Sounding “brown”: Everyday aural discrimination and othering

Political Geography 79 (2020) 102151

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Sounding “brown”: Everyday aural discrimination and othering Christabel Devadoss Middle Tennessee State University, MTSU Box 133, 1301 East Main Street, Murfreesboro, TN, 37132, USA

A R T I C L E I N F O

A B S T R A C T

Keywords: Sound Othering Discrimination Nationalism Identity Aural discrimination language Accent Indian diaspora Indian Tamil diaspora Microaggressions

Recent political geographic scholarship has revisited the relevance of banal, everyday nationalism in the context of identity. This article contributes to that literature by focusing more specifically on the role of sound – accent and language – in everyday, banal “othering” and discrimination driven by heightened nationalism. Examining sound, both how it is perceived and experienced, lends insights into how nationalism and exclusion play out in everyday life. Contextualizing and nuancing broader issues of “othering” and discrimination through sound demonstrates that exclusion is not always visual or overt. Based on three years of fieldwork and interviews with Indian Tamils living in the United States, this research examines the banality of nationalism in aural encounters. First, it highlights subtle othering and microaggressions as well as their physical, emotional, and psychological effects. Second, it demonstrates how language and accent can be used to “flag” otherness in ordinary daily in­ teractions and spaces. Third, it shows how attention to aural ‘flagging’ reveals nuance of complex identities often binarized during climates of heightened nationalism. Ultimately, this article demonstrates that the impacts of nationalism are embedded in people’s daily lives and identities through subtle discriminatory aural encounters.

1. Introduction “As much as we love talking in our mother tongue, it can be mis­ construed. Please see if you can communicate in English in public pla­ ces.” -The Telangana American Telugu Association, February 2017 after the death of Srinivas Kuchibholta. On February 22, 2017, about one month after Donald Trump’s inauguration, Adam Purinton walked into an Olathe, Kansas bar and approached two Indians engaged in conversation on an outside patio. After interrogating them about their immigration status, he yelled “get out of my country,” and then later shot Srinivas Kuchibholta and Alok Madasani, killing Kuchibholta (Barajas, 2018; CNN, 2017; Schmidt, 2018). Shortly after, news media reported a series of other hate crimes targeting Indian Americans. The American Telangana Telugu Associa­ tion, an association that brings together Indians with ties to the Indian state of Telangana and/or speak the South Indian language of Telugu, issued a statement in social media, quoted in the epigraph, calling on members to only speak English in public spaces. According to Madasani, he and Kuchibholta purposefully spoke English in public (CNN, 2017), but Purinton nevertheless flagged them as “brown” or “foreign” aurally and visually. Indian communities across the U.S. shared this social media post and stressed speaking English in public, but the effects of this hate crime were much more subtle and elusive.

Political geographers recently revisited Billig’s (1995) banal nationalism in the context of identity (Antonsich, 2016; Culcasi, 2016; Koch & Paasi, 2016) and have stressed the dangers of the Trump ad­ ministration’s turn to nationalism that is steeped in white supremacy, anti-LGBTQIAþ, Islamophobia, anti-immigration, and anti-Semitism €karıksel & Smith, 2016; Steinberg et al., 2018). Advocacy groups (Go like South Asian Americans Leading Together (SAALT) found that hate crimes had not only reached unprecedented levels against South Asian, Sikh, Muslim, and Arab communities after Trump’s election campaign, surpassing those post-9/11, but these hate crimes continue to rise (Modi, 2018; Sridaran, Raghunathan, & Trivedi, 2017). SAALT found that one in five reported hate crimes against South Asians since 2015 directly referenced Donald Trump, his administration, campaigns, or policies, while others were connected to a rise in white supremacy, white nationalist groups, or contained active references to xenophobia and Islamophobia (Modi, 2018). Many scholars argue that dominant politi­ cal rhetoric and American nationalism stressing whiteness has signifi­ cantly contributed to hate crimes, bias, and bigotry (Beydoun, 2018; Modi, 2018; Naber, 2012). Othering and discrimination have been largely examined through visuals, texts, or broader political discourses, yet are highly aural phe­ nomena (Dave, 2013; Haldrup, Koefoed, & Simonsen, 2006). As Revill (2016) notes, sound is political and affects experiences. Haldrup et al. (2006) further illustrate how sound is part of the larger practice of

E-mail address: [email protected]. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.polgeo.2020.102151 Received 6 August 2019; Received in revised form 29 November 2019; Accepted 14 January 2020 Available online 24 January 2020 0962-6298/© 2020 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

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Political Geography 79 (2020) 102151

“othering”, Orientalism, and everyday discrimination. Sound – defined for this paper as accent and language – is important to how people perform or express identities, but can also mark identities, in the context of the nation, as “other” or non-normative (Haldrup et al., 2006; Jazeel, 2005; Rhys; Jones & Merriman, 2009; Kanngieser, 2012; Sharma, 2006; Simonsen, 2010; S.; Smith, 2000). I argue that the effects of white American nationalism manifest in everyday encounters through sound. I draw my argument from a case study of experiences of Indian Tamils in the United States, post-September 11, 2001 and post- Donald Trump’s election campaign in 2015.

