Daniel B. Stuart

I, Too, Am America: Minority Narratives, Their Immigrant Counterparts and the Inconsistency of the Gap Between

            When he wrote I, Too in 1925, Langston Hughes celebrated America. He also celebrated himself, his race and his heritage. He celebrated the country as a land with a more harmonious future, certain that his identity as an African-American, the “darker brother,” would be accepted, respected and embraced by the dominant culture (Hughes, 810). Similar sentiments have been echoed by other minorities, most notably, of course, the African-Americans and Native Americans. Others have been more obtuse to this idea of being welcomed back into the fold, many feeling they were never a part of it in the first place. It is indeed an American Nightmare for many like Chrystos, Handsome Lake or Alice Walker who demonstrate their animosity and even aggression at the dominant culture. Two major themes, really, can characterize these attitudes, each of them naturally reflected within the corresponding minority narrative: contamination in regards to Native Americans and exploitation in regards to African-Americans. Having been the predominate subaltern, the two distinct minority groups for years prior to voluntary immigration, stark differences remain between immigrant narratives depicting America as a desirable entity and minority narratives skeptical of the dubious nation which has permanently violated their past and existing livelihoods. This gap remains distinctive, even with regards to skin color and shared heritage.

            Solidarity within the community pervades throughout minority narratives. “I ain’t your cousin,” Albertine American Horse angrily at Harmony when the authorities arrive to take Buddy. There is no question in Albertine’s mind that Harmony has sold out (Erdrich, 217). Any good will or honest intentions are canceled now that he’s joined forces with the “pigs,” and ironical term obviously referring to the police but yielding a questionable reverse assessment of the dominant culture’s more slovenly habits which have been thrust upon the Native American. For it is this dominant culture which has bequeathed alcohol and Western Culture to the tribes, grounding Albertine in a permanent dissipation and Uncle Lawrence in a sadly humorous identity crisis. They, the “pigs,” are the ones who’ve—and there’s no doubt any of this in Albertine’s mind—brought all of this plight upon the Indians, this sad tearing apart of families, who’ve polluted their culture, who’ve forced them to “idle their time” and robbed them of all dignity (Handsome Lake). Thus there can be no question of Harmony’s betrayal; the current situation can never be separated from the past. This same resistance to assimilation in the face of obligatory cohabitation is also evident in Alice Walker’s “Elethia” who, with age, realizes that despite all her efforts to become a part of the dominant culture, that same culture will persist in its ignorance of typecasting herself and her race as “Uncle Alberts” (Walker, 307-309). Within minority narratives such as these, battles between the dominant culture and minorities have already been fought. They are still being fought and will continue to wage. Efforts from both sides have been made to fulfill their share of the “social contract,” only to witness the subjugation to continue and the ignorance to proliferate (White, Syllabus). Contrary to the immigrant narrative, frequently evincing hope and possibility amidst conflicts, the minority narrative tells us that the war has already been lost.

            It works both ways, of course, this pattern of resistance and assimilation involving immigrant and minority narratives. The literature presents examples exemplifying how immigrants can no more assimilate into the minority culture than can America’s minorities be permanently acknowledged as a part of the dominant culture. Lucy in Mei Mei Evans’ “Gussuk” finds that she can never be an Eskimo. Despite being second or third generation immigrant herself and having similar physical characteristics, as well as embracing the cultural differences with an open, willing attitude, Lucy will always be an outsider, a Gussuk. She herself still belongs to the poisoning race, her resistance to Eskimo customs and habits secluding her from full involvement and participation in the culture (Evans, 237-251). Likewise, Silvia in Toni Cade Bambara’s “The Lesson” can’t welcome immigrants of the same race much more than she can accept the extravagant custom of the dominant culture. She “would much rather snatch Sugar and go to the Sunset and terrorize the West Indian kids and take their hair ribbons and their money too,” than listen to lessons about money and the value of a dollar from Miss Moore (Bambara, 146). Essentially a model minority, even Miss Moore comprehends the sustained exploitation of her race through money and value placed on possessions in favor of human welfare, deftly conveying this point-of-fact to naïve and impulsive girls like Sylvia who largely have no consciousness for this aspect of the dominant culture, but will someday.

