Kristin Hamon

Crucial Conversations: Talking about Race and Ethnicity through Immigrant/Minority Narratives

Reading and Planning Time: 1 hour

Writing and Revising: 2 ½ hours

“Oh yes, I love her! She’s the one who always wants to talk about those sensitive issues that make us all uncomfortable and feel awkward about being White!” Unfortunately, this is not the usual response that is gathered by a woman or man who desires to bring up the conversation of ethnicity or race amidst people too scared to move away from formal niceties into crucial conversations about diversity in the United States. I wondered where someone might look to find help in talking to people about sensitive issues. So undoubtedly, I completed a search at Amazon.com. I found a plethora of guides to help me restore my marriage, talk to my kids about sex, approach my boss about a raise, and even discuss the obstacles of OCD with my child facing a behavioral issue. I did not, however, find any books that addressed how to speak about race and ethnicity. Not one book. America, being a nation “founded” by immigrants, seems comfortable in celebrating only the positive attributes of the American Dream and revels in the notion that “anyone” can find happiness in the U.S. Unfortunately, there is a cavernous void that exists when one tries to address multiculturalism in the public school classroom or even at one’s dinner table.

Perhaps the lack of conversation stems from a misunderstanding of multicultural narratives. Objective 1 states that many surveys attempting to address multiculturalism, only “promote tolerance” and “celebrate difference.”  While this may be a great way to initiate conversation, it seems rather stunted when one considers all the varying issues of victimization, assimilation, and commonalities that may or may not exist between immigrant and minority cultures. Teaching tolerance will only encourage our children to be more politically correct and to grow increasingly frightened of talking about obvious differences that occur among the multiple American narratives. American Immigrant Literature has pushed me to ask myself not only why people are reluctant to address the nuances of the immigrant/minority narrative, but how I, as a teacher, can learn how to teach multiculturalism in a way that will persuade my students to crave discussion about the numerous narratives that exist within our society. In order to assist me in my search, I have tried to uncover what is currently “easy” to talk about, what is not, and how the two distinctions among immigrant and minority narratives can be merged.

Much of the immigrant narrative is celebrated in American culture. The immigrant narrative is stereotypically conveyed as a story of hope and the realization of one’s freedom and individuality. This aspect of the immigrant narrative seems be a hassle-free area of discussion among members of the dominant culture. Any story that mirrors the pilgrims’ flight to America in search of freedom, only reestablishes the hope and trust in the United States. This hopeful aspect of the immigrant narrative is a common and recurring theme found in many stories. In Sui Sin Far’s, “In the Land of the Free” the mother describes America as “thy home for years to come” asserting that her child would be “very happy there” (IA3). The next sentence, however, could be seen as a metaphor of the immigrants’ child-like trust in America. Far describes “The Little One [looking] up into his mother’s face in perfect faith” (IA3). The child does not realize he is about to lose his identity. Therefore, he can rest peacefully in the arms of his mother. This idea of innocence is also seen in Carlos Bulosan’s excerpt from America is in the Heart. He characterizes his arrival to the U.S. as an “exhilarating experience” with everything appearing to be “promising” (Bulosan Handout 60). He even goes on to describe the trip as a “voyage” that felt “like coming home…although as yet I had no home in this city” (Bulosan Handout 60). These tales of excitement and promise seem acceptable among members of the dominant culture and other immigrants. After all, the immigrants are wrapping “their babies in the American flag” and celebrating all things American (Pat Mora Handout: “Immigrants”). They protect the “American Dream” and seem to encourage many citizens’ blind faith that anyone who “really tries,” can come to American and become successful.

The American Dream, unfortunately, is just that – it is a dream. There is no tangible aspect about it; one cannot bottle it up and control it. This moment of “waking up” is where the rest of the immigrant story stops being told among members of the dominant culture, and is relegated to family tales of woe and suffering for as long as the generations will keep it alive. The basic stages of the assimilation process are outlined in Objective 2 and as follows:

1.       Leave the Old World

2.       Journey to the New World

3.       Shock, resistance, exploitation, and discrimination

4.       Assimilation to dominant American culture and loss of ethnic identity

5.       Rediscovery or reassertion of ethnic identity

These stages force one to understand that immigrants will never be “ready” to identify themselves as Americans at the same time. Perhaps the concept of the “melting pot” proves to be a hindrance to those trying to understand the multiple stages of the immigrant narrative. No matter how many different shapes or sizes of metal are placed into a “melting pot,” they will only be “poured out” when every piece has relinquished its old shape and is ready to be molded into something new. This metaphor is not at all analogous with the basic stages of the immigrant narrative.

