The Struggle Between Citizenship and Freedom

Last week our class examined the Young Lords Party and the fight to free the colony—ahem, “unincorporated territory”—Puerto Rico from the United States. This ongoing struggle is stretched out as the status has changed to commonwealth and protests still arise from the ashes of prior movements calling for complete independence. The case of the Philippines offers a different story.

The Philippines were gained by the United States at the same time as Puerto Rico through the signing of the Treaty of Paris of 1898 following the Spanish-American War. Officially declared the first commonwealth of the United States in 1935, the Philippines had a relatively short history under the direction of the US government with its full independence being gained in 1946.[1] The reasons for terminating the jurisdiction over the Philippines were primarily economical, as the United States had been going through the Great Depression.

During the period of 1906 and 1935, many Filipinos migrated to Hawai’i, the West Coast, and even Alaska looking for jobs. Typically, those who relocated in Hawai’i worked on sugar plantations, while farms were a popular settlement for the West Coast migrants. Additionally, several Filipino men served the United States during World War II.[2] Despite these actions, Filipinos—like other minorities and immigrants—found it difficult to obtain equal opportunities and citizenship in the United States.

Photograph included in Singgalot depicting immigrants working in agricultural jobs.

Singgalot: The Ties that Bind is an exhibition created by the Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Program that deals with the relationship between the United States and the Philippines. Beginning with the first trans-oceanic trade missions between Manila and Acapulco in the 1500s, the exhibition highlights the period of United States control, while exploring how Filipinos had to adjust their lives after immigrating and becoming US citizens.[3] The exhibition was designed to share and preserve Filipino cultural heritage, and commemorate the roles that this community played to promote civil rights. Focusing on imagery rather than objects, the exhibition is comprised of thirty panels featuring documents and photographs depicting early migrants to recent leaders who have challenged class and gender boundaries.

In 2000, Navy Captain Eleanor “Connie” Mariano, Medical Corps, was promoted to Rear Admiral, the highest military rank occupied by a Filipino American. This promotion displays the values and equal rights Filipinos were fighting for.

This exhibition demonstrates several themes in common with other Asian Americans and immigrant groups. Constituting the second largest Asian American group in the United States, Filipinos came to find better opportunities for themselves and their families. Despite the hard work and little pay, waves of migrants came. Once the Immigration Act of 1965 was enacted, Asian American communities knew that they had to improve their lives and demand equal rights if they were going to sustain the new waves of Asian immigrants. It was particularly difficult for Asian Americans during this time due to the stigma placed on them by previous generations that carried over to a time in which other Americans were starting to get their first interactions with this new immigrant group.

The exhibition does well in representing Filipino communities, their cultural practices, political involvement, and their issues, however the panels’ information seem limited. If the exhibition could have obtained and shared more oral histories, such as those by civil rights activists gathered by the Seattle Civil Rights & Labor History Project, visitors may feel more connected to the topic. I think that this works well as a traveling exhibit, but with added sensory elements, this exhibition could generate more engagement and dialogue about current issues such as the status of Puerto Rico.

Mural created by Philippine-born artist Eliseo Silva (b. 1972) located in Historic Filipinotown, Los Angeles. The mural, like the Singgalot exhibit, celebrates the leadership and achievements of Filipinos.

Resources:

[1] “Territorial Acquisitions of the United States.” National Atlas Home Page. United States Department of the Interior, 27 Jan. 2011. Accessed 16 May 2011. http://www.nationalatlas.gov/mld/usacqup.html.

[2] “Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service – About the Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service’s mission, history, and goals.” Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service: History, Art, and Science Exhibitions. Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Program, 2008. Accessed 16 May 2011. http://www.sites.si.edu/exhibitions/exhibits/singgalot_filipinos_in_america/main.htm#itinerar.

[3] “Singgalot (The Ties That Bind): Filipinos in America, from Colonial Subjects to Citizens.” The Smithsonian Asian Pacific American Program and the Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service, 2008. Accessed 16 May 2011.http://www.sites.si.edu/exhibitions/singgalot.pdf.

Who Are You?

