From the Archives: A Great Book About Immigration Law
I went into this month of reading about Asian-American history with one thought clearly in mind: that the patterns of Asian immigration were often shaped by changes in United States immigration law. Reading Asian American Histories of the United States confirmed that idea, which led me back to a wonderful book on the subject that I read and reviewed here several years ago. It’s a timely read now.
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I have often complained that one of the failures of American history class as I experienced it in high school* was that everything after the civil war was taught as a series of legislation punctuated by two world wars. The world wars were taught as story, and subsequently stuck with me . But the history of legislation was essentially a list: a name, a date, a paragraph about what the law in question accomplished. Here’s what stuck: anti-trust legislation, labor rights legislation, and, inexplicably, the Taft-Harley Act (the name, not the content).**
It turns out that the history of legislation can be pretty thrilling in the right hands.
One Mighty and Irresistible Tide: The Epic Struggle Over American Immigration, 1924-1965 began as an attempt by journalist and second-generation American Jia Lynn Yang to understand the law that allowed her parents to come to the United States, the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965. The result is a gripping account of forty years of Congressional wrangling over immigration law in the United States.
Yang successfully argues that the idea of the United States as a nation of immigrants is a relatively new one—and demonstrates that laws controlling immigration are even more recent. The book centers on the passage of three major immigration laws—in 1924, 1952 and 1965—and the competing ideas about ethnicity, race and the nature of the United States as an entity that shaped those laws.
Yang never loses sight of the fact that laws are passed by people. She introduces us to the often colorful and sometimes awful politicians and activists who lobbied for and against changes in immigration policy, clearly evoking each man’s character as well as describing his political career. She outlines ugly relationships between immigration laws and the eugenics movement, isolationism, anti-Communist rhetoric, McCarthyism, anti-Semitism, and calls to keep the United States true to its “Northern European roots.”
Yang ends where she began, with the impact of the 1965 bill, which opened the door to non-white immigration, closed the border with Mexico for the first time and changed the United States in ways that its promoters had never anticipated.
One Mighty and Irresistible Tide is an important and sometimes surprising history of American immigration policy and the people who made it.
*I realize that this is not a universal experience. It wasn’t even my universal experience. My world history teacher did an excellent job of capturing my imagination despite the challenges inherent in the concept. Fabulous high school history teachers exist. My hats off to you all.
**I’ll save you the trouble of looking it up: formally known as the Labor Management Relations Act of 1947, it restricted the power and actions of labor unions. The 80th Congress passed it over President Truman’s veto.
In which I jump into the deep end of Asian American history
It’s been almost two weeks since I announced my intention to read my way through Asian American, Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander Heritage Month.* So far it has been a frustrating and fascinating experience.
Unlike Black History Month and Women’s History Month, the places I hang out on the internet have not been full of fascinating stories about forgotten people and incidents. (Though there have been several interesting pieces about the fiftieth anniversary of the arrival of South East Asian refugees into the United States at the end of the Vietnam War* and a number of heart-breaking reminders of the Japanese internment camps in WWII.) The Chicago Public Library’s list of ways to celebrate is largely focused on novels and movies, which do not really serve my purpose. (Also demonstrations of hula dancing and Korean music. Very tempting.) The Goodreads list of Asian American non-fiction is heavy on celebrity and restaurant memoirs—also not what I had in mind.**
In the absence of any clear path, in mid-April I went to the bookstore around the corner, Call and Response Books,which specializes in books by and about people of color, and threw myself on the bookseller’s mercy. I walked out with Asian American Histories of the United States by Catherine Ceniza Choy. It turned out to be a very good place to start.
Choy, a professor of ethnic studies who has studied, taught, and written about Asian American history for more than two decades, began the book in 2021 at the height of Covid in response to the anti-Asian violence and hatred that was part of that experience. Her primary argument is that the themes that fueled that violence, as well as the violence itself, have been part of American history for 150 years. Nonetheless, the book is not simply a catalog of hate crimes and historical erasure.
As the title makes clear, Asian American Histories of the United States is a series of histories of different Asian groups who arrived in the United States at different times under different circumstances. Choy looks at the ways in which their experiences differ, and the ways in which they are the same. Some of the stories are familiar, such as the arrival of some 20,000 Chinese men to work on the transcontinental railroad.**** Other stories were totally new to me: for example, the important role played by Filipino workers in creation of the United Farm Workers and the development of a Punjabi Mexican-American community in Texas at the beginning of the twentieth century.*****
Choy structures the book in reverse chronological order, from 2020 to 1869. The structure is surprisingly effective, underlining that Asians arrived in the United States earlier than most of us knew. Each chapter looks at a particular historical moment and specific Asian population, then expands the themes across time and ethnic group. She shows both how the chapter’s issue had earlier roots and how that issue plays out in the modern world. A freestanding, and fascinating, chapter at the midpoint titled “The Faces Behind the Food” looks at the impact of Asian Americans on food in the United States in often surprising ways. (For example, a Chinese worker named Ah Bing, who arrived in the United States in 1855, worked on an Oregon fruit farm and is credited as the cultivator and namesake of the Bing cherry. I was stunned.)
