[This is an essay I wrote during my undergrad on immigrant and American identity in the first half of the twentieth century. The ideas I encountered whilst writing this has changed the trajectory of my life and is one of the key motivators for my transition into Computer Science.]
Despite the postulation of difference as the Immigrant’s default cultural condition, there is an undeniably alluring quality to the expectations of inclusion and acceptance that make assimilation so commonly sought-after. In his essay “Transnational America”, Bourne unveils this surrender to the ‘Melting Pot’ of American culture as a devastating loss. While asking immigrants of every generation to resist widespread conformity, Bourne proclaims that there is a place for each culture, language, and tradition in his transnational vision. This diversity, he claims, is what sets America apart from the rest of the world. Because America is a nation built on immigration and cultural variety, Bourne makes it evident that an immigrant giving up his ethnicity would not truly Americanize him. Revealing how so many remain in pursuit of an unrealistic ideal, he reassures them; they already constitute the esteemed American culture. To assimilate would not only strip them of their differences that provide uniqueness and character, but also cause the distinctive qualities of American culture to be “washed out into a tasteless, colorless fluid of uniformity.” (Bourne 7) In accordance with his prediction, an additional account of American identity in the early decades of the twentieth century can be found in the traces of what used to be; that which is missing or lost constitute their own version of American history.
In his book Yekl: A Tale of the New York Ghetto, Abraham Cahan reveals the nature of assimilation to be a loss rather than gain. For the newly immigrated Jake, the American allure of the new and unfamiliar easily overshadowed the memories of his past, and in his infatuation with progress and industry, Jake readily gave up parts of himself — his name, his culture, and even his family — in hopes of being included in this beguiling place. Before moving to America, “he had not even suspected the existence of a name like Jake, being known to himself and to all Povodye — a town in northwestern Russia — as Yekl or Yekelé” (Cahan 10), but three years after his arrival, “the thought of ever having been a Yekl [brought] to Jake’s lips a smile of patronizing commiseration for his former self.” (Cahan 12). It would be incomplete to say that the acquisition of the name ‘Jake’ marked his assimilation, for this only constitutes half of the transaction. In the wry recollection of his former self, it is evident that Jake turned his back to the man he used to be, and by trading his former name for that of an American’s, it is more notably the loss of ‘Yekl’ that marks his full embrace of assimilation.
Following his proud conversion into a newly Americanized man, people all around him were found to be lacking of this beguiling sheen of modernity and progression. This theme of loss can be similarly traced throughout Jake’s interaction with his wife and son. Despite his long-lived anticipation for this moment of their reunion, “his heart had sunk at the sight of his wife’s uncouth and un-American appearance” (Cahan 19). Next to his modernized, American figure, his family suddenly appeared very old fashioned, and it was from these superficial discrepancies between him and his family that tension began to build.
Just as the name Yekl now filled him with wry distaste for his former self, his family’s traditional appearance only served to remind him of the past he so eagerly requitted. His son “had at first inspired him with pride; but as he now cast another side glance at Gitl’s wig he lost all interest in him [Yosselé], and began to regard him, together with his mother, as one great obstacle dropped from heaven, as it were, in his way” (Cahan 36). The backwardness of his family filled Jake with impatience, and this great discrepancy between their two cultures are encapsulated in the wig Gitl wore in honor of the Sabbath. Signifying their decidedly un-American past, Jake immediately set about the task of removing this object that stood between him and his desired all-American future. His method of resolving this difference by trying to Americanize his family as quickly as possible is seen in his request for Gitl to remove her wig, revealing the way her mark of Americanization is not indicated in what is acquired, but rather what is lost.
In his idealistic vision of America’s promising future, Bourne fails to acknowledge the differences that cannot be removed. Turning a blind eye to the problems of the color line, he builds his argument on the premise that everyone has a choice in the matter of whether to assimilate or not. Because one’s successful assimilation into American culture requires the ability to resolve the tension caused by the discrepancies between their culture and that of America, however, assimilation is not always an option for certain groups of people. Tension caused by difference cannot always be resolved so trivially as with the removal of a wig or a change in name, for there exist differences that cannot be reconciled.
