Takaki a different mirror chapter 5 summary

History Paper

Please al least using 4 materials for giving

Please take a minute to look at the questions below. As always, you should provide an analysis that does more than summarize, and you should aim for an original view of how the material combines—or doesn’t—as you see fit. You are free to use parenthetical citations (ie, Takaki, 4; Caldwell, 8). Please draw from the A-V material (videos, films,) and please be sure that bulk quotes do not take the place of your own analysis. You can just cite a film with a general citation (ie, “Cachoiera” ) and you need not cite lecture material. You need not cite lecture materials specifically, although you are of course welcome to use material from class.

Ideal responses will be original, insightful, and comprehensive, with a clear statement (thesis) that lays out your argument. But we will bear in mind that you are working with a limited word count. Your total answer should fall between 1800 and 2000 words. These word limits are guidelines, not requirements. Your total submission is likely to be around 7 pages, in a regular (ie, Times New Roman) font and 12-point size. You may write more. You may write less, although this is not recommended. In each case, you must have a thesis and an argument that is supported from citations from the texts. We are looking for clarity, originality, and comprehensiveness. Your answer must include multiple textual cites and a discussion of at least one film.

THE RELATED MATERIAL for citing :

1. The main reading:

Ron Takaki, A Different Mirror: A history of multicultural America

Manning Marable, Race, Reform and Rebellion: the second reconstruction and beyond in Black America.

2. Module 1 material:

Desmond, “In Order to Understand” https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/08/14/magazine/slavery-capitalism.html?mc=aud_dev&ad-keywords=AudDevGate&fbclid=IwAR3pllDsbUegGSkXekXKx0rFwGdf2hZ9kVf4En-ZlDIgCemRBXUUmgqPh2M&dclid=COzg592Mi-wCFQRGAQoduTYJYA

Caldwell, “The Negroization of the Chinese”

Wolf, “Europe and the Peoples”

3. Module 2 material :

Cameron, “Buenos Vecinos”

Ani Mukherji, “Like Another Planet”

Nguyen Ai Quoc, “On Lynching and the KKK”

Ernest Allen, “When JapanWas Champion”

Alex Lichtenstein, “The Negro Convict is a Slave”

Benjamin Madley, “Patterns of Frontier Genocide”

3.Moudule 3 material:

Covington, “Revolutionary Techniques”

Cabral, “Connecting the Struggles”

Kelley and Esch, “Black Like Mao”

Kaufman, “What does the Pentagon see in https://www.nytimes.com/2003/09/07/weekinreview/the-world-film-studies-what-does-the-pentagon-see-in-battle-of-algiers.html

Ferreira, “All Our Relations”

Roth, “Separate Roads Intro”

Mike Davis, “The Great God Trump” https://www.jacobinmag.com/2017/02/the-great-god-trump-and-the-white-working-class/

Malloy, “Our Demand is Simple”

The material without the link I have uploaded in order.

Answer 1 of the following:

In 1964, the black revolutionary Malcolm X compared conditions in Africa to those in America. He said “Algeria was a police state. Any occupied territory is a police state. Harlem is a police state. The police in Harlem are like an occupying force. The same conditions that forced the noble people of Algeria to resort to terrorist-type tactics…those same conditions prevail in every Negro community in the United States.” Evaluate the historical importance of Malcolm’s claim, using Cabral, Covington, Kaufman, the Black Panther Party 10-part program (located I slide show L15), The Battle of Algiers, and Malloy. Put simply, evaluate Malcolm’s analogy as a template for understanding the black freedom struggle.

The transcendentalist Unitarian minister and abolitionist reformer Theodore Parker spoke of “the moral arc of the universe” as “long, but bending toward justice.” King was fond of this phrase, as, it seems, is former President Barack Obama. The idea of American society as growing slowly, but surely, toward a freer and more equitable one seems supported by events such as emancipation, women’s suffrage, the civil rights movement, and other reforms. At the same time, Sean Malloy observes that “the persistence of police violence directed against African Americans, enduring patterns of racialized economic inequality and de facto segregation, the militarization of U.S. policing and its links to wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, and the emergence of the Black Lives Matter movement raise the question of what relevance the Black Panther Party and its legacy have in the twenty-first century.” More generally, Malloy points to the continuation of patterns of violence and inequity that have plagued the United States for centuries. Mike Davis extends Malloy’s notion further, casting “political and social war” as “inevitable” in the United States. These seem two diametrically opposed ideas. In one, the U.S. is a self-regulating democracy growing ever freer. In the other, fundamental oppressions return time and again. Compare and contrast these two visions, using specific evidence from our class. Which do you find more compelling, and why? Feel free to include material from modules #1 and #2.

As had been the case in the interwar (1919-1939) years, the postwar (1945-1995) Black Freedom Struggle was profoundly shaped by international conditions and by the direct and indirect engagement of African Americans with struggles throughout the world. In an essay, evaluate the importance of struggles beyond the borders of the United States for thinking about the Black Freedom Struggle. You may want to discuss Algeria, South Africa, and China. What is gained by a global approach toward thinking about African American politics? What, if anything, is lost? How do the struggles engaged after 1945 differ, if at all, from the countries (Mexico, the Soviet Union, Japan) that were influential before 1945? Again, you may want to use material from module #2.

A DIFFERENT

MIRROR

A History of Multicultural America

REVISED EDITION

Ronald Takaki

Copyright © 1993, 2008 by Ronald Takaki

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may by reproduced, distributed, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

First revised edition, December 2008 Originally published in hardcover by Little, Brown and Company, June 1993

This book is dedicated to

my wife,

CAROL,

for our forty-nine years of friendship,

our joyous journey through a lifetime of scholarship,

and our ceaseless collaboration

in recovering and writing American

history’s missing chapters.

Acclaim for Ronald Takaki’s

A DIFFERENT MIRROR

“In our increasingly diverse society, the issues of race, ethnicity, and religion are often at the forefront of American consciousness, and always in the backs of our minds, shaping our own identity and our views of others. They reverberate in our voting booths, town halls classrooms, and popular culture. In this timely update of A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America, Professor Ronald Takaki examines the challenges we face in reconciling our differences and forming a secure, sustainable future for our country. Now more than ever, it’s essential that we understand and embrace our diversity if we are to grow together as a nation.”

—President Bill Clinton

“A valuable contribution to the discussion of America as a multicultural society.”

—Boston Globe

“Takaki’s book is nothing less than an attempt to a view all of American history from a multiculrual perspective. It is a laudable effort—humane, well informed, accessible, and often incisive. It is clearly not intended to divide American but rather to teach them to value the nations’ inescapable diversity.”

—New York Times Book Review

“A groundbreaker…. It’s fascinating to watch Takaki weave these multifaceted strands into a single narrative text.”

—San Francisco Chronicle

“While Takaki’s subtitle is ‘a history of multicultural America,’ his book is also a manifesto for the future.”

—New York Review of Books

“A Different Mirror demonstrates that employing a multicultural approach to American history is a necessary first step toward the binding together of our disunited nation.”

—Detroit Free Press

“A Different Mirror advances a truly humane sense of American possibility.”

—Henry Louis Gates, Jr.

