Who carries the Green Passport

Look at who carries the Pakistani case at BP. Kabir holds a foreign passport. Q and EK write from the diaspora. Every voice that argues the Pakistani perspective here argues it from somewhere else. Not one of them speaks from inside the country: resident, middle or upper-middle class, holding a green passport with everything the green passport actually costs at the visa counter, at the airport, in what can and cannot be said at home. India, by contrast, is argued for in large part by Indians who live in India (BB is one such example). So the table is lopsided in a particular way. One side is represented by people inside the country it speaks for; the other, almost entirely by people outside it.

Diasporas are powerful but deadly

This is not a complaint that distance disqualifies anyone. It plainly does not. Some of the most acute readers of Russia, China, Iran, India and Pakistan have always worked from outside them, and exile has its own clarity. And the criticism cuts both ways the moment we make residence a measure: plenty of the loudest Indian voices online do not queue for India either. The point is not that the outsiders are wrong. It is that a conversation built this way develops a tilt, and the tilt is worth naming.

Pipe Dreams from Abroad

The tilt has a name, in fact, and it is not unique to Pakistan. Diasporas tend to run more ideological, more maximalist, more romantic than the populations they left behind. The hardest line on Khalistan is funded from Brampton and not from Ludhiana. The most unbending republicanism came out of Boston as often as Belfast. Tamil and Armenian nationalism abroad have frequently outpaced the versions at home. The reason is simple: distance keeps the symbol and removes the cost. From abroad you keep the flag and lose the queue. So it is easy, from outside, to sing the Two-Nation Theory and explain how India and the Hindus had to be guarded against, when you will never stand in the line that the theory’s state actually makes its citizens stand in.

Quixotic Nationalism from a distance

This is where the sociological observation turns, lightly, into something more. We are not saying the diaspora case for Pakistan is false. We are saying it is untested. It is argued by people who carry the idea and not the consequence, and an idea defended only by those who can leave is an idea that has never been weighed against the thing it costs. That is not a verdict. It is the reason BP needs the voice it does not have: a resident, ordinary, middle-class Pakistani who argues the case from inside the cost. Until that voice is in the room, half of this argument is being conducted in the conditional.

More on this to come.

Several points are wrong here:

I have never actually met a Pakistani who thinks they are Arab or Turk ethnically. Claiming lineage is not ethnicity, not even the Syeds identify with Arabs although they will try to flex their Syed status occassionally. Many Syeds in the family, never heard anyone claim they were ethnically Arab.

Ergutral did not make people in Pakistan think they were Turks, what they identified with was the Islamic history and mannerisms being portrayed. A pasthun guy told me that it portrayed ‘our history’ and while I completely understdood the ‘our’ part because he was using it in an Islamic context (because he is a proud Pasthun, not Arab or Turk), but I did correct him that it was mostly fiction.

The claim that Pakistanis are ethnically indistinguishable from North Indians is also wrong. This just refuses to acknowledge the vast diversity of languages, cultures, clothing and mannerisms that are found in Pakistan and North India. The difference between a Pakistani Muhajir from UP and Sindhi is night and day and you will have to live it to understand it. The difference between even Saraiki and Punjabi from Majha belt is night and day. When you live in a cosmopolitan city like Karachi and you see these different groups up close, you will realize there are many differences as their are commonailities and that stereotypes are not lies.
Educated people from different groups can paper over these differences because of their common Urdu/English education but the differences are stark on the rural level.

Pakistani Pasthuns are also very distinguishable from Afghan Pasthuns. This is also apparent when you peek past the surface. The Pashtuns are divided in North South (their dressing & accent is different). KP is more fertile by several magnitudes than any part of Afghanistan, which shows in the cuture. Pakistan has more settled areas and Pasthuns here are less tribal. The FATA Pasthuns share similarly with Afghans more than they do with Pasthuns in areas like Swat, Peshawar, Nowshera etc. The Pasthuns and Baloch unity is just a myth, most feuds in Balochistan are between Pasthuns and Balochs over land and there is no unity between these so called “Iranic” groups because the entire premise of Indic/Iranic is wrong.

There is no dividing line between any cultures, this is just Indian propganda to claim Pakistani lands. There is no ”Indic” and ”Iranic” these are just language groupings. Take a look at Gujjars in KP, or Punjabi tribes on the Potohar, these guys share more culture with Pasthuns than with most Punjabis.

So to deny the diversity that exists within Pakistan and lump everyone together with North India (which I am sure is 3x more diverse) is just incorrect.

