Thanksgiving is a Holiday for Immigrants
This editorial was published in this Sunday's issue of The Monitor.
Last week I received a large, carefully packaged box from my
sister. Inside was a framed copy of my
Grandfather’s baptismal record. I
couldn’t read a single word of it. Franz
Paul Jarkowski was baptized into the Catholic church in 1883 in the town of Conitz.
Despite its various spellings (now it is
Konitz) the town is part of Pomerania and belonged to either Poland or Germany
depending on who won the last war. In
1883 it was German and three years later that same boy left for America from
Dusseldorf. The spelling of his last
name changed three times before he got to Minnesota and was turned into the
unpronounceable jumble of letters that became my maiden name.
And that leads me to my favorite
holiday, Thanksgiving. Let me explain.
I love Thanksgiving. I always have. It was a day filled with family, games,
endless talk and laughter and a house filled with the wonderful smells of food
that was unique to that day. Between the
turkey and the dressing, I didn’t care if there was pie or not. But I’m sure your list of favored
Thanksgiving foods would be as different from mine as your memories.
The one thing
that we do all share on Thanksgiving is a history of immigration to this
country. We all came from somewhere
else. Even Native Americans are descended
from people who crossed Berengia (an Ice Age land bridge from Asia to North
America) some 25,000 years ago. No humans
evolved in North America. We all came
here. For some, the knowledge of that
immigration is lost in time. While
Native Americans did, indeed, come from Asia, their history here is so ancient
that they can claim first chair if they wish.
Who could argue with them?
For others,
like myself, the history of our entrance to the land we call America is
fresh. We can examine motive and offer a
family story that is as much demonstrable fact as possible fiction. Three of my grandparents were immigrants from
Europe. Both my grandmothers were from
Norway and my paternal grandfather, Franz Paul, from Germany. All came as children and none of them asked
to immigrate. They simply took their
parents’ hands and followed where they were led.
My grandfather’s family came to
escape the constant warfare that gripped 19th century Europe. My grandmothers’ people followed a promise of
land, both free and abundant, to the New World.
This was a serious enticement since land in Europe was almost universally
the property of royalty and non-royals, even wealthy non-royals, occupied the
land as renters.
Even my
mother’s father, Grandpa Blaisdell, could trace his ancestors back in direct
line to Ralph and Elizabeth Blaisdell who came here in 1635, part of what the
English call the Great Migration. This period
of social unrest in England saw a significant portion of its solid middle-class
leave (taking their tax money with them) because they could no longer stand the
political machination of Charles I. You
will notice that while religious liberty is a common mantra of immigration,
practical concerns as well as ecclesiastical seem to dominate the
discussion.
When I reflect on these ancestors, I must be
honest in pointing out that none of them brought anything significant to the
table in terms of “value added” to the American mix. They were marginally educated, marginally
skilled and poor. In the plus column,
they were willing and able to work, planned to do so and if they had any bad
habits, they were not to the degree that attracts attention.
My ancestors
came here for a reason. Your ancestors
came here for a reason. Even the Stone Age
peoples who crossed Berengia on ice sheeted, bitterly cold land of limited food
and unlimited misery came here for a reason.
What would make you leave this land and go to a place where you knew
neither the customs nor the language?
What would make you leave with few resources and no certain future? How bad would things have to be to put you on
your feet and force you to immigrate?
I am thankful
my ancestors made that leap of faith.
Thanksgiving is certainly a day to count our blessings, not the least of
which is the fact that we are here.
I would suggest that this
Thanksgiving we give our personal journeys just a bit of reflection. Where did we come from? Why did our ancestors make the trip? How did they get here? Do this to celebrate their journey. Do it to gain a little humility, a little
empathy, a little charity. Do it to be
thankful, and to share that thanks in a tangible way with those who have a
little less. Do it to keep the faith.
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