It’s not uncommon to hear people say that stories make the world a better place. The past two years I spent pursuing my master’s degree in Journalism made me learn that when people tell their stories to each other and are heard, magic happens. People bond. Barriers dissolve. Connections are made. Trust increases. Knowledge is transmitted. Wisdom is shared. A common language is birthed. That’s why, our ancestors stood around the fire and shared their stories with each other. Survival depended on it and so did the emotional well-being of the tribe.
Over the past eight months, I have been trying to shine a light on the stories of those who are rarely heard or inadequately represented in the media. The heroes of this project are three children and their immigrant families. Since its inception, this nation has been continually infused with the energy of newcomers who came from all over the world hoping for a better future. This latter word is key to why these families made the choice of moving to another country.
Throughout the years, these waves of immigrants created a rich, colorful mosaic in the American society with their religion, music, fashion, food, and other cultural contributions. However, at this point of history, immigration has become a hot-button topic in the United States, one that not only affects national policy, but also Americans’ perception of other nationalities, races, and ethnicities living here. The U.S. 2016 election season, with Donald Trump’s discussion of walls and bans, further brought immigration issues into public consciousness. According to the 2016 Current Population Survey (CPS), immigrants and their U.S.-born children now number approximately 84.3 million people, or 27 percent of the overall U.S. population. Certainly, these numbers and statistics are important tools, but there is another important ingredient in that stew: Experience. There is no room for that on official census forms, polls, or debates. They need to be complemented by real life stories and experiences of those defined and measured in these figures. Statistics do not tell the story of immigration. People do.
And since there are many chapters that can be told when talking about a family’s experience leaving one country for another, I thought about approaching their experience from the point of view of raising children while traversing semipermeable layers of culture, time, and geography. In much of the debate over immigration, there is little attention devoted to U.S.-born children of immigrants, commonly referred to as second-generation immigrants. Those individuals are more than numbers, more than the reports that analyze their educational attainment and economic standing. This is why I embarked on this journey in an attempt to put a face to second-generation Americans.
The idea of this project was first developed in a class taught by my professor and mentor “Lois Raimondo.” It was shaped by conversations I’ve had with second-generation Americans, age 7 to 15, and their mothers. The families talked about the daily details that compound their lives. The children reflected on self-identification, a concept that gains another dimension when you navigate two cultures at once. The mothers addressed the challenges as well as the perks of raising their children in a cultural upbringing different than the one they had.
One story in particular stuck with me. A South Korean mother told me that her five-year-old daughter was once asked to dress up as a princess for one of her school activities. The little girl found a hard time accomplishing the seemingly fun task. “Princesses have wide eyes, they are tall and slim, with long, flowing, and mostly golden hair,” she said to her mum. To the little girl, this was the benchmark of beauty and when she didn’t “see” herself, she felt out of place. This is why representation, not only diversity, matters.
Every time you see yourself in a magazine, billboard, film, book, cartoon, or even a toy, it’s a message that you matter, you are part of the national story, that you’re valued. And this begs an important question: Where exactly are we telling these children that they are heroes in our stories?
Representation is not an added layer; it is absolutely fundamental and it is what people expect from culture and politics. And since I am in no position to affect politics, I thought I would use the skills that I learned from my professors and mentors to lend a voice and represent immigrant families and their children.
The rationale for conducting this project with children rather than adults stems from the fact that children’s thoughts are raw, honest, unfiltered, and spontaneous. They are caught up in the excitement of people, places, and events. They are more open to the world and relate to their surroundings with a directness and intimacy that are the envy of adults bruised by life. I also narrowed the location to one small portion of the U.S.: Morgantown city in the state of West Virginia, and there is a significance to that. This Appalachian region has long been considered a predominantly white section of the United States, particularly in comparison with the rest of the country. In fact, a map created by Randy Olson in 2014 depicting how racial diversity is spread across the United States, found Tucker county in West Virginia to be the least diverse county in the U.S. with 100 percent white population. However, this broad generalization fails to take into account the immense diversity and subcultures of some of the most seemingly homogenous places, particularly those in rural America. To varying degrees, diversity does exist in West Virginia—whether socioeconomic, religious, cultural, racial, or in national heritage. West Virginia is home to a rich diversity of cultures and communities representing people from all around the world who have found their way to this Appalachian state. The presence of these communities and their willingness to share their traditions is a valuable asset to cultural life and a testament to the fact that there is not one story or voice of West Virginia.