Also by Ronald Takaki

A Pro-Slavery Crusade: The Agitation to Reopen the African Slave Trade

Violence in the Black Imagination: Essays and Documents

Iron Cages: Race and Culture in Nineteenth-Century America

Pau Hana: Plantation Life and Labor in Hawaii

From Different Shores: Perspectives on Race and Ethnicity in America

Strangers from a Different Shore: A History of Asian Americans

Hiroshima: Why American Dropped the Atomic Bomb

A Large Memory: A History of Our Diversity with Voices

Debating Diversity: Clashing Perspectives on Race and Ethnicity in America

Double Victory: A Multicultural History of America in World War II

CONTENTS

Copyright

1 A Different Mirror: The Making of Multicultural America

PART ONE: FOUNDATIONS Before Columbus: Vinland

2 The “Tempest” in the Wilderness: A Tale of Two Frontiers Shakespeare’s Dream About America English Over Irish English Over Indian Virginia: To “Root Out” Indians as a People New England: The “Utter Extirpation” of Indians Stolen Lands: A World Turned “Upside Down”

3 The Hidden Origins of Slavery A View from the Cabins: Black and White Together “English and Negroes in Armes” : Bacon’s Rebellion “White Over Black”

PART TWO: CONTRADICTIONS The Rise of the Cotton Kingdom

4 Toward “the Stony Mountains” : From Removal to Reservation Andrew Jackson: “To… Tread on the Graves of Extinct Nations” The Embittered Human Heart: The Choctaws “The Trail of Tears” : The Cherokees “American Progress” : “Civilization” Over “Savagery”

5 “No More Peck o’ Corn” : Slavery and Its Discontents “North of Slavery” Was “Sambo” Real? Frederick Douglass: Son of His Master Martin Delany: Father of Black Nationalism “Tell Linkum Dat We Wants Land”

6 Fleeing “the Tyrant’s Heel” : “Exiles” from Ireland Behind the Emigration: “John Bull Must Have the Beef” An “Immortal Irish Brigade” of Workers Irish “Maids” and “Factory Girls” “Green Power” : The Irish “Ethnic” Strategy

7 “Foreigners in Their Native Land” : The War Against Mexico “We Must Be Conquerors or We Are Robbers” Anglo Over Mexican

8 Searching for Gold Mountain: Strangers from a Different Shore Pioneers from Asia Twice a Minority: Chinese Women in America A Colony of “Bachelors” A Sudden Change in Fortune: The San Francisco Earthquake “Caught in Between” : Chinese Born in America

PART THREE: TRANSITIONS The End of the Frontier: The Emergence of an American Empire

9 The “Indian Question” : From Reservation to Reorganization The Massacre at Wounded Knee Where the Buffalo No Longer Roam Allotment and Assimilation The Indian “New Deal” : What Kind of a “Deal” Was It?

10 Pacific Crossings: From Japan to the Land of “Money Trees” Picture Brides in America

Tears in the Canefields Transforming California: From Deserts to Farms The Nisei: Americans by Birth

11 The Exodus from Russia: Pushed by Pogroms A Shtetl in America In the Sweatshops: An Army of Garment Workers Daughters of the Colony Up from “Greenhorns” : Crossing Delancey Street

12 El Norte: Up from Mexico Sprinkling the Fields with the Sweat of Their Brows Tortillas and Rotis: Mixed Marriages On the Other Side of the Tracks The Barrio: A Mexican-American World

13 To “the Land of Hope” : Blacks in the Urban North “The Wind Said North” The Crucible of the City Black Pride in Harlem “But a Few Pegs to Fall” : The Great Depression

PART FOUR: TRANSFORMATIONS The Problem of the Color Lines

14 World War II: American Dilemmas Japanese Americans: “A Tremendous Hole” in the Constitution African Americans: “Bomb the Color Line” Chinese Americans: To “Silence the Distorted Japanese Propaganda” Mexican Americans: Up from the Barrio Native Americans: “Why Fight the White Man’s War?” Jewish Americans: A “Deafening Silence” A Holocaust Called Hiroshima

15 Out of the War: Clamors for Change

Rising Winds for Social Justice Raisins in the Sun: Dreams Deferred Asian Americans: A “Model Minority” for Blacks?

16 Again, the “Tempest-Tost” From a “Teeming Shore” : Russia, Ireland, and China Dragon’s Teeth of Fire: Vietnam Wars of Terror: Afghanistan Beckoned North: Mexico

17 “We Will All Be Minorities”

Author’s Note: Epistemology and Epiphany

Notes

Index

A DIFFERENT MIRROR

A DIFFERENT MIRROR

The Making of

Multicultural America

I HAD FLOWN from San Francisco to Norfolk and was riding in a taxi. The driver and I chatted about the weather and the tourists. The sky was cloudy, and twenty minutes away was Virginia Beach, where I was scheduled to give a keynote address to hundreds of teachers and administrators at a conference on multicultural education. The rearview mirror reflected a white man in his forties. “How long have you been in this country?” he asked. “All my life,” I replied, wincing. His question was one I had been asked too many times, even by northerners with Ph.D.’s. “I was born in the United States,” I added. He replied: “I was wondering because your English is excellent!” Then I explained: “My grandfather came here from Japan in the 1880s. My family has been here, in America, for over a hundred years.” He glanced at me in the mirror. To him, I did not look like an American.

Suddenly, we both became uncomfortably conscious of a divide between us. An awkward silence turned my gaze from the mirror to the passing scenery. Here, at the eastern edge of the continent, I mused, was the site of the beginning of multicultural America. Our highway crossed land that Sir Walter Raleigh had renamed “Virginia” in honor of Elizabeth I, the Virgin Queen. Taking lands from the Indians, the English colonizers founded Jamestown in 1607, and six years later they shipped the first four barrels of tobacco to London. Almost immediately, tobacco became an immensely profitable export crop, and the rise of the tobacco economy generated an insatiable demand for Indian land as well as for labor from England, Ireland, and Africa. In 1619, a year before the arrival of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock, a Dutch slave ship landed the first twenty Africans at Jamestown. Indeed, history saturated the surrounding landscape.

Questions like the one that my taxi driver asked me are always jarring. But it was not his fault that he did not see me as a fellow citizen: what had he learned about Asian Americans in courses called “U.S. history” ? He saw me through a filter—what I call the Master Narrative of American History. According to this powerful and popular but inaccurate story, our country was settled by European immigrants, and Americans are white. “Race,” observed Toni Morrison, has functioned as a “metaphor” necessary to the “construction of Americanness” : in the creation of our national identity, “American” has been defined as “white.”1 Not to be “white” is to be designated as the “Other”—different, inferior, and unassimilable.

The Master Narrative is deeply embedded in our mainstream culture and can be found in the scholarship of a long list of preeminent historians. The father of the Master Narrative was Frederick Jackson Turner. In 1893, two years after the Census Bureau announced that Americans had settled the entire continent and that the frontier had come to an end, Turner gave a presentation at the meeting of the American Historical Association. Entitled “The Significance of the Frontier in American History,” his paper would make him famous. Turner would become the dean of American history, his influence spanning generations of historians to come.

In what would be hailed as the “frontier thesis,” Turner declared that the end of the frontier marked “the closing of a great historic movement”—the colonization of the Great West. He explained that the frontier had been “the meeting point between savagery and civilization.” At this intersection, the Europeans had been “Americanized” by the wilderness. Initially, “the wilderness masters the colonist. It finds him a European in dress, industries, tools, modes of travel and thought. It takes him from the railroad car and puts him in a birch canoe. It strips off the garments of civilization, and arrays him in the hunting shirt and moccasin. It puts him in the log cabin of the Cherokee and Iroquois.… Before long he has gone to planting Indian corn and plowing with a sharp stick; he shouts the war cry and takes the scalp in orthodox Indian fashion.” But “little by little he transforms the wilderness” ; in “a series of Indian wars,” the “stalwart and rugged” frontiersman takes land from the Indians for white settlement and the advance of “manufacturing civilization.” “The outcome is not the Old Europe,” Turner exclaimed. “The fact is that here is a new product that is American.”2

In Turner’s footsteps came Harvard historian Oscar Handlin. In his 1945 prizewinning study The Uprooted, Handlin presented—to use the book’s subtitle—The Epic Story of the Great Migrations That Made the American People. In his introduction, Handlin wrote: “I once thought to write a history of immigrants in America. I discovered that the immigrants were American history.”3 However, Handlin studied only the migrations from Europe. His “epic story” overlooked the indigenous people of the continent and also the “uprooted” from Africa, Asia, and Latin America.