systematically discriminated against them in various ways (Beydoun, 2018; Love, 2017). For example, in the 1910s, the Asiatic Exclusion League, founded specifically to stop migration from Asia, and the American Federation of Labor described Sikhs, who provided agricultural support in California and worked the Western Pacific Railroad, as a “‘Tide of Turbans’, ‘rag­ heads’ and even a distinct ‘menace’”, excluding them from work and active participation in US society (Bhardwaj & Rao, 1990, p. 198). The 1917 Immigration Act that created the “Asiatic Barred Zone”, prohibited immigration from much of Asia including India, and the subsequent 1924 Immigration Act, not repealed until 1965,2 placed quotas on the number of immigrants from Asia (Bhardwaj & Rao, 1990; Chishti, Hipsman, & Ball, 2015; Eck, 2018; Gibson, 1988). Ironically still, Indian Americans, though flagged as “brown” and “foreign” have also been linked to “whiteness” and “brown privilege” (Bhatia, 2007). As a group, they are perceived to be a privileged, model minority exempt from much racial and ethnic violence directed at other minorities (Chou & Feagin, 2015; Dave, 2013). Part of the reason for this perceived privilege is because they have the highest median income of any ‘ethnic group’3 and even though this stereotype does not fit the life experiences of many Indian Americans, they have often been peddled in immigration policy as the secret to “economic success” – a status of ‘whiteness’ in U.S. society (Chou & Feagin, 2015; Skop, 2012). Such privilege within Indian communities can reproduce racism and disengagement from other minority communities in the U.S. and an inability to recognize instances of discrimination because of the perception of being white, despite instances when they are flagged as “brown”. Chand and Tung (2014) describe this as a reproduction of “white, Christian values,” not limited to Christian communities. For Chand and Tung (2014), Hindu and Christian communities align much more when “other” religions fall into the political spotlight – as seen in nationalistic climates post-9/11 and post-2015 and thus, many non-Muslim Indian communities in the U.S. actively separate themselves from the perception that they are Muslim, black, or any other minority (Bhatia, 2007; Koshy, 1998; Radhakrishnan, 2003). Despite this attempt at separation, Indians, in many facets of U.S. society, are not ‘flagged’ as white. Though Indians have been charac­ terized as non-threatening model immigrants, they have also been characterized as threatening disrupters of white American culture. Specific stereotypes mark Indians, on the one hand, as threatening for stealing IT or medical jobs or as outsiders trying to take over America; or on the other hand, as dutiful laborers running convenient stores or hotels or funny sidekicks who supplement or serve to boost the narrative of white characters (Dave, 2013). Stereotypes are heavily connected to accent and language (Dave, 2013; Haldrup et al., 2006; Kanngieser, 2012; Simonsen, 2010). Dave (2013) shows how U.S. popular mass media represents the ‘“Indian” accent as single accent even though there are hundreds of languages and dozens of official languages in India that produce very different “ac­ cents.” Dave (2013) examines how the “Indian” accent as an aural marker shows “non-white otherness” and points to characters like Raj in The Big Bang Theory or Apu on the Simpsons whose accents serve ste­ reotypes of nerdy, techy, and a sexually undesirable “other” that does not conform to white American standards or norms. Comedian Hari Kondabolu, recently released a film (Melamedoff, 2017), “The Problem with Apu” commenting on how the “Indian” accent and Indian stereo­ types have negatively affected many Indian Americans who have grown up in the U.S. and flagged Indians through accent as “brown” and not

2. Flagging “brown” and the sounds of xenophobia Discrimination that people experience in daily life – at work, school, in public spaces, etc. – or “everyday” discrimination, reflects broader effects of dominant nationalistic climates including rhetoric and policies of the current administration echoed or practiced institutionally or by a portion of the U.S. population (APA, 2018; Mouzon, Taylor, Nguyen, Ifatunji, & Chatters, 2019). The Trump administration’s version of American nationalism revolves heavily around the ideals of whiteness and white nationalism, and throughout his presidency, Donald Trump has been criticized for reinforcing the notion that real Americans are €karıksel & Smith, 2016; Morrison, 2016; “white” (Coates, 2017; Go Steinberg et al., 2018). For instance, in 2019, Donald Trump was con­ demned for telling four congresswoman who are not white, to “go back to the countries they come from” despite that all four women are American citizens and three were born in the United States (Rogers & Fandos, 2019). White nationalism is not new, but the current visibility of white nationalism and its push for a white ethnostate (SPLC, n.d., p. 2) and has influenced visible and violent acts, like the death of Kuchibholta. Effects of white nationalism are also subtle. Antonsich (2016) de­ scribes daily reminders of “nationhood” through “flagging” of identity. Post-2015 and arguably before, “flagging” marks the prevalence of “white” national identity in daily U.S. life. Reminders of ‘not belonging’, reflecting more visibly dominant political climate of whiteness, often manifest in very ordinary, routine ways and through racist acts or microaggressions (Antonsich, 2016; Joshi, McCutcheon, & Sweet, 2015). Joshi et al. (2015) describe microaggressions as a form of racism deeply embedded in everyday interactions. These less visible acts of racism happen often during one’s daily routine. Banal racism occurs alongside blatant white nationalism, which impacts many Americans and people living in the U.S., including 4 million South Asians, of which over 2 million are Indians (Barrett, 2018; Bhardwaj & Rao, 1990; Hoeffel, Rastogi, Kim, & Shahid, 2012; SAALT, 2015; Skop & Li, 2005). Yet, the impacts of white nationalism are not new as systematic ‘othering’ and discrimination of Indian Americans has coincided with a long history of violence and Orientalist representation. These have built on old, entrenched, and pervasive realities of racism, slavery, genocide, xenophobia, and preferencing whiteness as a condi­ tion for ‘belonging’, from the early 1900s to post-1965 immigration1 €karıksel & Smith, 2016; Morris, (Bhardwaj & Rao, 1990; Bobo, 2017; Go 2017; Safran, Kumar, Sahoo, & Lal, 2008; Steinberg et al., 2018). A nation built on these pillars homogenizes and deems certain groups “… as perpetual foreign threats to the U.S. world order” (Smith, 2012, p. 74), which has been traditionally defined as white (Bonds & Inwood, 2016; Coates, 2017; Morrison, 2016). Muslims, Sikhs, South Asians, and Arabs, are often conflated, homogenized, and branded as threats by the American public and governmental actors especially in increased nationalistic climates of xenophobia and Islamophobia (Hopkins, Bot­ terill, Sanghera, & Arshad, 2017; Sridaran et al., 2017). These groups have been flagged as “brown” or put into a nameless racial category that effectively homogenizes multiple groups of richly diverse people and has 1

2 Though, it is also important to acknowledge that this bill was problematic for countries in the Americas in that it created conditions for “illegal” immi­ gration from Mexico and other South and Central American countries (Massey & Pren, 2012). Trump has also discussed stopping familial chain migration. 3 I use this term (used by the authors cited) to make a point but recognize that the term ethnic is somewhat problematic.

