Challenges of Diversity: Essays on America

Challenges of Diversity

Challenges of Diversity

Essays on America

WERNER SOLLORS

Rutgers University Press

New Brunswick, Newark, and Camden, New Jersey, and London

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Sollors, Werner, author.

Title: Challenges of diversity : essays on America / Werner Sollors.

Description: New Brunswick, New Jersey : Rutgers University Press, 2017. | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017016372 (print) | LCCN 2017037894 (ebook) | ISBN 9780813589343 (E-pub) | ISBN 9780813589350 (Web PDF) | ISBN 9780813589336 (hardback) | ISBN 9780813589329 (paperback)

Subjects: LCSH: National characteristics, American, in literature. | American literature—History and criticism. | Multiculturalism in literature. | Ethnicity in literature. | Race in literature. | Immigrants in literature. | BISAC: LITERARY CRITICISM / American / General. | LITERARY CRITICISM / American / African American. | SOCIAL SCIENCE / Ethnic Studies / General. | SOCIAL SCIENCE / Ethnic Studies / African American Studies. | SOCIAL SCIENCE / Discrimination & Race Relations. | HISTORY / United States / General.

Classification: LCC PS169.N35 (ebook) | LCC PS169.N35 S56 2017 (print) | DDC 810.9/358—dc23

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Manufactured in the United States of America

Sacvan Bercovitch in memoriam

Contents

Introduction

1. Literature and Ethnicity

2. National Identity and Ethnic Diversity

3. Dedicated to a Proposition

4. A Critique of Pure Pluralism

5. The Multiculturalism Debate as Cultural Text

Notes

Acknowledgments

Index

About the Author

Challenges of Diversity

Introduction

Ah me, what are the people whose land I have come to this time, and are they violent and savage, and without justice, or hospitable to strangers, with a godly mind?

—Homer, Odyssey VI:119–121¹

Migration has been a human experience since the earliest times, and epic stories of migrants have accompanied this experience. In the biblical book of Genesis, Adam and Eve are expelled from the Garden of Eden, and the three monotheistic religions have drawn on the story of paradise as an ideal place of origin that man forfeited because of his fallibility. Noah and his family are saved from the environmental disaster of the flood and can start a new life elsewhere. In the book of Exodus, Moses and the Israelites escape from oppressive slavery in Egypt. In Vergil’s Aeneid the defeated Trojans leave their city in search of a new country. Such great stories have provided vivid and often heartrending scenes that writers, painters, and composers have returned to. They include scenes of departures, as when Aeneas carries his father Anchises out of the burning city and brings his son and the Penates along but loses his wife; of difficult journeys, as when the Israelites follow a pillar of fire at night and of cloud in the day and miraculously cross the Red Sea to reach the Promised Land; and of arrivals, as when Noah’s ark lands on Mount Ararat after the dove he sent out returns with an olive leaf in her beak. Such epic stories tell tales of the hospitality that Nausikaa extends to Odysseus and that the inhospitable Polyphemus does not. They tell tales of the many obstacles along the way; of the sadness at the loss of family, friends, or homeland; of feeling Fernweh, the yearning for faraway and unknown places; of the hopefulness of new beginnings elsewhere; of the wish for a return from exile in what remains a strange location to the familiar place of origin; or of the migrants’ peculiar sense of seeing the world through the eyes of two places.