Contrary to the views of historians like Turner and Handlin, America is a nation peopled by the world, and we are all Americans.

The Master Narrative’s narrow definition of who is an American reflects and reinforces a more general thinking that can be found in the curriculum, news and entertainment media, business practices, and public policies. Through this filter, interpretations of ourselves and the world have been constructed, leaving many of us feeling left out of history and America itself.

Today, our expanding racial diversity is challenging the Master Narrative. Demography is declaring: Not all of us came originally from Europe! Currently, one-third of the American people do not trace their ancestries to Europe; in California, minorities have become the majority. They already predominate in major cities across the country—Boston, New York, Chicago, Atlanta, Detroit, Houston, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. Diversity is emerging as America’s “manifest destiny.”

Within the lifetime of young people today, Americans of European ancestry will become a minority. Indeed, we will all be minorities. How can we prepare ourselves for this future, when the Master Narrative is such a powerful force in our thinking about the past? Analyzing the problem, fourteen-year-old Nicholas Takaki reported that his American history course had taught him “next to nothing about the significance of Asian Americans. I believe our education system as a whole has not integrated the histories of all people into our education system, just the Eurocentric view of itself, and the White-centered view of African Americans, and even this is slim to nonexistent. What I find is that most people don’t know the fact that they don’t know, because of the complete lack of information.”4

Increasingly aware of this ignorance, educators everywhere have begun to recognize the need to recover the missing chapters of American history. In 1990, the Task Force on Minorities for New York stressed the importance

of a culturally diverse education. “Essentially,” the New York Times commented, “the issue is how to deal with both dimensions of the nation’s motto: ‘E pluribus unum’—‘Out of many, one.’” Universities from New Hampshire to Berkeley have established American cultural diversity graduation requirements. “Every student needs to know,” explained University of Wisconsin chancellor Donna Shalala, “much more about the origins and history of the particular cultures which, as Americans, we will encounter during our lives.” Even the University of Minnesota, located in a state that is 98 percent white, requires its students to take ethnic-studies courses. Asked why multiculturalism is so important, Dean Fred Lukermann answered: As a national university, Minnesota has to offer a national curriculum—one that includes all of the peoples of America. He added that after graduation many students move to cities like Chicago and Los Angeles and thus need to know about racial diversity. Moreover, many educators stress, multiculturalism has an intellectual purpose: a more inclusive curriculum is also a more accurate one.5

Indeed, the study of diversity is essential for understanding how and why America became what Walt Whitman called a “teeming nation of nations.”6

Multicultural scholarship, however, has usually focused on just one minority. Thus, Cornel West in Race Matters covers only African Americans, Dee Brown in Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee only Native Americans, Irving Howe in World of Our Fathers only Jewish Americans, Mario Barrera in Race and Class in the Southwest only Mexican Americans, and even I myself in Strangers from a Different Shore only Asian Americans. While enriching and deepening our knowledge of a particular group, this approach examines a specific minority in isolation from the others and the whole. Missing is the bigger picture.

In our approach, we will instead study race and ethnicity inclusively and comparatively. While it would be impossible to cover all groups in one book, we will focus on several of them that illustrate and illuminate the landscape of our society’s diversity—African Americans, Asian Americans, Irish Americans, Jewish Americans, Mexican Americans, Muslim Americans, and Native Americans.

African Americans have been the central minority throughout our country’s history. Even fifty years after their first arrival in Virginia, Africans still represented only a tiny percentage of the colony’s population. The planters preferred workers from their homeland, for they wanted their

new society to be racially homogeneous. This thinking abruptly changed, however, in 1676, when the elite encountered an uprising of discontented and armed workers. After quelling the insurrection with reinforcements of British troops, the planters turned to Africa for their primary labor supply; the new workers would be enslaved and prohibited from owning arms. Subsequently, the African population spiked upward, and slavery spread across the South. African Americans would remain degraded as unpaid laborers and dehumanized as property until the Civil War. What President Abraham Lincoln called “this mighty scourge of war” finally ended “the bondsman’s two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil.” But a grim future awaited African Americans: Jim Crow segregation, lynchings, race riots, and what W. E. B. Du Bois called “the problem of the color line.” Still, they insistently struggled for freedom. Joined by people of other races in the sixties, African Americans marched and sang, “We shall overcome,” winning significant victories that changed society. Indeed, the history of African Americans has been stitched into the history of America itself. Martin Luther King, Jr., clearly understood this truth when he wrote from a jail cell: “We will reach the goal of freedom in Birmingham and all over the nation, because the goal of America is freedom. Abused and scorned though we may be, our destiny is tied up with America’s destiny.”7

Asian Americans began arriving in America long before many European immigrants. Seeking “Gold Mountain,” the Chinese were among the Forty- Niners. Then they worked on the railroad, in the agricultural fields of the West Coast states, and in the factories of California and even Massachusetts. As “strangers” coming from a “different shore,” they were stereotyped as “heathen” and unassimilable. Wanted as sojourning laborers, the Chinese were not welcomed as settlers. During an economic depression, Congress passed the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act—the first law that prohibited the entry of immigrants on the basis of nationality. The Chinese condemned this restriction as racist and tyrannical. “They call us ‘Chink,’” complained a Chinese immigrant, cursing the “white demons.” “They think we no good! America cut us off. No more come now, too bad!” The Japanese also painfully discovered that their accomplishments in America did not lead to acceptance. During World War II, the government interned a hundred twenty thousand Japanese Americans, two-thirds of them citizens by birth. “How could I as a six-month-old child born in this country,” asked Congressman Robert Matsui years later, “be declared by my own

Government to be an enemy alien?”8 In 1975, after the collapse of Saigon, tens of thousands of refugees fled to America from the tempest of the Vietnam War. Today, Asian Americans represent one of the fastest-growing ethnic groups in America, projected to represent 10 percent of the total U.S. population by 2050.

Initially, the Irish came here in the early seventeenth century. At that time, many of them were brought to Virginia involuntarily as captives of the English wars in Ireland and as indentured servants in the Irish “slave trade.” During the nineteenth century, four million Irish emigrated to escape the hunger caused not only by the Potato Famine, but also by the rise of a ranching economy. In order to expand grazing lands, English landlords evicted Irish families from their farms. As beef exports from Ireland to England rose, so did the number of people leaving Ireland. In America, these immigrants became construction workers, maids, and factory workers in the textile mills of Lowell, Massachusetts. Representing a Catholic group seeking to settle in a fiercely Protestant society, the Irish became victims of nativist hostility. They came about the same time as the Chinese, but they had a distinct advantage: the Naturalization Law of 1790 had reserved citizenship for “whites” only. Consequently, the Irish became citizens, and, as voters, they pursued an “ethnic” strategy. They elected Irish to city councils and mayorships, and their elected officials made certain that Irish builders were given construction contracts and that Irish men were hired as firemen and policemen. By 1900, the Irish were entering the middle class.9

Fleeing pogroms in Russia, Jews were driven from what John Cuddihy described as the “Middle Ages into the Anglo-American world of the goyim ‘beyond the pale.’” In America, they settled in the Lower East Side, a beehive of tenements and garment factories that exploited an army of Jewish women. To many Jews, America represented the Promised Land. This vision energized them to rise from “greenhorns” into middle-class Americans. Stressing the importance of education, they pooled family resources; the earnings of the daughters working in the sweatshops helped to support the education of their brothers in institutions like New York City College and Harvard. But as Jewish immigrants and their children were entering the mainstream, they found themselves facing the rise of Hitler and the horror of the ultimate pogrom. Safe in America, they asked themselves: What is our responsibility as Jews to Hitler’s victims? What should we do to break America’s “deafening silence” over the Holocaust? Demanding

that America do everything it could to rescue people destined for the death camps, Jewish Americans encountered a tide of anti-Semitism and indifference. From the war emerged a Jewish-American activism for human rights and social justice. Jack Greenberg of the NAACP Legal Defense Fund recalled that Jews cheered when Jackie Robinson broke into the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947. “He was adopted as the surrogate hero by many of us growing up at the time. He was the way we saw ourselves triumphing against the forces of bigotry and ignorance.” Jews like Howard Zinn and Stanley Levison stood shoulder to shoulder with African Americans in the Civil Rights Movement.10 During the 1964 Freedom Summer, over half of the white volunteers who went South were Jewish.