Shifting the violence to other minorities in Central and South America. 2

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Political Geography 79 (2020) 102151

American. Discrimination and flagging of “brown” has also been linked to the sounds of language and is very much connected hegemonic represen­ tations of nations and identities (Anzaldúa, 1987; L. D. R.; Jones, 2001; Rhys; Jones & Merriman, 2009; Paasi, 2003; Segrott, 2001). Languages reinforce and assert dominant national identities or are used to erase non-dominant identities in seemingly “banal” ways (Jones & Merriman, 2009; Paasi, 2003; Segrott, 2001). English has been used as a hegemonic language that suppresses non-dominant languages and identities (Jones & Merriman, 2009). English-only education and policies isolate and marginalize many people whose first language is not English as well as use a specific version of midwestern English to preserve English as “white” in the U.S. (Anzaldúa, 1987; Cammarota & Aguilera, 2012; NPR, 2018, p. 26). Many Americans also do not realize that there are many versions of English and it is an official language of India and many non-European countries (though often because of colonization) (Mac­ edo, Dendrinos, & Gounari, 2003). Most recently, Pew Research Center found that 3 in 10 Americans are bothered by hearing a language other than English in public (Horowitz, 2019). The majority of these Americans were white, but the group also included Asians. Pew also reported that among party lines, about 47 percent of Republicans and 18 percent of Democrats said that hearing a language other than English in public places would bother them. Only 26 percent of Republicans said that it would not bother them at all (Horowitz, 2019).

of the Indian Tamil diaspora and have connections to the Indian state of Tamil Nadu either through family, background, or language (see Fig. 1) (see Fig. 2). I based my interview and participant observation on three sites. Northeast OH was a primary site for data collection, but I also benefited from a multi-site analysis including northern New Jersey and Morgan­ town, WV. Participants that I interviewed were connected to each of these sites through family or friends (or snowball sampling), but par­ ticipants may have lived or worked in other parts of the United States including Texas, California, Alabama, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and others. Much of my information on Tamil community sizes came from observation and/or statistics from Tamil organizations. U.S. census data does not identify subsets of the Indian diaspora and to revisit Bose’s (2018, p. 262) description, “is a poor way of aligning the various parts of the diasporic identity – region language, ethnicity, and culture being a few of these.” Identifying Tamil populations through language is also difficult as Tamil is spoken in more than India. Furthermore, partici­ pants who identify as Tamil or participated in Tamil communities did not always speak Tamil. Northeast OH, in particular, provided a “non-traditional gateway community”. According to the definition provided by Skop (2012), a non-traditional gateway community serves as one that is not the largest by population and physical size but has a population compared to other communities in the U.S. and thus provides a lens that is generalizable to other communities in the United States as most Indian communities are not the size of those in northern New Jersey. Northeast OH was a mid-sized location, while New Jersey is known to have one of the largest Indian Tamil populations. Morgantown, on the other hand, had the smallest community of the three. Context and location did impact participant experiences. For example, many described more instances of discrimination in areas with less diversity (rural Ohio or West Virginia) or with fewer Indians in these locations. So, for example, many partic­ ipants said that they had experienced less discrimination after the Trump election or 9/11 in large Indian communities in New Jersey, than when they were in or visiting smaller communities in other parts of the country.

3. Researching aural othering and discrimination Sound is important to more robustly contextualizing nationalist “flagging” of identities, while also important to combating and under­ standing rising xenophobic in more visible white nationalist climates.4 In order to understand how “othering” and stereotypes affect daily lives of people in the U.S., I spent 3 years in several Indian Tamil communities conducting participant observational research and officially interview­ ing 65 participants. I also spoke to many others about accent and lan­ guage, often during my participant observational research. Those quoted in the paper are from my official interview data. All participant names are pseudonyms to protect anonymity. This research was part of a larger project regarding sound and identity. My father is from Tamil Nadu, the Tamil-speaking southeasternmost state in India, and I have spent much of my life in contact with various Indian communities in the United States. I related to many of the experiences that participants shared with me and vice versa. Indian communities and India’s diaspora have always been a part of my life, thus have also influenced the ways I approach my research. Because India is so diverse linguistically and culturally, to under­ stand sound’s role in discrimination, I narrowed the scope of my study. As scholars have noted, homogenization of South Asians and Indians has contributed to “othering” and hate crimes (Hopkins et al., 2017). To address this concern and nuance my research, my particular analysis focuses on the Indian Tamil community in the U.S., which is part of the broader Indian diaspora. The Indian diaspora is fractured at many subdivisions along religious, regional, linguistic, and cultural lines, which many scholars have referred to as “diasporas within a diaspora” and “sub-diasporas” (Bhardwaj & Rao, 1990; Bhatia, 2007; Dufoix, 2008; Safran et al., 2008; Sahoo, 2006; Voigt-Graf, 2004). A subregional focus is important precisely because homogenization masks various nuances of the Indian diaspora and continues to contribute to gross mischaracterization, stereotyping, and misrecognition (Dave, 2013; Safran et al., 2008; Velayutham, 2008). Participants I spoke to are part

4. Everyday discrimination: fear and microaggressions Nationalistic sentiment promoting “white” identity, whether through the broader discourse of Islamophobia deployed blatantly and subtly through the “War on Terror” or Trump’s sympathy toward white nationalist views, is reflected in everyday encounters of those who are €karıksel targets of this rhetoric in the United States (Beydoun, 2018; Go & Smith, 2016; Jones, 2012). Sound was incredibly important to how many participants perceived discrimination, but sound also revealed that flagging “other” or “brown” went beyond visible hate crimes or acts of violence and was much more ambiguously embedded in everyday interactions. For some participants, discrimination was visible – a hate crime; an act of physical violence; denial from job opportunities, college admis­ sion, promotion, other opportunities given preference to white Ameri­ cans – all issues highlighted by advocacy groups to change public policies. Yet, for many, distinguishing or describing discrimination was more complex, elusive. It was an act or instance that marked them as “brown”, “other”, or somehow not belonging in the United States because they did not fit the dominant “white” American identity. There were even cases where a few participants supported Trump’s policies and nationalistic views while also describing the issues and harassment they faced in the wake of the election. Many participants described discrimination as a form of “othering” – they were looked at, treated differently, spoken to in a derogatory way, or scrutinized because of specific identities (non-white identities). Often, these experiences were undermined or challenged by others around them. For example, some participants would describe an incident and couch it with “Well, I don’t know if this is what actually happened, but it felt like …” or second-

4 I want to note that while I discuss othering and discrimination in this article, many people also used sound – accent and language – to assert or define identities as well. Accent and language can also be tools of empowerment and solidarity.