Such stories resonate in a world characterized by vast global migrations. There were 244 million international migrants in the world in 2015, more than the population of Brazil, the fifth largest country. The United States was the most important host country with 47 million migrants living there, followed by Germany and Russia, with twelve million migrants each.² But for a very long time, Europe was a continent better known for sending migrants abroad, a good many of them to the Americas, than for receiving them. Hence the term emigration became more popular than migration in Europe. By contrast, American cultural history has been shaped, from colonial times on, by large-scale immigration (as well as by substantial internal migrations), and it is not surprising that some of the ancient migration stories have been invoked and adapted for the American experience.³ Both the English Puritan settlers who arrived in order to practice their religion freely and the Africans who were enslaved and brought to America against their wills found in their experiences echoes of the Book of Exodus. Thus Cotton Mather wrote about New England: This New World desert was prefigured long before in the howling deserts where the Israelites passed on their journey to Canaan.⁴ And African Americans created and sang the spiritual Go Down, Moses, claiming their freedom with the biblical exclamation, Let my people go! When the founding fathers discussed the design of the Great Seal of the United States, Benjamin Franklin proposed Moses standing on the Shore, and extending his Hand over the Sea, thereby causing the same to overwhelm Pharaoh who is sitting in an open Chariot, a Crown on his Head and a Sword in his Hand. Rays from a Pillar of Fire in the Clouds reaching to Moses, to express that he acts by Command of the Deity. Motto, Rebellion to Tyrants is Obedience to God.⁵ Thomas Jefferson thought of choosing the scene of the children of Israel in the wilderness, led by a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night.⁶ The final Seal promises a novus ordo seclorum (new order of the ages), an inscription adapted from Vergil’s Eclogues 4:4–10. The motto annuit coeptis also derived from Vergil (Aeneid IX:625), and turned a supplication for Jupiter’s assent into the claim that God already prospered this undertaking.⁷ And many an immigrant tale has been called an American Odyssey.

The United States is a settler-dominated country, the product of a composite of waves of immigration and westward migration that have reduced the original inhabitants of the fourth continent to a small minority called Indians. In the mid-nineteenth century, Irish, German, and Scandinavian migrants joined the English settlers, as did the Spanish-speaking population of the parts of Mexico that the United States annexed. Toward the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century, the so-called new immigration of such south and east European groups as Slavs, Jews, Greeks, and Italians followed, transforming the country from a small English (and English-dominated) colonial offshoot into a polyethnic nation, a process that continued in the second half of the twentieth century with the still ongoing migratory mass movements of Latin Americans and Asians.

The United States has thus become a prototypical immigrant country in which ethnic diversity is a statistical fact as well as a source of debate, of anxiety, and of pride. The statistical fact, well documented by the US Census Bureau, is readily established: at the moment I am writing this, the ticking American population clock shows 324,420,496 inhabitants, with one immigrant arriving every thirty-three seconds. The American population grew from about 5 million in 1800 to 308 million in 2010, and the total foreign-born population as of 2009 was 38.5 million, among whom 20.5 million came from Latin America, 10.5 million from Asia.⁸ Divided by race and Hispanic origin, 244 million (or 79 percent) classified themselves as white, 48 million as Hispanic, 39 million as black or African American, 14 million as Asian, and 3 million as American Indian; there were also about 5 million who described themselves as part of two or more races.⁹ Divided by ancestry group, 50 million Americans claimed to have German roots, 36 million Irish origins, 27 million English heritage, and 18 million an Italian background.¹⁰ Yet when looked at through the lens of languages spoken, it becomes apparent that language loyalty is rather weak for the older immigrant groups, with only a small fraction of German Americans speaking German and Italian Americans speaking Italian at home.¹¹