U.S. Government Photo

Children almost always push back against the identity their parents assign them.  There were three short stories we read for this week in which children struggled with older generations to define their identities, both as Americans and as immigrants, as well as their notions of success and a good life.   Although each story addressed these issues, they all came to different conclusions.  While reading these stories, I could not help but think back to Sara Smolinsky in Breadgivers, and her generational struggle.  When these narratives are viewed side by side, one can see the wide variety of immigrant experiences. Some of this difference can be ascribed to the various cultures that the immigrant families are coming from: Chinese in “Children as Enemies” and “Two Kinds”, Pakistani in “Mr. Pirzada Comes To Dine”, and Jewish in Breadgivers.  However, class is equally important in determining the shape of the narrative in each story.

Ha Jin’s story “Children As Enemies” shows how younger generations can pressure more traditional members of their family into accepting American values.  It illuminates the progression from the traditionalist grandparents, to the more progressive parents, to the children who push for a wholesale rejection of their Chinese heritage, asking to have their last names changed.  It

is with resignation that the grandfather says at the end of the story “This is America, where we must learn self-reliance and mind our own business.”[1]  The economic circumstances of the family are key to this revelation, as it happens after the son rents his grandparents their own separate apartment.  The family’s money provides them with a simple solution to this generational clash.

The child in Amy Tan’s story “Two Kinds” is similar to Sara Smolinsky in Breadgivers in her resistance to a domineering parent.  The narrator in Woo’s story fights back against her mother’s plan for her to be a “prodigy.”  Unlike Sara Smolinsky, her resistance is not the result of a drive to succeed and pull herself out of poverty, but rather from her assertion of her American right to laziness and individualism.[2]  The middle class circumstances of “Two Kinds” means that the struggle for emancipation from a controlling parent takes a very different form than in Breadgivers with its setting of grinding poverty.

Rather than fight to reject up her heritage, the child narrator in Jhumpa Lahiri’s story “When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine” searches for connections to her parents’ culture.  She is thoroughly Americanized, and is mystified by the television reports about Pakistan that her parents watch every evening with Mr. Pirzada, and is desperate to learn more.  She attempts to find out more from books in her school library, but is unsuccessful.[3]  Eventually, she finds a connection in the piece of Halloween candy she eats every evening in Mr. Pirzada’s memory.[4]  This story is completely unique in comparison to Breadgivers and the other short stories.  There is no inter-generational turbulence, and the child is actively seeking a connection to her heritage, rather than rejecting it.  However, since the themes are the same it shows us that there are a practically infinite number of possible experiences for immigrants.

With these stories, I feel as if we have come full circle from our reading of Breadgivers earlier this semester.  When considered together, these stories show that there is no such thing as the “Asian Experience” or the “Middle Class Experience” or the “Immigrant Experience” or the “Jewish Experience”.  The characters in all of the stories wrestle with similar issues, but their reactions are motivated by a wide variety of factors including ethnicity, class, age, and gender.  This shows just how many factors go in to determining who we are as human beings.

[1] Ha Jin, “Children as Enemies,” in A Good Fall (New York: Pantheon, 2009), 86

[2] Amy Tan, “Two Kinds,” in Joy Luck Club (New York: Vintage Contemporaries, 1989), 134-135 and 142-143

[3] Jhumpa Lahiri, “When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine,” in Interpreter of Maladies (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1999), 33

[4] Ibid., 42

Life is All Right in America…If You’re All White in America

“America” from West Side Story is one of my favorite Broadway show tunes. I love the catchy rhythm, sharp choreography, and clever exchanges about immigrant life in the United States. For example:

Girls: Industry boom in America

Boys: Twelve in a room in America

Anita: Lots of new housing with more space

Bernardo: Lots of doors slamming in our face

Anita: I’ll get a terrace apartment

Bernardo: Better get rid of your accent [1]

I never understood the meaning of the song, however, until I started studying immigrant history. I realized that “America” captures the essence of the immigrant experience in the United States: for millions of immigrants—including the Puerto Rican “Sharks” in West Side Story—the United States simultaneously represented a hope for a better life and a constant struggle against racism and other forms of injustice. “America” explores this tension between hope and injustice for 1950s Puerto Ricans immigrating in search of better economic circumstances. The relationship between hope and injustice evolved in the civil rights era, and one of the byproducts was the Young Lords Party (YLP), a Puerto Rican nationalist group established in the 1960s. The YLP organized in American cities to demand a better life for Puerto Ricans, which included solutions to problems such as poverty and racism.