3

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Political Geography 79 (2020) 102151

Fig. 1. State of Tamil Nadu. (Map by author).

guess their own experiences. Sometimes, discrimination went unrecognized by participants or by those around them. In part, this was because experienced bias was often tied to Orientalist stereotypes that have persisted for centuries in “Western” thought (Anderson, 1987; Chakrabarty, 2000; Said, 1978, 1993, 1997), even if these stereotypes manifested more blatantly in nationalistic political climates that preference whiteness. Orientalism and “othering” are so deeply embedded in American culture and com­ pounded with current political discourse that some participants or their American friends could not recognize them in their everyday experi­ ences. This also led to participants experiencing heightened micro­ aggressions. As Joshi et al. (2015, p. 300) describe, “Racial microaggressions are not overt racist acts and sometimes occur without the perpetrator or even the victim being aware of them.” Joshi et al. (2015, p. 305) are clear that microaggressions, ranging from “overt” to “subtle” create emotional turmoil for many people of color. As the au­ thors suggest, microaggressions can be at times so arguably inconspic­ uous that perpetrators can deny them, causing victims to “second-guess” themselves while constantly questioning the validity of their experiences. For most interviewees, “othering” was ordinary compared to phys­ ical acts of violence, but in some cases, it nevertheless created a sense of

fear or emotional turmoil that was so strong, it manifested physically and mentally from anxiety or depression to insomnia or digestive issues. Many researchers have documented the psychological and physical ef­ fects of discrimination (Carter, 2007; Carter, Sant-barket, Carter, & Sant-barket, 2014; Franklin, Boyd-Franklin, & Kelly, 2006; Joshi et al., 2015; Lee & Ahn, 2011). Several studies in psychology have even spe­ cifically examined the emotional, psychological, and physical effects of discrimination on Asian Americans in their daily lives in the US (Tum­ mala-Narra, Alegria, & Chen, 2012; Yoo & Lee, 2005). Many participants described psychological issues associated with the nationalistic rhetoric of Trump’s election and subsequent violent hate crimes. The death of Srinivas Kuchibholta had widespread effects on those in the Indian and South Asian communities. Participants’ discus­ sion of discrimination often focused on emotional impacts and height­ ened fear from the increased visibility of violent crimes and xenophobic rhetoric regarding Indian Americans, ‘non-white’ immigrants, and people of color. For example, Bharathi, who has been living in the U.S. in 1971, said that the current political climate and the election of Donald Trump has affected her emotionally in a way that she had not experi­ enced before in the United States. Trump’s election caused her great psychological stress and the subsequent heightened xenophobic nationalism manifested in her everyday life. She said since the election, 4

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Fig. 2. Research sites in the US. (Map by Connor Burnard, Douglas L. Allen, and author). *Note: Participants were connected to these sites but may have lived in or worked in others.

she had a lot of anxiety, sometimes unable sleep at night, and was unable to leave her house comfortably (worrying that someone would say or do something to her because they might not think she is American). Interviewed in October of 2017, almost a year after the election, she said that although she was not as upset as she was initially, the feelings of dread had not subsided. She worried often about the future, the country, her family, friends, and other immigrants in general. With antiimmigration and white nationalist rhetoric, along with the Trump’s immigration ban in February of 2017 especially, she felt the current administration was attacking her, her identity, and her life in the United States. She was being marked or “flagged” as not American and a threat to the United States. She said that when her husband turns on the TV to watch the news, she has to walk out of the room. “I can’t listen. It is too much.” More than Bharati described how this heightened fear post-election and even post-9/11 manifested emotionally, psychologically, and sometimes even physically. For example, quite a few participants said that they felt physically ill (nausea, faintness, panic) after the election or when they heard about some new “horrible thing” Trump had said or done, especially regarding his rhetoric about non-white Americans, immigrants, or people of color. Many also said that Trump promoted white nationalism and effectively gave white nationalists permission to assault or threaten people of color, which made them uncomfortable in many public spaces. Participants like Suhail and Fathima described an uneasiness that waivered in their daily lives, especially after 9/11 and the 2016 election. Both separately described anxiously watching the news to see what rhetoric or dialogue was used to describe Muslims, Indians, or others in these political climates. Fathima described that it affected their interactions at work, with their neighbors, in schools, and other parts of their lives. Suhail said that when he watches the news and sees a terrorist attack, he thinks, “Please God, don’t let it be a Muslim.” The implications of the discourse of “Muslim terrorist” resonate in their everyday routines and how other Americans (and even Indians) view or interact with them.

As Joshi et al. (2015) have argued, physical effects of micro­ aggressions and discrimination (i.e. fear or anxiety) change the way that people of color operate in their daily lives – avoiding certain situations, areas, confrontations, or in this case, becoming keenly aware of broader nationalist or geopolitical discourse because it affects navigating daily life. Microaggressions, a product of institutional white supremacy that disadvantages and psychologically affects people of color in all areas of American life, (Joshi et al., 2015), for many participants, were more easily recognizable for most participants post-9/11 and post-Trump’s election. 5. Accent, language, and everyday discrimination Psychological effects of fear and microaggressions are part of the everyday ‘flagging’ of identity and sound is a key factor in these expe­ riences. Participants’ experiences of “othering” and discrimination were heavily tied to sound, especially language and accent. For many par­ ticipants, they had not experienced a direct hate crime or physical violence, but nevertheless, still had to fear or worry in the current po­ litical climate especially with respect to language or accent. Many par­ ticipants described this as “sounding brown.” Language and accent were foundational to recognizing more un­ derstated forms of “othering” and discrimination, especially with respect to “sounding brown”. Accent is significant to the ways in which people perceive others or experience discrimination and often stems from how popular mass media represents accent much like how “Indian” accents are homogenized and branded as “other” (Dave, 2013; Kanngieser, 2012). Language and accent were tied to the way that participants were read or perceived as “brown”, but also were important to overall recognition of discrimination or “othering” at all. In part, this was because the idea of being marked as “not white” does not always register with Indian or Indian Tamil communities. Because Indians are stereo­ typed with things like ‘economic’ success, they are closely linked to whiteness and many experience ‘brown privilege’ as Bhatia (2007) 5

