An immigrant moment — No sense of belonging

Living in America — Excerpt of a life

Part of the struggle of living in America was the politics. The echo chambers the society made were over simplistic. For the well-to-do, immigrants were ok with a few conditions. If they worked hard, respected and adopted the American culture, they were ok. If they made something out of nothing. Good. If they complained about their circumstances in public. Frowned upon. If they were black or Hispanic. Questionable.

Of course there were caveats to the potential of any immigrant becoming an American but for Amla it seemed that for a country of immigrants, immigrant was a bad word. Being one was an important point of difference to people. No matter where she went or who she was with she was always asked,

“Where are you from?”

She had started to feel frustrated with her interactions with the outside world. People had a tendency here to qualify her in a shallow way that made it difficult to find meaningful connections. For a while she started asking the question back to the person. The only thing this taught her was that the people investigating her origin didn’t see themselves as immigrants. They always answered with their home state in America. This experience made her feel different and negative. Out of frustration she started asking the follow up question:

“Yes, but where are your people from, didn’t your family come from somewhere else to America at some point?”

This usually made them uncomfortable and puzzled. At first she didn’t mind but the tumultuous feelings she would have in these minor engagements weren’t worth the mental tax. She stopped her follow up questions and started to say she was from where she lived in America instead of where she was born. Occasionally she would get a follow up question and she’d either pick a previous state, say where she was born or depending on her mood ask her own immigrant question in return.

Living here was taking its toll on her mental health. The political landscape was like living in a minefield. Human interaction was difficult. People looked for differences rather than similarities as a normal function. The dependence on labels and stereotypes kept them far removed from basic humanity. Exhausted she turned inward. She felt anxiety in social settings so she started planning her social engagements in advance.

She wished for the ability to circumvent her feelings and engage naturally again. It was proving to be a tall order after 7 years, two completely opposite Presidents and varying levels of animosity and tension. She noticed that the problems were always painted in left or right terms. The solutions were always popular if they divided people.

Addressing issues seemed like a long shot. People didn’t care about issues. They didn’t care about character. They didn’t care about sensible solutions. Their minds seemed warped from the legacy of slavery. They were either ashamed or not sorry at all. Policies had become the new political weapons for politicians to gain popularity.

Politicians tore the country apart and nobody seemed to care to build bridges. Humanity here was background noise and dissociative. That was the culture. It was hard. If only the people she met had more introspective qualities she felt things might have been different. The wealth dynamic was sealed in money not thoughts. This made truly unlikeable people acceptable in the status quo.

Money talks here. It shapes mindsets and elevates how a person is perceived. You can be a rich idiot and it’s fine, especially if you’re a patriotic American. For such a verbose society the conversations had shallow but distinct parameters in the upper class. Nothing too heavy. Intense topics were uninvited. In social settings it was safest not to mention minority realities otherwise — Silence. Discomfort. Disapproval.

This jigsaw puzzle she lived in on the outside made her feel like one on the inside. Had she stayed in her country she would have had the support of wealthy families there. Her godfather was the CEO of Norman & Mytal. One of the largest wealth management firms back home. Her mother’s best friend was a world famous Sociologist and a Professor at the top 10 University in the world.

Her tapestry was full of well educated world shakers. She grew up with them. They were her aunties and uncles. It was the norm to be around “success.” Success at home had different meaning. It was reflective of how you connected. How you lived with your community. Of course it wasn’t free of similar problems but a small country could only survive small divisions.

They questioned everything politicians did. The public was a scrutinization machine. Discourse was inbred from a young age. The better the questions the more you were included in the discussions. It was an ageless activity. This is what she missed most.

The public scrutiny in the discourse of politics. The ability to see the public influence the government’s minute actions. The political engine was complex and subtly invasive here. It informed everything yet people were so perplexed by it they depended on their designated TV pundits to inform their opinion. Brainwashing was rampant. Original thinkers were relegated to small platforms with distinct followings.

People seemed incapable of conceptualizing what their once immigrant relatives went through when they first got here. The immigrant experience was core to America but to be an immigrant in America felt like being a black sheep of the family.

The loss of network and people in close proximity. The reduction of family to just a few people in a foreign world. The overwhelm of growing roots on un-naturalized soil. This place was designed so there were no bridges into each other’s worlds. It had the essence of a perfect storm for distant interpretations, animosity and ultimately hate.

Amla felt like she was drowning in shallow water.

She had to do something, she just didn’t know what?