Katherine Rearick

The Immigrant Narrative: Defining a New American Character

I have multiple personae. I am a mother, a public school teacher, and a politically conservative Texan. The perspective that accompanies each of these positions is different. As a mother, I am worried that the burden of immigration on our schools may negatively affect my son’s educational opportunities. As a high school English teacher in a largely Hispanic school district, I am expected to be (and am, for the most part) sympathetic to the immigrant situation. As a tax-paying American and politically conservative Texan, I am concerned and sometimes outraged about the stress unregulated immigration is putting on our country’s institutions. These many conflicting feelings are the reason I enrolled in this course.

That said, I think it has been one of the most constructive experiences of my academic career, and I could not have found it at a more opportune time. Not only has it been intellectually rewarding in a literary sense, it has helped me to rethink my often-judgmental views. Recent immigration debates and the political rhetoric spewing from both parties had me feeling perplexed and angry. I confused patriotism with xenophobia and was frequently appalled at myself, but I had no real source outside of the inflammatory news media upon which to base my opinions.

But studying the Immigrant Narrative has provided me a window into the souls of people with whom I never thought I would identify. It has given me the chance to see the immigrant experience from the other side. This course’s focus on locating the Immigrant Narrative as a uniquely American form of literature defining the American experience has made me realize that the America I love would not exist at all without immigrants and their literary voices.

So how did this course promote my enlightenment? The combination of guided reading and independent research was a big part of it. I mentioned earlier that I often felt angry when considering the negative effects of immigration on our country’s institutions; I often wondered why illegal immigrants did not just comply with the laws we have in place to become legal citizens. This question became the basis for my required research in this course, and the most important thing I discovered is that I am glad that I am not an immigrant attempting to navigate our current immigration system.  Our immigration officials are overwhelmed by paperwork and bureaucratic red tape, and this overload has resulted in a corrupt system in which opportunistic predators make money off the suffering of immigrants who are trying to do the right thing. My research for this course essentially forced me to step into the shoes of an immigrant seeking naturalization; my findings gave me much more empathy, if not downright sympathy, for anyone who has to go through the naturalization process. I can almost (but not quite!) understand why some immigrants choose to stay underground and avoid the process altogether.

Even more than my independent research, though, the required reading and well-established course objectives produced my “new attitude.” We have examined the immigrant experience in terms of three basic groups—Immigrant, Minority, and New World Immigrant—as well as each of these groups’ relationship to the dominant culture. In trying to establish my own understanding of the Immigrant Narrative as a fundamental story-line for American multicultural literature (one of the primary objectives of the course), I discovered the aspect of this class that I found to be most fascinating: the idea that America changes the immigrant; and, in turn, the immigrant changes America.

Herein lies much of the value of immigrant literature—what other genre allows us to actually witness the genesis and metamorphosis of the American character? The Immigrant Narrative illustrates how immigrants and minorities have changed the definition of what it means to be American, originally defined by white male writer/philosophers such as Crevoceur. In his Letters from an American Farmer, he defined an American as a "descendent of Europeans" who, if he were "honest, sober and industrious," prospered in a welcoming land of opportunity which gave him choice of occupation and residence. This rather simple definition has been extended and complicated since 1782, and immigration has been a primary cause.

Certainly, many Americans are no longer the descendents of Europeans. In this course, we have spoken often of the “Color Code” and its effects the assimilation or resistance of both immigrants and minorities to American society. Authors from both groups describe race as a marker that can hinder advancement and lead to self-loathing or self-doubt. In “The Lesson,” by Toni Cade Bambara, the black narrator expresses feelings of discomfort upon entering FAO Schwartz: “Not that I’m scared, what’s there to be afraid of, just a toy store.  But I feel funny, shame.  But what I got to be shamed about?  Got as much right to go in as anybody.  But somehow I can’t seem to get hold of the door, so I step away for Sugar to lead.  But she hangs back too” (IA 149). The toy store is a shining symbol of American capitalism and excess, and the children feel unwelcome to enter due to tacit implications about their skin color. When the narrator in “Silver Pavements, Golden Roofs” by Chitra Divakaruni arrives in America from India, full of anticipation about life in a new country, her uncle is quick to dash her hopes: “The Americans hate us.  They’re always putting us down because we’re dark-skinned foreigners…You’ll see it for yourself soon enough” (IA 75). And when his prophecy comes to fruition and the young girl finally experiences racism firsthand, her comments reveal that even she subscribes to the idea that “black” is an insult: “I want to scream, or weep.  Or laugh, because can’t they see that I’m not black at all but an Indian girl of a good family” (IA 80)? This conflict regarding how one’s race affects perceptions of one’s worth in society is a common theme of both immigrant and minority literature and has changed the face of the American character.

Because the racial makeup of the United States has changed so drastically since Crevoceur first described it, does the modern American experience require that one deny his race or ethnicity to succeed? And when does rising above one’s race or ethnicity in order to assimilate become an act of treason to one’s culture? Immigrant and minority literature also provides many examples of this phenomenon. In “No Name in the Street,” James Baldwin speaks extensively of this guilt: “The guilt of the survivor is a real guilt…[it] meant that I had betrayed the people who had produced me. Nothing could be more unutterably paradoxical: to have thrown in your lap what you dreamed of getting, and, in sober, bitter truth, could never have dreamed of having, and that at the price of an assumed betrayal of your brothers and sisters” (285-286)! June Jordan, too, in “Report from the Bahamas,” conveys a similar feeling when she realizes she has more of a connection to white American dominant culture than she does to the black laborers she meets during her Caribbean vacation; she recognizes with guilt and shame that she herself is now part of the “weird succession of crude intruders” who have invaded and overrun the islands (306). This contradiction between how to achieve an American identity without losing too much of oneself or one’s culture is an important characteristic of this “new” American character being forged by immigrants.

Another characteristic that immigrants have added to the American character is the conflict between hope and frustration. Crevoceur believed that anyone who worked hard could prosper in this land of freedom and opportunity. But the Immigrant Narrative often paints a different picture, one in which success is not so easily obtained. The American motto, “If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again,” often does not seem to apply to immigrants. “Soap and Water” by Anzia Yezierska illustrates that the reality of achieving the American Dream can be grim; hard work and good intentions do not always translate into achievement. Using the metaphor of “clean” versus “dirty,” the author describes the irony of the dominant culture condemning her as unfit to be a teacher because of her poor appearance, the cause of which was her “slaving to keep them clean” by working her way through school (106). In “America is in the Heart,” Carlos Bulosan describes exploitation at the hands of his own countrymen in America, who cheat him and sell him into indentured servitude. He endures life-threatening working conditions and spends years living in a “filthy segment of American society,” despite his hard work and determination. However, in the face of seemingly insurmountable setbacks that can only be blamed on their immigrant status, both narrators exemplify a spirit that has become definitive of the American character. Yezierska states: “…though my faith in this so-called America was shattered, in the sap and roots of my soul, burned the deathless faith that America is, must be, somewhere” (109). Likewise, Bulosan writes: “I knew that as long as there was a hope for a future somewhere I would not stop trying to reach it” (72).  Through this unwillingness to let their dreams die, both authors demonstrate that they have “become American” without realizing it, adding another facet to the idea of this new American character.

Obviously the face of the American character has changed since the birth of our country. On this eve of Independence Day, one may feel nostalgia for old values unique to the American experience. However, this course has given me a new appreciation for the depth and beauty, and yes, even the conflict, that immigration has contributed to our nation and our perception of a uniquely American character. The core values remain but have evolved in a way that allows more people to forge successful lives in America; and the Immigrant Narrative has been invaluable in shaping and recording this important evolution.