Just following up on your earlier post, since the Sabhnani’s were tried in federal court, United States Federal Sentencing Guidelines will apply. The Guidelines were created to insure some uniformity between the different federal courts as some judges were the “hanging” type while others were more apt to sentences of long walks in the park. (That’s all figurative – not meant to be read literally). So while there’s some discretion allowed to the federal court judge it’s much less than what would be afforded a state court judge. As you suggested, there is a matrix (not the movie kind) that the judge follows in sentencing. The Sabhnanis were found guilty on all 12 counts of their indictment that included charges of forced labor, involuntary servitude, conspiracy and harboring aliens. In summary, the guidelines list a base level offense recommendation for each offense. Then that number goes up if the convicted has a previous offense history. In this case, that would not apply as the Sabhnanis were never previously convicted of a crime. (That I know of). Then the judge can “downward depart” or “adjust” depending on certain factors allowed in the guidelines. An example where the judge can downward depart from the base offense level is where the convicted accepts responsibility. Once again, the guidelines specify how far down the judge can adjust. Similarly, the judge can decide to upward adjust for factors such as obstruction of justice.

I’m providing a link to the United States Sentencing Guidelines in case anyone wants to take a read at it. BTW, it’s over 600 pages. While I’m sure everyone on SM are scrupulous individuals, to those who want to find out how much time they can get for their various activities, the guidelines are quite easy to follow. (Especially if your a brownie, we all know how smart we are supposed to be). Look at the table of contents, find the crime, go to the page and read what the base offense level will be and then go to the table on page 392 to find out what that equates to in terms of months. You should know if you need any adjustments. To the scrupulous ones who have time to kill, you can use the table to figure out what the Sabhnanni’s could get.

The link to the pdf document is http://www.ussc.gov/2007guid/GL2007.pdf.

After my own experience, I am amongst a group (incl some non-desis) who have been attempting to set up a national (regional, plus chapters) voluntary organization along the lines of the Samaritans in England specifically for the diaspora (and its descendants) desi community. It requires many safeguards to implement successfully, as well as the ability to recognize how to address the diverse cultural and religious nature of this community. For the time being, for various reasons, it is proving difficult to implement.

Anyway, I could not confide with any of my parents’ mostly-Indian friends, who were so much nicer to their kids (although several “disowned” their kids for many years after they married goras, or worse blacks).

Let’s not pretend that in the desi (non-muslim) hierarchy this is not how things go down. It was said best in Bend It Like Beckham; a desi of your own religion is first preferred, then a gora, then a black, and a muslim? Forget it.

Although blatant abuse of domestic help may not be rampant in India, due to the hierarchal nature of desi culture, even if the help is treated kindly, they still “know their place”. I’ve noticed many times while visiting family in Faridabad that the help will take their seats on the floor when plenty of chairs are available. It’s second nature to them to just be expected to do that. They’ve been doing that their whole lives and they would not be so presumptuous as to assume they could, gasp!, sit on chairs and couches along with their employees. And my family just allows them to sit there as if it’s normal, despite their being plenty of seats and couches everywhere.

This is definetly a very desi feature. In Latin America where I lived for three years I never once saw domestic help sit on the floor while employees sat on chairs.

Can anyone speak for the Arab world regarding seating arrangements? I’d be interested to know if I’m right in assuming it’s a desi thing or if it’s perhaps just an “eastern” thing altogether.

I have been told that servants/domestic help in Pakistan often carry themselves with a certain amount of dignity, and are treated with a certain amount of courtesy and respect by their employers. I wish it was like that in India too.

I’m truly saddened to hear of the abuse and terror you had to grow up with (especially considering your mother was a physician), but I sincerely hope you were being ironic with this:

Anyway, I could not confide with any of my parents’ mostly-Indian friends, who were so much nicer to their kids (although several “disowned” their kids for many years after they married goras, or worse blacks).

Particularly for Pravin – I accept your well-meant and constructive criticism, and Amrita – very well phrased. You know, I have been emotionally stunted by the family life I’ve had, so I can’t be as reasoned as you both. Managed to scrape becoming academically qualified, but remained mentally ill-developed and essentially alone until my mid 40s when I met a wonderful (Indian) man whom I eventually married. If it hadn’t been for him, I was headed for a nuthouse. Despite my luck in running into this funny sweet caring man, I still believed I was the destructive, mentally-unhinged daughter my parents described me to be. Then, just last year, two relatives who’d I’d never have expected to say anything nice to me, told me they were astonished how “normal” I turned out in the circumstances. It was worth waiting for!

No, mine was not a result of the clash of a girl who wanted to party, and ethnic parents who were horrified.

The first worst event, as opposed to the lesser everyday ones I was subjected to, occurred just before my 7th birthday, and was reported in the local London paper (as: missing child found). For some infraction of mine I don’t recall, my stepfather (in the presence of my mother) literally threw me out of the house they were renting. Me wearing flannel pyjamas because it was at bedtime. I sat on the doorstep, too proud to yell to be let back in. My parents knew I was out there, as I looked up to the upstairs balcony, and I could see them, and they could see me. I was hidden from the street by some large (to me) bushes, otherwise I think some passerby would have come to my aid. The entire street went dark, and all I could think of was how to get to school the next day. I climbed into a neighbour’s empty trash can, and fell so sound asleep that I did not realize it was the next night, and I was being pulled out by a policeman. My parents were standing in the background, and the next thing I knew was they were admonishing me for “running away”, for everyone to hear. I wanted to retort what a lie that was. A policewoman was also there, and she picked me up, put me in the police car still in my pyjamas, and took me to a Wimpy, where I had a burger and chips. It was the era when this was a major treat. My brother was taken too, and this policewoman used this as an opportunity to talk to me about not hurting my parents. I think every child would have done as I did, and say nothing to the contrary, even though I wanted it to be known how mean my stepfather was. Do you know, I still recall how GOOD it felt to feel such warmth and kindness from that policewoman. Life just got worse after that. I lived in fear, as I never knew what could trigger the acts against me. My mother worked far away from home for my early childhood (of all things as a doctor doing the equivalent of her residency), but when she re-entered my life in my early teens, her abuse was of the psychological kind, and she could reduce me to quivering jelly. It was not something I had any ammunition for, except to withdraw into a morose, mute shell. I grew up eating alone, exchanging no pleasantries or small talk; just silence or abuse. Good job I loved school, studying, and sports, as these kept me from killing myself. Really.

As my parents’ wealth grew, I became more neglected, and at one of their many social functions was occasionally mistaken for a servant, because of my clothes and demeanor! I had to attend, and pretend everything was normal and cozy at home, and I used to get so envious at how lovingly other girls and their mothers interacted, and how pretty and vivacious they all were (including my own mother) compared to my dowdy dreary self.

I don’t know why my parents behaved this way with me, and my attempts at engaging in a dialogue with them at various stages of my life always devolved into screaming matches. But I am so happy now to be the way I am. I have an inner serenity and contentment at how fortunate I am to live in safety and comfort when there is so much tragedy and heartache that people go to their graves with.

My last word on this personal topic, and hope I haven’t deviated from commenting guidelines by writing this way, off topic — thank you all so much again, at Sepia Mutiny. It has been wonderful “meeting” you by reading through the archives.

As to which culture has the most DV, I haven’t the slightest.