Mexican Americans were first incorporated into the United States by the 1846–48 war against Mexico. They did not come to America; instead, the border was moved when the United States annexed the Southwest. Most of the Mexican Americans today, however, have immigrant roots, having begun the trek to El Norte in the early twentieth century. “As I had heard a lot about the United States,” Jesus Garza recalled, “it was my dream to come here.” The Mexican-American experience has been different from that of other immigrants, for their homeland borders the United States—a proximity that has helped reinforce their language, identity, and culture. Today, Mexicans are still crossing the border, pushed by poverty from the south and pulled northward by employment opportunities. Most of the current twelve million “illegal immigrants” are from Mexico, and a burning public policy question is: What should the government do about them? One answer was given by Time magazine in its June 18, 2007, cover story: “Give them amnesty.” The illegals are “by their sheer numbers undeportable. More important, they are too enmeshed in a healthy U.S. economy to be extracted.” “Assimilation is slow, but inevitable.” We must have “faith in America’s undimmed ability to metabolize immigrants from around the world, to change them more than they change the U.S.”11 Indeed, like other immigrant groups, Mexican Americans have been learning English, applying for naturalized citizenship, voting, and becoming Americans.

Among Muslim Americans are the refugees from Afghanistan. After their country was invaded by the Russians in 1979, the United States intervened, financing and arming the mujahideen—the anti-Soviet “freedom fighters.” After the Russian defeat in 1989, civil war broke out,

ending with the ascendancy of the religiously conservative and oppressive Taliban. Safe in America, the Afghan refugees were hardly noticed. On September 11, 2001, however, the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon suddenly changed the lives of Afghans in America. The hijackers were traced to Al-Qaeda, a terrorist organization headed by Osama bin Laden and based in Afghanistan. On that unforgettable day, Nadeem Saaed was afraid that Afghan Americans would be attacked and arrested. “Being Afghan American is not what people think it was before; now it’s what people want to know about you and who you really are inside, an American or a terrorist.”12 In 2002, Western powers led by the United States invaded Afghanistan, seeking to destroy Al-Qaeda. The Taliban was quickly routed, but not vanquished. Omar Nourzaie summed up the challenge facing Afghan Americans: “The refugees know that a return to Afghanistan is not in their near future. They will have to change and make do in America.”13

Native Americans represent a significant contrast to all of the other groups, for theirs was not an immigrant experience. They were the original Americans, here for thousands of years before the voyage of Columbus. They were on the shores of Massachusetts and Virginia when the English arrived in 1607. Indians had been farming the land for centuries, but the English colonizers stereotyped them as “savages” and seized their lands by warfare. Westward would be the course of empire, across Indian lands all the way to the Pacific. Leaders of military campaigns against the native people were celebrated as heroes. One of them was the Indian fighter and architect of Indian removal, President Andrew Jackson. In a message to Congress, he declared: “Humanity has often wept over the fate of the aborigines of this country, and Philanthropy has been long busily employed in devising means to avert it, but its progress has never for a moment been arrested, and one by one have many powerful tribes disappeared from the earth. To follow to the tomb the last of his race and tread on the graves of extinct nations excite melancholy reflections.” But Indians had a different interpretation of what Jackson trumpeted as “progress.” “The white man,” Luther Standing Bear of the Sioux explained, “does not understand the Indian for the reason that he does not understand America. The man from Europe is still a foreigner and an alien. And he still hates the man who questioned his path across the continent.”14

The “path” was designed to create a white America. The revolutionaries of 1776 founded a white republic, a democracy that was not for all people. In 1787, the Constitution legalized the institution of slavery. One of its provisions stated that the number of representatives each state sent to Congress was to be determined by the number of “free persons” and “three fifths of all other persons,” the code phrase for slaves. In 1801, shortly before negotiating the Louisiana Purchase, President Thomas Jefferson wrote to James Madison that he looked forward to distant times when the American continent would be covered with “a people speaking the same language, governed in similar forms, and by similar laws.”15

As it turned out, the economy would set a different agenda for who would be the people covering the continent. The War for Independence had been a struggle not only for political freedom from England but also for market freedom—freedom to trade without regulations from the mother country, to manufacture goods without restrictions, and to settle the land beyond the Appalachian Mountains. Unleashed, the new republic entered the era of the Market Revolution that would pull to America what Whitman welcomed as a “vast, surging hopeful army of workers.”16

In America’s expanding industrial economy, workers were often swept into ethnic antagonisms. Irish immigrants found themselves viewed as ignorant and inferior, and were forced to occupy the bottom rungs of employment. In the South, they were even made to do the jobs considered too hazardous and dangerous to be done by slaves, who were regarded by their owners as valuable property. In the North, Irish competed with blacks for jobs as waiters and longshoremen. As they pushed blacks out of the labor market, many Irish promoted their whiteness. “In a country of the whites where [white workers] find it difficult to earn a subsistence,” they asked, “what right has the negro either to preference or to equality, or to admission?” Complaining that blacks did not know their place, many of the Irish newcomers shouted: “Down with the Nagurs!” “Let them go back to Africa, where they belong.” Born in America, blacks complained that the Irish were taking jobs from them. “These impoverished and destitute beings, transported from the trans-Atlantic shores,” a black observed, “are crowding themselves into every place of business and labor, and driving the poor colored American citizen out.”17

Despite antagonisms, minorities also had much in common: labor experiences, hopeful dreams, and, above all, values.

Dynamically tied together in a complex interregional economy, workers found themselves in a robust industrial labyrinth of farms, factories, railroads, and mines stretching from Canada to Mexico and from the Atlantic to the Pacific. In the South, African Americans were cultivating cotton, which was shipped to New England, where “Irish factory girls” were operating machines in the textile mills, while Jewish women were sewing clothes in the garment factories of the Lower East Side. In the “New South” after the Civil War, African Americans were working in the steel mills of Birmingham, Alabama, while in the copper mines of Arizona, Mexican Americans were extracting the “red metal” used to manufacture electrical wires that made possible the illumination of America. In California, Chinese and Japanese immigrants were growing an agricultural garden to feed an industrializing urban society. By 1900, the United States was manufacturing more goods than England and France combined.

The greatest achievement of industrializing America was the Transcontinental Railroad. Together, the Chinese of the Central Pacific and the Irish of the Union Pacific built the ribbon of steel that connected the two coasts, making possible the movements of people, raw materials, and goods throughout the entire country. The construction of the nation’s elaborate national railroad system required the hard work of an immense variety of workers. Their songs told the story of common experiences. Laying railroad ties, black laborers sang:

Down the railroad, um-huh Well, raise the iron, um-huh Raise the iron, um-huh.

Irish railroad workers shouted as the sweat on their brows and backs glistened in the sun:

Then drill, my Paddies, drill— Drill, my heroes, drill, Drill all day, no sugar in your tay Workin’ on the U.P. railway.

Japanese laborers in the Northwest chorused as their bodies fought the fickle weather:

A railroad worker— That’s me! I am great. Yes, I am a railroad worker. Complaining: “It is too hot!” “It is too cold!” “It rains too often!” “It snows too much!” They all ran off. I alone remained. I am a railroad worker!