The story of Puerto Rican immigration to the United States is a complex one, but a primary cause of immigration was the hope of finding jobs and wealth in the United States. The economic situations of Puerto Ricans were closely tied to American commercial interests in Latin America. Around the first half of the twentieth century, the United States government and American corporations invested in Latin American industries such as sugar production. American investment disrupted the productivity of small farmers, so many farmers and their families moved to America in search of better economic opportunities. [2] More Puerto Ricans emigrated during World War II to fill wartime jobs. After the war, continued American investment brought poverty and unemployment, which encouraged record numbers to leave for the United States.

Emigration from Puerto Rico, 1900-1990, courtesy Lehman College Department of Latin American & Puerto Rican Studies, http://lcw.lehman.edu/lehman/depts/latinampuertorican/

Even though America promised to offer terrace apartments and booming industrial jobs, these opportunities were often denied to foreign immigrants. Instead, new arrivals found discrimination (“Lots of doors slamming in our face,” “Better get rid of your accent”), which led to unemployment and poverty (“Twelve in a room in America”). The YLP saw capitalism as the root of the problems plaguing the Puerto Rican community. [3] Using tactics like civil disobedience, the YLP organized to combat the elitism, racism, and greed in American society. [4] The YLP’s ultimate aim was to create a society in which “the needs of the people (came) first.” [5] To the YLP, America represented more than hope and oppression; it was a place where they could actively fight injustices to ameliorate their circumstances.

This active approach to advancement through fighting injustice was, in part, a product of the contemporary civil rights movement. Like other minorities, Puerto Ricans demanded social change, an end to discrimination, and an improvement in the lives of the impoverished. [6] Point eight of the party’s Thirteen Point Program and Platform (1969) even appropriated the civil rights anthem “We Shall Overcome,” using its Spanish translation, venceremos. [7]

The hopes Puerto Ricans brought to America contrasted with the injustices they found upon arrival. A line from “America” perfectly expresses the dynamic between hope and disappointment:

Girls: Life is all right in America

Boys: If you’re all white in America [8]

But Puerto Rican immigrants and their descendents continued to believe that they could improve their circumstances. Despite their demise in the 1970s, the YLP translated the enduring hope for jobs, a decent living, education, healthcare, and fair treatment into action. The YLP and other contemporary organizations fought to ensure that life was all right in America, even for those who weren’t “white.”

—

[1] West Side Story-America (1961 film version), YouTube video, posted by bravenewworld711, February 19, 2007, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qy6wo2wpT2k, 3:36-3:56.

[2] Mike Wallace, “Nueva York: The Back Story.” In Nueva York, ed. Edward J. Sullivan. (New York: New-York Historical Society, 2010), 57, 64, 69; Iris Morales, “Power to the People,” in !Palante, Siempre Palante! Companion Book, 6.

[3] “We face an energy crisis, a food crisis, a water crisis…. All symptoms of the same sickness—a global system based on greed and monetary gain.” Morales, 11.

[4] Ibid., 2, 4.

[5] Ibid., 11.

[6] Ibid., 1.

[7] Michael Abramson and the Young Lords Party, Pa’Lante: The Young Lords Party (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1971), 150.

[8] West Side Story-America (1961 film version), 4:00-4:07.

Obscurity vs. Notoriety: An Immigrant’s Dilemma

“It all started with the Imp!” proclaimed t-shirts at my great-grandmother’s 100^th birthday party in 2006.  Mary Schubitsch arrived in America as Maria Imp, a teenager from Austria.  Excluding her bold choice to divorce an alcoholic spendthrift husband, her story of life in America is a fairly common one—but my family’s pride is so strong that you’d think she was the only young woman to risk everything to come to America.  We cling hard, fast and loud to our family’s matriarch and her immigrant heritage.  And why shouldn’t we?  This is a woman who lived for 100 years, after all, a milestone that she almost certainly wouldn’t have hit back on the farm in Austria.

My family’s connection to Ellis Island did not end with my great-grandmother.  In November 2008, hard work (and, I like to think, a little luck from the great beyond!) landed me an exhibits internship at the very place that my “grossmutter” first stepped foot on American soil, 86 years earlier.

