Louisiana governor and the GOP’s “great beige hope” for 2012 Bobby Jindal was on CBS’s 60 Minutes Sunday night. So great is the Republican hope for Jindal that we’ve already begun discussing it less than two months after the inauguration of President Obama.
At 37 years old, Governor Jindal is an impressive young man. By all accounts, I think he’s the kind of Republican that I respect. I don’t agree with most of what he believes, but I respect him.
Educated, ethical (as ethical as a politician from Louisiana can get, anyway) and ambitious, Jindal represents the mirror image to President Obama. A Darth Vader to Luke Skywalker. Or maybe more like a Faith to Buffy. Or a Spike to Angel. Thankfully, I’m just shy of being geeky enough to come up with something clever here.
Many of you probably already know that he declined when asked to submit his name for the McCain vice presidency. Like the good ol’ boy Southern politicians of the 19th and early 20th century, he’s going to have to be asked several times until he offers a reluctant, yet highly calculated, “Well, alrighty, if y’all really, really want me to, I’ll serve ya’.”
(And please don’t let that drawl confuse you, the man is an Ivy League educated Rhodes scholar. This only proves my point that gifted minds can and do use the phrases “alrighty” and “y’all”). I think this act is slowly ingratiating him into the heart of the American people… mind crushingly boring rebuttals to Presidential addresses notwithstanding.
And, now, let us finally get to the point.
In case you haven’t noticed, Bobby Jindal, born “Piyush (prounounced pee-yoosh) Jindal” is of the Indian ethnicity.
He picked up the name “Bobby” while watching “The Brady Bunch.” (Do you even remember Bobby, Governor? He was the youngest one who tattled on all the other Brady kids and was hall monitor at school? My next post on Jindal: What kind of kid looks up to Bobby Brady?!)
Anyway, this name changing business is fine. I have no problem with Indian/Pakistani people who genuinely bear or have intentionally adopted anglicized names. Never mind, that I have stubbornly endured thirty three annoying years of having to say “It’s pronounced Fie-Kah, like the tax.” So, Harrises, Rogers, Sonias, Petes, Robs, Marys, Sophias, Adams, and Saras can just rest easy. This isn’t about that.
I do get a little annoyed when I hear people from the subcontinent or of its origins say one of the following, though:
“Did you know that the governor of Louisiana is Indian?”
“There are lot of South Asians in Americans politics, take Gov. Jindal, for example.”
No. The governor of Louisiana is not Indian.
He. Is. American.
And this is not me that is saying this. It’s him and his lovely red clad Nancy Reagan channeling wife, Supriya, on their shameless promo for the 2012 election. “60 Minutes“.
Asked if their family maintains any of the Indian traditions, Supriya Jindal told Safer, “Not too many.”
“No, they’ve been here for so many years that…,” her husband said.
“Years that we’ve sort of adapted. And we were raised as Americans, you know? We were raised as Louisianans. So, that’s how we live our lives,” Supriya Jindal explained.
He’s a classic example of the American melting pot. This oyster and crawfish-eating Louisianian tends to downplay his ethnic background
…
“He clearly presents himself as true blue American,” Safer remarked.
“And he is the genuine article. He’s deeply, by nature, deeply conservative, deeply patriotic.”
And, you know, that’s fine, too, if they don’t celebrate Indian traditions.
But, you know what I find exasperating?
Aside from the sad masses of Indian expatriates all over the world attempting to appropriate Governor and Mrs. Jindal as Indians when clearly they don’t want anything to do with being Indian?
I find it irritating that there’s an implication that if you do celebrate your heritage that you were somehow not raised as an “American.”
A “classic example of the American melting pot” does not include dismissing one’s heritage. Classic examples of the American melting pot incorporate their heritage, and they assert its value as an integral part of being American. Right?
The Jindal family’s choice not to identify closely with their Indian heritage is fine with me, and I don’t disparage it. It’s not necessarily a classic example of the melting pot, though. It’s an example of the shedding of one identity for another. This is a respectable and legitimate American phenomenon among immigrants concerning ethnic identity. One of many.
It is in no way a proof of inherent patriotism or American-ness, though.