Later in Sui Sin Far’s tale, the ugly aspects of the American Dream start to unfold. Hom Hing never imagined it would be so difficult to bring his child to the United States. In fact, in some ways Hom Hing and his wife had already become quite assimilated. He had a job and both he and his wife were reasserting their “ethnic identity” by making it possible for Lae Choo to travel back to China in order to give birth to their son in their native country. Never did they realize that asserting their ethnic identity could result in the loss of their son. Lae Choo and her husband ended up giving away all their valuables to James Clancy for a chance to be reunited with their “little one.” The story seems like a hopeful American tale until the reader reaches the last sentence when the little child tries to “hide himself in the folds of the white woman’s skirt” and shamelessly tells his mother to “Go’way, go’way!” (IA 11). The parents must have been crushed. Being a member of the “heroic, but clueless” first generation, the couple never foresaw this trouble (Objective 2). This story can be seen as a metaphorical example of why people are uncomfortable with discussing the immigrant narrative. Lae Choo and Hom Hing trusted that James Clancy, who personifies the dominant culture, would be able to help them realize their dream of being a family in the United States. Trusting in a member of the dominant culture resulted in the loss of their family. Although they were able to physically hold their “little one” once more, it seemed too late for the child. He was already enveloped in the “folds of the white woman’s skirt” and the dominant culture altogether (IA 11).

Another example of this narrative of loss can be seen in Nicholasa Mohr’s The English Lesson. In this quick tale of American assimilation, William and Lali desire to learn English from Mrs. Hamma, who is the epitome of the “helpful” dominant culture. In some ways, Lali has broken away from the shock of the new world and has become a second-generation immigrant “divided between the traditional identity of her homeland and the modern identity of assimilated Americans” (Objective 2). Lali’s older husband, however, clings to a different stage of this immigrant process. He doesn’t understand Lali’s choice to assimilate and learn English at such a quick pace, although he states “if that’s what she wants, I’m not one to interfere” (IA31). He neither chastises nor supports his wife, which exposes the growing distance between their two emerging narratives. The reader watches as Lali starts to become more Americanized as a result of “leaving the world of Rudi, the luncheonette, that street, everything that she felt imprisoned her” (IA31). Although originating in different cultures, Sui Sin Far and Nicholasa Mohr’s stories are similar in that immigrants find themselves forced to give up their identity, whether as a result of being trapped in a white “mission” or fleeing the cultural expectations within a family-owned store. Eric Liu describes the frustrating experience of loss in his piece, “Notes of a Native Son.”

“To be an accused banana (yellow outside, white inside) is to stand at the ill-fated intersection of class and race. And because class is the only thing Americans have more trouble talking about than race, a minority’s climb up the social ladder is often willfully misnamed and wrongly portrayed. There is usually, in the portrayal, a strong whiff of betrayal: the assimilst is a traitor to his kind, to his class, to his own family. He cannot gain the world without losing his soul. To be sure, something is lost in any migration, whether form place to place or from class to class. But something is gained as well. And the result is always more complicated than the monochrome language of ‘whiteness’ and ‘authenticity’ would suggest” (Samuel Cohen’s 50 Essays Anthology).

Liu understands that the assimilation process demands that immigrants face some type of loss. Perhaps this idea is what might seem so foreign to a dominant culture that is never asked to change. If only the stages of assimilation and tales of loss could be conveyed, American society might be able to start discussing the immigrant narrative as a tale of humanity.

Loss of identity is a frightening result of the American Dream, but what about those who “did not freely choose the American Dream” (Objective 3). There is not much of the minority narrative that the dominant culture feels comfortable discussing, and perhaps this is why the largest chasm existing within our society is between the dominant and minority cultures. In order to understand this chasm, one must understand that the minority narrative is characterized by the presence of a distrust held for American society and often the narrative focuses on the resulting choice of what to do with that indignation – do you leave your distinct community or stay?

 James Baldwin typifies the minority narrative in his piece, “No Name in the Street.” At the beginning of his text, he opens with a myriad of terms filled with resentment and doubt explaining that he was “forced into a judgment” with which he was “reluctant” after the death of MLK (Baldwin Handout 284). He later states that “one could scarcely be deluded by Americans anymore; one scarcely dared expect anything from the great, vast, blank generality” (Baldwin Handout 284). This sense of distrust is seen again in “The Man to Send Rainclouds” when Leon makes an almost comical statement to the minister, who asks if Teofilo was at the sheep camp alone. Leon refuses to explain his death and instead states, “He won’t do that anymore” (IA 206). This bit of verbal irony exposes the lack of trust that is placed in the dominant culture.