While Austrians like Grossmutter loomed large in America, other groups were unable to generate the same kind of presence. “Hidden in Plain Sight: the Basques,” produced by the Basque Museum and Cultural Center of Boise, Idaho, was the last exhibit I saw come to Ellis Island before my departure.  Perhaps it was their tendency to settle out west or the comparatively small number of Basques that came to America, but their story was completely new to me.  The exhibit introduced me to the picturesque Basque Country, an area near the Bay of Biscay that spans both Spain and France.  The Basque people brought many treasured traditions with them from the old country.  At the exhibit’s opening, dancers impressed the crowd in Ellis Island’s Great Hall with the dexterity and athleticism demanded by traditional Basque dances. The sprawling Basque boarding houses of the West were the anti-tenement, offering the luxury of space and the comfort of tradition at small costs.  Their language, Euskara, was a binding force among Basques in America. Frontons, courts used for the wildly popular Basque sport jai alai, still abound in cities like Boise and San Francisco, serving as a visual reminder of the unique Basque culture.

With such strong traditions, how did the Basques skirt by invisibly in America?  On American soil, Basque culture languished in the shadows.  For Americans prone to packaging up each immigrant group neatly, the Basques, with their homeland’s unclear boundaries, were a curiosity.  Understanding their culture required effort that most were not willing to put forth. Their lack of a government-sanctioned homeland produced confusion at best and indifference at worst amongst Americans.  The name of the exhibit highlights the fact that although the Basque culture remained strong and pure here in America, their presence went largely unnoticed.

What is better—to be talked about, or not talked about?  Oscar Wilde thought the former, and it seems like the Basques would agree.  But what about today’s immigrants?  To them, the curse of obscurity may seem to be a better fate than the stigma of notoriety.

Immigration in America today is as contested a topic as it’s ever been.  The recognition so coveted by the Basques is heaped onto new immigrants, whether they desire it or not.  Constant news coverage and political prattle surrounding the issue of immigration is quick to disillusion Americans, not to mention discourage newcomers from seeking help or displaying pride in their heritage.  In such a hostile environment, it seems like seeking anonymity might be a clear choice for new arrivals.

New York’s Lower East Side Tenement Museum is finding ways to challenge this reality and foster new connections between traditional and modern views of immigration. Through its Kitchen Conversations program, the museum uses traditional immigrant stories to spark dialogue about today’s immigration issues.[1] Their Shared Journey’s program teaches new immigrants ways “to advocate for their communities and to organize other immigrants to advance their collective interest.”[2] These programs promote tolerance and encourage new immigrants to celebrate, not downplay, their heritage.

Like countless other Americans, the storied Ellis Island experience is near and dear to my heart.  But today’s immigrants deserve to feel the pride in themselves that I feel for Grossmutter.  While we should continue to celebrate lesser-known immigrant groups like the Basques, we must also address the needs of our recent immigrants and encourage their confidence.

---

[1]  Ruth J. Abram, “Kitchen Conversations: Democracy in Action at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum,” The Public Historian 29 (2007): 60.

[2] Maggie Russell-Ciardi, “The Museum as a Democracy-Building Institution:  Reflections on the Shared Journeys Program at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum,” The Public Historian 30 (2008): 49.

 

Bagels or Bust!

Where can you go to enjoy delicious Indian chicken tikka masala, Korean kimchi and Ethiopian kitfo all in the same place? The answer, not surprising to foodies, is most urban areas in the United States. Indians, Koreans, and Ethiopians are part of a new wave of immigrants to America, and, much like earlier Italian, Irish, and Jewish immigrants, they are bringing their recipes with them and attracting an audience of Americans eager to experience new foods. Although these newest cuisines are still considered ethnic, many foods introduced by nineteenth and early twentieth-century immigrants have become staples of the American diet. This journey from ethnic speciality item to national culinary trend mirrors the move from exclusion to assimilation made by many American immigrant groups.

As I read the novel Bread Givers and encountered the Jewish community of New York’s Lower East Side, I considered the ways that Jewish foods and knowledge of Kosher law have entered mainstream American consciousness over the course of the twentieth century. The implications of this issue range from the lighthearted — where would we be without bagels and Hebrew National hot dogs? — to the more serious: how did Jewish Americans overcome the challenges of immigration to establish popular restaurants and delis?

Kosher Food Truck. Photo by Yanks9596, 2010. Wikimedia Commons.

Forshpeis! A Taste of the Peter H. Schweitzer Collection of Jewish Americana, an exhibit that opened in 2006 at the National Museum of American Jewish History, addressed this topic and chronicled the ways that Jewish food influenced mainstream American tastes [1]. Considered together, Bread Givers and Forshpeis (which means appetizer) provide a multifaceted picture of the relationship that Jewish immigrants in the early twentieth century had with their traditional foods and dietary restrictions.

