(My
Perspective: An elderly Polish woman, living in New York in the 1990s, is writing
to a childhood friend asking her how she is doing and commenting on a certain book
that she has read in her spare time.)
My
dearest Deborah,
How
are you? I feel like we have not spoken for a while, so I decided to write you
this note. Hopefully you, David, and all of your little grandchildren are happy
and healthy!
I
am doing fine here in the city. This week I have found myself spending much of
my time reading in Central Park and walking through the streets, simply
reminiscing about my life and the good fortune that has come with it. Yosi
visits me often as I cannot do all of the chores and cleaning, especially at
this ripe age, which my apartment requires. Jonny (the doorman) still remembers
you from your last visit and says hello.
Listening
to the birds and watching all the people go by provides a prime setting for
reading on the many park benches near 72nd Street. After visiting
the library a few days ago, I picked up a brilliantly written book, Whiteness of a Different Color: European
Immigrants and the Alchemy of Race, by a fellow named Matthew Jacobson. The
book reminded me about how lucky both you and I were with being able to come to
America. A particular quote caught my eye while reading, so I would like to
share it with you: “Europeanness—that is to say, whiteness—was among the most
important possessions one could lay claim to. It was their whiteness, not any
kind of New World magnanimity, that opened the Golden Door.” I remember us
being on the same boat to Ellis Island as young teenagers in 1924, and how
conveniently we were able to enter New York, I guess since we were white, without
speaking a lick of English!
The
thoughts expressed in the book revolving around immigrant identity in America
have kept me thinking throughout the day. If you or I were not white,
immigrating to America would probably have been unfathomable. I remember a
specific moment in the ‘20s where my father was promoted to a higher position
at the tax firm over a brilliant, young African American fellow named Ron. My
father had only worked in America for a year and barely got by with the English
language, but is it possible that he was promoted because he was a white male?
A
few years ago I remember perusing through a Time
magazine article by Toni Morrison (I believe she is a winner of the Nobel
Prize). Morrison expressed that she thought African Americans were the true
aliens of America, even though, of course, you and I know that as immigrants,
we were probably the aliens of America. She also mentions the “bonus of
whiteness,” and I totally agree with her. Unfortunately, I do not think I would
have had such a wonderful, fortunate life if I was not as pale as an egg.
Enough
of this talk! I’m sorry I brought it up, but it has been on my mind for a while
now. Once again, I hope you and your family are doing well. You are always
welcome to call me at any time of the day.
Love
always,
Ruth
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