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OpEdNews Op Eds    H4'ed 4/27/15

Postcard from the End of America: Silicon Valley

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Linh Dinh
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Americans remember well that nightmarish time when just about every American company outsourced its customer service to India, which gave rise to the term "cyber coolies." If one had to ask one's bank or cable company a question, one would be routed to a "Stephanie" or a "Beth" who was actually a Nisha or a Jyotsna in Bangalore. Though Jyotsna was trying her best to sound Midwestern, the conversation would quickly turn awkward, if not aggravating for both sides. "Excuse me, but can you repeat that?" Less conspicuous was the hiring of Indian engineers, and that too ran into problems. The challenge of having Americans and Indians working together in different time zones proved too much of a hassle, thus many outfits tried to send American managers overseas, but since few were willing to go, it was decided that Indians IT workers would be brought here.

Ultimately, the reason why so many Indians are thriving in the Silicon Valley is because of their unmatched computer prowess. The CEO of Adobe and co-founder of Hotmail are Indians, as is the Google executive overseeing Android, Chrome and Google Apps. Outside California, the top man at Microsoft is also Indian. One morning I went to Fischer Park in Fremont and saw that nearly all of the tennis, basketball and volleyball players were Indians. At the jungle gym, all the kids were Indians. Mostly draped in saris, their grandmoms and moms stood nearby. A couple blocks away, there's Bombay Pizza House, "Home Of The Curry Pizza."

With no college degree, no science, no math, no coordination, no rah-rah team spirit, no charm, no looks, no nothing, I wouldn't last half a second in the Silicon Valley, and hiking all over, I also spotted quite a few souls who had been spat out by this sunny, mild yet merciless environment. The Jungle, a massive tent city in San Jose, has been cleared, but each night, there are around 5,000 San Joseans sleeping outside, though they are scattered at roughly 200 spots and less visible. California itself has more homeless people than any other state, and 4.3% of its school children, incredibly, don't have stable or adequate housing. These kids must sleep in a shelter, a single room with their parents and siblings, a garage, a car or a tent. Fully ten percent of school kids in Sunnyvale, in the heart of Silicon Valley, fall into this miserable category. Needless to say, they aren't likely to be immersed in any subject, much less Chinese.

Meanwhile, luxury condos and homes keep springing up, for besides the infusion of Chinese money, our inflated stock market is benefiting, especially, the many high profile, sexy companies that dot the Bay Area such as Apple, Adobe, Google, Yahoo!, FaceBook, PayPal, Yelp, Netflix and Twitter, etc. Outside of Manhattan, no other region has gained so much from the banksters' quantitative easing. When this stock mania crashes and burns, the Bay Area will also be charred.

Meanwhile, everything seems to be improving, and Twitter has even moved its headquarters into the Tenderloin, San Francisco's most wretched neighborhood. Located right downtown, in the shadow of City Hall, it's inevitable that this pocket of transient hotels, urine reeking sidewalks, thousands of homeless, bodegas and cheap Vietnamese eateries would be gentrified. One night, I found myself in The Basement, a hip, happening new bar at Taylor and Turk. It's co-owned by Lieu, someone from my same high school in East San Jose, although we didn't know each other then. Though roughly my age, 51, Lieu looks so young, he's probably carded at every bar not his own, and with my white hair, I'm like his granddad.

The Basement used to be occupied by Club 222, with the legendary Black Hawk right next door. (It's now a parking lot.) Musicians from Miles to Dizzy used Club 222 as a green room before they exited it through the back to enter the jazz club. At The Basement, all the beers are microbrews, with nothing under $5. Lieu doesn't want the Tenderloin's riffraff to wander in to order a can of Bud or Miller. "This neighborhood is moving up," he said.

"Ah, man, won't you miss people defecating on the sidewalks?"

"Get that sh*t out of here!"

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Linh Dinh's Postcards from the End of America has just been published by Seven Stories Press. Tracking our deteriorating socialscape, he maintains a photo blog.


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