Forshpeis! celebrated Jewish assimilation into American life and the contributions that Jewish people made to American cuisine. The exhibit closed when the museum opened its new building in 2010, but it maintains an online presence and objects from the exhibit remain on view at the museum. Its narrative is one of overcoming obstacles, where hard-working Jewish Americans win themselves a steady living and community respect by operating push carts, opening restaurants, and starting food manufacturing companies [2].

The exhibit also highlighted the popular American food products that Jewish families consumed and the recipes and ingredients they introduced to America as a way to feel more at home. Forshpeis! did not focus on Jewish men and women who abandoned their Jewish culinary traditions and Kosher law in order to succeed in America. Indeed, that idea runs contrary to its positive message of Jewish assimilation, economic success, cultural enrichment and the wonders of the Carnegie Deli [3].

Bread Givers tells a different, more complex, story. Protagonist Sara Smolinsky is a young Jewish girl living with her parents on the Lower East Side in the 1910s. At the age of seventeen, she runs from her overbearing father and forges a life on her own terms. She lives alone, must work to support herself, can only afford to spend 34 cents a day on food and drools over sausages that she can’t afford [4]. Likely due both to her dire economic position and her desire to assimilate into mainstream America, Sara does not keep a kosher home [4]. Focused solely on surviving and obtaining an American education, she does not observe the Jewish holidays or other Jewish food rituals. Sara sacrifices those elements of her Jewish identity so that she can pursue her personal dreams. This presents a story very different from Forshpeis!, which promotes the idea that Jewish Americans embraced and utilized their unique Jewish traditions to thrive in America. Sara’s rejection of her heritage allows her to succeed in an American academic and professional environment.

After completing her education, Sara moves back to New York City and becomes a teacher. When she asks her aging father to move in with her, he initially refuses because her home will, “contaminate his eating.”[5] Because Sara left her family and does not follow Jewish food laws, her father does not consider her Jewish [6]. By not keeping Kosher, did Sara forsake her Jewish identity? Would others in her community agree that she is not Jewish, or is that an opinion held by her father alone? Does Sara herself even care or is she satisfied knowing that she has achieved her goals? Most importantly, is her story and the story of others like her one that should be addressed by a commemorative exhibit like Forshpeis!?

[1] “Forshpeis! A Taste of the Peter H. Schweitzer Collection of Jewish Americana,” http://www.nmajh.org/exhibitions/forshpeis/index.html

[2] “National Museum of American Jewish History Serves up Forshpeis! A Taste of the Peter H. Schweitzer Collection of Jewish Americana,” http://bit.ly/fiT2an.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Anzia Yezierska, Bread Givers, (New York: Persea Books, 2003), 165.

[5] Ibid., 295.

[6] Ibid., 293.



In the Spirit of Love

Love and Bread: In Anzia Yezierska's Bread Givers, the protagonist Sara Smolinsky becomes the most Americanized member of her family as she grapples with love of oneself, filial love, and romantic love.

The fast approach of Valentine’s Day has colored my academic lenses. Though some contend this is a holiday created by greeting card companies, I love the grocery store aisles of red and pink. I could (and have) spent more time than I care to admit reading card after card in store after store, all in search of that perfect message. However, I believe in the power of greeting cards to convey my message when I cannot be there to share my love with family and friends in person.

And so as I read Anzia Yezierska’s Bread Givers this weekend, I could not help but consider love as one of the most important themes of the book. Scholars like Alice Kessler-Harris have noted the emotional appeal of the story of Sara Smolinsky, an immigrant girl navigating the challenges of family life, societal expectations, and Americanization as she grows up on the Lower East Side of Manhattan in the 1920s. What makes Yezierska’s story so vivid and compelling is the complex exploration of several types of love: love of oneself, filial love, and the presence (and absence) of romantic love. [1]

Told through the first person perspective of the protagonist, Sara Smolinsky embodies love of oneself throughout the story. Driven to “become a person,” she defies familial and societal expectations of a young immigrant woman to live at home and support her family. Following a decisive fight with her demanding father, Smolinsky strikes out on her own in a quest to educate and Americanize herself.