If I read nothing else for Asian History month, Asian American Histories of the United States would accomplish my basic goal of learning more. But don’t worry, I intend to read on. We’re not done yet.
*That fifty years sure went by quickly!
** Thanks to those of you who made suggestions.
*** I realize that we are only a week into May and I may not be hanging out in the right places.
****Not so familiar: the fact that Chinese railroad workers were not included in the iconic photograph of the ceremony that marked the completion of the railroad despite their critical role in its construction. (According to Leland Stanford, president of the Central Pacific Railroad, ninety percent of the workers on the western half of the Transcontinental Railroad were Chinese. In fact, the National Park Service account states that “On the morning of May 10th, 1869, eight Chinese men moved the final rail into position.”—An act that was symbolically important.) Historical erasure in real time.
*****According to historian Karen Leonard, there are people in the region today who think Singh is a Hispanic surname. Which I find both very funny and slightly sad.
The Belgian Girls: A Q & A with Kathryn Atwood
It was inevitable that Kathryn Atwood and I would find each other because our interests overlap. She has written multiple books of historical non-fiction for young adults on women and war. In her newest book, The Belgian Girls, she shifts to fiction, using her deep knowledge to create a vivid picture of life in occupied Brussels in the two world wars. She intertwines stories of two young women, a generation apart, who play similar roles in resisting the Germans to create a work that is thrilling, bittersweet and heart rending.
I am delighted to have Kathryn back on the Margins to talk about The Belgian Girls
Photo credit: Helen Van Essendelft
You have written several collective biographies on women and war, including Women Heroes of World War I and Women Heroes of World War II. What inspired you to make the leap from non-fiction to fiction?
Kate Quinn. She utilized my World War I book a bit while writing The Alice Network and sent me a signed copy as a thank-you. I had not read historical fiction since my 20-something Leon Uris phase, but I was completely enthralled with Kate’s portrayal of Louise de Bettignies. It made me wonder if I could similarly illuminate the life of another First World War spy, Gabrielle Petit, my favorite subject in Women Heroes of World War I. I hope I have succeeded!
Is your research process different for fiction than for non-fiction? What types of sources do you rely on to create rich fictional characters from obscure, or poorly documented historical figures?
I wrote the Gabrielle Petit chapters first, using the 2015 biography by Dr. Sophie de Schaepdrijver as a reference. But much of the basic setting for each timeline was already clear in my mind because of my familiarity with both German occupations of Belgium.
What was slightly different was the necessity of using maps: I wanted to move my characters around realistically, hoping I could avoid what I often see in Chicago-set films: a northbound character driving south on Lake Shore Drive, etc.
What was completely different about writing The Belgian Girls was the freedom to create new characters and to imagine what a historical figure might have said or done, the freedom to fill in the blanks with plausible scenarios, thoughts, and conversations.
Are the two young women at the heart of The Belgian Girls based on real life characters?
Gabrielle Petit was a real woman who spied on the Germans for British Intelligence during the First World War. Second World War-era Julienne is fictional.
How do you walk the line between historical fact and fiction in a novel?
I tried to provide each scene and character with a solid historical foundation but once inside the room (or the character’s head), I was free to let my imagination flow. It was great fun attempting to access what very well might have happened, what might have been said within a specific historical framework.
What is most challenging or exciting about researching women in the first half of the 20th century?
Their capabilities were largely underestimated by their male peers. It’s not easy to fulfill your potential when the men in your life don’t believe in you, so the non-domestic accomplishments of women during the two world wars is inspiring and really quite astonishing. Their governments obviously found it so, which is why a plethora of nations gave female citizens the right to vote immediately following the First World War.
What was the most surprising thing you learned working on this book?
I’d received compliments on the quality of my nonfiction, but I didn’t realize how natural fiction writing would feel. I didn’t do this on my own though; I greatly benefited from some excellent editorial suggestions. Every novelist needs beta readers and a good developmental editor!
Before Kathryn wrote six award-winning young adult books on women and war for the Chicago Review Press, her poetry and book reviews appeared in a wide variety of print and electronic journals, including Afterimage: A Journal of Arts and Cultural Criticism, PopMatters, and War, Literature, and the Arts. Her admiration for the European resisters of both world wars inspired her to write her first novel, The Belgian Girls.
Interested in learning more about Kathryn and her work? Check out her website at: https://kathrynjatwood.com/