There have been certain times in my life when I have had to stop
myself from reacting and make an effort to reflect. I have a busy
life and a hectic schedule and reflection is work for me.
There have been certain times in my life when I have had to stop myself from reacting and make an effort to reflect. I have a busy life and a hectic schedule and reflection is work for me.
In some ways, it goes against my nature; I tend to quickly analyze and respond to whatever comes my way. Making the mental effort which reflection requires is like forcing myself to take a long bath when I am accustomed to taking a five-minute shower. But today I am taking that bath.
I was reminded this week that we live in a diverse America. At one time, we were a nation proud to call ourselves a melting pot. People from all over the world came to America in search of a better life, and in the process became Americans. Part of the process of becoming American was the loss of various languages which immigrants spoke when they arrived here. Some newcomers tried mightily to retain their home language, but eventually, everyone learned our version of the English language.
That was then and this is now. I believe that America was and is a work in progress. The idea of America as melting pot has fallen out of favor. Perhaps this is a generational gap in the way we see ourselves; more recently America has been referred to as a salad bowl.
When we were a melting pot, Irish immigrants came to New York and Boston and became Irish-Americans. Their children were simply Americans. The same thing happened to the Norwegian, Polish, German, Italian, Jamaican and Chinese immigrants. They settled as immigrants, and within two generations, they were just Americans. Intermarriage between the various immigrant groups became blasé. The result is that there are almost no purebreds here.
As the salad bowl idea of America progressed, we began to hyphenate ourselves again. Maybe some people felt the need to be something more than merely American; maybe the loss of cultural identity was like a death in the family.
The idea of America as a multicultural mosaic has its merits. But it also has its downfalls. Feeling connected to where your parents or grandparents came from is a good thing. But feeling connected to your own culture must not come at the expense of people who are equally proud of their culture.
Now that I’ve reflected on it, I can say that I was feeling marginalized last week. I felt like an overlooked-American when discussion of diversity sprang from the discussion of a book list. It is hard to come from a place like New York, where you might see people from 30 different cultures while waiting for a cab, and adjust to Gilroy.
Gilroy is diverse, but the diversity is different here. Our community is collectively guilty of lumping the citizens of Gilroy into three convenient boxes; White/Hispanic/Other. This hasn’t served us well. Many of us are pretty low-key about our ancestry. There are at least two dozen people whom I’ve known for years who have never talked about their heritage.
Upon reflection, I won’t assume that their heritage is unimportant to them just because it didn’t come up in the course of daily conversation. Maybe we need to start talking about who we are and where we are from. Maybe we need to take a closer look at Gilroy and catch a glimpse of America.
What does America look like? In America, there are 41 million people of German ancestry; 38 million people of African or Black ancestry, 34 million people of Irish ancestry, 24 million people of English ancestry, 21 million people of Mexican ancestry and 16 million people of Italian ancestry.
Those are the largest groups according to the 2000 census. Most Americans are a mix of two or more ancestries. Every person in any of these groups has the right to be proud of their heritage. But no individual has the right to be proud based on the number of people just like them.
The fact that there are fewer Chinese Americans (slightly less than 3 million people) or Arab Americans (just over 1 million) doesn’t mean that they aren’t entitled to be equally proud of their culture.
As we raise our American children, whether in a melting pot or a salad bowl, it is vital that each one of us remember that we are but a tiny piece of the face of America.