Mexican-American workers in the Southwest joined in as they swore at the punishing work:

Some unloaded rails Others unloaded ties, And others of my companions Threw out thousands of curses.18

Shared class exploitation often led workers to struggle together. In 1870, Chinese immigrant laborers were transported to Massachusetts as scabs to break an Irish immigrant strike; in response, the Irish tried to organize a Chinese lodge of the Knights of St. Crispin, an Irish labor union. In 1903, Mexican and Japanese farm laborers went on strike together in California: their union officers had names like Yamaguchi and Lizarras, and strike meetings were conducted in Spanish and Japanese. The Mexican strikers declared that they were standing in solidarity with their “Japanese brothers.”19 In Hawaii, Japanese and Filipino laborers came together in “a solid body” during a 1920 strike. They had been pitted against each other by the planter class, but they realized they had a common class interest. To “effectively cope with the capitalists,” the strikers declared, their “big, powerful union” had to bring together “laborers of all nationalities.”20 During its massive organizing drives in the 1930s, the Committee for Industrial Organization announced that its policy was “one of absolute racial equality in Union membership.”21 Describing a lesson learned by

Mexican and Asian farm laborers in California, a Japanese immigrant conveyed in poetry the feeling of class connectedness across racial boundaries:

People harvesting work together unaware Of racial problems.22

Regardless of their different complexions and origins, immigrants embraced similar hopeful dreams. In Ireland, people received letters from friends in the United States that glowingly described riches growing like grass and the boundlessness of a country where there were no oppressive English landlords. “My dear Father,” wrote an Irish immigrant woman from New York in 1850, “any man or woman without a family would be fools that would not venture and come to this plentiful Country where no man or woman ever hungered.” A witness in China reported the excitement generated by the news of the gold rush: “Letters from Chinese in San Francisco and further in the country have been circulated through all this part of the province. The accounts of the successful adventurers who have returned would, had the inhabitants possessed the means of paying their way across, have gone far to depopulate considerable towns.”23 Facing high taxes and difficulties making ends meet, Japanese farmers were enticed eastward. Excitedly they exclaimed:

Day of spacious dreams! I sailed for America, Overblown with hope.

Fleeing from anti-Semitic persecution and violence in Russia, the cry “To America!” roared like “wild-fire” in Jewish communities. In the shtetls, a song floated in the air:

As the Russians mercilessly Took revenge on us, There is a land, America, Where everyone lives free.

For Mexican immigrants crossing the border in the early twentieth century, El Norte became the stuff of fantasies:

If only you could see how nice the United States is; that is why the Mexicans are crazy about it.24

Beyond their shared labor experiences and dreams, the diverse American people discovered a tie that binds—the Declaration of Independence, with equality as a principle for everyone, regardless of race or religion. Moreover, they were prepared to fight and even die for this “self-evident truth” in two of the nation’s most horrendous conflicts—the Civil War and World War II.

The Civil War was initiated by the planter class of the South. Although they constituted only 5 percent of the southern white population, the slaveholders were dominant in politics. Defending their profitable “peculiar institution,” this ruling elite took their states out of the Union in 1861. In his First Inaugural Address, President Lincoln declared: “One section of our country believes slavery is right and ought to be extended, while the other believes it is wrong and ought not to be extended.” Southern secession, he argued, would mean anarchy. Lincoln sternly warned the South that he had taken a solemn oath to defend and preserve the Union. Americans were one people, he explained poetically, bound together by “the mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land.” In the South, however, Lincoln’s appeal for unity fell on deaf ears, and the war came.25

During the conflict, President Lincoln initially refused to allow the Union Army to enlist African Americans: he wanted to keep the border states in the Union and worried that whites would refuse to fight in an army that had black soldiers. In the spring of 1863, however, Lincoln faced a military crisis. “Manpower now posed a real problem,” wrote historian David Herbert Donald. “There had been severe losses in a contest that had now lasted nearly two years. The terms for which many regiments had enlisted were about to expire, and soldiers wanted to go home. Thousands were absent without leave.… There were almost no new volunteers. It would be months before a new conscription act could bring in recruits.”26

This shortage of military manpower meant that the North was on the terrifying edge of losing the war. At this critical point, Lincoln made a crucial decision. In a letter to the military governor of Tennessee, he wrote: “The colored population is the great available and yet unavailed of, force for restoring the Union. The bare sight of fifty thousand armed and drilled black soldiers on the banks of the Mississippi would end the rebellion at once.” Lincoln gave his generals permission to enlist black men.27 Tens of thousands of escaped slaves, desperate to liberate their families still in bondage, flocked to join the fight. “Now we sogers are men—men de first time in our lives,” one of them declared. “Now we can look our old masters in de face. They used to sell and whip us, and we did not dare say one word. Now we ain’t afraid, if they meet us, to run the bayonet through them.”28 In the Mississippi Valley, General Lorenzo Thomas enrolled twenty regiments of African Americans.

Altogether, a hundred eighty-six thousand blacks served in the Union Army. “Without the physical force which the colored people now give, and promise us,” Lincoln explained, “neither the present, nor any coming administration, can save the Union.” Without them, “we would be compelled to abandon the war in three weeks.”29 The Union Army pursued the war to victory. By then, one-third of the black soldiers were listed as killed or missing in action. But their sacrifice had not been in vain: the men that Lincoln praised as “black warriors” had made the decisive difference in determining that our “government of the people, by the people, for the people” did “not perish from the earth.” Significantly, in his famous Gettysburg Address, Lincoln declared that the nation had been founded, “dedicated” to the “proposition” that “all men are created equal.”30

World War II was also a significant fight for equality. Franklin D. Roosevelt had refused to desegregate the U.S. Armed Forces; thus we fought the Nazis with a Jim Crow army. The defense industry employed only white men until A. Philip Randolph threatened a march on Washington and forced the president to issue an executive order opening jobs to everyone, regardless of race or gender. After the attack on Pearl Harbor and the explosion of anti-Japanese hysteria, Roosevelt authorized the evacuation and internment of Japanese Americans. Facing Hitler’s death factories, Jews in Europe frantically begged Roosevelt to let them seek refuge here; but heeding the polls showing widespread anti-Semitic opposition to the admission of Jews, Roosevelt refused to offer them sanctuary.

This contradiction between our professed principle of equality and our practice of prejudice was unshrouded by James G. Thompson in a letter to the Pittsburgh Courier, published on January 31, 1942:

Being an American of dark complexion and some 26 years, these questions flash through my mind: “Should I sacrifice my life to live half American? Will things be better for the next generation in the peace to follow? Would it be demanding too much to demand full citizenship rights in exchange for the sacrificing of my life? Is the kind of America I know worth defending? Will America be a true and pure democracy after the war? Will colored Americans suffer still the indignities that have been heaped upon them in the past? These and other questions need answering; I want to know, and I believe every colored American, who is thinking, wants to know.… The V for victory sign is being displayed prominently in all so- called democratic countries which are fighting for victory over aggression, slavery, and tyranny. If this V sign means that to those now engaged in this great conflict, then let we colored Americans adopt the double VV for a double victory.31

Thompson enlisted and served in the U.S. Armed Forces. So did 33,000 Japanese Americans. Leaving their families behind in the internment camps, they fought in the all-Japanese-American 442nd Regimental Combat Team. By the end of the war in Europe, these soldiers had suffered 9,486 casualties, including 600 killed. The 442nd, military observers agreed, was “probably the most decorated unit in United States military history.”32 Welcoming home these Japanese-American soldiers after the war, President Harry Truman acknowledged the country’s indebtedness to them: “You fought for the free nations of the world… you fought not only the enemy, you fought prejudice—and you won.”33