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notes. However, when discussing accent or language, many participants were more receptive to thinking about these issues. For example, at the beginning of interviews, some participants said that they had never felt discriminated against. However, they changed their views or described an experience after I brought up language or accent. Some of these participants did not think of themselves as “not white” or alternatively, said they had not felt treated unfairly by or as different from “white” Americans. Yet, most participants who said this had at least one example of discrimination or “othering” regarding accent or language (often by white Americans), especially post-9/11 and post-Trump’s 2015 election campaign. These participants did not always blame those harassing them, however, and often couched their examples under the idea that they needed to improve their accents or language to become more “American”, placing blame on themselves. Yet, they did describe these incidents as making them extremely uncomfortable and creating much psychological turmoil. Punniya, for instance, initially said that she never experienced any issues in the US where she felt people discriminated against her. How­ ever, when asked about experiences with accent or language, she responded:

potentially facing violence. Now, speaking Tamil might ‘flag’ them as a threat or as a target for white nationalists. Lakshmi and Prisha both described that people would decidedly see them or react to them as “other”, different, or “brown” precisely because they spoke with “Indian” accents. Lakshmi said that people notice accent right away and you cannot hide it. In some cases, participants described that people in public places would be condescending, talk down to them, or act as if they were unintelligent because of their accents. They were not subject to traditional “overtly racist act” as Joshi et al. (2015) have argued, but were nevertheless treated differently, thus creating an un­ comfortable environment in their daily spaces. Participants like Prisha described a lack of respect and double-standard for Indian Americans in her experiences. When I came early on, when I spoke, I’m sure I had accent. I spoke quite fluently. (I’m sure I still do, but it is better). Here is what I thought. People pre-decide that they are not going to understand you. They don’t listen or stop listening. I can speak, I’m sure you can understand me. So, they made me feel uncomfortable, bad … Even my own advisor, she would correct me. ‘Hey, you need to make sure you pronounce these names correctly because it is disrespectful’, yet they would mispronounce my name all the time.

I’m truly worried about my English. There are words I can’t catch. Or if I can’t understand or I can’t answer, what to do? This is very bad thinking, but it is the main reason I don’t go out. Even if they are making fun of me, I can’t understand. If they make fun of me, I can’t understand it. Maybe they aren’t in in a mean way, but they are still joking … Sometimes I face issues, but I try to forget about them.

Prisha’s experiences with accent were not “overtly” racist acts and quite commonplace, yet the “flagging” as “other” affected the way that she had to navigate her work, school, and daily interactions with nonIndian Americans. When other people brought attention to Prisha’s ac­ cent, it made her acutely uncomfortable in public spaces. She said that once someone emphasized her accent, it was hard not to be aware of it. “As soon as they put you on the spot, your accent thickens. You get more uncomfortable. I would consciously make an effort to relax when I realized what was happening.” Prisha, like many others, endured years and countless experiences like this with accent or language and it genuinely affected how they operated and navigated their lives in the United States, effectively marking them as “brown” in an aurally white US. Participants like Matthew, who grew up in Alabama, said he had experienced a lot of harassment focused on his accent when he first came to US in elementary school. But much like Prisha’s experience with Americans mispronouncing her name, sounding “brown” was more than just accent but also connected to how names sounded. He recalls how an incident at school shaped his own name. “I thought it was weird, on an 8th grade science test, the bonus question was how do you spell (Mat­ thew)’s last name? We changed our last name because of that.” For Matthew, it was not just the way he spoke, but also the way that his name sounded – not white, but “brown”. The pronunciation of his name and the way that people heard it was significant even before events like 9/11 or the Trump election, but definitely has implications in current climates. He said that if you have a more white or American sounding last name, you are less likely to experience discrimination in job hiring, schools, among other things. Though this incident drew attention to the last name, it was not the only reason that they changed it. The last name he has now is no longer “Indian”, but sounds quite American, like a Smith, or Jones. He said this made it easier for them to find employment, for other Americans to pronounce the name, and in the end, be viewed as more “American.” In other words, it made them more culturally and aurally white. Accent was an issue for many in public places before and after 9/11 or the Trump election, but many associated a distinct change in nationalist political climates that heightened security on non-white Americans, rising anti-immigration sentiments, and Orientalism, spe­ cifically following these two incidents. Furthermore, everyday xeno­ phobia that existed prior to these especially nationalistic climates, helped shape the environment for spikes in hate crimes and increased experiences of “othering” and discrimination. Many participants expressly noted that Indians became much more associated with

