Earlier this year, Azealia Banks stirred controversy by calling Zayn Malik a “curry scented bit*h” during a Twitter feud. The international South Asian community fired back hilariously and their sarcastic responses to Azealia’s comments sent Twitter into a flurry, most of them centered around how she had stereotyped South Asians. During my time in the U.S., however, I began to realize that young South Asians have actually seemed to help convince many more people that the entirety of region revolves around curries and that the biggest problem its inhabitants face is the use of racial slurs during Twitter spats.
When I first flew to Dartmouth College from Lahore, Pakistan in August last year, I didn’t quite know what to expect. There were a lot of things going through my mind: moving to another country, being away from my friends and family for most of the year, and of course, starting fresh at a new college. Until that point, I had never had to evaluate the way I was presenting my culture to the world; after all, there weren’t many people around me I had to explain my culture to. My thoughts were essentially limited to hoping that I wouldn’t be randomly selected during immigration and the inconvenience of always having to speak in English after I landed.
I quickly signed up to join the South Asian student group on campus at the activities fair. I wanted to meet other South Asians, not only so we could get together to watch Bollywood movies or have brunch at the single Indian restaurant in town but also to continue the conversations I had begun at home with other young people about the issues within our communities that moved or disturbed us. The student group, like other cultural groups on campus, held regular events in which I participated, but after the third mango lassi social I had begun to grow weary. It was only after some careful introspection that I realized that we were contributing to our own exoticization and were making it easy for others to simplify our culture.
Not much thought went into the planning of the events hosted; the assumption was that we had to keep it fun and somewhat “relatable” so that the rest of the student body would be encouraged to attend our events. This resulted in the regurgitation of the same themes time and time again – the focus would essentially be on North India, featuring Bollywood music, the few items popular on the menu at the nearest Indian restaurant and all of us wearing that one outfit we had packed for such events. No one was entirely blameless, whether it was the freshmen and upperclassmen who were part of the organization (me included) or the ones who willfully refused to be part of the association saying that it was “too American” for their taste.
Frustrated, I posted on Facebook groups consisting of South Asian students in colleges across the US, asking them whether they felt the same annoyance at the lack of engagement with the deeper issues found within our communities. Across the board, the responses were remarkably similar. Many felt that not only were other countries such as Bangladesh, Nepal and Bhutan (to name a few) left out of the narrative, but even topics requiring deeper reflection in well represented countries such as India and Pakistan, were usually not spoken about. People presented a range of opinions as to why this was the case. Some felt that they had little exposure to the more nuanced aspects of their culture growing up in the US and so were less equipped to ensure that South Asian culture(s) was not seen as a monolith. Others pointed out the fact that certain social and ethnic groups were more likely to be wealthier and thus attend college, leading to a slanted demographic present within the student body of colleges such as Dartmouth. During discussions with my peers I learned that many of them were hesitant to approach “controversial” topics such as the caste system, Kashmir, and sectarian violence for fear of tensions rising between different groups on campus, including the faculty and administration. I was soon starting to understand why some of the South Asians, especially the ones who still lived in the region, preferred to stay away from such student bodies; there was a multitude of obstacles surrounding an honest and productive discussion, as well as an authentic representation of our people.
I could no longer roll my eyes every time someone asked me if I spoke “Pakistani” or when the South Asian Student Association would screen a Shahrukh Khan blockbuster yet again. Granted, I had no duty to educate someone or act as a walking-talking encyclopedia on the numerous political, cultural and social problems of more than 1.7 billion people spread across an entire subcontinent. However, it felt ultimately lazy and dishonest to complain about the silence we ourselves had upheld, whether it was amongst ourselves or with the rest of the student body.
As I become president of the same student body I joined as a freshman these thoughts take on a greater urgency. I hope to see some sustainable change in this narrative. This is not a problem limited to my college, nor is it one that can be fixed by simply screening a documentary. If we are so quick to get riled up so we can tweet pictures of ourselves at weddings when Azaelia Banks calls us “curry scented b*tches” or engage in a fierce debate about biryani, why can’t we expend the same energy to pay attention to problems that affect us and the generations to come? This has become all the more relevant in light of the current discussions of identity that are taking place across college campuses, and the world in general. As the new academic year approaches, with new freshmen joining our communities, let’s be mindful of the ways in which we choose to add to this history. In the end, we have no one to blame but ourselves.
