Strangers in a Star-Spangled Land
From their first tepid steps of freshman orientation to their final strides across the stage, international students abide by a starkly different set of rules than their national peers — enough to question whether they were invited to stay, or merely to study.
By Jack Carriere
It takes very little time before the passion in Tuânminh Goes-Đỗ’s voice begins to outmatch the yaps and howls from the Tompkins Square Dog-park just a few feet away. “I realized my mission,” says Goes-Đỗ — a glow from the looming streetlamps aptly shading his face for dramatic effect — “was to create art and stories that anyone can watch and have fun with, and it’s not bound by geographical location.”
Goes-Đỗ, a twenty-three year-old Polish-Vietnamese graduate of New York University’s undergraduate Drama program, is referring to Bai-Ka, a production company he co-founded with his wife, Emily Goes-Đỗ. Since its inception earlier this year, Bai-Ka has produced three narrative ‘umbrellas,’ so to speak: multimedia endeavours encompassing video, dance, spoken-word, theatre, writing, and roundtable discussion. Although the inception stemmed from a simpler motivation: to make something that, for the first time in his four years of education at NYU, Goes-Đỗ’s family could watch from overseas.
“I thought,” says Goes-Đỗ, “the first thing I want to do is something for my family, and to make sure I honour them, because those are the people that got me here.”
By forming Bai-Ka, Goes-Đỗ realized he had found a way not only to give back to his family, but to give back to another kind of tribe: fellow international students navigating the complicated waters of post-grad employment. “The first project we worked on,” Goes-Đỗ remembers, “I was working with other international students, and they were able to submit that project as part of their O.P.T.. I hired them, I paid them as much as I could, and they were able to Goes-Đỗ something instead of working in a job that is just ‘Drama-related.’”
Especially in 2020, when postgraduate employment slumped and, in the back-end of the year when foreign-born unemployment rates reached 15.3%, recent international graduates found themselves uniquely alienated during one of the most crucial phases of their studies: their Optional Practical Training. Among everything else it brought forth, the pandemic reminded many international students and graduates of their unique, complicated fabric in the national tapestry — and the breadth of their opportunities.
First, some logistics: Optional Practical Training, or O.P.T., is a common phrase in the international student lexicon — one that conjures a litany of mixed feelings. “It’s a U.S. government program that allows international students to work for at least one year after graduation,” reports Karin Fischer, a reporter on international education for the Chronicle of Higher Education. Condensed, the concept seems straightforward, but there are a number of caveats that Fischer describes as “a cumbersome process.” On top of scrupulous paperwork and limited work hours, O.P.T. must be directly related to an F-1 student’s major area of study, according to the U.S. Citizens and Immigration Services Website. “Unfortunately,” says Goes-Đỗ, “what that does is it can force students into picking up things that they don’t want to do, but kind of do just to keep their status.”
O.P.T. is a necessary step towards extended U.S. residency, and for some international students, it’s the singular opportunity to explore job opportunities off-campus. Unfortunately, the sailing is still far from smooth. Hiring foreigners can be daunting for smaller employers who aren’t familiar with the concept of O.P.T. nor feel comfortable taking on the responsibilities of hiring foreign labour. “They’re worried,” explains Fischer, “‘can I legally hire an international student to work for me?’”
One of the major requirements for employment is a social security number — something international students don’t legally possess unless they provide a certification letter to the Social Security Administration. An international student can apply for a SSN once they’re authorized for O.P.T., but for students who want to work prior to their O.P.T., the only option is to seek on-campus employment.
“That’s not something I’m interested in,” says Irmak Hatirli, a senior at NYU. On-campus employment, refreshing as it may be for international students, is often severely limited to entry-level service positions that don’t necessarily satisfy a student’s career ambitions. In Hatirli’s point of view, the opportunities don’t satisfy her sense of growth. “I’d love to branch out and do other things,” she sighs, “and get paid for it.”
Hatirli moved to the U.S. from Ankara, Turkey in 2017 to study acting. “I grew up watching lots of American movies,” she explains. “Disney, Pixar, any of those huge companies based in America. I thought, ‘well, this is where it’s happening. This is where I need to be.’”
When Hatirli looks ahead, however, the view isn’t all stars and stripes. After studying abroad in Berlin pre-COVID, the 22-year-old isn’t sure about a future in the U.S. “People did art for art’s sake,” she relishes. “If it got big, it got big, and if it didn’t, it would be a show on the street and that would be ok.”
Hatirli’s view of the U.S. film industry became stark in comparison. “This industry, I think, is very commercial. I feel it’s only for profit.”
Ironically, global perspective is a major draw for U.S. citizens to consider studying abroad — for international students, unique perspectives are already baked-in when they choose to study abroad. Before moving to New York City for graduate school, Thea Leavitt, a 22-year-old Canadian from Vancouver, already had a plan in motion. “I do, eventually, want to settle back in Canada long-term,” Leavitt explains. Her reasoning: “I don’t want to have to deal with the mess that is the U.S. Public Health system.”
Leavitt, who studies Public Health at Columbia, is frank about her views. “It just infuriates me,” she chuckles. Citing ever-contentious COVID mandates, Leavitt explains, “In the U.S., everyone has their own independent mindset, which makes it hard to do anything for the collective good. Whereas public health is all about the collective good — it’s about creating policies to help the greatest amount of people, and if you’re in a society that doesn’t value that, it’s really hard to do anything.”
“In Canada, we believe that everyone should be given healthcare even if they can’t afford it, everyone should have access to equitable treatment — all of that is just not standard here. I feel like I can make more of an impact there than here.”
In some respects, disenchantment can be a powerful thing; it can motivate people to seek fulfillment in new ways, no matter where it takes them. “Making the choice of, ‘I’m going to move to another country to study” is already a signal of, ‘I want to create something differently, think differently, look for another way,’” explains Goes-Đỗ.
Likewise, Fischer attests that “International students are increasingly savvy…they’re asking smarter, more sophisticated questions about both their choices coming in, but also about what coming to America is going to do for them on the way out.”
Foreign nationals still flood to the U.S. for education, and justifiably so. “There’s a pipeline into some of the best, most prestigious companies in the world,” Fischer explains. But pipelines are exactly as the word implies: closed, narrow, and singular. If there’s one thing international students know to consider first and foremost, it’s their options.