Actually, for Japanese Americans as well as other minorities, the fight against prejudice still had to be won. Out of the war came clamors for change. In 1952, under pressure from lobbying groups including Japanese- American veterans, Congress rescinded the “white”-only restriction of the 1790 Naturalization Law. A Japanese immigrant rejoiced in poetry:

Going steadily to study English, Even through the rain at night, I thus attain, Late in life, American citizenship.34

Then came a casade of laws for social justice. At the 1963 March on Washington, Martin Luther King, Jr., declared: “I say to you today, my

friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal.’” A year later, Congress passed the Civil Rights Act, which, in turn, opened the way to the passage of the Immigration Act of 1965, which finally allowed the entry of Asian immigrants again.35

Two years later came a change that had been initiated by two ordinary individuals. Mildred and Richard Loving, an African-American woman and a white man, fell in love and married, but then they were arrested in Virginia for violating the state’s anti-miscegenation law. They sued the state, and in 1967 the U.S. Supreme Court struck down the laws banning racially mixed marriages: “Restricting the freedom to marry solely because of racial classification violates the central meaning of the equal protection clause.”36

In 1988, Congress passed a bill providing for an apology and a payment of $20,000 to each of the Japanese-American survivors of the World War II internment camps. When President Ronald Reagan signed the bill, he admitted that the United States had committed “a grave wrong.” The nation needed, the president acknowledged, to end “a sad chapter in American history.”37

Other chapters in history, both sad and joyful, hunger to be told. “It is very natural that the history written by the victim,” said a Mexican in 1874, “does not altogether chime with the story of the victor.” Sometimes the people of multicultural America have been hesitant to speak, thinking they were only “little people.” “I don’t know why anybody wants to hear my history,” an Irish maid said apologetically in 1900. “Nothing ever happened to me worth the tellin’.”38

But their stories are worthy. Native-American writer Leslie Marmon Silko explained why:

I will tell you something about stories… They aren’t just entertainment. Don’t be fooled. Indeed, the accounts given by the people in this book vibrantly recreate moments in history, capturing the complexities of human emotions and thoughts. They also provide the authenticity of experience. After she

escaped from slavery, Harriet Jacobs wrote in her autobiography: “[My purpose] is not to tell you what I have heard but what I have seen—and what I have suffered.”39

Their stories burst in the telling. “I hope this survey do a lot of good for Chinese people,” an immigrant told an interviewer from Stanford University in the 1920s. “Make American people realize that Chinese people are humans. I think very few American people really know anything about Chinese.” But the remembering is also for the sake of the children. “This story is dedicated to the descendants of Lazar and Goldie Glauberman,” Jewish immigrant Minnie Miller wrote in her autobiography. “My history is bound up in their history and the generations that follow should know where they came from to know better who they are.” Similarly, Tomo Shoji, an elderly Japanese-American woman, urged Asian Americans to learn more about their roots: “We got such good, fantastic stories to tell. All our stories are different.” Seeking to know how they fit into America, many young people want to hear the stories of their ancestors, unwilling to remain ignorant or ashamed of their identity and roots. One of them vowed to remember:

The story of your fight, Though not recorded In any history book, Yet lives engraved on my heart.40

But what happens when historians do not “record” their stories, leaving out many of America’s peoples? What happens, to borrow the words of Adrienne Rich, “when someone with the authority of a teacher” describes our society, and “you are not in it” ? Such an experience can be disorienting —“a moment of psychic disequilibrium, as if you looked into a mirror and saw nothing.” What should we do about our invisibility? Poet Audre Lorde answered:

It is a waste of time hating a mirror or its reflection instead of stopping the hand that makes glass with distortions.41

Reflected in a mirror without distortions, the people of multicultural America belong to what Ishmael Reed described as a society “unique” in the world because “the world is here”—a place “where the cultures of the world crisscross.”42 Out of this intermingling arose a poem by Langston Hughes. So succinctly, so sonorously, the black poet laureate captured our multicultural memory:

Let America be America again, Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed, Say who are you that mumbles in the dark? I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart, I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars, I am the red man driven from the land, I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek, O, let my land be a land where, Equality is in the air we breathe.43

The struggle to “let America be America” has been America’s epic story. In the making of multicultural America, the continent’s original inhabitants were joined by people pushed from their homelands by poverty and persecution in Asia, Latin America, and Europe, and pulled here by extravagant dreams. Others came here in chains from Africa, and still others fled here as refugees from countries like Vietnam and Afghanistan. And all of them belonged to “the great migrations that made the American people.”

The men and women in this study might not have read John Locke, but they came to believe that “in the beginning, all the world was America.” Like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Dutch sailors in the seventeenth century, they held their breath in the presence of this “fresh, green breast of the new world.” They envisioned the emerging country as a place for a bold new start. Crossing borders not delineated by space, they broke the “cake of custom” as they transcended traditional fixed points of classification. Marginalized and degraded as the “Other,” minorities came to believe even more fiercely and fervently than did the Founding Fathers in the “self-evident truths” that “all men are created equal,” entitled to the “unalienable Rights” of “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”44

Together, “We the” diverse “people of the United States” transformed America into a mighty economy and an amazingly unique society of varied races, ethnicities, and religions. In the process, we transformed ourselves

into Americans. Together, we composed “E pluribus unum”—a reality discerned by Herman Melville over one hundred years ago. Our country was settled by “the people of all nations,” he wrote. “All nations may claim her for their own. You can not spill a drop of American blood, without spilling the blood of the whole world.” Americans are “not a narrow tribe.”45

This truth is reflected in “a different mirror.” Remembered more inclusively, history offers all of us hopeful ties that bind—what Lincoln cherished as our “mystic chords of memory.”

PART ONE

Foundations

Before Columbus: Vinland

FROM THE SHORE, the small band of Indians saw the floating island pulled by billowy clouds and the landing of the strangers. Never before had they seen such people. The newcomers looked like animals—monstrous, hairy, and pale skinned, their eyes the color of the sea and their hair the color of the sun. They carried shiny sharp sticks that looked like long, vicious claws. Their foreign speech sounded like gabble. Confused and frightened, the Indians quickly hid beneath their skin-covered boats, hoping to appear like three mounds on the beach. They could hear footsteps approaching; suddenly their boats were violently overturned. All but one of them were captured. Paddling away frantically, the lone survivor looked back and saw red stains darkening the beach.1

Led by Thorvald Eiriksson, son of Eirik the Red, the Vikings had sailed from Greenland to the New World. He had been told about this land by his brother, Leif, who had sailed south from Iceland about the year 1000 and reached a place he called “Vinland,” an old Norse term for grassland or pasture. In the wonderful country to the south, Thorvald had learned, the grass tasted “sweet” and the rivers teemed with salmon. “This is a beautiful place,” Thorvald exclaimed when he first saw what is now known as Newfoundland. “I should like to build myself a home here.” After their initial encounter with the Indians on the beach, Thorvald and his men pitched camp and went to sleep. Suddenly, they were attacked by Indians armed with bows and arrows; Thorvald was wounded. “You must carry me out to the headland where I thought it would be good to live,” the dying leader told his men. “You must bury me there, and put a cross at my head and another one at my feet, and from then on you must call the place Krossanes [Cross Head].”2

Shortly afterward, another group of Vikings sailed to Vinland. Among them were Thorfinn Karlsefhi and his wife, Gudrid. They found a land of great abundance: “Every stream was full of fish. They dug holes where sea and land met at high tide, and when the sea went down again, there was halibut lying in the holes. There were plenty of animals of all kinds in the forest.” Then one day, the colonists were approached by some Indians.

