In August 1990, I arrived in New Jersey, USA, carrying the aspiration of forging an international career. My mindset was geared towards mastering technology management and joining a leading multinational corporation. Underlying this ambition was a deeply personal hope: to fund a crucial operation for my ailing mother, praying for an extension of her fragile life. As fate would have it, neither of these aspirations fully materialized, a story for another time.
However, within my initial months in the US, an incident occurred that profoundly shaped my perspective on living in a foreign land. An Indian family generously hosted a potluck dinner for the entire Indian community in their modest, multi-unit housing complex, reminiscent of an Indian housing colony with its central quadrangle.
As we were leaving, my friend, who had offered me a ride, was asked to drop off another guest, a man around 30 years old. Throughout the evening and the car ride, this gentleman remained remarkably quiet. Having lived a life grounded in openness and honesty within my family, I felt a pang of sympathy for his quiet demeanor. I inquired if he was feeling homesick. He simply shook his head.
Later, I asked my friends about his somberness. They informed me that he wasn’t necessarily sad, but rather in a precarious situation. He had left a job at TCS and was now, in essence, an unwelcome entity – without a valid immigration status and actively seeking employment.
Intrigued, I pressed my friend for more details. He explained the intricacies of how US companies hired H1B workers at that time. “That’s just how it is,” he said, proceeding to describe a process that left me deeply uneasy. He recounted how companies would place a small, almost inconspicuous advertisement in a local newspaper for a programmer. In 1990, responses were typically few. The company would then maintain a waiting period. Afterward, they would document the advertisement’s publication date, the limited number of applicants, perhaps noting that only one or two were shortlisted, and in some cases, only one actually appeared for an interview. The implication was clear: this created a documented justification for hiring someone who was already in the country without proper authorization, effectively normalizing their status.
This practice was something I struggled to reconcile with my sense of fairness. It echoed a past personal experience. When I finished my engineering degree, I expressed to my mother, who then relayed to my father, my desire to attempt another competitive exam. The request was declined. While I didn’t harbor resentment towards my parents, I felt a similar sense of something being amiss. Despite this, I graduated with first-class honors and moved forward.
Similarly, I couldn’t shake the feeling: why should a local citizen be denied an opportunity in this manner?
Wouldn’t we, as a group of immigrants, eventually face scrutiny and criticism if this practice became widespread and accepted?
Who would bear the responsibility – the US companies employing such tactics, or the foreign workers who benefited from them?
