One such group has adopted a friendlier title, the Information Technology Professional Association of America. But its founder, 37-year-old Scott Kirwin, voices the same indignation. "I'm very pissed off," he tells me over lunch in Wilmington, Delaware, where he lives. "I want to make people aware of what's going on with outsourcing."

Kirwin was a latecomer to the IT world. After college, he lived in Japan for five years, then returned to the States hoping to join the US Foreign Service.

He didn't get in. In 1997, he and his wife moved to Wilmington, her hometown, and he took a job at a tech support company outside Philadelphia, where he learned Visual Basic.

Kirwin discovered that he loved programming and did it well. By 2000, he was working at J.P. Morgan in Newark, Delaware, providing back-office database services for the firm's bankers around the world. But after Morgan merged with Chase, and the bloom left the boom, the combined firm decided to outsource the responsibilities of Kirwin's department to an Indian company. For nine months, he worked alongside three Indian programmers, all on temporary visas, teaching them his job but expecting to stick around as a manager when the work moved to India. Last March, Kirwin got his pink slip.

The experience did more than capsize his work life. It battered his belief system. He's long espoused the virtues of free trade. He says that he supported Nafta and that for 12 years he's subscribed to The Economist, a hymnal in the free trade church. But now he's questioning core beliefs. "These are theories that have really not been tested and proven," he says. "We're using people's lives to do this experiment - to find out what happens."

"I'm not religious," he tells me. "But I believe that everyone has to have faith in one thing. And my faith has been in the American system." That conviction is weakening. "Politicians are not aware of the problem that information workers are facing here. And it's not just the IT people. It's going to be anybody. That really worries me. Where does it stop?"

Seventy miles up the Northeast Corridor is a politician who is asking that very question - and who, in the process, has become something of a folk hero to programmers like Kirwin. Shirley Turner represents the 15th District in the New Jersey State Senate. In 2002, Turner learned that eFunds, the company that administers electronic benefits cards for the state's welfare recipients, had moved its customer service jobs from the US to a call center in Mumbai. She was stunned that the jobs were going overseas - and that taxpayer dollars were funding the migration. So Turner introduced legislation to ban the outsourcing of any state contracts to foreign countries.

Word of Turner's actions rippled across the Internet. Over the last year, she says, she's received more than 2,000 letters and emails from around the country - mostly from programmers. "I had no idea what these people were going through with outsourcing in the private sector," Turner told me at her district office in Ewing, New Jersey, just outside Trenton.

Turner's bill passed the state senate by a 40-to-0 vote. But it got bottled up in the assembly, thanks to the efforts of Indian IT firms and their powerhouse Washington, DC, lobbying firm, Hill & Knowlton. However, eFunds, chastened by the bad publicity and eager for more state contracts, moved its call center from Mumbai to Camden, New Jersey. And this former small-time civil servant found herself articulating what might be the political philosophy of the Pissed-Off Programmer.
Turner's office is decorated in early politico. Framed pieces of legislation hang on the wall. Large New Jersey and US flags stand behind her imposing desk. Her credenzas are crammed with photos of herself rubbing shoulders with various dignitaries, including three shots of her clasping hands with Bill Clinton. She's good at what she does - so smart and likable that she can make what many would consider retrograde views sound eminently reasonable. After talking to her for 10 minutes, I think, if Ross Perot had picked her as his running mate, he might have had a shot.

"We can't stop globalization," Turner says. But outsourcing, especially now, amounts to "contributing to our own demise." When jobs go overseas, governments lose income tax revenue - and that makes it even harder to assist those who need a hand. Losing IT jobs has particularly frightful consequences. In a jittery world, "it's really foolish for us to become so dependent on any foreign country for those kinds of jobs," she says. What's more, she continues, it imperils the US middle class. "If we keep going in this direction, we'll have just two classes in our society - the very, very rich and the very, very poor. We're going to look like some of the countries we're outsourcing to."

Her solution is simple: America first. Support American firms. Put Americans back to work. And only then, after we reach full employment, will outsourcing be an acceptable option. "If we can't take care of our own first, we shouldn't be looking to take care of other people around the world," she says. "If you're a parent, you don't take care of everybody on the block before you make sure your own children have their basic needs met."

It all sounds so 20 years ago - when the threat to economic prosperity and national sovereignty was not Indian coders but Japanese autoworkers. Back then, the predictions were equally alarmist - the "hollowing out" of America, people called it. And the prescriptions were equally blunt - trade sanctions and "Buy America" campaigns.

So I toss a slur across her desk. I call her a protectionist.
"Oh, and I'm proud of it," she responds. "I wear that badge with honor. I am a protectionist. I want to protect America. I want to protect jobs for Americans."
"But isn't part of this country's vitality its ability to make these kinds of changes?" I counter. "We've done it before - going from farm to factory, from factory to knowledge work, and from knowledge work to whatever's next."

She looks at me. Then she says, "I'd like to know where you go from knowledge."
Another day, another global menace. Today I'm at Patni, the software company where Aparna Jairam worked for two years in the late '90s. Patni's headquarters sits in another section of Mumbai - and as at Hexaware, the contrast between inside and outside is stark. Its interior is Silicon Valley circa 1999 - curvy door handles, funky chairs, a rooftop patio, and a pool table. But when I glance out an office window, just beyond the sidewalk I see a family living in a makeshift dwelling of plywood and tattered plastic.