In The Souls of Black Folk, Du Bois writes on the problem of the color line. Giving readers a glimpse within the racial veil, he describes the unresolvable feeling of duality experienced by people of color. In his account of being both an American and a Negro, this feeling of having “two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder” (Du Bois 9) is a powerful statement that, in mentioning the tensile strength of a human body, alludes to the quality of race as something as inseparable as one’s own skin.
The physical inability to reconcile this duality is what constitutes the tension felt by people of color, and “The history of the American Negro is the history of this strife, […] In this merging, he wishes neither of the older selves to be lost. (Du Bois 9). Due to the physical impossibility “for a man to be both a Negro and an American” (Du Bois 9), assimilation is rendered impossible. This inability of giving one’s differences up resulted in a valuable gain, however, for instead of losing himself to Americanization, the colored American saw “in himself some faint revelation of his power, of his mission [and] began to have a dim feeling that, to attain his place in the world, he must be himself and not another” (Du Bois 12). Because it was impossible to do anything otherwise, he braved the tension, and a new level of self-actualization was forged within him.
The rewards of this tension is referenced in what Du Bois calls “the most beautiful expression of human experience on this side of the seas” (Du Bois 180). Sorrow Songs give us a glimpse into the beauty and depth of human complexity that is maintained when one cannot, in hopes of finding relief from their differences, cast themselves into the Melting Pot of American culture. It is also within these songs that the history of colored Americans is told and remembered. In these songs, “Mother and child are sun, but seldom father […], there is little of wooing and wedding; the rocks and the mountains are well known, but home is unknown” (Du Bois 185). The loss that is so central to their history is safely enfolded in these songs by way of “eloquent omissions and silences” (Du Bois 185) that signify — more than words ever could — the extent of their tragedy.
A similarly silent account of American identity can be found in H. T. Tsiang’s novel And China Has Hands. Because the narrator introduces and presents the character of Wong Wan-Lee in a combination of his internal monologue and external speech, what is left unsaid can be derived from the comparison of the Wan-Lee’s social interaction and silent soliloquy. With silence taking up the time spent in thought, the reader can extrapolate an additional perspective into the multiple different perceptions of Wan-Lee as he engages with others. When a salesman came to Wan-Lee’s place to sell him an overcoat, the initial verbal response he gives to the salesman is “But I have no money” (Tsiang 48), but the reader’s glimpse into Wan-Lee’s internal monologue, however, reveals the depth of personality that does not surface as speech. “ ‘Fourty dollars!’ he thought. At ten cents a shirt, he would have to iron four hundred shirts to pay for the overcoat. Three cents for a pair of socks would mean washing a thousand, three hundred and thirty-three pairs of socks! And what a smell all those socks would make…” (Tsiang 48). This special insight not only reveals the animated running of Wan-Lee’s mind shown in his constant redefinition of value, but also prompts the reader to consider the potential of other facets of personality and information that hide under the ruse of silence.
These limited responses of Wan-Lee demonstrates the difficulty of articulating and conveying oneself through an unfamiliar language. This account of his difference is encapsulated in his inability to resolve the distance between his ‘true’ person and others’ perceptions of him which gives silence the role of signifier. The narration’s use of silent thought rather than spoken word to produce a deeper rendering of Wan-Lee’s identity also alludes to the possibility of there being a wealth of information to be found under the surface, and one gets the distinct sense that there is more to Wong Wan-Lee than he can let on. In giving readers a glimpse behind the façade of an unfamiliar main character, this method of narration not only gives Wan-Lee dimension, but also teaches the reader to make allowances for what they cannot observe.
A new account of American identity and cultural loss can be found in the silent omissions, loss of names, and removal of wigs. They reveal Bourne’s warning against the dangers of assimilation to be true, for it is through loss of one’s cultural differences that one surrenders to the Melting pot. In a similar way, the losses caused by retaining such differences can be also traced throughout American history in the silence that encodes within it the most fluent depiction of immigrant and American identity.
