Preservation & Politics: Locating Privilege in Language
By Akhil Jonnalagadda
What are the stories and experiences of South Asians who live in the United States and do not speak in English? How do they create a home despite both systemic exclusion and interpersonal distance? How do they bridge linguistic gaps to connect with their community of family and friends?
SAYHU’s Preservation Project, in its mission to archive and preserve the voices of Houston’s South Asian community, is fundamentally an effort towards a broad redistribution of historical legitimacy. To undertake such a project is to do more than simply collect existent matter. It demands a careful, methodical excavation of how power is distributed and dispersed within Houston’s South Asian community. Doing so means we never lose sight of which subjects are being archived and the position of privilege (or lack thereof) that they embody in their microcosmic settings. If the purpose is to sift through the innumerable voices to amplify the silenced, then we must seek to understand— through the lenses of caste, class, gender, sexuality, religion, and so on— what the gaps are and why they exist.
One such axis that I am personally interested in is that of language. The English language has become central to the American identity thus swiping away from the record millions who are unable (or uncomfortable) to express themselves in English. The experiences that one has are colored by how one interacts with people, so the degrees at which people can interact in this country should be explored. To study difference amongst South Asians, we must in our analysis account for language’s indispensability, its potential for empowerment, and its fluidity amongst those with differing tongues. Many who struggle with language may also be marginalized in ways beyond just this— linguistic capacity is frequently drawn along lines of class, immigration status, caste, and age— but a language barrier leaves them further silenced, stripped of being able to say simple emotions and thoughts without extraordinary effort.
If we are to grapple with the South Asian-American experience, we must capture these narratives, fresh and bursting to be told, in the very languages and linguistic canons of storytelling through which they are understood. Language is a conduit through which one can share their stories with all its nuances, textures, and subtleties. Those of us fluent and comfortable in English belong on the side of the bridge that comes with a certain responsibility, power and opportunity; I can tell my story in my own words and have people listen, but who will pass the microphone so others can tell their own? If carefully shared and handled, such stories can chip away against a pervasive culture of exclusion.
The city of Houston, including and especially the South Asian community, is brimming with potential for organizing grassroots political action, but doing so requires meaningful recognition of those who make up the city’s population. We have an opportunity here to fill in the gaps of our collective story and inject into it the voices and memories of often misrepresented, if not wholly ignored, communities. I’m eager to participate in building an architecture to collect oral histories, artifacts, and records and to imbue ownership and authenticity into the work of public history.
The Preservation Project, bolstered by a deeply sensitive and robust feminist methodology, offers the possibility for us to patiently unearth stifled voices and nurture, layer by layer, a long-needed movement for empowerment. Folks from all linguistic backgrounds who are interested in the work— please join us!