Chinatowns, Little Italys, Cinqo de Mayo, St. Patrick’s Day and countless other ethnic celebrations are American entities, now. They may have originated elsewhere, but these celebrations exist as pieces of American heritage because a few citizens refused to downplay their ethnic identity in attempts to be perceived as more American.
These infusions are, in my eyes, a gift to the American people. Something that enriches all of our lives.
These inclusions are the classic examples of the “melting pot.” More so than say, the choices that seek to “downplay” identity.
I respect the Jindal’s choices to not celebrate their heritage, but the underlying assumption that this makes them more American or more patriotic is just… a little sad.
And infuriating.
For those of you who missed it, you can watch Jindal’s interview on “60 Minutes” right here.
UPDATE: Gov. Jindal didn’t actually decline the nomination. He did not submit his name when asked to for the “vetting” process by the McCain campaign.
The PBS special that I mentioned will undoubtedly feature a whole episode on Britain’s role in India’s history. Hmm, or should I say India’s role in Britain’s history? (You love it when I get all post-modern on you, admit it.)
But, really, who needs a wholeepisode when Eddie Izzard explains it so well in less than sixty seconds?
Sometimes, the best explanation is the simplest. And, of course, your point is only emphasized further if you’re in drag.
The Three Most Important Things I Learned While Faking Press Credentials
My Press Pass
1. I’m “the Biased Media”
Remember Zayna, the Egyptian-Syrian hijab wearing woman standing in line? Well, what I left out of yesterday’s post was that as I “interviewed” her, I asked, “What are your thoughts about the allegation that Obama has tried to distance himself from Islam by having women with their heads covered moved from camera sight lines and the staging area?”
She blankly stared at me. “What? I hadn’t heard that.”
“Really?” I suppose she was too busy participating in voter outreach programs to watch manufactured rumors on television. Luckily, she had me to offer her this breaking news.
“That would be very disturbing to me if that’s true.” Note, not just disturbing, very disturbing.
And here’s where I lost all credibility as being remotely connected to the media. “Oh, well, no, I mean, it’s just a rumor, I don’t think it’s true… I’m pretty sure it was manufactured by rabid conservatives… don’t worry about it.”
Wow. Way to ask the hard hitting questions and let the chips fall where they may. I just couldn’t get my brain to stop screaming, What kind of liberal goes to an Obama election and talks people out of voting for him…what the $%#@ is wrong with you?!!
Don’t worry, she voted early. For Obama. Despite my media alter ego attempting to talk her out of it.
By the way, I don’t think that rumor is true. Just in case, you haven’t voted yet.
2. If You Ever Want to Go Backstage at an Aerosmith Concert (or band of your choice), Take Britt with You.
Miss Britt is an opiate for security guards. When we got to the event, security all but carried her to the media section in a palanquin. Don’t get me wrong, she’s fabulous and good looking, even a calendar girl, but the reaction of these men was downright supernatural.
Take our earliest interaction into consideration, for example. We drove into the parking area for Osceola Heritage and started looking around for a sign that said “media entrance” to no avail. Then, for reasons of our own, we started panicking. I panicked because I figured that if, for some reason, security barred us from the media section, we might have to actually get in the “real” line. The line people had been standing in since 3p.m. The line whose end might contain people who were not going to get in, at all. (As far as I know, everyone got in, though).
I have no idea why Britt was panicked. She had a letter from the Huffington Post, a black trench coat on, a big camera bag and was sporting very intellectual looking glasses. She embodied the media. I, on the other hand, looked like a liberal elite commie blogger wannabee without a Huffington Post letter.
Anyway, panic permeated the car as we pulled up to a group of mounted police officers and a guy that looked like a Secret Service Agent. Britt rolled down the window, “Hey, where is the media parking?”
At that exact moment, her GPS device fell off the window and hit an empty Burger King cup, we both yelped and scrambled to catch them, and I think the secret service guy rolled his eyes. “Do you have credentials?”
She whipped out her Huffington Post letter and handed it to him. He looked it over a little suspiciously, looked back at me as I awkwardly tried to suppress downright girlish giggling, and then said to her “Do you have any ID?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” she fumbled for her wallet, opened it up and handed him her Visa card. Yes, her Visa card. As he took the card from her, he looked a little taken aback.
