In defense of the immigrant hustle

Graphic credit: Image created by Ishani Bakshi for Public Square Amplified.

Edison, NJ - Growing up, my dad never stopped working. His office was our living room and his hours — stretched across time zones — never paused for dinner time or allotted breaks. Working on the weekend was the norm, and so was answering calls whenever they came. And, when the calls ended, the chores began — grocery runs, bills, paperwork for relatives in India. 

There was no boundary between work and life; they were the same thing. No one told me I had to follow that rhythm, but in a house that never paused, sitting still felt wrong. So, I moved. I learned to finish things, not perfect them — stacked grades, clubs, deadlines — the usual. It was all just part of a culture where parents hustle for their kids’ futures, and kids hustle so that none of it goes to waste. It’s the way of life. 

So imagine my surprise when the very rhythm my parents — and their parents before them — treated as necessary started getting labeled as toxic. Suddenly, hustle was a dirty word. The long hours, the pressure, the all-in mindset was condemned as unhealthy, even abusive. But to me, and to so many kids who grew up in immigrant households like mine, the hustle wasn’t dysfunctional. It was survival. It was love. And so, I write in defense of the immigrant hustle.

Lately, immigrant hustle has become an easy target. Critics call it unhealthy, a mindset built on burnout. But that view flattens the truth. For many South Asian families, hustle is how they kept the lights on, how kids earned their way into college, how whole families moved forward in a country that rarely met them halfway. The long hours, the all-or-nothing drive — these aren’t excess. They are a strategy. And for some, they are love.

Zarna Garg gets it. The comedian opened her stand-up special with a warning: "I'm an immigrant and I'm here to take your jobs. Be afraid, Jerry Seinfeld!" It’s a joke, but not really. It’s a wink at how hustle culture looks from the outside — aggressive and frankly, too much. But to those of us raised in it, that hustle is familiar and sacred. Garg doesn’t stop there.

“You think those CEOs spent their summers swinging on a tire?” she quipped. My parents, watching from home, erupted in laughter. I cracked a smile. In her jokes, there is a secret language, a quiet recognition of the trade offs immigrants have made. Contrary to popular belief, it is not that we despise joy and fun. Instead, we prefer the delayed gratification over the reckless free fun others might deem healthy. 

Hasan Minhaj says it straight. "They had to survive. I get to live." That line, passed around Reddit like gospel, captures a generational compact. First-gens absorbed the racism, the instability, the unending grind. Second-gens carry their legacy forward, hustling not because they have to, but because it feels wrong not to. 

On Reddit, threads are filled with second-gen South Asians echoing the exact same thing. One user wrote, "They had to survive, and we get to thrive." Others spoke of feeling out of place in stillness, of growing up in houses so filled with motion that rest felt alien. That rhythm didn't just pass down; it rewired how many of us think, act, and work. And while, unlike our parents, we get the opportunity to take a break from the hustle, it is undoubtedly one of our strongest weapons. 

And the data backs this up. More than three-quarters of Indian Americans over 25 hold a bachelor’s degree or higher, achieving their parents’ dream of Western assimilation through education — an equal playing field. That didn’t happen by coincidence. That happened through work. Through relentless parenting. Through nights spent at corner stores, motel front desks, and gas stations. The so-called “Patel motel” phenomenon is no coincidence. It is the product of the immigrant hustle, of coming to a country who didn’t embrace them with open arms, and what did they do in response? Families rotated shifts and pooled earnings until one motel became two, then four, then a franchise. Over 40% of motels in the U.S. are now Indian-owned. One owner told The Washington Post he still answers the phones himself. That’s the immigrant hustle. Still clocked in.

To call that toxic is to miss the point.

Yes, hustle can break you. The pressure can boil over into burnout, mental health struggles, distance between parents and kids. But critics who dismiss hustle outright often speak from places of comfort. They forget the stakes. They forget that for many immigrants, the only way forward was through.

At its core, the hustle is not just about income or credentials. It is a form of devotion. Not shown in hugs or heart-to-hearts, but in tuition payments, warm food, relentless reliability. It is the language many immigrant families speak most fluently.

So no, the hustle isn't always healthy. But easy criticism often comes from those who never had to choose between exhaustion and opportunity. 

This hustle has rhythm.

This hustle has roots.

This hustle built something out of nothing and we are the proof.

The views expressed in this article express those of the writer alone and not necessarily those of Public Square Amplified.