Patni differs from Hexaware in a few important ways. For starters, it's bigger. Patni is India's sixth-largest software and services exporter; Hexaware ranks 18th. Patni employs about 6,500 people in offices all over the world and has a long-standing relationship with GE and a $100 million investment from the venture capital firm General Atlantic Partners. It also has a more secretive atmosphere. I'm not allowed to ask certain questions (including how much money the workers earn). When I set up my tape recorder for interviews, my ever present Patni minder pulls out his own tape recorder. Although security cameras abound, I'm not allowed on certain floors unless Patni's director of security accompanies me.

Yet for all this muscle-flexing, Patni remains a relative pipsqueak. Its 2002 revenue was about $188 million. That same year, the American IT firm EDS hauled in revenue of $21.5 billion. There's something adolescent about Patni - indeed, about many Indian IT firms. They're growing quickly, but they still don't quite seem like full-fledged adults. From an Indian perspective, though, this moment is understandably invigorating. The country now has the second-fastest-growing economy in the world. Within four years, IT outsourcing will be a $57 billion annual industry - responsible for 7 percent of India's GDP and employing some 4 million people.

But from an American perspective, the threat this poses seems pretty meager. A $57 billion market represents about 0.5 percent of US GDP. And for added perspective, it's important to continue looking out those windows. India has a long way to go. Nearly a quarter of the country lives in poverty.

The telecommunications infrastructure is subpar. And modernity stands just steps away from ancient animosities.

The week I was in Mumbai, global business guru and former MIT dean Lester Thurow was in town trumpeting the possibilities of "Brand India" - as militants planted bombs in taxis and killed 53 people.

Nonetheless, as with all adolescents, through the gangliness and overconfidence you can glimpse the contours of the future. Patni's hallways are filled with the air of inevitability. Project manager Aditya Deshmukh worked in Baltimore and New Jersey for three years but has no desire to return to the States; India's where the action is.

More than half of the Fortune 500 companies are already outsourcing work to India.One reason: Nearly every educated person here speaks English. For India - especially in its competition with China, where few have mastered Western languages - English is the killer app. This company and this industry will undoubtedly grow bigger, stronger, and smarter. That represents a threat to the status quo in the US. But such threats are an established pattern in our history. As Deshmukh reminds me before I have a chance to cover my ears and flee, "Change is the only constant."

A century ago, 40 percent of Americans worked on farms. Today, the farm sector employs about 3 percent of our workforce. But our agriculture economy still outproduces all but two countries. Fifty years ago, most of the US labor force worked in factories. Today, only about 14 percent is in manufacturing. But we've still got the largest manufacturing economy in the world - worth about $1.9 trillion in 2002. We've seen this movie before - and it's always had a happy ending. The only difference this time is that the protagonists are forging pixels instead of steel. And accountants, financial analysts, and other number crunchers, prepare for your close-up. Your jobs are next. After all, to export sneakers or sweatshirts, companies need an intercontinental supply chain. To export software or spreadsheets, somebody just needs to hit Return.

What makes this latest upheaval so disorienting for Americans is its speed. Agriculture jobs provided decent livelihoods for at least 80 years before the rules changed and working in the factory became the norm. Those industrial jobs endured for some 40 years before the twin pressures of cheap competition overseas and labor-saving automation at home rewrote the rules again. IT jobs - the kind of high-skill knowledge work that was supposed to be our future - are facing the same sort of realignment after only 20 years or so. The upheaval is occurring not across generations, but within individual careers. The rules are being rewritten while people are still playing the game. And that seems unjust.

Couple those changed rules with the ham-fisted public relations of the American companies doing the outsourcing and it's understandable why programmers are so pissed. It makes sense that they're lashing out at the H1-B and L-1 visas. US immigration policies are a proxy for forces that are harder to identify and combat. It's easier to attack visible laws than it is to restrain the invisible hand. To be sure, many of these policies, especially the L-1, have been abused. American programmers have done an effective job of highlighting these abuses - and during an election year, Congress will likely enact some reforms. But even if these visa programs were eliminated altogether, not much would change in the long run.

Patni's head of human resources, Miland Jadhav, compares the Pissed-Off Programmers' efforts to the protests that greeted Pizza Hut's arrival in India. When the chain opened, some people "went around smashing windows and doing all kinds of things," but their cause ultimately did not prevail. Why? Demand. "You cannot tell Indian people to stop eating at Pizza Hut," he says. "It won't happen." Likewise, if some kinds of work can be done just as well for a lot cheaper somewhere other than the US, that's where US companies will send the work. The reason: demand. And if we don't like it, then it's time to return our iPods (assembled in Taiwan), our cell phones (manufactured in Korea), and our J. Crew shirts (sewn in Indonesia). We can't have it both ways.

Still, if you're 61 years old, it makes sense to borrow a page from Charlie Chaplin and try to throw a wrench into the machine. John Bauman is 61 years old. More than a year ago, Northeast Utilities fired Bauman and 200 other IT consultants. From his home in Meriden, Connecticut, he created the Organization for the Rights of American Workers. The mission: to protest H1-B and L-1 visas. He feels that if he can slow things down, he stands a chance. When I speak to him by phone one afternoon, I offer the standard defense of globalization and free trade - that they disrupt in the short term but enrich over time. But it's hard to make this argument with much gusto to a man who, faced with his unemployment benefits running out, had to take a temporary job delivering boxes for FedEx. The invisible hand is giving him the finger. A compassionate society must somehow help its John Baumans.

But the rest of us, like it or not, will have to adjust. The hints about how to make this adjustment are evident at Patni. As I meet programmers and executives, I hear lots of talk about quality and focus and ISO and CMM certifications and getting the details right. But never - not once - does anybody mention innovation, creativity, or changing the world. Again, it reminds me of Japan in the '80s - dedicated to continuous improvement but often at the expense of bolder leaps of possibility.