Immigration thus brought an enormous population growth, a fact that made it a source of national pride, all the more so because it took place alongside vast territorial expansions by purchase, conquest, and treaty. Yet immigration also generated a national population of very diverse origins, and this created times of anxiety and fearfulness over diversity and assimilation. For the Puritans it was inconceivable that Quakers could become part of the Massachusetts Bay Company; for the free whites in a slave-holding country it was self-evident that African slaves and their descendants had no rights that a white man was bound to respect, and plans to resettle freed slaves in Africa became popular for some time. Cotton Mather feared that Satan was planning to create a colony of Irish, and Benjamin Franklin wondered whether the swarthy Germans of Pennsylvania will shortly be so numerous as to Germanize us instead of our Anglifying them, and will never adopt our language and customs, any more than they can acquire our complexion.¹² Alexander Hamilton, though he currently enjoys much fame in the world of musicals and is associated with such lines as Immigrants (We Get the Job Done) wondered whether, because foreigners will generally be apt to bring with them attachments to the persons they have left behind, their influx to America must, therefore, tend to produce a heterogeneous compound; to change and corrupt the national spirit; to complicate and confound public opinion; to introduce foreign propensities. In the composition of society, the harmony of the ingredients is all-important, and whatever tends to a discordant intermixture must have an injurious tendency.¹³ Race and religion have often overlapped in calls for exclusion, from the nineteenth century to the present. For mid-nineteenth-century Protestant culture, it was the threat of the religious difference that Irish and German Catholic immigrants presented that led to the anti-immigrant Know Nothing movement. Racial anxieties stoked fears of Chinese immigrants and led to the passing of the Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882 and the Gentlemen’s Agreement with Japan in 1907. The passing of the 1924 Johnson-Reed Act, in the name of US racial homogeneity, restricted each nationality to no more than 2 percent of its presence in the United States as of 1890 (that is, before the new immigration had peaked). And after half a century of high immigration figures, the current political mood, fomented by fears of terrorism, seems again to turn toward restricting the influx of immigrants, with a primary target of the religious difference of Muslims.

Diversity implies that it may be challenging to find the unifying elements that hold this heterogeneous population together in a Hamiltonian harmony of the ingredients. Nationalisms are often based on myths of shared blood and soil, yet present-day Americans are not of one blood and hail from quite different terrains. Other settler countries chose racial mixing or interpreted figures that seemed to embody such mixing, like the Mexican Virgin of Guadalupe, as symbols of national unity. Mixing races was also common in the parts of Mexico that were annexed, as well as in New Orleans and other parts of formerly French Louisiana where the important category free man of color stood between black and white. For the English colonies and much of the later United States, however, mixing black and white remained a vexed issue through the twentieth century. Hence turning diversity into unity took different forms. What is the connecting link between these so different elements, Alexis de Tocqueville asked in a letter. How are they welded into one people?¹⁴ The first three essays in this book pursue this question in various ways and search for the answers given in American texts and symbols.

One answer was that enforced assimilation in an English mold, or Anglo-conformity, was the most promising pattern that would unify the population. It made English the dominant language and turned America into a graveyard of spoken languages other than English, except only among recent immigrants; currently that means speakers of Spanish and of Asian languages. Anglo-domination also meant that a historical consciousness of American culture as an offshoot of England had to be developed and instilled in the population. Though it may always have sounded somewhat odd to hear children with thick immigrant accents sing Land where our fodders died, the assertion of Anglo-American patriotism by non-Anglo Americans could sound hollow, at times even duplicitous, when the United States was at war with the countries of origin of millions of immigrants, as was the case during World War I. Furthermore, racially differing groups, most especially blacks and Indians, were excluded or severely marginalized in Anglicization projects. Their status as citizens still needed to be fought for, even though they were clearly a continued and strong presence in American cultural productions. Could the invocation of shared English origins really serve as a connecting link between America’s different elements?

Religious typology, examined in the opening essay Literature and Ethnicity, was particularly adept in making sacred biblical stories prototypes of secular American tales that could then be seen as their fulfillment on Earth, and the Puritan method of reading migration history in the light of the biblical text has left many traces in the culture. Biblical stories could provide answers to such questions as: Why did we leave? What did we come here to find? And how may we still be connected to the people and places we left behind? For nonadherents to messianic religions and even for nonbelievers, American civil religion (Robert Bellah) helped to transfer religious to political sentiments, leaving the meaning of God relatively unspecific in the formula In God We Trust.