            Perhaps this concept of necessary resistance within the minority narrative and a more willingness to assimilate within the immigrant narrative is blown out of proportion. Can there really be a sociological “model” for such a system of human interaction. In a word, Yes. The model is as accurate as it will ever be, this despite efforts to curb the system. Hasn’t the utopian vision of permanent equality and the brotherhood of man been worn down? Haven’t the various political and multicultural experiments of Marxism and desegregation exposed the flaws of such theoretical egalitarianism? There will always be strong and weak, dominant and marginalized, rulers and the oppressed. Contamination and exploitation will continue as long as long as man seeks his own good. There are contradictions to the model, individuals who refuse to surrender to the system.  Dominican Diego Torres in Nicolasa Mohr’s “The English Lesson” voices an opinion when he makes his statements about not wanting to be an American Citizen. “I’m Dominican and proud!” he says, vigilant in his ideology (Mohr, 25). Certainly he’s one of the many knowledgeable and keen individuals well-aware of “downward assimilation,” of American capitalism and its exploitation of willing immigrants, of the futility so many find in their experience (White). Julie Garza says as much in her 2010 essay “Assimilation and Resistance in Minority and Immigrant Narratives,” elucidates the Diego Torres example. “[He] has no intention of assimilating to the dominant culture, thus refusing to participate in either the American Dream of the American Nightmare.” (Garza).

            Can the immigrant narrative ever become the minority narrative? Can either be reconciled with the narrative of the dominant culture? In a sense there is the documented argument that this is already the case. The Europeans who first settled, originally, were both. Once this transition passed however, the early settlers, formerly belonging to both current immigrant and minority, became the dominant culture. With time, the minority narrative came to be identified with Blacks and Native Americans, each group an entity separate from the dominant culture, the one group who “wanted” to be here and be “dominant.” Crevecoeur may have said it best when he noticed that “we have no examples of even one of those Aborigines having from choice become Europeans.” (Crevecoeur). This, of course, hardly tells the whole story and yet it is perhaps the most telling argument as to why the models of immigrant and minority cultures and narratives will remain static: people want different things. Preference towards resistance or assimilation will inevitably characterize both narratives. But, additionally, interrelation between immigrants, minorities and the dominant culture as well as each culture’s interaction with the other will continue to define and elucidate those who were constrained by force to live here and those who came her of their own volition, model minorities and ideal immigrants, resistance and assimilation, contamination and exploitation.

Works Cited

Bambara, Toni Cade. “The Lesson” Imagining America: Stories from the Promised Land. New York: Persea, 2002. pp. 145-152.

Brown, Wesley and Amy Ling, eds. Imagining America: Stories from the Promised Land. Rev. Ed. New York: Persea, 2002.

Chrystos. “I Have Not Signed a Treaty with the United States Government.” White. Web.

De Crevecoeur, Hector St. Jean. “Letters from an American Farmer.” White. Web.

Erdrich, Louise. “American Horse” Imagining America: Stories from the Promised Land. New York: Persea, 2002. pp. 210-220.

Evans, Mei Mei. “Gussuk” Imagining America: Stories from the Promised Land. New York: Persea, 2002. pp. 237-251.

Garza, Julie. “Assimilation and Resistance in Minority and Immigrant Narratives: The American Dream Versus the American Nightmare.” Summer 2010.

Handsome Lake. “How the White Race Came to America.” White. Web.

Hughes, Langston. “I, Too” The Bedford Introduction to Literature. 4^th ed. Boston: Bedford. pp. 810-811.

Mohr, Nicholasa. “The English Lesson.” Imagining America: Stories from the Promised Land. New York: Persea, 2002. pp. 21-34.

Walker, Alice. “Elethia” Imagining America: Stories from the Promised Land. New York: Persea, 2002. pp. 307-309.

White, Craig. LITR 5731 Multicultural Literature: American Immigrant Literature. English Department. UHCL. Web.