To explore the similarities and differences with a topic that has commonality, I was interested in specific concepts that gain another dimension with immigrant families. These concepts were derived from the research I did as well as the conversations I previously had with some of these families. They were based on the ideas of identity, assimilation to the American culture, where the friction is felt, cultural preservation, and the definition of home.
Raising children comes with new sets of responsibilities. Adding two, sometimes three cultures to the mix makes the task at hand even harder. My three heroes were born to Sierra Leonean and Guinean, Turkish, and Indian parents. It took few months, several visits, countless talks, and numerous occasions to put their pieces together. It equally took an undivided attention to their tones, appearances, and personal spaces to reveal the next subtle details.
The parents I met welcomed their newborns to the world with a name that carries their native culture, one that their descendants will, in return, carry for life. They all reflected on giving their children a name with a symbolic relevance.
Siddanth’s Hindu name was similarly chosen by his Indian parents to remind him of his heritage and to express their gratitude for having a child after many years of trying. Given their fascination with history, their African descent, and their Muslim faith, Malik’s parents wanted to give him a name that has a meaning. Thus, came the name Malik, “the king of kings.”
Couple of years down the road, as their children learned to talk, every couple had a different approach navigating the primary mean of communication: language. Language itself reveals the intimate connectivity among people, space, and time. It’s a binding feature of shared identity, even for those that have never set foot in the land from which it originated. Every family had its own language, even if that language was composed of two distinctly different languages. What these families opened my eyes to is that raising bilingual children does not always come with ease. Not only does it take a lot of intentional planning from the parents; other factors are at play. Sometimes the child has no interest in learning his parents’ native language. Sometimes parents come from countries that display an astonishing array of languages. This is an area where all shades of grey tend to show.
Across all families, food was a constant reminder of the homeland. A clear consensus was shared among children and parents on that front. And as simple as it might sound, the food, smells and sounds seemed to transport the parents’ roots. To them, food was another way to teach and show their children the India, Turkey, Sierra Leone and Guinea they knew. And when life in America seemed particularly alien, the one thing that always helped these families was food from home. They found solace in their warm kitchens, cooking up a filling pot of curry, Dolma, or Cassava leaf soup.
As we delved deeper beyond the tangible connections to one’s homeland, the parents raised an important point. Raising children between two cultures undergoes recurrent phases of tension and ease. With a prevailing sentiment that this multicultural experience is something to be enjoyed, not something to be endured, they were quick to point out that some days run smoothly, other days are met with confusion that can sometimes turn into cultural faux pas. The parents I met shared a desire to raise their children to be strong and kind with a respect for both cultures. However, with each culture having its own symbols of intimacy, traditions, practices, and its own standards of what is or isn’t socially acceptable, straddling two cultures can become a juggling act.
With immigrants and their children, opportunities for more interaction can also lead to opportunities for more conflict. In their documentary pieces and stories, each parent recalled a moment where his child started noticing, early on, the differences in terms of his non-conventional American name, his facial features, food, holidays, and culture compared to his native-born peers. All parents agreed that it takes time, patience, and leading by example to walk your child through these puzzling incidents using them as teachable moments rather than a collision of cultures. The answers may not always appeal to the child’s curiosity and they may invite more questions on his end. It is a constant learning process.
Talking to the parents, I was able to see that they were all proud of their roots. They made sure to give their children some of that cultural grounding that sustains them while embracing the American identity that they all valued. And by talking to the children, I was able to see how each one of them has carved his own place on the spectrum of identity. Albeit their young age, Siddanth and Malik had a clear idea of the multiple layers of their identities, most importantly, they were given the freedom to say which one took precedence. I was impressed by their sure-footed confidence answering the question, “do you consider yourself as American or Indian, Turkish, Sierra Leonean/Guinean?” and equally impressed by the rationale they gave. In an attempt to preserve these moments, I asked each one of them to document, in his own handwriting, his answer. I wanted these personal citations along with their portraits to carry their own voices in a way that cannot be summed up in charts, percentages, titles, or boxes.
