Growing Up in Queens
Refat is a smart, confident 15-year-old girl living in Queens, NY. Known to her friends as “Shoshi,” she came to America from Bangladesh five years ago with her mother. They moved from house to house in Queens, wherever her mother could find work as the ubiquitous South Asian “domestic worker” — live-in nanny, cook, and cleaning woman in one, getting paid far below minimum wage.
Refat lived in working-class communities of recently arrived immigrants from all over the world — Latin America, Eastern Europe, other parts of Asia. Contrary to the image of the young American Desi girl doing well in school, tailoring her after-school activities to her college expectations, and getting lectures about retaining her South Asian heritage, Refat moved in and out of strangers’ homes at the drop of a hat, had to adjust to numerous schools, and watched her mom worry endlessly about their financial situation. Refat has lived in five different houses and attended six different schools in the five years she’s been in America.
At school, Refat mingled with the children of working class immigrants from all over the world. She and her friends listened to hip-hop, wore baggy pants, and developed the distinct dialect of Queens working-class kids. They identified more with black and Latino American culture than white American culture. Given their surroundings, they also dealt with racism more from other communities of color than from whites. In the streets, Latino kids would yell at them, “go back to your own country” and make fun of their accents, oblivious to the irony.
College was a question mark for many of Refat’s friends, especially the undocumented ones. Most had to work through school, taking jobs as grocery store cashiers, fast-food servers, discount-store helpers.
Those who would be ambitious enough to get into college would have to work full-time throughout it to support themselves and their parents. Many of the girls had to give up any ideas of financial support for higher education from their parents; the money would go to their brothers instead.

Finding a Common Voice
It was through these shared experiences that Refat and eight other Desi American kids gathered in a classroom at Hunter College, to talk about their problems and, hopefully, some solutions. The group of kids met through the youth internship program of Desis Rising Up and Moving (DRUM), a Jackson Heights-based organization serving working-class, poor and undocumented immigrants in New York.
DRUM’s youth group, called YouthPower!, was sponsoring a summer internship program for children of this community. Over a period of six weeks, Refat and her peers, ages 15 to 21, met in a room at Hunter College and thrashed out issues affecting their community.
What came out of their discussions was a “Desi Youth Bill of Rights,” which spells out the problems facing second-generation American Desis.
“I don’t want to move from my parents’ house to my husband’s house.”
“Would you come to my wedding if I married a non-Desi?”
“Desi women are not dogs that you can whistle at, order around, or hit.”
“We want men to serve tea when guests come over.”
The Bill of Rights is filled with statements that are decidedly radical for the children of recent South Asian immigrants. The statements eschew everything their parents live by. They also call to question facts of life that I took for granted when I was growing up. I asked Refat about the origins of some of the statements, such as “Why can’t I wear a lungi to school without getting laughed at?”
“We were all talking about this Bengali guy who wore a lungi to the store in Astoria,” she said. “Some teenagers on the block pulled it off and were shouting, ‘Why are you dressing like a girl?’ We should be able to wear what we want without being scared about it.”
Refat also explained the sentiments behind the remark, “Would you come to my wedding if I married a non-Desi?” “Our parents don’t like us going out with non-Desi people,” Refat said. “My mom only wants me to marry a Bengali person from our district. This girl I know is dating a black guy. Her parents would forbid her to see him if they knew, but they don’t even know him. That’s not fair.“
Experiences like these were not confined to one or two people in the group. “All of us came together, and found out that we had gone through so many of the same issues,” said Refat.

Some of the statements apply specifically to kids in Refat’s community, such as “Baba/Appu/Appa, I am not ashamed that you drive a cab and I would not be ashamed to drive one either.”
“One of my friend’s dad drives a cab,” Refat explained. “Sometimes he is ashamed to say it because he thinks he looks low class. Some kids are ashamed to tell people their dad drives a cab so they don’t say it. We don’t have to be ashamed of who we are.”
Most of the statements, however, can apply to second-generation South Asian Americans of any class: “I got a right to get pissed off when I see white people wearing bindhis to the club without knowing what it means,” and “If a guy can get away with dating, why can’t a girl?”
In addition to distributing the pamphlet at the India Day Parade and other community events, the kids of YouthPower! continue to meet and discuss the issues in the pamphlet.
Monami Maulik, staff community organizer of DRUM and the former coordinator of the youth group, said many of the kids took the pamphlet home and “left it around their homes,” provoking their parents to discuss it with them and opening up a lot of dialogue. “That was one of the main reasons the kids wrote the Bill of Rights, to tell their parents what they were thinking,” Monami said.
“It caused their parents to acknowledge, for the first time, that their kid was a thinking, conscious almost-adult.” Ultimately, a lot of the statements in the Desi Youth Bill of Rights may seem too raw and reactionary, based more on emotion than measured thought and analysis.
But they are among the first words of rebellion voiced by this generation, against injustices in both their Desi cultural traditions and their American lives. They are also about bravery, freedom of expression, and open communication for Desi youth. These kids, at least, will be seen — and heard.

Desi Youth Bill of Rights

1. Right to equal treatment
   — We want men to serve tea when guests come over.
   — Desi women are not dogs you can whistle at, order around, or hit.
   — If my younger brother can come home at 12 am, then I shouldn’t have a 7 pm curfew
2. Right to sexual freedom
   — Wearing a tank top or tight clothes does not make me a slut.
   — If a guy can get away with dating, why can’t a girl?
3. Right to express ourselves
   — I wanna dye my hair without being labeled.
   — I wanna stand up for my rights, attend marches, and create bills of rights without being seen as a troublemaker.
4. Right to determine our own future
   — I do not want to be no freakin doctor.
   — I don’t want to move from my parents’ house to my husband’s house.
5. Right to determine success by ourselves
   — Baba/Appu/Appa, I am not ashamed that you drive a cab and I wouldn’t be ashamed to drive one either.
   — I do not have to be married with children to be a successful woman.
6. Right to choose the people we want to be with
   — I do not want to marry no freakin doctor.
   — If a guy can date a girl why can’t a girl date a girl?
   — Would you come to my wedding if I married a non-Desi?
7. Right to define what a Desi is
   — Just cuz I wear baggy pants and a bandanna it does not make me less Desi.
   — Being an outspoken woman does not make me less Desi.
8. Right to be Desi and do Desi shit without being ashamed
   — I wanna eat curry with my hands without feeling self-conscious.
   — Why can’t I wear a lungi to school without getting laughed at?
9. Right to call others out for stealing and disrespecting our culture
   — I got a right to get pissed off when I see white people wearing bindhis to the club without knowing what it means.
   — You used to make fun of my mother for wearing a sari, now you go buy a sari at Macy’s for $400.
10. We Have a Right to be Desi and Proud of it

Source: DRUM