I thought, Oh, man, we are so busted. Maybe, if I hit the gas right now and drive off we can save face. The only thing that stopped me from doing this was the vision of Britt strangling me when she got her monthly Visa statement laden with charges for 42 pairs of black shades and 25 really boring ties courtesy of the Secret Service agent guy.
“Ummm,” he started to say something but she quickly realized her mistake.
“Oh, that’s not going to do you any good,” she laughed.
And then, something interesting happened as she handed him her driver’s license. He smiled, his eyes got this funny little look, and he mumbled, “Yeah, okay… that’s better. I think you need to drive down that road,” he motioned. Then, he spoke into his little earpiece thing, confirmed exactly where we were supposed to go and let the guy down the road know that we were coming.
Now, I’m pretty sure that the last act was in the form of a warning, and I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal. You just had to be there. He could have said, “This is a driver’s license. Don’t you have one of those laminated thingys that the real press people have hanging around their necks?”
Look, I’m just not accustomed to getting the benefit of the doubt from security persons, so, for me, it was like … magic.
3. Everybody should try this at least once in their lives.
I am not going to even try to write it better than my fellow infiltrator did in her post yesterday:
Desi (pronounced) day-cee: A person or thing having its origin in the Asian subcontinent
ABCD (Acronym for “American Born Confused Desi”): Referring to the American born children of desi people. Confused because we obviously have no idea who we are due to the terrible tension caused by two completely oppositional cultures. Whatever.
Now, that the lesser mortals have clicked away from the gripping fear of a post of vocabulary words…
I hate the term ABCD. Hate. It.
American Born...Okay, I’m cool with that. I was, after all, born in America.
Confused…How could anyone not be pissed off at that?
Desi…Pfft, whatever.
A good majority of the people who use the term ABCD don’t mean for it to be a slur. It got a lot of play about ten years ago, but has now been modified to “ABD” (American Born Desi), which isn’t much better. Actually, you know, I don’t have a big problem with the term ABD in the context of general conversations and gross exaggerations such as:
“ABD’s tend to major in engineering, IT or the medical field.”
“A lot of ABD’s like reggae island beat hip hop crap.” (Unfortunately).
“ABD’s are generally self righteous when condemning the use of inaccurate and demeaning monikers.”
Terms like this, in my opinion, prove useless when used to assess an individual, though. They should be reserved strictly for those parts of our discourse meant to uncover trends, assess patterns, or pontificate about useless crap aimed at understanding diverse (air quotes) groups of people.
My problem arises when someone says, “Oh, you’rean ABD.”
ABD dismisses the nuance of me and the diversity of my own unique individual personality. It, methinks, presumes too much.
Some might argue that the dropping of the term “Confused” from American Born Confused Desi in the last ten years renders it benign.
American Born Desi. It’s beniiiiiine, really, it is.
No, it really isn’t.
The term desi could mean that a person’s origins lie in any of the following countries: India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Nepal and even Malaysia or Indonesia. So, when a person calls me a desi, American born or not, they, once again, are generalizing about me. Me, the person whose parents have never even been to Bangladesh, Sri Lanka or Nepal, let alone have “origins” there.
They also assume that I’m OK with being called a desi. I am not OK with it. I’m an American who is highly informed by Pakistani and Indian culture. Not a desi who is informed by American culture. There’s a distinct difference. Discounting that difference discounts me.
Oh, and, yes, I have used the term ABD to describe myself. The same way I describe myself to my daughter as “Mommy.” In general, my daughter doesn’t yet have the capacity to discern who “Mommy” is outside of being Mommy. Did I mention she’s three years old? Yeah, exactly.
So, if I describe myself as an ABD in a conversation, it’s because I’ve figured out that the person I’m talking to has no other interest in me outside of this particular context. They don’t want to know about how I love baseball, how I don’t think table tennis is a sport or why I’d rather take a nap than watch anything with Salman Khan (Indian actor) in it. They don’t want to know that I cry when I hear the Pakistani national anthem, that I love the crispness of a New Delhi winter morning or that I would have Pani Puri water hooked up to me intravenously if I could. They just want things to be simple. Stratified. Boxed.
ABCD, ABD and all the terms like it reflect intellectual laziness on the part of people who use them, specifically when the terms are used in the context of an individual.
((Big eye roll)) “Fine. What are we supposed to call you, then?”