“Dark, ugly fellows, with ugly hair on their heads” and “large eyes and broad faces,” the Beothuks, also named “Skraelings” by the Vikings, came out of the forest and were frightened by the bellowing of the cattle. “They ran towards Karlsefni’s farm and wanted to get into the houses; but Karlsefhi had the doors bolted. Neither of the two groups understood the other’s language. Then the Skraelings took their packs off and undid their bundles and offered goods for sale; they wanted weapons more than anything else in exchange. But Karlsefni refused to sell any weapons.” Instead, he offered them some cheese in exchange for pelts.3

The next year, the Beothuks returned to the site, rowing around the headland from the south. “There were so many of them that it looked as if charcoal had been strewn on the water.” They wanted to trade for red cloth and swords. Suddenly, one of the Beothuks was killed as he tried to steal some weapons. During the fierce battle, the Vikings retreated up the riverbank, where they successfully resisted the Beothuk attacks. “Now it’s hard to know what to do,” Karlsefni said, “because I think they will come back a third time, and then they will come as enemies and there will be very many of them.” The following spring, Karlsefni and his fellow Vikings abandoned the colony and returned to Greenland. They realized that, “although this was a good country, there would always be terror and trouble from the people who lived there.”4

And so this first European settlement in the New World came to an end and remained virtually unknown to the Western world. The Norse people on Greenland had been cut off from their homeland, and when a Norwegian missionary arrived there in 1721, he found only the ruins of farms and churches. Only the Viking sagas, handed down orally and recorded in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, preserved the story of the first encounter. This Viking contact remained unacknowledged until 1960 when, on the northern point of Newfoundland at L’Anse aux Meadows, archeologists found a group of overgrown housesites with ancient Norse tools, and used carbon-14 analysis to date artifacts at about 1000 AD.

About five hundred years after Leif Eiriksson’s voyage to Vinland, Christopher Columbus made his crossing and changed the course of history. Unlike the Viking expeditions, his project was sponsored by the king and queen of Spain and was the focus of immense and wide interest throughout Europe. Moreover, the printing press was now available to spread the exciting news of Columbus’s amazing “discovery.” The admiral thought he

had reached Asia. After he sighted land on October 21, 1492, the explorer wrote in his journal: “I am determined to go to the mainland and to the city of Quisay [Hangchow] and to present Your Highnesses’ letters to the Grand Khan.” Two days later, he recorded: “I wish to depart today for the island of Cuba, which I believe should be Cipango [Japan], according to the description that this people give me of its size and wealth.…” But Columbus was mistaken; actually, he had encountered a new land between Europe and Asia. This most momentous accident of history opened the way to efforts by Spain, Portugal, France, Holland, and England to colonize the continents that would be named the Americas. Unlike the Vikings, however, the new strangers stayed.5

THE “TEMPEST” IN THE WILDERNESS

A Tale of Two Frontiers

THE WHOLE EARTH is the Lord’s garden,” John Winthrop declared to his fellow English colonizers as they prepared to embark for America in 1629, “and he hath given it to the sons of men [to] increase and multiply and replentish the earth and subdue it. Why then should we stand starving here for the places of habitation… and in the meantime suffer a whole Continent as fruitful and convenient for the use of man to lie waste without any improvement.” The Puritan “errand into the wilderness” was to create “a city upon a hill,” with “the eyes of the world upon” their religious utopia. Beneath the English migrations was an economic reality—the increase in the population of their homeland from three to four million, the problems of famine, and the rise of the wool industry with its accompanying evictions of farmers. On this side of the Atlantic was a continent bursting with resources —timber, furs, fish, and especially land. The English settlement was given a religious meaning: “starving” in England, they would migrate to America where they would cultivate the “Lord’s garden.” The colonizers would not “suffer” the land to “lie waste without any improvement” by its original inhabitants.1

Shakespeare’s Dream About America

In their first encounters with Europeans, the Indians tried to comprehend who the invaders were. Traditional Penobscot accounts had described the earth as flat and surrounded by ocean, the “great salt water,” ktci-sobe-k. Beyond this body of water, there were other islands and countries inhabited by “tribes of strangers.” The Indians of Massachusetts Bay, according to early reports by the English, “took the first ship they saw for a walking island, the mast to be a tree, the sail white clouds, and the discharging of ordnance for lightning and thunder.” They were seized by curiosity. By word of mouth, the fantastic news spread, and the “shores for many miles were filled with this naked Nation, gazing at this wonder.” Armed with bows and arrows, some of them approached the ship in their canoes, and “let fly their long shafts at her… some stuck fast, and others dropped into the water.” They wondered why “it did not cry.”2

Indian dreams had anticipated the coming of the strangers. In an old Wampanoag story, a wise chief foretold the arrival of Europeans: “On his death-bed he said that a strange white people would come to crowd out the red men, and that for a sign, after his death a great white whale would rise out of the witch pond below. That night he died… and the great white whale rose from the witch pond.” Another version of this story added a warning from the chief: “That’s a sign that another new people the color of the whale [would arrive], but don’t let them have all the land because if you do the Indians will disappear.” In Virginia, a Powhatan shaman predicted that “bearded men should come & take away their Country & that there should be none of the original Indians be left, within an hundred & fifty years.” Similarly, an Ojibwa prophet had a dream many years before actual contact between the two peoples: “Men of strange appearance have come across the great water. Their skins are white like snow, and on their faces long hair grows. [They come here] in wonderfully large canoes which have great white wings like those of a giant bird. The men have long and sharp knives, and they have long black tubes which they point at birds and animals. The tubes make a smoke that rises into the air just like the smoke from our pipes. From them come fire and such terrific noise that I was frightened, even in my dream.”3

Across the Atlantic, William Shakespeare also had a dream about the arrival of the English in America. The Tempest was first performed in London in 1611, a time when the English were encountering what they viewed as strange inhabitants in new lands. A perspicacious few in the audience could have seen that this play was more than a mere story about how Prospero was sent into exile with his daughter, took possession of an island inhabited by Caliban, and plotted to redeem himself.4

Indeed, The Tempest can be approached as a fascinating tale that served as a masquerade for the creation of a new society in America. Seen in this light, the play invites us to view English expansion not only as imperialism, but also as a defining moment in the making of an English-American identity based on race. For the first time in the English theater, an Indian character was being presented. What did Shakespeare and his audience know about the native peoples of America, and what choices were they making in the ways they characterized Caliban? Although they saw him as a “savage,” did they racialize savagery? Was the play a prologue for America?5

The Tempest, studied in relationship to its context, can help us answer these questions. The timing of the play was crucial: it was first performed after the English invasion of Ireland but before the colonization of New England, after John Smith’s arrival in Virginia but before the beginning of the tobacco economy, and after the first contacts with Indians but before full-scale warfare against them. This was an era when the English were interacting with peoples that they would define as the “Other” in order to enable them to delineate the boundary between “civilization” and “savagery.” The social constructions of both these terms were dynamically developing on two frontiers—Ireland and America.

