Dismantling the idea of a ‘model’ immigrant
Whenever people talk about how rebellious they were as teenagers, I keep quiet. I could probably count on one hand the amount of times I got into trouble in my entire schooling life. I was a goody-two-shoes nerd, who followed the rules and inevitably became a prefect.
In part, I suspect that was due to my background.
Many immigrants feel pressure to keep their head down and try to succeed. Maybe it’s down to the baggage of history: not wanting to put your head above the parapet because everything you have could be quickly taken away by violence if you draw too much attention to yourself.
There are many jokes within Tamil communities about children inevitably becoming professionals – doctors, engineers and accountants (in that order). Lawyers are OK, I guess.
Much like the jokes in The Sopranos about Italian Americans celebrating the most tenuous links of successful people of Italian heritage, I’ve lost count of Tamils saying, ‘‘so-and-so famous person is a Tamil’’.
Like, did you know Guy Sebastian, winner of Australian Idol in 2003, is Tamil?
It does lead me to query the idea of what it means to be a model immigrant. Model, according to whom?
Part of that questioning has come from seeing politicians with South Asian descent in the UK and the US, specifically Rishi Sunak, Suella Braverman and Priti Patel in the UK, and Nikki Haley in the US.
And I’ll admit, I find them utterly distasteful.
Braverman and Patel as home secretaries, and Sunak as prime minister, have been ruthless in whipping up hysteria about ‘‘refugees’’ and ‘‘migrants’’ – yet, somewhat ironically, they are using the same language used against their parents as part of the South Asian diaspora from East Africa.
Haley (who changed her first name from Nimarata), has put herself forward as a Republican candidate for the presidency. She is similarly awful in appealing to the worst narratives about immigrants, reproductive rights and in respect of gay and trans rights.
To me it’s the cynicism that really grates – it’s using divisive language to gain power, simply by appealing to their society’s worst instincts, rather than their best.
A bland idea that representation matters, end of story, would demand South Asians should celebrate the success of other South Asians, no matter such political allegiances. But having a few people who look like you in power, in and of itself, is meaningless. Unless it’s helping people out, it’s just rearranging the deck chairs on the ship of inequality.
Of course, a model immigrant does not have to share the exact same political opinion as me, a random immigrant.
We’re obviously all different. We are as diverse in our thinking as everybody else.
I’d see the full spectrum of political thought in my family / family friend gatherings – learning how to traverse those large gatherings are also why I’ll never easily write off somebody because of their political views or take any notice of articles that give advice on ‘‘surviving Christmas with your family’’.
We have more points of commonality with each other than folks sometimes realise.
It does lead me to think closely about what I consider important, as an immigrant.
To me, understanding the history of a place is crucial. I think there’s a tendency for an immigrant to think the past history of a country doesn’t matter because they, themselves, didn’t live it.
This, in the New Zealand context, involves understanding the history of colonisation in New Zealand and its ongoing effects on Ma¯ ori.
Most immigrants carry a certain economic privilege in being able to afford to move here, and I’ve heard shocking racism from within South Asian communities as a result – almost forgetting our own historical experiences that led us here.
However, it also means we can’t go the other way, and co-opt Ma¯ ori (and other minority) narratives. I’ve always liked this idea of having proximate conversations, with a focus on creating space for such conversations and trying to find points of commonality.
It also means avoiding importing some of the baggage from our own countries, or at least confronting their insidiousness here.
Specific issues like caste discrimination, or ethnic or religious intolerance, cannot be left to fester out of sight because such communities are keeping their heads down.
I remember once having to explain the ridiculousness of caste to my completely bemused Pa¯ keha¯ colleagues after they witnessed someone at a function be utterly rude to his own colleague.
And it made no sense to them, even after such explanation.
Ultimately, most immigrants want to tread lightly and help their new homeland in positive ways. But one thing that might help is pushing back at the very idea of a model minority – it denies the ability for people to be messy and complex, or keep quiet about social issues.
We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to figure out ways in which we’re all part of a wider community.
Having a few people who look like you in power, in and of itself, is meaningless. Unless it’s helping people out, it’s just rearranging the deck chairs on the ship of inequality.