The transformation is multi-layered. Decolonization’s legacy, the Cold War’s end, technological advances, and globalization have created a world where multi-racial societies thrive, yet economic systems dominate. In the UK, immigration complicates old class hierarchies, and categories like “British Asian” are fragmented by religion, migration waves, and economic stratification. Social media amplifies these shifts by establishing Anglo-Western ideals as global standards of aspiration, blending diversity into an overarching capitalist framework.

Platforms like YouTube exemplify these dynamics. Channels such as T-Series and Sony TV reflect Global South audiences, but creators like MrBeast and PewDiePie dominate influence.

This asymmetry highlights the platform’s duality: leveraging massive Global South audiences while maintaining Global North cultural dominance. With China blocked by the Great Firewall, YouTube thrives in regions where English reigns as the lingua franca, benefiting creators with historical and economic advantages.

Wealth and inequality, subtle markers of privilege, underscore this reality. “Whiteness” retreats into elite spaces as capitalism homogenizes success, erasing local identities for global aspirations. Yet, these inequalities endure beneath a veneer of meritocracy.

Navigating this landscape requires balancing personal and global identities. Personally, I’ve oscillated between Anglo-American and Indian perspectives while keeping my Pakistaniat heritage in deep stasis—a reflection of broader global patterns. The continued dominance of English-speaking nations hinges on adapting to these emerging trends.

India’s role as the world’s largest democracy and English-speaking nation raises the ten trillion-dollar question: is it simply an exotic extension of Western capitalism or something distinct? As a rising power, Indians—economically aspirational and politically flexible—face pressures to align culturally while retaining complexity amid global homogenization.

The dominance of English-speaking nations sets the cultural tone, yet competing systems like China’s challenge the narrative. This era demands vigilance: inequity persists, anesthetized by technology that entrenches divisions rather than resolving them.

The luxury market, whether Ivy League schools or London real estate, thrives on limited supply meeting insatiable global demand. Meanwhile, the online world serves as an anodyne for those structurally unable to compete offline.

This isn’t dystopia. Rising living standards and connectivity coexist with increasing asymmetries. Technology shapes identity and relationships in unprecedented ways, from a teenager idolizing Taylor Swift as a “friend” to the global consolidation of wealth and influence. Capitalism’s dominance, underpinned by technology, reshapes the world invisibly, demanding we adapt, question, and remain critically aware.

But Pakistanis vs. Indians, Southies vs. Northies, Bangladeshis vs. Indians. High caste vs. low caste, vegetarian vs. non-vegetarian.

Our cultural differences are striking. Our diversity of form, belief and practice is mind-blogging. But we come from the same roots. The rest of the world looks at us, and recognizes the kinship. We? Not so much. Muslims claim Arab or Iranian heritage. Jats and northwest Indians distinguish themselves from the lower and dark races. Southerners express contempt for the barbarism of BIMARU. BIMARU claims that they are the font of culture. And so forth.

This is not to end with a resounding assertion. But sometimes, I wonder if the silent majority is not like this, and we hear the prattling of the minority?

Also, “South Asians” are now part of two overlapping acronym communities, as we’re already “AAPI.”

The psychiatrist in question is Aruna Khilanani. Her parents are doctors. She was educated in private schools. But, she talks about her experience with discrimination. You know, stuff like not being supported as much in her medical residency as a blonde peer.

We have a problem. Who has the standing to point out the hypocrisy and manipulation of these people? I’m frankly sick of it. Any brown person in the United States does experience some racism. But those of us with education and resources are not really underprivileged in any way. The vast majority of white Americans, whose life expectancy is decreasing, have it worse off than us. That’s just a fact.

Since there has been rather persistent confusion about my Unherd piece I will clear up a few things. I am rather tired of talking about it now, as I “said my piece”, but sometimes things need to be done.

First, for many months (years), friends of various backgrounds (brown and non-brown) have been speaking to me of the issue of very self-righteous South Asian American (Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi) “social justice warriors.” There’s nothing wrong as such being a social justice warrior and brown, but, the problem is that these individuals often accrue to themselves the full-weight of colonialism and centuries of oppression to add to their credibility and authority.  The reason I finally punched out the Unherd piece is that an Indian scientist who I am familiar with made a reference to trauma and oppression on Twitter. This resulted in many “likes” and praiseworthy comments. It was a vague and amorphous statement and could mean anything, but the response made it clear that most people took it to be that they were alluding to the weight of colonialism and racism.