English Over Irish

Attending the first performance of The Tempest, London theatergoers were familiar with the “wild Irish” on stage, for such images had been presented in plays like Sir John Oldcastle (1599) and Honest Whore (1605). To many in the audience, Caliban might have resembled the Irish. In the late sixteenth century, shortly before the beginning of the English migrations to America, Queen Elizabeth I encouraged some of her subjects to take up private colonization projects in Ireland. This island to the west posed a military threat, her advisers warned, because either Spain or France might use Catholic Ireland as a base from which to attack England. Among Elizabeth’s chosen soldiers were Sir Humphrey Gilbert and his half-brother Sir Walter Raleigh. Both were ardent Protestants who believed the Irish Catholics to be pagan savages—a view shared by many of their countrymen.6

Like Caliban, the Irish were viewed as a people living outside of “civilization.” They had tribal organizations, and their practice of herding seemed nomadic. Even their Christianity was said to be merely the exterior of strongly rooted paganism. “They are all Papists by their profession,” claimed Edmund Spenser in 1596, “but in the same so blindly and brutishly informed for the most part as that you would rather think them atheists or infidels.” To the English colonizers, the Irish lacked “knowledge of God or good manners.” They had no sense of private property and did not “plant any Gardens or Orchards, Inclose or improve their lands, live together in setled Villages or Townes.” The Irish were described as lazy, “naturally” given to “idleness,” and unwilling to work for “their own bread.” Dominated by “innate sloth,” “loose, barbarous and most wicked,” and living “like beasts,” they were also thought to be criminals inclined to steal from the English. The colonizers complained that the Irish were not satisfied with the “fruit of the natural unlaboured earth” and therefore continually “invaded the fertile possessions” of the “English Pale.”7

The English colonizers established a two-tiered social structure: “Every Irishman shall be forbidden to wear English apparel or weapon upon pain of death. That no Irishman, born of Irish race and brought up Irish, shall purchase land, bear office, be chosen of any jury or admitted witness in any

real or personal action.” To reinforce this social separation, British laws prohibited marriages between the Irish and the colonizers. The new world order was to be one of English over Irish.8

The Irish also became targets of English violence. “Nothing but fear and force can teach duty and obedience” to this “rebellious people,” the invaders insisted. While the English were generally brutal in their warfare practices at that time, they seemed to have been particularly cruel toward the Irish. The colonizers burned the villages and crops of the inhabitants and relocated them on reservations. They slaughtered families, “man, woman and child,” justifying their atrocities by arguing that families provided support for the rebels.9

The invaders took the heads of the slain Irish as trophies. Sir Humphrey Gilbert pursued a campaign of terror: he ordered that “the heads of all those… killed in the day, should be cut off from their bodies and brought to the place where he encamped at night, and should there be laid on the ground by each side of the way leading into his own tent so that none could come into his tent for any cause but commonly he must pass through a lane of heads.… [It brought] great terror to the people when they saw the heads of their dead fathers, brothers, children, kinsfolk, and friends.” After seeing the head of his lord impaled on the walls of Dublin, Irish poet Angus O’Daly cried out:

O body which I see without a head, It is the sight of thee which has withered up my strength. Divided and impaled in Ath-cliath, The learned of Banba will feel its loss. Who will relieve the wants of the poor? Who will bestow cattle on the learned? O body, since thou art without a head, It is not life which we care to choose after thee.10

After four years of bloody warfare in Munster, according to Edmund Spenser, the Irish had been reduced to wretchedness. “Out of every corner of the woods and glens they came creeping forth upon their hands, for their legs would not bear them. They looked anatomies of death; they spake like ghosts crying out of their graves.” The death toll was so high that “in short space there were none almost left and a most populous and plentiful country

suddenly left void of man and beast.” The “void” meant vacant lands for English settlement.11

The atrocities that had been committed against the Irish would in fact be committed again against the Indians by English veterans of the wars in Ireland.

English Over Indian

Sir Humphrey Gilbert, Lord De La Warr, Sir Francis Drake, and Sir Walter Raleigh participated in both the invasion of Ireland and the colonization of the New World. The conquest of Ireland and the settlement of Virginia were bound so closely together that one correspondence, dated March 8, 1610, stated: “It is hoped the plantation of Ireland may shortly be settled. The Lord Delaware [Lord De La Warr] is preparing to depart for the plantation of Virginia.” Commander John Mason conducted military campaigns against the Irish before he sailed to New England, where he led troops against the Pequots of Connecticut. Samuel Gorton wrote a letter to John Winthrop, Jr., connecting the two frontiers: “I remember the time of the wars in Ireland (when I was young, in Queen Elizabeth’s days of famous memory) where much English blood was spilt by a people much like unto these [Indians].… And after these Irish were subdued by force, what treacherous and bloody massacres have they attempted is well known.”12

The first English colonizers in the New World found that the Indians reminded them of the Irish. In Virginia, Captain John Smith observed that the deerskin robes worn by the Indians did not differ much “in fashion from the Irish mantels.” Thomas Morton noticed that the “Natives of New England [were] accustomed to build themselves houses much like the wild Irish.” Roger Williams reported that the thick woods and swamps of New England gave refuge to the Indians engaged in warfare, “like the bogs to the wild Irish.” Thus, in their early encounters, the English projected the familiar onto the strange, their images of the Irish onto the native people of America. Initially, “savagery” was defined in relationship to the Irish, and the Indians were incorporated into this definition.13

The Tempest, the London audience knew, was not about Ireland but about the New World, for the reference to the “Bermoothes” [Bermuda] revealed the location of the island where Prospero landed. What was happening on stage was a metaphor for English expansion into America. The play’s title was inspired by a recent incident: caught in a violent storm in 1609, the Sea Adventure had been separated from a fleet of ships bound for Virginia and had run aground in the Bermudas. Shakespeare knew many of the colonizers of Virginia, including Sir Humphrey Gilbert and Lord De

La Warr. One of his personal friends was geographer Richard Hakluyt, author of widely read books about the New World. England’s future was in America, proclaimed Hakluyt as he urged the English to “conquer a country” and “to man it, to plant it, and to keep it, and to continue the making of Wines and Oils able to serve England.”14

In the play, the images of Caliban’s island evoked descriptions of Virginia. “The air breathes upon us here most sweetly,” the theatergoers were told. “Here is everything advantageous to life.” “How lush and lusty the grass looks! how green!” Gonzalo praised the Edenic island as a retreat where everything was as yet unformed and unbounded, where letters, laws, metals, and occupations were yet unknown. In both imagery and language, it was almost as if Shakespeare had lifted his materials from contemporary documents about the New World. Tracts on Virginia had described the air as “most sweet” and as “virgin and temperate,” and its soil “lusty” with meadows “full of green grass.” In A True Reportory of the Wracke, published in 1609, William Strachey depicted Virginia’s abundance: “no Country yieldeth goodlier Corn, nor more manifold increase.… We have thousands of goodly Vines.”15

Moreover, the play offered a clue that the story was indeed about America: Caliban, one of the principal characters, was a New World inhabitant. “Carib,” the name of an Indian tribe, came to mean a savage of America, and the term cannibal was a derivative. Shakespeare sometimes rearranged letters in words (“Amleth,” the name of a prince in a Viking-era tale, for example, became “Hamlet” ), and here he had created the word “Caliban.”16

The English had heard or read reports about Indians who had been captured and brought to London. Indians had been displayed in Europe by Christopher Columbus. During his first voyage, he wrote: “Yesterday came [to] the ship a dugout with six young men, and five came on board; these I ordered to be detained and I am bringing them.” When Columbus was received by the Spanish court after his triumphal return, he presented a collection of things he had brought back, including some gold nuggets, parrots in cages, and six Indians. During his second voyage, in 1493, Columbus again sent his men to kidnap Indians and returned to Spain with 550 Indian captives. “When we reached the waters around Spain,” Michele de Cuneo reported, “about 200 of those Indians died, I believe because of the unaccustomed air, colder than theirs. We cast them into the sea.”17

Similarly, English explorers engaged in this practice of kidnapping Indians. When Captain George Waymouth visited New England in 1605, he lured some Abenakis to his ship; taking three of them hostage, he sailed back to England to display them. An early-seventeenth-century pamphlet stated that a voyage to Virginia was expected to bring back its quota of captured Indians: “Thus we shipped five savages, two canoes, with all their bows and arrows.” In 1611, according to a biographer of William Shakespeare, “a native of New England called Epenew was brought to England… and ‘being a man of so great a stature’ was showed up and down London for money as a monster.” In the play, Stephano considered capturing Caliban: “If I can recover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any emperor.” Such exhibitions of Indians were “profitable investments,” literary scholar Frank Kermode noted, and were “a regular feature of colonial policy under James I. The exhibits rarely survived the experience.”18