaries. I'm just a year younger than you are.

In reading a little bit about you, we have some things in common. I was "dorky enough" to have played Dungeons & Dragons growing up. Given your esteemed education at Stanford, I suspect both of us excelled academically.

But it's clear that our consciences have been on divergent paths. I try to do just a little bit of good in the world by practicing medicine and writing. You took your pricey education and became ... a humorist ... a satirist ... a pundit? A descendant of Mark Twain, H.L Mencken or P.J. O' Rourke you are not. In the future, please leave satire and humor to trained professionals.

So ... because you weren't funny or incisive, what's your point? Are you trying to make Indians prove our worth to the fraternity that is America? Is your essay part of some kind of hazing? Put up with your callous insults, and we'll be able to live in the frat house?

What litmus test do we all have to pass to become bona fide? Does our God have to wear a big white beard and have only two arms? Do we have to turn in the dots on our foreheads for a baseball cap with "N.Y." stenciled on it? Trade in our samosas and chai for potato chips and Bud Light? Should we make our parents throw their Hindi language newsmagazine in the garbage and subscribe to Time?

If it's about fitting in with your standards of Americana, please, allow me to prove my culture's utility to you.

Some of us have become wildly successful. We run Fortune 500 companies, have been elected to political office and have won Pulitzer prizes. Many of us work 40-plus hours a week to pay our mortgage. Some have paid their dues serving this country in war. Still others struggle to pay the bills, keep their children fed or their marriages together; and yes, there are those of us who are criminals locked up in jail. In other words, we're just like everyone else.

It's obvious that you were waxing nostalgic about your hometown. If I follow your logic here, should nothing ever change in America?

Should moms stay at home while we men wear our suits and ties and head off to work, cigarette in hand? Should African-Americans still drink from a different water fountain from you? Should we revoke the right of women to vote?

If that's the case, I've got a Delorean with a flux capacitor I'd be happy to sell you to get "Back to the Future."

I also read the apology you pinned to the bottom of the online version of your essay.

"I truly feel stomach-sick that I hurt so many people. I was trying to explain how, as someone who believes that immigration has enriched American life and my hometown in particular, I was shocked that I could feel a tiny bit uncomfortable with my changing town when I went to visit it. If we could understand that reaction, we'd be better equipped to debate people on the other side of the immigration issue," you wrote.

"Tiny bit uncomfortable," indeed. You should have stopped with "I'm sorry" or just retracted the whole article. Stop trying to save face by trying to rationalize what you wrote or pin it to the immigration issue.

Finally, I do want to thank you for harshly reminding of one thing: Because the essay was published just before the Fourth of July -- and incidentally, just a few weeks before India's own independence day -- you and your publication reminded me with no uncertainty that racism, ignorance and fear of new people are as American as apple pie and Time magazine.

Like you said, the Statue of Liberty should shed a tear. And Mahatma Gandhi just did.

Column vilified, insulted Indian Americans - CNN.com