She said that people have made fun of her for her accent before, yet she also admitted that back in India, she, and others sometimes for fun, would joke about the way others speak Tamil and described this as a human characteristic. Yet, in the US, this fear makes her afraid to go outside and participate in US society. She said she really only goes to the library and to a hospital where she volunteers. In these places that are more diverse, she does not worry about people teasing her. When she goes outside those two places, that is where she has experienced people laughing at her and those are the places she fears. Fear, microaggressions, and psychological effects of discrimination were embedded in the experiences of many participants and they described how they were often marked or flagged as being “other”, “brown”, or “foreign” based on the way they sounded. Maari, for instance, said he had not experienced any physical violence (though he knew people who had been threatened), but described getting comments not just about the way he looked, but also about the way he spoke. “That happens to me a lot of time, why is your English good? I studied English as a first language in India too. These questions are generally asked by people who are above 50 because of the stereotypes.” Aural markers like language or perceived accent were significant to how people interacted with Maari and the ways in which he felt marked as “other” or “brown”. For many like Maari, language, accent, and visuals signify certain characteristics, mostly negative, that others project onto him through stereotypes that they see in popular media or through news programs (some participants described “Fox News” as a major culprit). Like Maari, Arvind described his recent worries about threats, hate crimes, or harassment after hearing that it had happened to others. Events like the death of Kuchibholta brought national attention to how language can contribute to violent hate crimes in many Indian Tamil communities. Arvind said that he worried about gatherings where he or family were learning to speak Tamil, a “foreign” language. “I was so worried about my son and grandson. They go to Tamil school. Now in front of the school we have unmarked police protection.” With a surge in hate crimes after Trump’s election campaign targeting “non-white,” “brown” people or “foreigners”, Arvind’s concern significantly height­ ened. Before the election of Trump, Arvind and his family were able to go to Tamil school or functions without having to worry about 6

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‘brownness’ with respect to accent and language after 9/11. Daily en­ counters with white Americans reflected this sentiment and more importantly, often mirrored heightened xenophobic nationalistic climates. Ruth, who came to the US in 1982, said her experiences with accent, were especially apparent after 9/11 and after the Trump election. While she said she was used to getting looks and stares, accent and language were particularly noticeable in her experiences. After 9/11, she said that people in public (often white Americans) would pretend (and still pre­ tend) that they didn’t (or don’t) understand her. “They switch off their ears. I can understand them. They should understand me. If they see a different color, they think you don’t speak English.” For Ruth, and a few other participants, accent often intersected with being “brown.” Many said that it is not just that someone looks “brown,” it is also that they sound “brown”. Many participants mentioned that if you look white and have an accent, it is much different than if you are visibly ‘brown’ and have an accent. Though, in either case, it still marks you as not ‘Amer­ ican’ in some way. Participants like Lakshmi described that because she is not white, people assume she has an accent or that she cannot speak English, and this contributes to her not being viewed as “American” or at least not as “American” as other Americans. Lakshmi said that she noticed it more after the Trump election.

who looked like they might be ‘Muslim’, ‘Middle-Eastern’, or not a white ‘American.’ Also, they described heightened experiences of discrimina­ tion based on accent after Trump’s election campaign and presidency. Vimala said that it does not just affect her, because also affects her parents. I experienced it through my parents. My parents still have their In­ dian accent. We’ve gone shopping together. I’ll repeat what they are saying to the attendant. There was this one time this person made my mother repeat herself over and over and over again. This person had a smirk on their face. It was one of those times I called them out on it, ‘Please stop.’ I’ve experienced through them though I don’t really have an accent. While many participants described accent or perceived accent as significant to how other Americans, often white, marked them as “brown” or not American, language was also important. Orientalist stereotypes of “foreign backwardness” that existed before 9/11, but also became heightened after 9/11, persisted in the context of linguistic politics. Santhya, for instance, recalls a few occasions where she felt discriminated against in the US with respect to accent after these key political shifts like 9/11, but also recalls how language was a key component. ‘How do you know English so well?’ I’ve encountered it a few times in the US. And also, when I was living in New Jersey and I had joined a French speakers’ group. In that group one of the women asked me where I learned French. She had the assumption that my husband must be white and the only reason I knew French was because my husband taught me. In her mind, it was that I had been brought by a white husband and that is why I spoke French. I wouldn’t necessarily be myself without being rescued from a life of misery from a devel­ oping country.

Even now, I feel like people do talk with a different attitude [after the Trump election]. Was I treated bad? People assume you don’t speak English and you try to understand them. Anyway, we are always treated as second-class citizens. That, you feel. You have to work 10 times more and that I still worry about that for my own children even though they were born here. I don’t think they will be treated equally like the Americans. When she talked about the ‘Americans’, she also largely referred to white Americans. Even if her children were born here in the US, she says that they will never be seen as American. People will always think that they do not speak English or that they were born somewhere else. I gathered that it was in part because, they were not white and more importantly, because they were not perceived to sound white. While her children may have “American” accents, they are nevertheless perceived to be “foreign” or instead continuously questioned about how and why they “speak English so well.” Many second-generation participants that I interviewed, who grew up in the US and speak with a variety of ‘American’ accents, described instances where white Americans assumed that they had a ‘non-Amer­ ican’, “brown” accent or had commented on how “they speak English so well”, flagging them as “brown” and thus, not “American.” Vimala says that it happens to her all the time. “I’ve gotten that, you speak English very well or you are very articulate. Why? And relative to what? I’ve been the recipient of that ‘compliment.’” Likewise, Nazeem says that she becomes more assertive about claiming her ‘American’ identity when she experiences harassment based on perceived accent. She said that working in retail, she has run into a lot of issues with people ascribing accents to her, when she clearly speaks with an American (Texas) accent.

Anusha also described her concern with instances when her parents speak Tamil in public, especially after the recent election. “When we are traveling when my parents are talking in Tamil, I get nervous. We are very brown and no one can miss it, but the way we sound and dress brings attention to us.” Many participants, including Anusha, described how language became a flag or marker for “brownness” or “otherness”, describing how accent and language were very much connected to nationalistic climates that emphasized xenophobia, Islamophobia, and Orientalism. Discrimination, “othering”, or fear associated with these national­ istic climates was especially reflected through sound, specifically accent and language in that people can sound non-white or brown. These everyday experiences were routine, often went unnoticed by many, and did not always result in direct bodily harm or violence. Nevertheless, they affected people’s lives in significant ways. Sound revealed a more nuanced account of flagging, microaggressions, fear of violence, and subtle discrimination deeply connected to people’s everyday experience and heightened in nationalistic, xenophobic political climates. 6. Sound reveals complex experiences of othering Experiences of othering and discrimination were quite nuanced and layered with compounding factors, including geographic location. I interviewed participants from urban and rural5 areas, university towns, small towns, suburbs, and large cities. Many had lived in multiple areas of the United States – from the West to East Coast, North to South. Generally, participants believed that 1) racism would occur more often

‘Oh I really like your accent.’ I’m like what accent? She (the person checking out) assumed that because I’m not American-looking, she assumed that I didn’t … (pause) she clearly attributed something to me that wasn’t there. Also, the ‘where you from, no where you really from?’ Working at retail people feel like they need to ask. I’m usually like, America. That is when I really strongly identify as American. They are like really, no, where you really from, I’m like no really, fuck off.

