The Immigrant Dilemma / The immigrant dilemma

Author / Writer: Srishagon Abraham

Read the Dutch version below, or click on this link.

English

Growing up as a child of immigrants, community plays a central role in one's culture. Your family isn't just your parents and siblings - it's your third cousin, once removed; your neighbours - the aunties that gossip, the uncle with his family-run restaurant that would always give you an extra gulab jamun. The community is your home, it's the family that raised you as much as your parents did.

But there comes a point in one's life where the values you're raised with aren't the values you hold onto - where your self-identity and expression conflicts with the identity of the collective. You're faced with the conundrum of two opposing voices: one telling you to suck it up and put up with the traditions and norms you've been raised with at the expense of giving up some degree of self, of your individuality; the other telling you to dive headfirst into the unknown, to embrace change, to embrace yourself - with the awareness of the risk of hurting those around you and the connections that you have. I call this the immigrant dilemma. This isn't necessarily always an issue of left versus right, or of progressivism versus conservatism, but it is always a dichotomy of two voices: the collective versus the self.

Of course, this isn't universal to all first, second or even third generation immigrants. Of course, this may be something anybody remotely leftist or progressive from a right-wing or conservative community faces, and vice versa. Of course, this may be something anybody who identifies with an identity not accepted by their community faces.

Why the ‘immigrant dilemma’ then? Because of a dimension that interplays with this conundrum, that echoes and amplifies these conflicting voices in one's head: the influence of gentrification and urbanisation in the broader society one's community belongs to.

Gentrification is often analysed from the perspective of the external - of the gentrifier. We see articles and studies analysing the effects of gentrification on immigrant communities, how it pushes costs of living to levels in which these communities are forced out of their homes and livelihoods that existed prior to gentrification.

The immigrant dilemma is that of the gentrified - of the immigrant child with the world still ahead of them. The two voices are often deafening when amplified with this added dimension. Choosing the collective would not only mean giving up some degree of self, it would mean siding with the gentrified and refusing to adapt to the changes around one's community, potentially sacrificing one's own future opportunities and successes. Choosing the individual would not only mean diving headfirst into the unknown to embrace one's self with the risk of hurting others and your connections with them, it would mean betraying your community to side with the gentrifier - the side that's hurting them, taking their livelihoods away from them.

It almost seems like this boils down to an argument of selfishness. How selfish is one if they choose the individual and thus, by extension, the gentrifier? Is one truly abandoning their community and siding with what one could call the oppressor? We could convince ourselves that we have to focus on the self, because our self-identity and expression is important; because our happiness is important. We could convince ourselves that this self-development and accommodation is necessary for us to achieve a position in the future in which we are then better able to help our community. But are we merely lying to ourselves to assuage the darker reality of the situation?

This is the immigrant dilemma. And this was a choice I had to make as a third-generation immigrant in Malaysia. This is a choice I continue to battle with as a(n increasingly likely) first-generation immigrant in the Netherlands. I am fully aware of the immense privilege I have had and continue to have to be able to study in Europe fully funded by my parents who essentially came from nothing. My family history was that of poverty. My parents came from childhoods spent growing up in tiny two-room village houses shared between my grandparents and 5+ siblings. Despite the discrimination, the systemic laws against them and the rapid gentrification and urbanisation of their village, my parents, their siblings and our community supported each other and the collective. They worked extremely hard to strengthen our Indian community and to bring us to where we are now.

Yet, it was my parents that then chose the self when raising me. They began to save, and pushed from as young as I can remember the idea for me to leave this land, my home, to pursue my dreams in greener pastures. They wanted me to be happy, to not suffer the same discrimination they faced.

But did I? I've seen the fates the people in my community face. I've experienced it myself many times. I wanted to help. I couldn't just abandon them, I had to come back to support and stand up for my community. At the same time, I wanted to be happy. I wanted to live a life not in fear but with the freedom to be myself. I wanted to strive for my dreams and ambitions. I wanted to work hard just like they did so I could achieve the platform I know I can achieve in a society where that was possible.

My community back in Malaysia will always be my home, I will always love them, and I'm sorry.

I chose the self.

Even now, I often battle with this dilemma of whether I should stay or return.