Invoking New World Puritan, Pilgrim, and Virginian beginnings—also by people who were not descended from any such group—thus became a way of imagining a cultural connecting link. Feeling like a fellow citizen of George Washington or reciting the founding fathers’ revered political documents could create a feeling of national cohesion that each Fourth of July celebration reenacted. Yet the Declaration of Independence, the subject of the third essay, Dedicated to a Proposition, was interpreted and invoked and parodied in heterogeneous ways, sometimes quite irreverently, in Massachusetts freedom suits, by immigrants, by Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King, and it was echoed differently in the suffrage and labor movements and in the musical Hair. Frederick Douglass’s rhetorical question What to the Slave is the Fourth of July? stands for many other vantage points from which such documents could be cited for the purpose of demanding urgent changes of the status quo and not yet for celebrating the country’s unity. The American Creed was often less a firm set of beliefs in an existing system than a promise that would still need to be fulfilled through struggles and hard work.

Beyond Anglo-conformity, religious typology, and invocation of founding fathers and their texts, making arrival points stand for ultimate origins could provide some form of family resemblance and American inclusiveness. As the second essay, National Identity and Ethnic Diversity, suggests, instead of tracing one’s roots back to different places on the globe, one only had to go back to such heterogeneous arrival points as the Mayflower at Plymouth Rock; a slave ship in Jamestown; and the steerage of a steamship at Castle Garden, Ellis Island, or Angel Island and thus settle on comparable threshold symbols in America. Some immigrants regarded their moment of arrival on American shores as their true birthday. They sometimes celebrated that birthday with fellow passengers, now christened ship brothers or ship sisters. The shared feeling that a pre-American past had been transcended, that even the Hamiltonian attachments to the persons they have left behind had been severed, could thus paradoxically turn diversity with its foreign propensities into another source of unity.

This origin story could also lead to an eradication of any past and a reorientation toward the future of things to come. Thus the narrator of one of Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories introduces himself: Of my country and of my family I have little to say. Ill usage and length of years have driven me from one, and estranged me from the other.¹⁵ All the past we leave behind, Walt Whitman proclaimed in Pioneers! O Pioneers! and he continued: We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied world, / Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, / Pioneers! O pioneers!¹⁶ Willa Cather used Whitman’s poem in a title of one of her novels of immigrant life, while the Norwegian immigrant Ole E. Rølvaag invoked the text of the poem in one of the volumes of his saga of the settlement by Norwegians in the prairies. What a reader of Herman Melville’s novel Moby-Dick, or, The Whale learns about Captain Ahab’s background is only that he had a crazy, widowed mother.¹⁷ In his White-Jacket, Melville wrote that the Past is, in many things, the foe of mankind, but that the Future is the Bible of the Free.¹⁸ If the past is dead, then migration could be like a rebirth experience. Thus the immigrant Mary Antin begins her memoir, The Promised Land (1912): I was born, I have lived, and I have been made over. Is it not time to write my life’s story? I am just as much out of the way as if I were dead, for I am absolutely other than the person whose story I have to tell. [. . .] My second birth was no less a birth because there was no distinct incarnation.¹⁹

Ethnicity as ancestry could thus lead to the denial, forgetting, or in any event, the overcoming of the past. Here, again, racial difference created an odd counterweight because though self-monitored rebirth, renaming, and other ethnic options were open to the diverse immigrant population that the US Census Bureau considered white, non-whites were often believed to remain immutably tied to their past. When a black passenger seated in the white section of a segregated train tells the conductor, I done quit the race, he is saying something that is believed to be so impossible as to make his statement funny, even at a time when Jim Crow rules were sadistically enforced throughout the society. The nameless narrator-protagonist of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man fits well into the American all-the-past-we-leave-behind camp because we learn little about his parents, and he only refers to his grandfather’s one-sentence deathbed maxim, to overcome’em with yeses, undermin’em with grins, agree’em to death and destruction—yet the identity shifts of this urban migrant never cross the color line.²⁰ The color line was crossed, of course, in the extensive literature on racial passing. The word passing itself was an Americanism that names the supposed impossibility for characters of mixed-race ancestry to successfully define themselves by their white ancestors and as white, except by deception. In a country that believes in social mobility and worships the upstart as self-made man, racial passing was often a tragic affair. And for a racially passing person, success furthermore meant abandoning past attachments with a vengeance, for even just acknowledging a colored relative could mean the immediate end of passing, as characters in Jessie Fauset’s or Nella Larsen’s novels rightly fear.