5 These areas were defined differently by each participant. For instance, most people agreed on what a rural area was, but what some thought of as small towns, others thought of as rural areas. Thus, the definitions of these categories (i.e. rural, urban, etc.) were quite fluid.

Both Vimala and Nazeem described events in detail, but many other second-generation participants said that they had experienced this as well – especially after 9/11 nationalistic discourse that ‘othered’ people 7

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in rural areas of the US and 2) people expressed racism differently in the North than in the South. Matthew, who grew up in Alabama, said that in the South, he felt people were less likely to be “outwardly” racist but might be more “inwardly” racist. Others had described that in states like Indiana, Ohio, or Pennsylvania, people would be more openly racist “to your face”. Some participants described that the West Coast of the US was less racist than the East Coast, not even comparing “North” and “South”. Participants often explained that they experienced discrimination, othering, or stereotyping in less-diverse places and where they were the visible and audible minority. For example, the experiences of Fathima and Suhail, siblings who grew up in Ohio, varied given location. Suhail said he does not remember much discrimination, but Fathima says that by the time Suhail was in elementary school (they were 5 years apart), the family had already moved to a more “diverse” area. “For him, his memories of that part of our life were very few.” She said that her parents desperately tried to get them in a different school system because they were worried about living in their rural neighborhood. Fathima recalls a few comments:

like the confederate flag-waving areas. We wanted to know where to get flowers for our friend and no one would talk to us. She was black and I’m brown, so two people of color, we were just completely ignored. One time we were eating, they looked visibly scared like they like moved away from us. They were visibly afraid. It was kinda funny to me but also like, is this real? I’ve had isolated experiences like that usually in the South or in a really rural area but for the most part, I’ve been in pretty diverse areas. Although various in its forms, racism in the US was pervasive almost everywhere. Fathima, for example, said that she, her family, and hus­ band’s family have experienced as much racism even in cities and sub­ urbs of the “Midwest” as in the rural areas. She described racism manifesting through Islamophobia, ignorance, or even in casual con­ versations. And despite fewer instances in college towns and large urban centers, participants still described concern with discrimination and some even commented that most cities and suburbs on the East Coast were very racist. The role of discrimination in these areas is difficult to pinpoint partially because of how discrimination is described, concep­ tualized, and even reported. Another compounding factor was that the discourse of whiteness perpetuated in Northern narratives of the South when these areas are not all “white.” Accent and language especially revealed these complexities and nuanced experiences of ‘flagging’ or discrimination and challenged the perception of Southern identities as only “white”. For example, Matthew said that when he came to the US when he was 9, he experienced harassment because of his “Indian” accent, but over time, his accent switched and he subsequently experienced issues with his “Southern” accent. He said that it was especially noticeable when he changed geographical location. He moved out of the South and lived in and out of states in the North and Midwest where people often teased him for sounding “funny or Southern.” Someone who looked Indian and spoke with a Southern accent was something that his colleagues or peers in the Midwest had a difficult time processing. Matthew was not the only participant to be double flagged based on this accent. Nazeem also experienced this after moving from Texas to Indiana.

I was in like second or third grade, we lived in a more rural town … Someone being like, oh my god they are so poor that their mom wears sheets every day … I think we were probably the wealthiest family in the block there, and I think people just didn’t get it …. Derogatory terms like “tar baby” and stuff. I don’t even think I knew what it meant at the time … I had a couple things like that that I’ll never forget. Those growing up in more rural areas (or, as some described, “nondiverse” areas) were more likely to describe discrimination than those who lived in environments like college towns or large urban centers. Sridaran (2017), a representative from SAALT, however, suggested that most of SAALT’s reported hate crimes come from urban or suburban areas, a number that does not necessarily reflect the frequency of hate crimes but the number of people reporting hate crimes. As Sridaran (2017) also indicated, knowledge of organizations like SAALT is much less likely in rural areas. For many participants, even if they had never lived in rural areas, they associated rural areas with whiteness and white culture. Anusha, for instance, who lived outside of Washington D.C. in what she described as a rural area, said that she was very aware that she was not white or that she was different from the norm:

So, I had at the time, not really a drawl, but I’m from Texas, like y’all. So, I would get made fun of a bit for the drawl. There are people who had a bit of discrimination (figured a bit of minority – for sure in Indiana), when I was like 10. ‘Oh, you sound funny.’ I feel like had I been there post-9/11, it would have been worse, so I’m glad I didn’t live there post-9/11. It was seen as like a country bumpkin type thing. That was because of my Southern accent.

From 4 to the first year of high school we lived in a town called Germantown …. it was still pretty rural compared to the suburbs of D.C. It was pretty white … I felt that the culture was still very white. And strongly so and there was an urge to preserve that. … Like I remember walking down the street with my brother, at the time, I thought they were adults, they (referring to some people in the neighborhood) yelled out the window and called us the N word.