Shortly thereafter, Sara finds herself eating alone. After growing up in a crowded tenement apartment, she relishes the experience: “I, alone with myself, was enjoying myself for the first time as with grandest company.”[2] As she discovers her own self-love, Smolinsky chooses to rent a private room with her own door that embodies this newfound freedom. She prefers the time alone focused on her education to the company of others.

However, filial love offers a direct contrast to Smolinsky’s value of self-love. Through Sara’s relationship with her father and mother, as well as the relationships of her sisters to the family, Yezierska’s story sheds light on the expectations of an immigrant family in the 1920s. Reb Smolinsky, the father, expects his daughters to earn wages to support the family so he can focus on Talmudic scholarship. When one daughter, Mashah, spends part of her wages on individual possessions like pink paper flowers or a personal toothbrush, she is called “Empty Head” for not recognizing the family’s collective lack of resources.

This conflict between self and filial love becomes especially poignant when Smolinsky’s father remarries shortly after her mother’s death and her new stepmother expects Sara and the married sisters to offer financial support to the couple. Still burning at the recent loss of their mother, they refuse these demands until one day Sara knocks into an old man selling gum on the street and realizes it is her father. She struggles to reconcile the blackmail of her stepmother with the need to care for her father, eventually achieving greater self-love by fulfilling her filial obligations.

Finally, Bread Givers presents an important historical view of romantic love. “‘I’ll even get married some day,’” Sara tells her mother, “‘But to marry myself to a man that’s a person, I must first make myself for a person.’” [3] In fact, of the four Smolinsky girls, Sara is the only character strong enough to fight her father for the opportunity to marry for love.

Though the three older Smolinsky girls fall in love on their own, their father rejects each suitor as a possible son-in-law. Instead, he chooses to employ traditional matchmaking to marry off his daughters. Defeated by the rejection of their lovers and overwhelmed by filial piety, the three sisters enter into unhappy marriages absent of romantic love.

In the end, Sara manages to succeed where her sisters fail: by the end of the story her devotion to the love of herself leads her to both find romantic love and reconcile with her harsh father. As an immigrant, she becomes the most successfully assimilated member of her family when all three types of love harmonize.

[1] Alice Kessler-Harris, foreword to Bread Givers, by Anzia Yezierska (New York: Persea Books, 2003), viii.

[2] Anzia Yezierska, Bread Givers, (New York: Persea Books, 2003), 157.

[3] Ibid., 172.

I Struggle, Therefore I Am

“It says in the Torah, only through a man has a woman an existence”. [1] Groan. Throughout Anzia Yezierska’s Bread Givers, Reb Smolinsky makes multiple, groan-inducing comments about women needing men to become more than what they are. Such remarks likely elicit groans in nearly every reader. Yet, regarding the novel’s protagonist Sara Smolinsky, some of these comments hold truth.

Nope, I’m not a male chauvinist.

Rather, I’m considering Sara’s existence in a more abstract sense: Sara’s experiences with men enable her to grow into a person, and therefore “exist.” To be a person, to exist, one must have the ability to be autonomous and independent and to grow. In the male-dominated society transplanted from the Old World, “only men were people.” [2] In the New World, however, women could also ascend to personhood. Sara therefore embraces American culture and its opportunities for personal growth. The challenges of Old World society, embodied in her father, drive Sara to identify what she does not want from life and who she hopes to become. Similarly, Sara views romantic relationships and rejection as learning experiences that facilitate growth towards personhood. My argument should not diminish the importance of Sara’s mother and sisters and other women in shaping Sara’s person. But, most of Sara’s personal growth comes about through conflicts and experiences with men. Primarily through men does Sara achieve an existence.

In facing her father, Sara realizes the depth of her desire to leave behind the gendered constraints of the Old World. Seeing her father drive her sisters into miserable marriages underscores Sara’s drive to make her own autonomous life:  “In America, women don’t need men to boss them…. I’ve got to live my own life. Thank God, I’m not living in olden times. Thank God I’m living in America! You made the lives of the other children! I’m going to make my own life!” [3] In addition, Sara’s attitude towards money is a response to that of her father’s: whereas Reb Smolinsky seeks get-rich-quick schemes and feels entitled to all family wages, Sara views money not as an end itself but as a means of achieving her goals and a hallmark of independence.

