Jessi Snider

June 28, 2008

Immigrant Literature: Catalyst Toward Transcendence

When dealing with a subject as complex as human beings, most critiques only serve to reveal the truly ambiguous and multifaceted nature of our existence, which can prove elusive to most theoretical containments or repressions.  Always partial and limited, these critiques serve to confirm that some aspects of the human condition resist categorization, dissection, and reduction.  This view summarizes multiculturalist perspectives which declare that every group is unique, a voice must be given to each group, and difference must be celebrated without attempts to overly unify; mere inclusion is the goal.  Yet upon closer examination, specific patterns do emerge among various peoples and many similarities are found in shared group experiences.  Methodically evaluating the narratives of a people is perhaps the best way for Americans to learn to speak “systematically and constructively about race and ethnicity,” as here, perhaps unlike anywhere else, the voice of the immigrant or the minority rings out unfettered by the dominant culture’s limitations or expectations.  Because mere inclusion is not the goal, a narrative can instead serve as an explanatory apparatus deciphering the why of different groups having different reactions to “the land of the free,” melting willfully into the “melting pot” or not, embracing America, or forever remaining victimized by its perceived injustices.  The immigrant narrative can be that explanatory apparatus; it can serve as a “yardstick” in “identifying, grouping, and evaluating different ethnic groups.”  In this way, enormous subjects such as human migration and assimilation can be broken down, elaborated, and ultimately, more clearly understood.  Celebrating difference is not merely enough, for there are parallels to be drawn and the immigrant narrative is the starting point for such comparisons.

            An excellent example of the immigrant narrative is Carlos Bulosan’s “America is in the Heart.”  Immediately the title tells the reader that the lofty concepts of America as “the promise land,” “the land of opportunity,” and the “land of the free,” will be invoked because “in the heart,” the purest and most idealistic sentiments live.  However, instead of immediately finding freedom and opportunity upon arriving in America, the author finds himself swindled, exploited, and borderline enslaved.  Unbeknownst to the author, he has experienced the first three stages of the immigrant narrative.  The first stage is leaving the Old World; the second is the journey to the New World; and the third is when the immigrant experiences “shock, resistance, exploitation, and discrimination.”  However, unlike a minority narrative, we see the author of the story moving into stage four of the immigrant narrative at the end of the story:  “assimilation to dominant American culture and loss of ethnic identity.”  He leaves the ethnic enclave where his brother and other Filipinos live and has instead ventured out to find a separate existence and an honest living.  While the story is not overly positive and is even a bit brutal at times, it still shows a protagonist fighting against the odds, willing to succeed on America’s terms even if it entails great strife.

            Sui Sin Far’s “In the Land of the Free” in another instance of the immigrant narrative from which certain conclusions can be drawn.  Like “America is in the Heart,” this story also focuses on Asian-American immigrants, who like Jews before them, are commonly referred to as the “model minority.”  “Model minorities” fulfill the notions innate in the immigrant narrative by assimilating economically and becoming highly educated.  Also, these groups generally obey the law and follow formal governmental procedures with little argument.  These principles are clearly witnessed in “In the Land of the Free.”  There is great irony in the title, for upon arriving in America, Lae Choo and Hom Hing, a couple from China, have their son confiscated by a government official.  Such overbearing state control proves that this couple is anything but “free” here in America.  Yet this does not deter this “model minority” couple from following the rules; they begrudgingly hand over their child and attempt to go through the proper channels to get him back.  Given the run around for months, the couple eventually gives most of their money to a shady lawyer who manages to get their child back.  While they do berate the lawyer as just another “common white man,” for the most part the couple plays by the book, works hard, and has faith that everything will work out.  These notions are the epitome of the immigrant narrative.