Throughout our meetings, the insights that both parents and children offered have opened eyes. The parents intimate accounts encapsulated their experiences as well as specific traits that revealed themselves effortlessly during our encounters. Janani’s peacefulness, calm demeanor, and maternal tone answering Siddanth’s questions captivated me every time we met. Even when Siddanth’s patience seemed to wear thin, she never tried to deflect or offer canned answers. She simply addressed each one of his questions with openness and grace. Their home felt like an enchanting oasis of tranquility. I was always welcomed like family, even sent home with Indian snacks and sweets. Janani showed me that migrating to the United States didn’t mean pushing everything aside but rather taking it all in. To this family, the hybridity of two cultures is seen as a blessing. The two complement each other.
Coming from the African continent myself, I knew that there is no continent more blessed with striking beauty, history, and diversity than the African Motherland. I saw these features wrapped up in Tamba’s words and articulated in his answers and thoughts. This family has been refining a delicate balance between embracing the identity of one’s place of birth and residence. They showed me that the presence of one culture doesn’t signal the extinction of the other, that the present doesn’t negate the past, they can both coexist and reconcile. Albeit their upbringing in entirely different worlds, Tamba was the star of straddling both cultures. Being proud of his heritage certainly did a lot to impart cultural appreciation to his son. Even when he never stepped a foot in his father’s homeland, Malik was bound to his African roots, loyal in heart if not on paper. Throughout our lengthy conversations, I was particularly impressed by Tamba’s forward thinking views on parenting, culture, freedom, and global citizenship. His ideas spoke volume to his open mindset credited with helping him cope with any situation. He didn’t need to question where he stands on the spectrum of identity or the definition of home as long as he seeks, keeps, and passes along the best of both worlds. He had a remarkable wisdom and an aptitude for always seeing the glass half full.
With a rich array of feelings between shelter and venture, attachment and freedom, exploring the emotional repertoire was an equally important component to make these stories real and relatable. To some degree, the parents shared their struggle with homesickness when they first moved to the U.S. However, today, they are all averse to leaving the country they now call “home.” Their answers on how to define home included a variation of the same meaning. It was the place where they felt safe, welcomed, and comfortable in their own skin.
By making these families more visible, I wanted this project to communicate a more complex and nuanced portrait of these individuals and present their stories in a way that differs from the typically immigrants’ lives portrayed by the media.
Over the course of eight months, I was besotted with their tales. My conversations with the parents would drift into gossip about things we experience in common. They shared tips, lessons, and imparted their wisdom. As an international student and a first-time expectant mother living between two worlds myself, their words and stories offered a more realistic blueprint of how to raise children between two cultures. Their kindness and generosity warmed the frosty weather of Morgantown. I felt close to different corners of the world, in a remote corner away from my home country.
I fell in love with all three children and envied their unfiltered thoughts. I found myself sharing the same excitement they had for their creative projects, toys, and video games. The sweetness of that memory is something I will savor for years.
I learned about other cultures. More than anything, I learned that people from different cultures may differ in certain aspects, nonetheless, certain cross-cultural similarities exist, and they rest ultimately on the fact that man is the measure of all things. I saw the common ground that brings us all human beings together. Those parents contained within themselves their roots as well as their children’s present and future. To me, they were the perfect embodiment of living beyond borders. Their narration suggested that the common metaphor referring to the U.S. as a “melting pot” may have now changed to a “mixed salad” where each cultural group contributes to the taste of the overall dish, while retaining its own unique flavor. It’s a subtle distinction, but important.
Reflecting on the time I spent working on that project, I wish I had the chance to spend more time with each one of them to consume the rich details of their daily lives. I also hope I get to meet these young souls with big hearts few years down the road. It would be interesting to see how their thoughts will progress throughout the different phases of adolescence and adulthood where separating yourself from your parents is common. Will they distance themselves from their parents’ cultures? Will the political climate overshadow their thoughts? Will their ideas differ? Will their place on the identity spectrum shift?
I also hope to continue this work in the future by creating other dimensions, with other children, potentially in other parts of the world, something that would grow into a visual archive of the world’s children.