Walking the tightrope.
This is a very selfish and self-indulgent exploration, for me to reflect and dissect how we have been programmed to live a life where we aspire to be the model minority. A life that does not cause discomfort or challenge white superiors. A life where we still aspire to be as ‘white’ as we can be, with the belief that as our melanin and culture disappear, our privileges increase. Watering ourselves down to be more palatable to the Western world. The British may have left, but the deeply ingrained colonial framework they built still quietly governs the world we move through today.
Younger me used to walk with a pep in her step when someone praised her, saying she wasn’t like the other brown kids. Praised her? But at whose expense did that praise come? The stereotypical ‘unattractive’ Indians that she seemingly didn’t look like. Or the kids who simply did not fit the narrow Western mould of beauty? The kids I tried so hard to distance myself from. Hoping, praying, that the more I surrounded myself with angelicin friends, the more I could blend in. But proximity to whiteness does not make us white, it won’t rub off on us, only the tan will.
But the desire to assimilate has flowed down generations, making us stay out of the sun, dying our hair, hiding our lunch, and shortening our names. To erase any trait that makes us stand out. The micro-aggressions so many of us simply shrug off condition us to associate our Indian heritage as shameful and ugly, something that marks us as ‘other’. That feeling is packaged up and internalized, only to be projected out onto those that look like us.
To be brown, but not too brown, the tightrope many of us walk daily. How brown is too brown? Where and who is the jury that draws the line, what are the guidelines, what is regarded as too dark, too loud, too spicy?
Aesthetic henna, Scandinavian scarves (aka dupattas), kohl eyeliner, and anklets are all ok. But arranged marriages, funny accents, and dissent and discourse unveiling the comfortable lies we constantly tell is not. Even then, conversations around brownness often reduce culture to its most palatable aesthetics — mistaking curated visuals for lived experience, and erasing the complexity, discomfort, and dissent that real culture holds.
It’s too easy to lay the blame on the invaders. If we want the Western world to open to uncomfortable discourse, it is time we addressed our own hypocrisies. Our society is the first to marginalize and discriminate based on colour, size, caste, and economic status. To talk negatively and disfavour individuals based on these characteristics, only to hide it all behind a polite smile is to uphold the societal structures keeping us in our place.
The prejudice and discrimination against those of us with darker skin tones from within our community is so deeply embedded in our culture, that no one bats an eye anymore. Why would I want to enjoy the sun when I’d rather climb the ancient Hindu caste system and European colonial ranks that value a person based on the lightness of their skin? Colourism is so deeply embedded, that friends of mine, born and raised overseas were not allowed to play outside. Simply, for the fear they would get ‘too dark’. Too far from the palatable lighter skin tone that is needed to blend in.
So how are we to claim ‘brownness’ as a community, when only a few shades of brown are deemed acceptable? When we fail to have conversations regarding our own hypocrisies and casteism, the movement is simply disingenuous. The real issues that so many of us encounter are hidden behind performative activism and moments of tokenism.
How are we to fight for our rights and decolonize by embracing our brownness proudly, when our silence screams volumes in relation to racism against other ethnicities? The brown community, those overseas especially, are known for not speaking out on systemic racism, against black people and even other Asian groups. Essentially, we’re asking white people to validate us and grant us the right to be seen as equals. Rendering all our efforts self-defeating, because as we attempt to carve out space in society for ourselves and our culture, we’re still speaking to — and seeking approval from — the white gaze. Begging for white guilt-induced validation. Reducing our diverse cultures to a homogenous south Asian group, reproducing orientalist perceptions.
And since we all love labelling ourselves nowadays, I think ‘imperfect non-racist’ is how I would classify myself. If I were to regard myself as not racist, I would be the biggest hypocrite. Because the taught internalized prejudices still run deep. It takes conscious effort to not automatically try to put distance between myself and newer brown immigrants. As if I, a settled immigrant, need to distinguish myself from someone who just landed yesterday. The divide between many new and older immigrants — and the resistance to forming any kind of coalition or solidarity — is even more damaging
We are marginalized enough, yet we continue to create even more hierarchical subgroups among ourselves. Perhaps to feel superior to someone and reinstate our damaged egos. When brownness is claimed as an identity, and done so with no consequences, it is only by those that are relatively privileged. The Desis living abroad look like, dress like, and talk like those in their predominantly white environments. It’s not those who resist assimilation by refusing to shorten their names for the Western world — but then, who am I to say? I shortened my own. It was too difficult for friends, teachers, coworkers, and strangers to pronounce, so I simply took one for the team and removed the ethnic from it. No sorry, it was too difficult for white friends, white teachers, white coworkers, and white strangers to pronounce.
When those around me, predominately white people, do not acknowledge racism or dismiss my perceptions of it, how am I to explain myself to them? How am I to justify our experience, when I myself have become so desensitized to it. The repeated experience of microaggressions coming from others and my own community silences me from speaking up. In the fear I’ll be perceived as too sensitive since it was just a joke, or angering and alienating my white friends. I’m already used to this, I know how to cope with this, so why would I want to make anyone else uncomfortable when I am capable of handling it? The experience of every brown child that diluted themselves to be whiter. But where does that leave me now? A coconut to those back home. An immigrant to those in this home. A ‘other’ balancing on a tightrope between two lives and cultures.