Can all Americans perhaps share a form of double consciousness, as their deep history points to other continents? That we are all immigrants could be the answer here, and one finds even the migration across the Bering Strait of the people who would become American Indians merged into this unifying story of a nation of immigrants. The migratory background could be folded into a neatly harmonized family metaphor, as when the Danish immigrant Jacob Riis wrote in his autobiography, The Making of an American (1901): Alas! I am afraid that thirty years in the land of my children’s birth have left me as much of a Dane as ever. . . . Yet, would you have it otherwise? What sort of a husband is the man going to make who begins by pitching his old mother out of the door to make room for his wife? And what sort of a wife would she be to ask or to stand it?²¹ Mother country and country of marriage partner are thus reconciled as unchangeable parts of one single family story. One can surely be proud of both one’s parent and one’s spouse, and spouses should not demand the discarding of their mothers-in-law. One also notices Riis’s weighty phrase, land of my children’s birth. As the dominant cultural outlook may have subtly shifted from following the example of one’s parents to imagining a better future for one’s children, the importance of success stories of upward mobility is not negligible for this reorientation to work. And the fact that American-born children may be the first American citizens in immigrant families intensifies this forward-looking identification.

Yet in situations of war or other great conflicts, the immigrants’ parentage or former citizenship, their foreign propensities and attachments to the persons they have left behind, could matter again. Public anxieties could emerge and be stoked by rhetoric, culminating in strong majoritarian beliefs in the incompatibility of some groups who are believed to tend to change and corrupt the national spirit. Attempts to stress and normalize hyphenated double identities as family stories did become particularly troubling during World War I, when national loyalty had to be reinforced and seemed to demand pitching one’s old mother out of the door. Hence the fast-track abandonment of the hyphens in Americanization campaigns, the Ford Motor Company Melting Pot rituals, and the slogans promising Americans All! Yet the more melting-pot catalogs listed the heterogeneous pasts with the intention of making sure that they would be left behind, the more these differing pasts could also be reclaimed now that they had been named.

It is thus telling that Randolph Bourne’s utopian-cosmopolitan notion of a Transnational America as well as Horace Kallen’s concept of cultural pluralism emerged in opposition to the wartime assimilation project of the Americanizers. Bourne thought Americanization would lead to the dominance of vapid, lowest-common-denominator popular culture of cheap magazines and movies and eradicate the country’s vibrant cultural-linguistic diversity. Kallen believed that assimilation was a violation of the democracy of ethnic groups that a country like Switzerland realized more fully than melting-pot America, for assimilationists fail to recognize that men cannot change their grandfathers.²² As Philip Gleason showed, this belief in the immutability of ethnoracial origins was a feature that early pluralist thinking shared with that of racists, and neither believed in assimilation. Did pluralists, to use Kwame Anthony Appiah’s formulation, simply replace one ethnocentrism with many?²³ The complex and somewhat surprising story of the origins of cultural pluralism is the subject of the fourth essay, A Critique of Pure Pluralism.

From such beginnings, there slowly emerged a new sense of Americanness that emphasized more and more the aspects of ethnic diversity as constitutive and hopefully unifying features of the country. Rather than generating anxiety, diversity could now become a source of national pride, generating the belief that the inhabitants’ heterogeneous compound was, in fact, the answer to the quest for national unity. The process was interrupted by World War II, when the search for common ground (also the title of a magazine edited by the Slovenian immigrant Louis Adamic) summoning national unity out of diversity was challenged by the fear of new sets of US relatives of wartime enemies: fifth columnists from the European Axis countries, but most especially West Coast Japanese Americans who were held in detention camps for the duration of the war, even though the majority of them held US citizenship. During the Cold War, new fears