Again, I am choosing the self.

Dutch

As a child of immigrants, community plays a central role in one's culture. Your family consists not only of your parents, siblings - it's your third cousin, once removed; your neighbours - the aunties who gossip, the uncle with its family-run restaurant always giving you an extra gulab jamun would give. The community is your home, it is the family that raised you as well as your parents.

But there comes a time in your life when the values you grew up with are not the ones you cling to - where your self-identity and expression start coming into conflict with the identity of the collective. You are faced with the dichotomy consisting of two opposing voices: one telling you to leave it at that and accept the traditions and norms you were brought up with at the cost of giving up some measure of yourself, of your individuality; the other telling you to dive headfirst into the unknown, embrace change, embrace yourself - with the realisation that there is a risk that you will hurt those around you and lose the connections you have. I call this the immigrant dilemma. This immigrant dilemma is not always about a question of left versus right, or progressivism versus conservatism, but it is always a dichotomy of two voices: the collective versus the self.

Of course, this dilemma is not universal for all first-, second- or even third-generation immigrants. It may, of course, be something that anyone somewhat left-wing or progressive within a right-wing or conservative community may experience, and vice versa. It may of course be something that anyone who identifies with an identity that is not accepted by their community may experience.

So why do I call it the ‘immigrant dilemma’? Because of a dimension that interacts with this conundrum, echoing and amplifying these conflicting voices in the mind: the influence of gentrification and urbanisation in the wider society to which the community belongs.

Gentrification is often analysed from an external perspective - that of the gentrifier. We see articles and studies analysing the effects of gentrification on immigrant communities that existed before gentrification, how it pushes the cost of living to higher levels so high that these communities are even forced to leave their homes and livelihoods.

The immigrant dilemma is the story of the gentrified - of the immigrant child with a world still ahead. The two voices are often deafening to them when amplified with this extra dimension. Choosing the collective would not only mean giving up a measure of yourself, it would mean siding with the gentrified chooses and refuses to adapt to the changes around your community, potentially sacrificing your own future opportunities and successes as well. Choosing the individual would not only mean diving forward into the unknown to embrace yourself at the risk of harming others and your ties with them as well, it would mean betraying your community to side with the gentrifier to choose - the side that harms them and takes livelihoods away from them.

It almost seems as if this amounts to a selfish-based choice. How selfish is someone if they choose the individual and thus, by extension, the gentrifier? Does anyone really leave their community and side with what might be called the oppressor? We could convince ourselves that we need to focus on the self because our self-identity and expression is important; because our happiness is important. We could convince ourselves that this self-development and accommodation is necessary to reach a position where we can better assist our community in the future. However, aren't we then just lying to ourselves to soften the dark reality of the situation?

This is the immigrant dilemma. And this was a choice I had to make as a third-generation immigrant in Malaysia. This is a choice I continue to struggle with as (an increasingly likely) first-generation immigrant in the Netherlands. I am fully aware that I had and still have the enormous privilege of being able to study in Europe, fully funded by my parents who had to come from far away. My family history was a history of poverty. In their youth, my parents grew up in small village houses with two rooms that they had to share with my grandparents and 5+ siblings. Despite discrimination, systemic laws against them and the rapid gentrification and urbanisation of their village, my parents, their siblings and our community supported each other and the collective. They worked extremely hard to strengthen our Indian community and bring us to where we are today.

Yet my parents chose the self when they started raising me. They started saving money and insisted since I can remember that I was going to leave this country, my home, to pursue my dreams in places where the grass was greener. They wanted me to be happy, to not face the same discrimination they themselves faced.

But did I want that? On the one hand, I have seen the fate faced by people in my community. I have experienced it myself many times. I wanted to help. I couldn't just abandon them, I had to come back to support my community and stand up for them. On the other hand, I wanted to be happy. I wanted to live a life without fear, with the freedom to be myself. I wanted to pursue my dreams and ambitions. I wanted to work hard, like them, so that I could reach the platform I knew I could in a society where that was possible.

My community in Malaysia will always be my home, I will always love them, and I am sorry.

I chose the self.

Even now, I often struggle with the dilemma of whether to stay or return.

Again, I choose the self.