The Long Way Home
An American Journey from Ellis Island to the Great War
David Laskin

Ethnic Studies

Monday, May 31st, 2010

(Note: this post is adapted from an op-ed that ran in the Seattle Times on Memorial Day, 2010)

A few days ago, Richard, one of my Facebook friends, sent me a message suggesting I fly the American flag on my Facebook profile — a nice touch for Memorial Day. A couple of days later Richard emailed again to thank me for including a soldier of Kashubian heritage in The Long Way Home. Kashubians, as I learned in the course of my research, are a Slavic ethnic group closely related to Poles but with their own language, culture, history and folk traditions. Richard has a particular interest in Kashubian soldiers because his uncle Alex was a Kashubian immigrant who came to the United States as a small boy in 1891 and died on November 1, 1918, fighting with the 354th Infantry in the Argonne Forest in France.

Since Richard is a Facebook friend rather than an actual friend, I don’t know what his politics are – and I don’t feel comfortable asking – but these two messages coming back to back give me some idea. My hunch is that he is a proud American patriot, fierce in his devotion to everything his country stands for; and at the same time he is a proud son of Kashubia, determined to keep the history, customs, beliefs, and contributions of his ancestors alive. “Every Memorial Day my dad flew both the American and Polish flags on our front porch,” Mary, the daughter of another Great War immigrant veteran, told me – and it wouldn’t surprise me if Richard did the same with the black and yellow Kashubian flag.

Richard and Mary are lucky that they don’t live in Arizona. With the signing into law earlier this month of HB 2281, Arizona Governor Jan Brewer has made it illegal in her state for public schools to offer courses that “advocate ethnic solidarity.” The bill, of course, targets Hispanic and Native Americans – but it also delivers a stinging slap at anyone who is proud of his or her ethnic heritage. What, after all, is “ethnic solidarity” if not devotion to the culture of one’s ancestors and the desire to celebrate this unique heritage and pass it on to future generations?

Richard’s Kashubian family came here, like millions of immigrants before and after them, in search of freedom and opportunity. They settled in Chicago’s large Slavic community, but their life was tough. When Alex was eleven his father died and, as the oldest son, he took over as head of the family. He was hardly more than a boy when he went to work in the wood finishing business. Then as now, immigrants faced prejudice, and in the land of opportunity many doors were slammed and threats muttered. Nonetheless, when Alex’s adoptive country called on him to go to war, he went without protest – the same as half a million other immigrants who fought with American forces in the Great War.

I’ve often pondered why these immigrants were so willing to fight for a country not yet their own. On the streets of New York, Chicago, Buffalo and Detroit they were wops, kikes, hunkies and Polacks; they did dangerous back-breaking jobs for barely adequate wages. The nation’s leaders and intellectuals disparaged them as “a dark subspecies” lacking the “splendid fighting and moral qualities” of old stock Anglo-Saxons. And yet when Uncle Sam called them up, they went without a murmur. Why? The answer, I think, boils down to freedom. The freedom to worship, speak, write, vote as their liked – and yes, the freedom to advocate the solidarity of their ethnic group.

For those who hoist two flags this Memorial Day – who bring piroshki or lasagna to their family picnics, who lay a wreath on the grave of an immigrant veteran – these freedoms remain alive and flourishing. But they will only to continue to flourish if we who are proud to be ethnic Americans raise our voices against what is happening in Arizona. Ethnic studies are American studies.

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