Establishing My Identity in the Face of Discrimination

Establishing My Identity in the Face of Discrimination

My family moved from Canada to California in the early 1980s. I vividly remember feeling excited and nervous as my mom held my hand and my younger sister’s hand while walking us to the bus stop on our first day of school. Two white males pulled up in car; they rolled down their windows and shouted, “Go back to your country!” I felt my mom’s grip around my hand tighten. In confusion, I looked up at her and asked what they meant. She told me to ignore their comments and remain silent. After a few more minutes of berating my mother, my sister, and me, the men finally drove away.

It was my first experience of discrimination. At such a young age, I did not know what discrimination meant, and numerous questions ran through my head. How could someone tell us to go back to our country? Wasn’t America our new home? Why weren’t we welcome? Why did my mom not say anything to them? Why did she tell me to remain silent?

As I grew older, the number of my experiences with discrimination increased, and its meaning became clearer to me as my family endured ignorant comments from others in our community. During the Gulf War, a group of young African American boys threw rocks at my younger sister and me at school and repeatedly yelled “Saddam Hussein” at us. As we stood in line at the mall, a middle-aged white female approached my mom to accuse her of being the reason why for her son had been sent to war in the Middle East. I found such accusations particularly odd. My family is not from the Middle East. Why would they make such assumptions? Was it the color of our skin?

When I began my undergraduate studies at the University of California–Davis, my mom encouraged my sister and me to apply for American citizenship. As part of the Oath of Allegiance I took at the naturalization ceremony, I pledged to renounce allegiance to the nation where I previously held citizenship (Canada) and agreed to support and defend the U.S. Constitution. In a video recording, President Clinton congratulated us on becoming American citizens. He stressed the values of liberty and equality as well as the meaning of democracy. It was a proud moment for me, and I felt inspired by President Clinton’s words.

Many years later I was in law school when we all suffered the horrific events and tragedy of 9/11. I feared for the safety of my friends and family, some of whom were working in the World Trade Center on that bleak day. In addition to mourning the loss of so many lives, I, as well as many other Sikhs and Muslims, became the victims of hate crimes. At a time when I should have been allowed the opportunity to unite with my fellow Americans, I was actively responding to the acts of religious intolerance in our state. On numerous occasions my family received threatening phone calls at our 7-Eleven convenience stores, asking if Osama Bin Laden worked for us. We were also told that our stores would be bombed.

My elderly uncle, afraid of becoming the next victim of hate, removed his turban and shaved his beard. In the Sikh religion, a male wears a turban and grows his beard to symbolize his commitment to a higher consciousness, to promoting equality, and to serving everyone. In fact, the turban has spiritual roots as it is placed on the top of the head and covers the crown chakra. Covering the head with a turban symbolizes respect toward God, just as Jews, Christians, and Catholics cover their heads while at church (remember First Lady Milania Trump’s attire when she met Pope Francis at the Vatican?). My uncle is an American, and if the United States Constitution grants us freedom of religion, expression, and speech, why wasn’t he able to exercise his rights? Like my uncle, I am a proud American, so why did it feel like we were being betrayed?

This time I did not stay silent. I started writing letters—lots of them! I wrote to nearly every media outlet in an attempt to educate them about the Sikh religion. I worked in conjunction with others in our community and provided victims with resources on how to report a hate crime. I participated in round-table discussions about hate crimes and what we as a community could do to educate others. In my opinion, education and collaboration with advocacy groups would be my best tools when fighting hate.

Shortly after I graduated law school, I began practicing real estate law and was employed with a state-wide real estate firm representing property owners and management companies. I was stunned when a property manager asked what he should do when a Muslim couple applied for tenancy because he feared they could be terrorists. When I asked him what made him believe they could be terrorists, he responded by saying that the wife wore a hijab (a head covering worn by some Muslim women). Although taken aback by his comment, I was glad that he asked me such a question so I could use it as an opportunity to educate him about Fair Housing laws. He seemed appreciative of my answer and thanked me for helping him understand the Muslim religion and his obligations under Fair Housing laws.

That same year, a defendant (tenant) in one of my unlawful detainer cases called my office with a settlement offer. After relaying his offer, he asked if I had a green card. I have an ethical obligation as an attorney to relay all settlement offers to my client; therefore, I called my client and relayed the tenant’s message. At the end of the call, I laughed and informed my client that her tenant wanted to know if I had a green card. My client was outraged and said she would have considered the tenant’s offer, but after hearing his comment she was inclined to decline it. The tenant was ultimately evicted.

Shortly thereafter, I started speaking at various industry events. I recall one of my very first seminars where an executive who was going to introduce me suggested that I change my name to something “more American” because my name was difficult to pronounce. This time I stayed quiet. Why? I was working for my law firm and had to strike a balance between sticking up for myself and maintaining good relationships with potential clients. Looking back, I wish I had politely educated the executive. Perhaps he should have learned how to say my name instead of asking that I change mine to be “more American.” I went home that day and called my mom regarding the executive’s comment. I told her that I would work very hard to establish myself in the real estate industry so that no one would be confused about who Puneet Singh was or how to pronounce my name.

The ignorant comments were not limited to those in my industry or the defendants in my cases; the ignorance extended to a judge in our judicial system. For one of my first appearances in court, I remember preparing for hours before for an ex parte hearing and the excitement of putting on my business suit the morning of the hearing. It was a moment everyone law student dreams of—an opportunity to stand in court and stand up for a client’s legal rights. When my case was called, the judge asked me if I had a working knowledge of the English language. Dismayed, I respectfully responded by telling her that I had a full understanding of writing and speaking English. She then asked me what it meant when she said “we are going to Disneyland.” I held back tears while politely answering her question. I was completely disgusted by our judicial system and questioned why I had become an attorney. I drove home in tears, upset that I was not able to stand up for myself in front of the judge. I feared that if I questioned her, she would not give my client a favorable ruling (let me take a moment to wipe the tears from my cheeks from reliving that moment).

Fast forward a few years, when I experienced one of the proudest moments in my career. My receptionist informed me that Governor Brown’s office was on the phone. In disbelief, I answered the call, and a polite woman on the other end informed me that my name had come highly recommended to the governor for a position on the Fair Employment and Housing Council. She said they researched my background and my involvement in the industry and encouraged me to apply to be on the council. After I got off the phone, I took a deep breath and sat back in my chair. I had promised my mom years earlier that I would work hard so that people would recognize my name. That moment had finally arrived. Although ultimately I was not appointed to the position, being called by the governor’s office was an honorable moment for me personally and professionally.

I know I still have a lot of hard work to do, mainly through the fair housing seminars I teach, to help educate others about equality and complying with the laws. I cannot change the minds of those who are committed to practicing hate, but I can do my part by spreading awareness and hopefully inspiring others who have been victims of hate to always stand up for themselves. I am proud that I no longer fear standing up for myself, whether it be to two men in a car at a bus stop, an executive, or a judge in court.

I am an American. I am a Sikh. I am a woman. I am an attorney. And my name is Puneet Singh.