Nazeem was flagged based on her perceived “Indian” accent and also on the fact that she was a “brown” Indian who spoke with a “Southern” accent. She describes that this could be conflated with a perceived “In­ dian” accent after 9/11 and people in rural Indiana would not know what to do with her accent. Both Matthew and Nazeem had experienced double flagging of their identities based on these (perceived or real) accents. However, these experiences were not clear-cut as they felt flagged or othered based on their “Southern” accents in the North, also in the South for either real or perceived “Indian” accents, and at times for both when other Americans would conflate these accents. Jansson (2010) argues that Southern identities experience internal Orientalism because they don’t fit a perceived national cultural identity of US. What Jansson (2010) also acknowledges is that often Southern identities are primarily identified with being white with respect to public perception (more often in the Northern U.S.). In other words, people who are “brown” are not generally associated with “Southern” accents, but for Indian Tamils like Nazeem or Matthew, their experiences with this ac­ cent were often erased or obfuscated by whiteness or by nationalist rhetoric that reinforced simple, often binary depictions of complex identities and experiences. For Nazeem and Matthew, they were iden­ tified as “Southern” or and sometimes even “foreign” while in the

Rural areas were significantly associated with whiteness and racism and reflected very real, embodied experiences. Representation of rural areas often coincided with the perception of the South as racist as well. For example, when participants discussed racism in rural areas, they would often include experiences or perceptions of “the South”. Many participants who lived in Northern states said that the South was more racist. Yet, many had equally described blatant discrimination in Northern states (often rural areas). For example, Preeti, who grew up in New Jersey, describes how her experiences have shifted depending upon where she was in the US. I grew up in New Jersey which is a pretty diverse state. I’ve had some microaggressions or whatever you want to call it … I did get some of that teasing – like Indians smell bad or comments about my food … Generally, it wasn’t that terrible. My experience as an adult traveling to other parts of the country, is somewhat less friendly … One time, my friend and I were in rural Pennsylvania, not like State College, 8

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Midwest based on “Southern” accents, but also clearly identified discrimination that they felt while being in the South for not being “white” both visually and aurally. “Othering” and discrimination were much more nuanced than simple binaries of sounding generically “foreign” or “Indian”. In fact, nation­ alistic climates reinforced binaries “American” versus “other” or alter­ natively “white” vs everyone else, thus masking the nuance that participants faced in their experiences through sound. Many participants described that white Americans do not know how to react or respond to someone who looks “brown” and speaks with a “Southern” US accent. Thus, sound revealed complex identities that participants navigated in their daily lives, especially in particularly nationalistic climates. Sound also challenged particular perceptions regarding geographical identities such as “Southern” as “white”,6 exposing an additional layer of “other­ ing” that many participants faced.

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T., Sant-barket, S. M., Carter, R. T., & Sant-barket, S. M. (2014). Assessment of the impact of racial discrimination and racism : How to use the race-based traumatic stress symptom scale in practice. Traumatology, 21(1), 32–39. Chakrabarty, D. (2000). Provincializing Europe. Chand, M., & Tung, R. L. (2014). Bicultural identity and economic engagement: An exploratory study of the Indian diaspora in North America. Asia Pacific Journal of Management, 31(3), 763–788. Chishti, M., Hipsman, F., & Ball, I. (2015). Fifty years on, the 1965 immigration and nationality act continues to reshape the United States (Washington DC). Chou, R. S., & Feagin, J. R. (2015). Myth of the model minority: Asian Americans facing racism. Routledge. CNN. (2017, March 2). Kansas shooting survivor recalls deadly night: ‘I still feel this is not reality. WGNO ABC. Retrieved from https://wgno.com/2017/03/02/kansas-shoot ing-survivor-recalls-deadly-night-i-still-feel-this-is-not-reality/. Coates, T.-N. (2017). The first white president. The Atlantic. Retrieved from https://www. theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2017/10/the-first-white-president-ta-nehisi -coates/537909/. Culcasi, K. (2016). Warm nationalism: Mapping and imagining the Jordanian nation. Political Geography, 54(June), 7–20. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.polgeo.2016.05.002. Dave, S. S. (2013). Indian accents: Brown voice and racial performance in American television and film. Champaign: University of Illinois Press. Dufoix, S. (2008). Diasporas. Berkeley: University of California Press. Retrieved from http://site.ebrary.com/id/10229946. Eck, D. (2018). Asians and asian exclusion. The pluralism project. Cambridge. Retrieved from http://pluralism.org/encounter/historical-perspectives/asians-and-asian-excl usion/. Franklin, A. J., Boyd-Franklin, N., & Kelly, S. (2006). Racism and invisibilty: Race-related stress, emotional abuse and psychological trauma for people of color. 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7. Conclusion Recognizing the role and significance of sound in everyday nation­ alism is crucial to contextualizing and nuancing broader issues of “othering” and discrimination in the United States and is equally important to recognize a banality that is not always “overt”, but can be much more commonplace, affecting people’s ability to “live together and share everyday places comfortably” (Hopkins et al., 2017, p. 937; Joshi et al., 2015). With increasing visibility of nationalism that pushes white nationalism, xenophobia, anti-LGBTQIAþ, and other discrimina­ tory rhetoric, it is important to situate the complex ways that it affects those targeted by or those who experience the effects of this rhetoric in the United States. I have discussed a case study of Indian Tamils, but white nationalism and the implications of aural discrimination signifi­ cantly affect many other communities. While geographers and scholars alike have extensively engaged with othering, discrimination and microaggressions, this research highlights how nationalistic climates manifest through sound often in subtle, nonovert ways. Flagging of “other”, “brown”, “foreign” happened through accent and language and sound’s role in othering and discrimination is incredibly important to advancing our understanding of the physical and psychological effects of these issues. Participants not only feared discrimination, but it was embedded in everyday exchanges in US so­ ciety – from harassment in grocery or retail stores and a general weariness of public places, to some participants changing their names to sound more “white”. Sometimes, participants only recognized or acknowledged “othering” or discrimination in relation to sound. Com­ plex identities that defied geographic stereotypes (like “rural” or “Southern”) and simultaneously revealed a “double flagging” were also identified through sound. Discrimination, embedded in everyday practices, is subtle and manifests aurally. Much like Joshi et al. (2015) describe of micro­ aggressions, the effects of this discourse are not always blatant but can be much more routine and subtle. Nationalistic political climates can be a catalyst for these experiences that are not always visible. Thus, it is important to examine how discrimination manifests through language and accent influenced political discourse and nationalistic rhetoric. The real, tangible effects of nationalistic rhetoric on real people are impor­ tant and manifest in very aural ways. Declaration of competing interest None. 6

Like any other identity, geographic identities like “Southern” or “Northern” meant different things to different people and these identities were defined based on audience as well as a variety of other factors. For instance, some participants identified strongly as Southern while other described Southern as white. 9

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