The first time I became aware of the U.S. was when I followed the progress of the Apollo 11 spaceflight mission as a preteen growing up in Mumbai. Being interested in science, I felt awe and wonder about the technological prowess needed to accomplish this feat. What made an even more profound impression was the astronauts’ gift, to each country they visited on their world tour, of a portion of the rocks they brought back from the moon. While the former underscored American ingenuity, the latter highlighted American generosity. The seeds of admiration planted by these events bloomed in my mind over the ensuing years. The U.S. seemed to be foremost in almost every field—science and technology, of course, but also movies, Olympic sports, books, and more. The list seemed endless.
This exposure created in me a desire to move to the U.S., at least temporarily. I wanted to sample, learn from, and maybe even participate in the American way of life. The Statue of Liberty beckons the “tired and poor” of the world, but I didn’t really fit that description. Even so, what drew the ambitious and idealistic twenty-something me to the U.S.—giving up family, community, and culture—was the possibility of becoming excellent by being proximate to excellence.
Reading statements about equal opportunity and non-discrimination on the brochures I requested from American universities was a novel experience. What a contrast from Indian job ads that often used male pronouns to describe the ideal candidate and stated, “People over thirty-five need not apply.” Rather than a move to a strange land, the idea of living in the U.S. promised an amazing paradigm shift; living among people who seemed familiar and understandable despite being strangers—people I expected would be open-minded and would value my strengths.
Fast forward a decade. At the end of first grade, I took my daughter on a long visit to India. For the first time, she was in a society where everyone looked like her. In contrast to our nuclear family, she was doted on by grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Confused about where we belonged, upon returning to the U.S. she asked me whether we were Indians or Americans. “We are Americans when we are here and Indians when we are in India,” was the answer I gave her. It is only in hindsight that I realize that, in my desire to make sure she did not see herself as less than her peers—as a temporary or unrooted outsider—I made a tremendous promise to her. I made a promise on my behalf as her mother, and also on America’s behalf. Wherever we lived, we aimed to belong and get along. We would not hold ourselves apart as better than or less than the people among whom we lived. Reciprocally, I had faith that America would continue to welcome us and make room for us to contribute, as well as thrive.
I am happy to state that my confidence and faith have been well-placed. Over the ensuing years, my neighbors, coworkers, and friends knit our family into their networks of care and belonging. Teachers became my partners in making sure my children achieved their potential. My daughter’s friend’s mother put her arm around me during the fraught days after 9/11 and assured me, “We are all in this together.” My son’s friend’s family set a place for him at their Thanksgiving table at a moment’s notice. We had a standing invitation for Christmas dinner with another family friend.
And so, with the support of my fellow Americans, I became an American.
I do not wish to imply that the transition was all smooth sailing. Raising children and creating a community without any family support took effort and patience. I was also immersed in a culture that had starkly different values from those I grew up with. Everyday issues like diet, attire, religion, and language had to be figured out. Especially difficult was finding the balance between American ideas relating to individual freedom, regard for elders, sacrifice, delayed gratification, and consumerism, and those I had inherited. However, recognizing that these dilemmas and burdens were side effects of my decision to live in the U.S., I set about finding an authentic path for myself and for my children thoughtfully and without regret.
The bigger challenge was my career. Starting in around 2000, I found it difficult to grow in my software career. I will never forget being in downtown Hartford one evening and seeing scores of foreign workers walking home from their jobs in the insurance industry. This was happening while one hundred percent of my job applications to those same employers seemed to be landing in a black hole. On one occasion, a foreign recruiter brazenly told me that he could not hire me for a contract job as he was looking for a “young guy.” I couldn’t help but notice the irony—the equal employment opportunity statements that I had admired from afar were insufficient when it came to protecting me as a U.S. citizen.
As time went on, the pay rate became lower and most jobs became contract ones, lacking even the most basic benefits such as paid time off and health insurance. A graduate degree in mathematics from the elite Indian Institute of Technology, relevant work experience, personal initiative, and excellent communication skills were insufficient to make me a desirable candidate. I ended up retiring earlier than I wanted to.
My experience had nothing to do with intolerance or racism, however. Indeed, my experience is not unique at all. If anything, it is what unites me with a broad swath of Americans who have also been left behind by the economic structure of American society.
