Sharon Lockett 

A Personal Look at Immigrant and Minority Hunger Narratives:

My Real-Life Heroines and Heroes

For my midterm, I drew on the idea that immigrant and minority narratives can also be considered "hunger narratives."  I came across this idea while studying Anzia Yezierska for my research posting.  One of the articles I read refers to Yezierska as a "hungry writer" and claims that she often used the notion of hunger to promote the drama surrounding her protagonists.  I began to see how well this hunger theme could work as a framework for understanding multicultural literature.  Indeed, most of our protagonists whether immigrant, minority, or in-between, find themselves coming to America with expectation.  Some crave the American Dream, opportunity, education, and dominant culture approval; others yearn for group identity, equality, and disassociation with the dominant culture; and still others long to embrace both their traditional culture and the new American culture.  Approaching these stories as hunger narratives has been, for me, an invaluable approach to understanding the wide range of issues addressed in multicultural literature.  First, the hunger framework has helped me to understand and appreciate our protagonists as individuals; indeed, to be hungry is to be human.  And second, as I am able to make personal connections with the protagonists, I am able to reach a deeper understanding of and appreciation for those who come to America longing for opportunity.  

As I consider my scope of learning relative to these hunger narratives, I find that I can transfer the notion to a more personal and professional level.  My intent, of course, it not to belabor the metaphor beyond productive utility; however, I feel it necessitates further extension because it helps me to understand the diverse population of students with whom I work on a daily basis.   As I think about the hunger stories of our protagonists, I am reminded of former community college students whom I have taught.  I am also reminded of current students who seek help in our college Writing Center, where I serve as director.  They, too, are living out hunger narratives.  And like the protagonists of our literature, they can be understood in light of our course objectives.  Many seek the American Dream yet suffer culture shock; others long to escape dominant culture values in favor of group approval; and still others continue in an often uncomfortable ambivalence.  I didn’t realize the power of the association until I began to prepare for this exam.  For the first time, I considered the harsh realities of our students' immigrant and minority experiences. I thought about the obstacles they've had to overcome.  And I was made painfully aware of the unspeakable sacrifices they have made in order to receive an American college education--something I have taken for granted.    

The first student who comes to my remembrance is Sun-min*, a former Korean-American student.  She shares experience with Nellie Wong, who writes "When I Was Growing Up."  Both Wong and Sun-min hungered for the American Dream:  opportunity, education, fitting in with the white dominant culture.  Sadly, both endured the unforgiving Stage 3 immigrant experience of shock and resistance.  For Wong, fortunately, the desire was ultimately fulfilled.  However, for Sun-min, the inability to cope with an unforgiving American society eventually drove her home.  Though she had sacrificed all to fulfill her hunger, even forsaking a long-term love relationship, she left for home having tasted not the bounty of America, but the bitterness of culture shock.  Unfortunately, she sacrificed in vain.  Sun-min returned to Korea without the nursing degree she had longed for so desperately. 

Along with Sun-min is a young woman with whom I worked several years ago:  my Indian-American student, Varija*.  She shares her story with Bharati Mukherjee, who writes "Love Me or Leave Me."  Like Mukherjee, Varija and her sisters traveled to America at the command of their father.  His desire was for them to obtain degrees and return to India.  However, while Mukherjee eventually abandons her plans for returning in favor of sating her desire in America, Varija never vocalized an option.  Whether her longing involved staying in America or returning home, neither was important.  Her own hunger was overshadowed by that of her father, and the personal sacrifice she made was indefinable because it was inconsequential.    I was not able to witness the outcome of Varija's hunger narrative, but I feel certain she completed her degree.  I don't know whether she eventually returned home, but unless she adopted Mukherjee's posture of independence, she did.  Most likely, she returned to India where a pre-planned, pre-arranged life already awaited her.  Having subdued her own hunger to comply with a patriarchal system of tradition, she no doubt re-entered the Indian world in silence and compliance.