The problem I had with this is I know that this individual, a Brahmin raised in India, is from a literally rich family. Rich enough to pay undergraduate American tuition for international students in full. And, rich enough to pay graduate school tuition when otherwise this person would have to take up a teaching assistantship. This is not a person who is well-off in the Indian context. They’re well off in the American context.

This is an extreme case. But it illustrates a more general problem. People who by dint of their brown skin claim to be, or allow people to believe they are, marginalized and oppressed. The vast majority of brown Americans can tell you stories of racial discrimination and prejudice. That is true. But are these experiences determinative in their lives? Does their race define and limit them in a deep and powerful manner?

I would argue not. Today the Americans of brown background are flourishing. Indian Americans in particular are socioeconomically advanced, and now, becoming culturally prominent. Just like their white upper-middle-class peer, Indian Americans are benefiting from the system, and flourishing within it. Their realized outcomes are very different from African and Latino Americans. Some of the same is also applicable to poorer newer ethnic groups, such as Bangladeshis, who begin much lower on the socioeconomic ladder but are placing their children into elite public schools like Stuyvesant.

Second, selective immigration from India has resulted in a very atypical Diaspora. Many who responded to my piece argue that selective immigration is the whole story, so why bring caste into it? Because the criteria used have skewed the India Amerian community in a way where it is not representative of India at all. I am personally not bothered by this. But again, when issues such as caste oppression come up in the USA, non-Indians may not realize when talking to Indian Americans that they will almost never interact with a Dalit, who are 15% of India’s population (one could argue that except for Gujarat the “Cow Belt” is also totally underrepresented due to the way immigration has worked). Many Brahmin Indian Americans I know are vociferously against caste (sincerely, and in their actions!). But to me, this is a laudable idealism, not something that comes out of historical brutality, because their ancestors were willing executors of the system. In this way, they are like upper-class white people who wish for a more egalitarian economic system. Their views are sincere, but it comes from idealism, not trauma.

As a brown person from Bangladesh people who knew where I was from would always make assumptions about my background, as Bangladesh was the byword for incredible poverty for the second half of the 20th century. Those that did not know my family was of professional background would ask naive questions, such as “did you grow up in a hut?” I found it amusing, but I did make it clear that I couldn’t personally speak to the poverty and deprivation which were such serious concerns for everyone about the country of my birth. In Bangladesh, I was a very privileged person. In my day to day life in the USA, this was irrelevant, but I wasn’t going to go around speaking with authority about how horrible grinding Third World poverty was. It was just in many ways just as abstract for me as it was for my white classmates. Honestly, if I did grow up in a hut I’d probably brag about it since it would make my Horatio Alger story so much more inspiring.

Overall, the point of the piece is that when you make identity so important to the content of someone’s arguments and the force of their views, it creates a massive incentive for individuals to cultivate and shade their identity to add credibility. Ergo, a Nigerian American whose family is wealthy from brutal oil extraction which results in human rights violations and crimes in their ancestral homeland will likely not expose this fact when castigating a middle-class white American about their “white skin privilege.”

Brown American should just accept what they are in the main: a relatively privileged people from whom America works, who have to deal with some incidents of racism in their lives.

LEOP offers admission to approximately 50 high-achieving students each year—up to 20 percent of the class—who have experienced major life hurdles, such as educational disadvantage, economic hardship, or disability. The majority are students of color. Besides traditional admissions criteria, such as grades and LSAT scores, the program also considers students’ overall potential and the obstacles they’ve overcome. “These are extraordinary students who have been playing while injured in the game of life, but all they do is win,” McGriff said.

Once students enroll, LEOP supports them throughout their tenure at UC Hastings, offering a weeklong orientation, academic counseling, practice exams, and help preparing for the bar exam and job interviews, among other resources and services.

…. LEOP went on to count many prominent alumni among its ranks, including U.S. Senator Kamala Harris ’89; San Francisco Public Defender Jeff Adachi ’85; Adelmise Warner ’01, chief counsel at Pandora; and Andrew Houston ’07, procurement counsel for the University of California’s Office of the General Counsel.

We know a lot about Kamala Harris’ mother’s family. They are upper-middle-class Tamil Brahmins. Her mother did raise her mostly alone. So she was a single mother. But she was also a Ph.D. biomedical researcher.