I came of age in an India that had been independent for just two decades. The country was eager for progress. A core belief was that mastery of science and technology—and the associated discipline of rational thought—was what differentiated wealthy countries from developing ones. My unconscious takeaway was that those ways of thinking were the key to unlocking my personal potential and eliminating strife, scarcity, disease, superstition, grinding poverty, and similar ills that plagued the overall population. Science remains just as central today. Our high standard of living is no coincidence. Rather, it is predicated on our valuing of rationality and innovation.
That is why I am alarmed when I see policies that undermine merit in STEM fields gaining traction. We need to recognize excellence, whether achieved through natural talent or through perseverance—not only as a reward for what a person is or has mastered, but as an investment in what the person can yet become, invent, or create. As Thomas Edison said, “Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.”
I do not understand why we would want to sidetrack those who have proven that they have what it takes. We treat policies that recognize, foster, and reward merit as immoral or oppressive at our own peril.
The promise that I made to my daughter is just as relevant three decades later. It is no longer merely a private conversation with a child; it is my promise to myself and to my country.
I am a grandmother now and wonder about the kind of country my grandchildren will inherit. Have I done my part to bequeath to them a country that is at least as confident and prosperous as the one I first encountered? I worry.
In school I learned about the “divide and rule” policy that the British employed in order to retain power in India. I see a parallel to that here. So long as we fight amongst ourselves on the basis of immutable history and physical characteristics, we cannot come together to fight for issues that affect us all—quality education, affordable healthcare, and jobs that pay a living wage and reward ability.
Starting in the late 1990s, American corporations rushed to ship American work overseas or send workers here. They blamed Americans for being lazy and ill-qualified. After two decades, when the harm done by these policies to the middle class became undeniable and Americans became restive, the corporations started supporting rhetoric that divides us into tribes and magnifies the acrimony. I am unable to convince myself that “divide and rule” is not at play here.
Think of all the emotional and cognitive energies that are currently being spent on deciding how the seemingly fixed or shrinking pie of education and job opportunities should be allotted based primarily on skin color and other immutable traits. Now imagine those very energies being deployed for skills development and to craft solutions that prioritize the flourishing of all Americans.
As I pondered these issues, my mind flew to the pledge that I read countless times on the first page of my Indian grade school textbooks. Substituting “America” for “India” yields:
The U.S. is my country and all Americans are my brothers and sisters.
I love my country and I am proud of its rich and varied heritage.
I shall always strive to be worthy of it.
I shall give respect to my parents, teachers and elders and treat everyone with courtesy.
To my country and to my people, I pledge my devotion. In their well-being and prosperity alone lies my happiness.
The pledge articulates an ideal that is grounded in shared history and heritage, the nation as family and community, and respect for all. In this winter of mistrust, division, and pessimism in the U.S., all made worse by pandemic lockdowns, maybe what we Americans need is a new mission statement.
The Indian pledge has served India well—a country with a population three times that of the U.S. (in one-third the land mass), with over two dozen official languages, followers of literally every world religion, vast diversity, and enormous class divisions. What might a pledge with a similar message do for us?
The opinions expressed here do not necessarily reflect those of the Foundation Against Intolerance & Racism or its employees.
In keeping with our mission to promote a common culture of fairness, understanding, and humanity, we are committed to including a diversity of voices and encouraging compassionate and good-faith discourse.
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Author Bio
Originally from India, Nandini Patwardhan has lived in the US since the early 1980s. She possesses graduate degrees in mathematics and statistics and is a retired software engineer. She is a winner of the 2020 and 2021 San Francisco Press Club Award.
Her award-winning biography, Radical Spirits: India's First Woman Doctor and Her American Champions is more than the story of an Indian woman trailblazer. It sheds light on an overlooked aspect of post-Civil War American society when progressive Americans welcomed a non-white non-Christian stranger into their hearts and homes and made it their mission to help her succeed.
Earlier this year, Nandini published an in-depth critical review of Caste by Isabel Wilkerson (here and here). She showed that the data used in the book and the inferences drawn were flawed, misleading, and divisive.
Nandini’s writing has also been published in the New York Times, on edsource.org, in India Currents, and various other publications. She lives in Oakland, CA. Twitter, website.
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I’m so appreciative of people like you and for public expression of your views in favor of our country.
Amazing thank you.