Sara also learns and grows from her romantic relationships and infatuations. When Max Goldstein pressures Sara to abandon her studies, Sara clings to her books and refuses him; her ability to choose between a relationship and her studies nourishes her budding independence. After Max leaves, Sara observes, “There was a glow in my face that was never there before….I had an assurance that I never had before. I was thrilled. Flattered. Ripened for love….He only excited me. But that wasn’t enough.” [4] Sara realizes that she can one day find a man who embraces her whole self—books and all—and who encourages her to pursue her goals. Mr. Edman’s rejection is also a learning experience for Sara: “That affair…made me grow faster in reason…. Each time, after making a crazy fool of myself over a man, I was plunged into thick darkness that seemed the end of everything, but it really led me out into the beginnings of wider places, newer light.” [5] For Sara, rejections brought maturity and a clearer understanding of the world and herself. Furthermore, Sara’s existence is strengthened by her relationship with Hugo Seelig: she overcomes her loneliness, which she perceives as an obstacle to personhood. [6]

Despite her growth, Sara does not achieve absolute independence. Each visit home, she is entangled in familial struggles. Reb Smolinsky’s living with Sara and Hugo will also tether Sara to her old life. Even without her father under her roof, Sara will never fully escape the Old World: “It wasn’t just my father, but the generations who made my father whose weight was still upon me.”[7] The mixed tone at the novel’s end demonstrates that this tie to the old is not wholly undesirable. By reconciling old and new in her life, Sara comes to accept the Old World on her own terms, and this confirms her existence as an independent, thriving person.

[1] Anzia Yezierska, Bread Givers, 3^rd ed. (New York: Persea Books, 2003), 137.

[2] Ibid., 205.

[3] Ibid., 137-138.

[4] Ibid., 200-201.

[5] Ibid., 231.

[6] Ibid., 279.

[7] Ibid., 297.

Nueva York: A Personal Connection

On a visit to New York City recently, I went to see “Nueva York,” the new exhibition that was developed collaboratively by the New-York Historical Society and El Museo del Barrio.  The exhibition traces the history of Spanish and Latin American peoples in New York City from 1613 to 1945 and explores the important social, cultural, political, and economic connections that existed among Spain, the Caribbean, and North and South America.  Interesting history, yes, and I learned a lot from its well-researched labels.  For me, however, this exhibition had a personal connection that was just as important as the broader historical narrative.

My great-grandfather on my mother’s side was from Galicia in the North of Spain (the little bit that is above Portugal), and my great-grandmother was from Cayey in Puerto Rico.  I knew both of them when I was growing up, and my Spanish and Puerto Rican heritage has always been important to me.  Both of them came to New York City, and they raised my grandmother there.

What was crucially important to me about this particular exhibition was the fact that it focused on Hispanic migrants to New York City in the period before 1945.  So often the history of Hispanics and Latinos in the United States begins with the post-1945 mass migration of Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, and other groups, or it emphasizes the long history of Mexican-American migration.  Given the size and significance of these migrations, this emphasis is understandable.  However, my great-grandparents were part of a wave of migration that scholars and pundits rarely discuss.  They arrived after World War I—either in the late nineteen-teens or the early 1920s, I’m not exactly sure—in a period when anti-immigrant bias had reached a fever pitch.  My great-grandfather was actually what we would today call an “illegal immigrant,” jumping ship in New York after first working in Cuba.  My great-grandmother did not face such a hurdle, because in 1917 Congress had made Puerto Ricans citizens of the United States.  Still, she undoubtedly faced many challenges as a young Puerto Rican woman in New York.  Together, however, they were able to raise a family and both had long, prosperous lives.

Seeing this exhibition at El Museo del Barrio made me feel that their history was now a part of the broader history of Latinos and Hispanics in New York City.  Taking nothing away from the profoundly significant migration of Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, and other groups in the post-1945 period, I hope the exhibition encourages scholars, artists, museum professionals, and activists to take the full range of this history into account when discussing the vital role Hispanics and Latinos have played in shaping this city, country, and continent.

Camariñas, Galicia, Spain. My great-grandfather's hometown. Photo by Juan Freire, 2006. Wikimedia Commons.

Texas Textbooks Revisited

Given Audrey’s post on the Texas textbook controversy several weeks ago, I was excited to see the issue pop up again, this time framed in an interesting context and with some connection to this week’s discussion.

