Privilege exists on many levels at Brown — sometimes more conspicuous, sometimes less apparent. While not wanting to overstep any boundaries or talk about other peoples’ struggles, I can say that my Brown experience was significantly shaped by the very fact that I was an international student, and the trope of the “rich international kid” defined an important part of my undergraduate career.
As the president of Buxton International House, there were instances that brought me closer to attesting to this trope. Mostly because of Buxton and its legacy (which I think could not be understood by many who have not lived in the house), there were times when the international community definitely appeared as an entitled group, throwing the craziest campus-wide parties, affording to be reckless while others could not, and somehow living up to the “jetsetter” ideal.
Some of us traveled a lot, and some of us came from multinational backgrounds — which, to my surprise, signified wealth and sophistication in the United States. Some of us represented our own countries’ 0.1 percent by belonging to distinctively privileged families in under-privileged countries. Some of us also did not.
Some of us got to the University without having access to SAT classes or college counseling. Most of the people around us at home did not know what “Brown” was besides a color — if they even knew some English. We left our families behind in war-ravaged countries and took an enormous risk by coming to a country that we had never seen before. Some of us could not have even imagined seeing America before the end of our lives — let alone studying at an American institution.
Though we all came from different socioeconomic backgrounds, we all deserved to be at Brown, simply because somebody at the Office of Admission thought we had something unique to bring to this college. Some of us were really good at sports. Some of us made amazing students in science, technology, engineering and mathematics. And some of us were incredible artists, getting the chance to produce things that we otherwise would not have in our home countries.
With or without money, we came to the United States to live up to our full potentials, but it was never that easy. No matter what we were actually capable of achieving as individuals, the rich and ostentatious international trope always resurfaced. It categorized us into a less complex and less amicable group.
I am not saying that the non-international community did not love or did not want to be friends with international students. But the residents of this country never acknowledged these individuals as a group that needed to be recognized more. So many times, I had interactions with administrators and heard the phrase, “Oh, the internationals.” We were always easily brushed off.
Does this appear as a problem within Brown? Yes, but it is not merely the fault of the University and my fellow peers. The fault is deeply rooted in a sentiment that reigns in this country: Nobody really wants to recognize the immigrants, because once they do, the destructive and unaccommodating nature of the U.S. immigration system becomes strikingly clear.
You simply cannot look away once you know that you have a system in hand that needs immediate reform. The discriminatory practices of the mechanism that lets people into this country or allows them to stay are more complicated and problematic than Donald Trump’s plans of building a wall between the United States and Mexico. So if you think that wall is worse than anything you can imagine about immigration, you are wrong. No one is actually going to build a concrete wall, given that the invisible wall of immigration already stands tall and strong.
The United States is kind enough to give its international students the chance to stay after graduation with what is called an Optional Practical Training visa. OPT gives international students the time to strike a deal for an H-1B, which allows them to stay for longer and even apply for a Green Card in the long run. H-1B is given out based on a lottery, through which only about one of three people can obtain work authorization. Until H-1B, OPT functions as an extended student visa (F-1) for usually a year — not even mentioning the STEM extension and its complicated status. Throughout this year, international students can only be unemployed for a total of 90 days and have to inform United States Citizenship and Immigration Services about their employment status.
Though OPT might sound like the opportunity of a lifetime, my OPT has not yet worked toward providing me the right opportunity to work in the United States. On the contrary, it has shown me how hard it is to be an immigrant in this country even as an Ivy League graduate — as entitled as this statement sounds. As an aspiring journalist, I have only come across employers who are willing to make me work long hours without paying me, because they do not really have to. In order to keep my OPT, I have to prove I am employed, and in return, nobody truly cares about me as long as I work.
Interview processes can get really tough, and you can sometimes find yourself interviewing for weeks or even for months. You slowly set up a “looking-for-job” routine by picking a cafe, buying some coffee, applying to jobs, buying more coffee, searching connections on Linkedin and sending millions of emails. Given the monotonous nature of the task, applications appear to be the same after a while, and you become more acquainted with phrases such as the Veterans Opportunity to Work Act, the Americans with Disabilities Act and Equal Employment Opportunity laws.
Yet somehow all of these acts fall short when employers tell you they cannot hire you because you do not hold a U.S. passport. One day, during a final interview, someone from a prominent news company told me the company would be willing to hire me “the day I won a Pulitzer Prize” — making it clear that someone is hardly worth the immigration hassle. Though I would not say no to a Pulitzer Prize, I do not think I am getting one anytime soon.
Everybody wants to hang out with the internationals and be like the internationals, but nobody actually wants to be an international. Regardless of the cultural appeal of being an international, there is such a burden that comes from being one. Nobody wants to plan out where they are going to be 12 months in advance. Nobody wants to consider having to marry their best friends because they want to stay in a country.
Being an international means planning, constantly taking risks and losing a lot when there is definitely not a reason to lose — and it is all because of what the system legislates and cannot oversee. We lose opportunities, we lose friends and we lose our incentives to do something for this country and this world.
Can the United States change the immigration system overnight? Definitely not. But people can choose to be allies without having to propose to their friends. They can rethink what citizenship means and restructure a vessel of discrimination into a source of celebration.
Deniz Cam ’15 currently lives in New York City and works for a United Nations-affiliated magazine. She is willing to hear any “international” problems and can be reached at deniz_cam@alumni.brown.edu.
