Column

The wounds of migration hit me in the face: men were psychologically destroyed. French poet, Tahar Ben Jelloun

Why do people migrate? Why do they leave behind their homes, jobs, friends and family and all associations to go to a new country to start a new, disconnected life? What is this enigma of departure, this mystery of the call of the new and a rejection of the old?

There are several types of migration. One is the forced one, brought upon by natural calamities, by changing weather patterns and by man-made disasters.

Nomads move around looking for food, work and pastures where their animals can graze. The violent exchange of Hindus and Muslims during the Partition of India was one such mass migration in recent history.

The other kind is when low-skilled workers, with little or no prospect of good employment at home, try to smuggle themselves into more developed countries, where any kind of life would be better than their present circumstances.

Bangladeshi workers in India or Indians and Africans in Europe or Mexicans in the US fall in that category.

This is the migration that scares the host country, because it raises the spectre of hordes of foreign-looking barbarians who come and take away jobs from the locals.

The Mexicans who move to the US or Bangladeshis who make India their home manage to hide among the general population. A Nigerian in Italy or a Sri Lankan in Denmark, however, stands out; for them, it is a tough life, dodging policemen and local gangsters, yet they manage to survive.

But there is a third type of migrant, the one that everyone likes — or pretends to like — and which is growing in India,unobtrusively.

Thousands of skilled, highly educated and well-placed professionals are lining up outside embassies to get out of India and several countries are opening their doors willingly.

These are doctors, engineers, accountants and others, all armed with little more than their degrees and a singular sense of purpose of going abroad and starting life anew.

They know that it will be difficult, but they intend to stick it out. Ask any of them, and they will say the same thing — “I am doing it for my kids.”

Which implies that despite Shining India, 9 per cent growth and visions of a glorious future for the country, they remain unconvinced that their children will be able to make it in India without the right connections, absurdly high marks or the correct caste configuration.

The pie may be growing, but they feel that they will not even get the crumbs; at least in the west (and Australia and New Zealand), they will have a good, clean life without corruption, pollution and besides they will get that coveted passport.

Life there is not easy, of course. There are stories galore of scientists driving taxis, doctors working in banks and so on.

This is not necessarily because of racism — even migrants from ‘white’ countries have to go through the same obstacle course — but because the local professional guilds and organisations make it difficult for someone with a foreign degree to get a practising licence.

The humiliations do not end there. Back home, the migrant was an important member of his community; there, he is reduced to being anonymous and insignificant.

The sense of self-doubt is overwhelming — “did we take the right step?” He seeks out others, but is not sure how much he should open up. It takes a few years to fully settle down, and even then, the migrant’s dilemma continues and the feeling of alienation never goes away.

Mohammed Haneef was a migrant too and his travails must not have gone unnoticed by other migrants. True, this was an extreme case, where the dreaded ‘T-word’ was part of the equation.

But, he too had gone with hopes and was on his way to making a successful career. As has now emerged, the charges against him were very flimsy; it was only a cussed government, out to prove its macho, anti-terrorist credentials which refused to recognise that.

When the courts gave him bail, the government utilised that one weapon that frightens every migrant —- they simply revoked his visa.

Is it surprising that while Haneef got a lot of support from Australian activists, Indian organisations, never to shy from fighting for their cultural rights or protecting their traditions, kept largely quiet, even though they must be simmering inside?

Why raise one’s head unnecessarily, they must have thought to themselves. This is none of our business. And who knows how the Australian authorities will react?

It’s easy for us to criticise this attitude, but given how the Australian government has behaved, perhaps one can see his fellow migrants’ point of view.

They are the ones who have to live there. And they are the ones who know that to be a migrant is to sometimes lose a bit of yourself.

Email: sidharth01@dnaindia.net