“Studies in Crap” is a weekly blog written by Alan Scherstuhl for The Pitch (a Kansas City news/entertainment/events website). This week’s find is a 1932 Texas history textbook entitled The Lone Star State: A School History, by C.R. Wharton. Given this week’s emphasis on issues of Native American and Latino identity, the post’s focus on these two groups was particularly interesting.

In an attitude derived from the philosophy of states’ rights, Wharton decries the reservation system as an example of unnecessary federal spending: “Nor did this handling of the Indians suit the white people. They worked hard to make a living without the assistance of the government and they resented the government’s aid to the Indians.”[1] Nowhere does it mention the forced relocation, broken promises, and crippling poverty that have too often defined relations between the US government and Native Americans. According to Wharton, this “aid” was purely benign and completely undeserved. Looking back a couple weeks to our discussion of feminism, Wharton’s argument is resurrected by the Reagan administration 50 years later in the form of the lazy, conniving welfare queen.

Shifting focus to relations with Mexico (specifically the Mexican-American War), Wharton’s words provide an interesting dimension to the arguments surrounding Hispanic immigration to the United States today. He decries Mexican President Bustamante, who in an effort to halt American migration into Texas (then held by Mexico), passed an 1830 law “prohibiting further immigration from the United States.”[2] Such a measure was cruel, Wharton argues, since “[s]uch an act would have kept relatives and friends of the settlers from joining them in their new homes.”[3]

A nation of emigrants within the nation of immigrants

I wanted to find a resource that dealt with issues of immigration, nationalism, and Latino identity. US-PuertoRicans.org provided an interesting perspective on those themes within the Puerto Rican experience  in the United States.

The web site bills itself as “a multimedia community dedicated to the Puerto Rican Diaspora — a place for discussion and learning, for stimulating imagination, and promoting solidarity.”[1] US-PuertoRicans.org encourages writing submissions, links, and nominations for featured organizations from its readers. The site includes two historical narratives of Puerto Rico, current geographic distribution maps, news stories, political rallying cries, user-produced content, and links to other related organizations. The content exists to explain and support the continued common identity among Puerto Ricans, and also to keep cultural ties as the population becomes more geographically diverse.

Immigration is vital to the Puerto Rican story, with more Puerto Ricans now living in the United States than on the Island. A two-way migration has been taking place since the late twentieth century, with Puerto Ricans immigrating to, and emigrating from, the United States. They are now settling all over the country, rather than concentrating in historic strongholds. This Diaspora seems to be viewed as a success, but also a cause for concern among Puerto Ricans. US-PuertoRicans.org has a Google Maps feature that shows population distribution by state and certain cities. The feature works as a way to show the history and current state of Puerto Rican life in America, and can also help to keep track of communities all across the continent as the Diaspora continues.

Distribution of Puerto Ricans in the United States. Source: US-PuertoRicans.org

Finding their people now spread farther across a country which sees them as “perpetual foreigners,” the web site participants look for solidarity. [2] The shared heritage of Puerto Ricans is one of the most important aspects of the site. The “History Matters” area gives two historical narratives (one describing migration trends and the other detailing political movements) that provide a context for a shared heritage. Pages dedicated to Puerto Rican community and political issues, arts and culture, and self-identity are made to inform and contribute to the Boricua culture as a whole.

US-PuertoRicans.org also shows the balance that many Latino nationalities face in forming their own identities within the larger group. It is evident that there is a sense of “the other” between different Latino descents in Junot Diaz’s “Fiesta 1980,” in which the father’s mistress is referred to only as “the Puerto Rican woman.” Puerto Ricans take great pride in their Taino heritage — a poll on the web site asking the name users wish to claim for Puerto Ricans in the U.S. reveals that users have overwhelming chose either Boricua (49.4 percent) or Puerto Rican (45.2 percent). [3] The top choices won out over terms Latino, Spanish, or Hispanic. Conversely, US-PuertoRicans.org features issues that have just as much weight with the entire Latino community, such as a stance against new Arizona immigration laws.

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[1] US-PuertoRicans.org, “welcome,” www.us-puertoricans.org, (accessed on 5/3/2010).

[2] Matthew Frye Jacobson, Roots Too: White Ethnic Revival in Post-Civil Rights America, (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2006), 315

[3] US-PuertoRicans.org, “Which do you most use to refer to members of the Diaspora,” online poll, http://www.us-puertoricans.org/index.php?option=com_poll&task=results&id=15, (accessed 5/3/2010).