The decision of how to react to feelings of indignation and resentment allow the minority narratives to take several different directions. In Leslie Marmon Silko’s story, Teofilo’s family chose to quietly take advantage of the priest and his burial rituals in order to satisfy their own Native American tradition of sprinkling water on their dead (IA 08). In Baldwin’s text, the protagonist’s choice to retain his distrust of the American government is starkly contrasted with his friend’s decision to mirror the beliefs of the dominant culture. Until the climactic argument that takes place, one thinks that perhaps the only issue separating the two is money or education. After the argument on page 289, it is clear that the two men made two very different choices in the direction of their respective narratives (Baldwin Handout).

A similar point can be seen in the encounter with Harmony and Albertine in Erdrich’s story, “American Horse.” Even though Harmony explains, “I feel bad to have to do this” he still continues with the confiscation of Albertine’s child. This choice to abandon Albertine symbolizes the shift in each of their narratives. Albertine has chosen to live her life embracing her distinct Native American traditional community and culture (Objective 3), while Harmony has chosen to try to assimilate to the dominant culture by becoming a member of the police force. Ultimately, Albertine loses her child which also seems to be a recurring story shared with the immigrant narrative. The minority narrative is truly complex and not easy to identify with, due to its multifaceted nature. Americans, however, cannot keep avoiding the discussion of the choices being made within these narratives if they are to ever fully understand or appreciate multiculturalism.

The last and perhaps most confusing narrative is that which combines features of both the immigrant and minority narratives. “New world immigrants” must constantly face misunderstanding of their culture. Afro-Caribbeans are assumed to be Black; Puerto Ricans are confused as Mexicans, and so on. It seems as though the main reason American society does not discuss this specific narrative is due to the lack of distinction that exists between these groups. New world immigrants must daily interact with a dominant culture than cannot figure out where to “place” them. In Junot Diaz’s “How to Date a Brown Girl,” he refers to this ambivalent identity as a Dominican. The narrator describes himself when he states “run a hand through your hair like the whiteboys do even though the only thing that runs easily through your hair is Africa” (IA 277). Diaz’s style beautifully symbolizes the narrator’s internal struggle. The narrator fights the daunting “color code” that seems to rule his dating life. Being dark enough to be black, but light enough to want to assimilate is characterized by the quick stream of conscious style writing and “jittery” movements from one idea to another (Objective 3). I witnessed my Puerto Rican roommate at A&M face these same internal battles. Even if she wasn’t Mexican, guys would compliment her on her “beautiful Mexican culture,” and she would not know how to react. Often times she behaved much like Diaz’s narrator and thanked them in order to “sound smooth” and keep her from having to explain her true culture (IA 278).

Frequently, the reason this dual identity can be so confusing is due to the paradoxical nature of the blending of the minority and immigrant narrative. While the immigrant narrative is characterized with hope for new beginnings, the minority narrative is defined by the remembrance of oppression by the dominant culture. To try and meld both of these identities seems nearly impossible, which is why so many “new world” immigrants decide to pick and choose parts of each narrative to make it their own. In Judith Ortiz Cofer’s text, “Silent Dancing,” this paradoxical relationship is personified in the mother and father of the narrator. The narrator explains that they did not have a lot of money and that “the only thing his money could not buy us was a place to live away from the barrio – his greatest wish, Mother’s greatest fear (Cofer Handout 182). Ironically, the mother would shop at Sears and Woolworth’s for her dresses, but refused to cook with products purchased outside the little Puerto Rican market. Another difference that exists for New World immigrants is the option to return or visit their homeland. This encourages an existence much like the minority culture where distinct communities remain intact for longer periods of time. Assimilation will still follow the same stages as addressed earlier, but in these mixed narratives, it might happen at a slower pace (Objective 3).

American society cannot be forced to speak about multicultural narratives. Through education, however, the immigrant, minority, and “new world” narratives can be explained to those who will listen. Perhaps giving these narratives separate distinctions will not only encourage society to celebrate difference, but to be able to talk about the varying aspects of each culture. During the school year, I usually teach a unit on “Race and Culture.” My lesson plans, however, will dramatically change after taking this class. I feel as though a quick glance at “minorities” is not satisfactory and would not be reasonable for my students, who are mainly Mexican American. As “new world” immigrants, they would benefit from the discussion of both the immigrant and minority narratives in order to find their own cultural identities. My hope is that, as a member of the dominant culture, I can learn to talk about these narratives, even if I am seen as that annoying and crazy white woman who “talks about all those sensitive issues and makes us uncomfortable.” Perhaps being a little uncomfortable will give the dominant culture the push it needs to learn to communicate in a more effective way about race and ethnicity, so that we can discuss something besides the gilded façade of the American Dream.