Two journeys to whiteness
Like many of those of European decent, I grew up learning about my immigrant ancestors, harboring great pride in their brave choices to leave the strife of their homeland and start a new life in a foreign land, pulling themselves up by their pioneering bootstraps en route to the American Dream. Somewhere along the line, however, I learned about assimilation and my ancestral story shifted.
My Croatian grandparents came to the U.S. for a better life than what the Hungarian-Austrian empire was offering them. They arrived poor, eager, speaking no English and practicing Catholicism (not a popular thing to do in our country in 1919.)
My Irish clan arrived in the mid to late 1800s, not necessarily for a better life, but for survival thanks to the British who controlled and oppressed them off and on for centuries. They arrived destitute and diseased, speaking Gaelic or Irish, and again, practicing Catholicism.
Neither group were particularly welcomed. The Croats were of darker complexion than their Western and Northern European immigrants and although limited in number due to quotas, were considered a drain on the system. The Irish were seen as lazy, unskilled, crime-prone drunks.
My Croatian roots started life in Kansas City, Kansas and ultimately ended up in Detroit, Michigan – both Eastern European enclaves where factory jobs were open to them (Armour and GM.) The Irish branch set up their own community in Maple Grove, Wisconsin and farmed the land.
And this is where the story of pioneering immigrants morphs into a comparative illustration of the path to assimilation.
In one generation, my Croatian lineage went from English-illiterate to college educated. They got down to business immediately – an arranged marriage and a family of two daughters (one being my mother) who spoke Croatian at home and English when out and about at their American schools, wearing American clothes. They needed to interface with the world outside of their Croatian neighborhood and knew their only hope to achieve what they came for was to blend in ASAP.
In contrast, it took three to four generations for my Irish clan to leave the farm. Being self sufficient as a community meant connecting and assimilating with the outer world was unnecessary. When my father and his siblings decided that farming was not going to be their future, they slipped into the mainstream of white America with ease, their white skin and fluent English their tickets.
The impact on my parents is apparent as well. My mother has always been a poor historian having never been required to keep any traditions or stories alive, nor does she speak her native tongue having been encouraged to set that aside long ago in order to be accepted and excel. In contrast, my father had to give up very little in order to reap the benefits of whiteness. With less to lose, he was able to have a foot in both worlds, staying connected to his extended family and heritage while going to college, WWII and then college again via the GI Bill.
At a recent Dr. Cornell West lecture, he posited that the Irish had a choice to make when they arrived as immigrants – sit in the front of the bus with the British who oppressed them for generations or join their Black brothers and sisters in the back and face continued persecution. I suppose we could say my dark-skinned Croatian ancestors had the same choice – sacrifice culture and collective to achieve the American dream or risk the all-too-familiar control and oppression left behind in their home country.
Both branches of my family tree chose the former option, unwittingly or intentionally it doesn’t really matter. The outcome is the same – me, solidly rooted in whiteness.
Operation Assimilation complete.