Here is a profile about her father, Kamala Harris’s Father, a Footnote in Her Speeches, Is a Prominent Economist:

Dr. Harris was raised in a landowning family on the north coast of Jamaica by a paternal grandmother whom he described as “reserved and stern in look, firm with ‘the strap,’ but capable of the most endearing and genuine acts of love, affection and care.” Reserved and highly intelligent, he was more cut out for academia than activism, contemporaries said.

Basically, on both sides of Harris’ pedigree, there is evidence of sub-elite status. Her utilization of the LEOP program seems to be unfair to students who were genuinely disadvantaged.

But, a problem with being Indian is that people assumed I was Hindu. I was raised Muslim (though never really a believer myself), so I had no ownership or connection to Hindu identity. Therefore, I would have to explain the religious discrepancy to my interlocutors. It wasn’t a major issue for me. After all, I wasn’t religious myself.

As a grown adult, with children of mixed background who find my exotic antecedents amusing, I have had to reflect more on the relationship between India and its native religious traditions and identities. Hindus often make the accusation to Indian Muslims and Christians that these religion’s holy sites are elsewhere. In contrast, southern Asia is the locus of “Hindu” spirituality. The sacred geography of Islam in Arabia, the Levant, and for Shia and Sufis more broadly across the Near East (with some expansion in other areas for Sufis, though these are secondary). For Christians, the locus is in the Near East and Europe. But I think this focus on Islam and Christianity takes the eyes off the major prize.

What does it mean to be Hindu?** I think that it is clear that Hinduism is a precipitation of the indigenous religious traditions of India, a fusion of numerous strands which are quite distinct. As a non-Hindu it is not my role to adjudicate on what is, or isn’t, Hindu, but it seems quite clear that there is something distinct from Islam and Christianity, and that that distinctiveness is usually due to indigenous aspects (some of which were exported through Buddhism out of India). Al-Biruni saw this. Hindus themselves saw this even if they did not think of themselves as a confessional religion.

This doesn’t mean that non-Hindu Indians and subcontinentals are not distinctively South Asian. Look at a street scene in Pakistan, and it looks more like New Delhi than Tehran. The people, the color, the foods and density. But for various reasons Pakistanis have rooted their identity in Islam, and this makes identification as subcontinental awkward for many Pakistanis, because Hinduism suffuses subcontinental identity. The word Hindu after all originally just meant Indian.

Let’s use an analogy. Imagine that Iran was divided into multiple states. One to the west was mostly Shia. One to the east, inclusive of Tajiks, was mostly Sunni. Finally, in the middle was a numerically preponderant Zoroastrian state with a Muslim minority. I think it would be hard to deny that Zoroastrian Iranians would feel a stronger identification with being Iranian full-stop, because Zoroastrianism is a religion which emerged in an Iranian matrix (Bahai and secular Zoroastrians in the USA give their kids more “Iranian” names usually than even nominal Muslims). In contrast, Muslim Iranians would feel affinities with Arabs and Turks and other groups all around them through fellow-feeling of religious brotherhood.

The point of this post is not to take a particular stance on whether India is or isn’t secular, or should or shouldn’t be secular (whatever that means in India, which is different from the United States). Rather, it’s to acknowledge the “elephant in the room.” Growing up around my parents’ Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi friends, there was always the reality and tension that they had non-subcontinental attachments and identification, in theory. The theory part is made salient by the reality that my parents socialized with Hindu Indians and Bangladeshis (generally Bengali, but not always), but never with Muslims from other regions (the sole exception was when I had an Indonesian best friend, though my parents complained that the Indonesians weren’t very good Muslims anyway so what was the point?). They were foreigners in concrete terms, though there was an abstract brotherhood implied by faith.

Growing up in a family that is Muslim being exposed to the religion at the multiethnic masjid was a cosmopolitan experience. It was a West Asian dominated space. The difference with brown people that are Hindus is that with rare exceptions every religious space has a rootedness in being Indian. To be religious is to reinforce Indianness, subcontinentalness, South Asianness.

The title of the post is pretty explosive. But I am pretty sure none of my descendants that I will live to see (grandkids) will identify as Bangladeshi or subcontinent, so I think perhaps I can be a bit objective and detached. My legacy is going to be in North America, not South Asia. My family’s transition into being Muslim centuries ago opened up a whole new international world. But it also unmoored us from the soil in which we were nourished. Bangladeshi Muslims are still trying to deal with that and work through it.

* To be clear, I never said I was born and raised in India. I would simply say I was born in Bangladesh, which is near, and like, India.

** I can substitute “Dharmic” for Hindu and keep 90% of my argument the same