Along with Sun-min and Varija, Trudy*, my former African-American student, comes to mind.  James Baldwin, who writes "No Name in the Street," prompts my memory of this extraordinary student.  Trudy hungered to "make it" in college, but success didn't come easily.  Like Baldwin, she was forced to make sacrifices.  Baldwin, in his efforts toward self-success, endured the guilt of betrayal of his black brothers and sisters who shunned dominant culture values.  Trudy, who sat eagerly on the front row of my class and turned in every assignment on time, underwent ridicule and separation by her black classmates who shared her value for neither educators nor education.  Like Baldwin, Trudy suffered cultural exclusion as she sought to fulfill her longing for a college degree.  Since I haven't seen Trudy in several semesters, I do not know how her hunger narrative has progressed.  However, I am painfully aware that as long as she seeks to fulfill and satisfy her educational craving, she sacrifices cultural affirmation and inclusion.

A final student who joins the group is Maria*, a Mexican-American student who reminds me of Lali of "The English Lesson."  Like Lali, Maria hungered to gain self-fulfillment and independence through education.  However, like Lali, she found herself hampered by a traditional male-dominated culture in which women are perceived as subordinate domestic workers.  These two women find ways to satisfy their cravings, but not without sacrifice.  Lali gives up precious personal time as she rushes from school to Rudi's diner where she is required to work the night shift.  Maria sacrifices, in addition to familial support, physical rest as she awakens each day at 4 a.m. in order to make tortillas, dress her children, and finally prepare herself for class.  Meeting traditional demands of home and educational requirements of higher learning doesn’t come easily for Maria, but she continues to balance these two difficult worlds in an effort to satisfy her longing for empowerment and independence through education.

As I make connections between our protagonists and my student acquaintances, I realize that immigrant and minority hunger narratives occur every day, right in front of me.  I see Asian immigrants, like Sun-min, whose desires have urged  them to begin the five-stage process, some suffering through a harsh Stage 3, and others advancing further, managing assimilation and earning degrees.  I also encounter African-American students, such as Trudy, from whom I may need to earn trust.  Their craving, at least initially, is for group approval and equality, not for what I can offer educationally.  Finally, I come across Mexican-American students, like Maria, who, with immeasurable difficulty, live in both worlds, often balancing the hunger for education with unforgiving traditional gender requirements.  These human hunger stories are real, though; they are not sitting as words before me on a page.  I find myself moving closer toward them, yet not without awe and respect.  I know I will never truly grasp the intensity of their hunger or the sacrifices they make to fulfill it.       

With sadness I admit that, up to this point, I have looked at the hungry faces on my campus sidewalks and have failed to stop and think about their underlying narratives.  To me, every student was there to get an education; each could do it as easily as the other; and each would move seamlessly, more or less, toward future goals.  It's simply not true.  All this time, I've been thinking in dominant culture mode.  Sadly, I have perceived that the longing for education and its method of attainment exist in the same framework for everyone.  But they don't.  Wong, Baldwin, Mukherjee, and Lali have helped me to see that; so have Sun-min, Trudy, Varija, and Maria.  My new understanding of their narratives, along with the others we've read, has changed my perception of multicultural higher education.    

As I carefully step back to evaluate my educational approach, I consider the real-life heroines and heroes--my students--and their unique hunger narratives.  As a developmental educator, I have always taken (or so I thought) a holistic approach in teaching my students.  Knowing more about students than what they score on a diagnostic test has helped me to interact with them more effectively and to counter negative presuppositions about education.  I am now aware that a new level of understanding must be considered.  I must learn to look more deeply into the eager, or not so eager, faces of my students and remember that there exist untold narratives of hunger and sacrifice.  While some of these stories may be shared with me, others will not.  Nevertheless, they all exist as intimate pieces of my students' lives.  When I am able to embrace these intricacies, perhaps I can then place myself closer to their points of need and help them discover and satisfy their desires for educational fulfillment.   

*Names changed to honor privacy