While the immigrant narrative is often one of hope, the minority narrative is one of permanent otherness and barely sustained perseverance.  A potent and substantive example of minority literature is Crystos’ “I Have Not Signed a Treaty with the United States Government.”  A one stanza, 28-line poem about the outrage some Native Americans feel toward a government they did create and do not want, this poem sheds light on the unique “social contract” Native Americans have with the US compared to that of people with immigrant ancestry.  Because immigrants come here voluntarily, they are expected to see America as “the land of opportunity” doing them a favor and therefore they must obey the rules and conform to American norms.  However, Native Americans, like African Americans, did not choose to be part of the United States and therefore may “speak of exploitation instead of opportunity.”  Chystos is exercising this right in “I Have Not Signed a Treaty,” markedly illustrating that she and her people neither asked to be part of this nation nor care to be part of it.  She declares that “Everything the United States does to everybody is bad” (line 11).  She demands that the people of the US “Go somewhere else and / build a McDonald’s,” referencing how deplorably the dominance of the corporate model, which so characterizes the American capitalist system, is witnessed by a people who did not function in such a commercial manner prior to contact with the Western world.  In twenty-eight lines, Chystos reveals more about the Native American position than some novels could.

African Americans, like Native Americans, often feel that they did not ask to be part of this nation and therefore also possess a different “social contract” from that of the dominant culture.  Toni Cade Bambara’s “The Lesson” is an excellent example of the African American “minority” narrative in that it concentrates on a group of African American children who feel no connection to the dominant culture at the beginning of the story.  Their world feels distinct and separate from the world of white people.  The children steal, curse, and fight, and it takes a transitional figure, Miss Moore, to awaken a sense of injustice in them, drawing their attentions outward.  While educated like the dominant culture, Miss Moore still lives in the African-American neighborhood and sees to the needs of the community by interacting with and tending to its children.  In subtle and not so subtle ways, she attempts to make the children yearn for more, strive for more, long for education themselves.  This seed appears to take root in the protagonist of the story, Sylvia, and at the end of the story she declares that “ain’t nobody gonna beat me at nuthin” (152).  The reader is left feeling assured that this young lady will strive for great things, and being headstrong and resourceful, she will no doubt accomplish them.  Yet, like Miss Moore, she will still likely remain separate from the dominant culture and will likely retain her sense of victimization that sparked her ambition in the first place.

New World immigrants “may create an identity somewhere between the immigrant and minority patterns.”  Proximity to their home countries, large enduring ethnic enclaves, and resentment to U.S. meddling in their native nations can cause ambivalence in New World immigrants.  Resistance to the dominant culture is perfectly illustrated in “The English Lesson’s” Diego Torres.  He clearly states that his reason “to be here is to make money…I no be American citizen, no way.  I’m Dominican and proud” (25).  He further admonishes the U.S. as controlling “most the industry which is sugar and tourismo” in his homeland.  Because he blames the U.S. for crippling the economy of his own nation, he feels no scruples about exploiting the U.S. for monetary gain.  Diego Torres is an example of a New World immigrant who has no intention of ever assimilating, resembling aspects of the minority narrative more than the immigrant narrative.

However, some New World immigrants, particularly second and third generation immigrants, do assimilate, learn to speak English, and embrace U.S. customs and mores.  The protagonist of Paule Marshall’s “To Da-Duh, In Memoriam” is one such case.  Being a second generation immigrant growing up in New York, she goes back to Barbados with her mother to visit her grandmother.  While there, she extols the virtues of America, singing the praises of its tall buildings and beautiful vegetation; she performs songs by Shirley Temple and even brags about beating up a white girl.  America is clearly her home.  Yet she is a black child, and even her own grandmother “liked her grandchildren to be ‘white,’ that is, fair-skinned” (369).  An assimilated, second generation American, she still cannot escape the color-code which associates dark with evil and badness and white with purity and goodness. Perhaps this too is why New World immigrants cannot entirely shake free of unwanted associations, for some are marked as minorities even if they function precisely in line with the larger immigrant narrative by playing by the rules and attempting to assimilate.  Thus, the prevalent ambivalence found amongst such groups is better understood, for when efforts are thwarted or one is unfairly boxed in, one tends to give up.

            Human beings and human experience are notoriously ambiguous; each life appears to be absolutely unique and yet it is undeniable that certain parallels can be drawn between them.  The immigrant narrative functions to highlight the similarities between seemingly different groups and gives reasons as to why these groups behave as they do.  Literature is typically viewed as intangible itself, abstract, and evasive.  Yet here, literature delves into the historical, psychological, and sociological reasons as to why people make the choices that they make.  Studying immigrant and minority narratives is an excellent starting point to enable “Americans to talk systematically and constructively about race and ethnicity.”  Here, the conversation begins.  Then, and only then, may we rightly speak of transcendence. 

(An hour prep, about 2 hours and 45 minutes writing)