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Migrants and Refugees
Simonthepilgrim
Veteran
Dear friends,
If we were to take a poll of our membership, my guess is that we would find that a majority of us come from immigrant or refugee families, not more than two generations back.
My own grandparents came as part of the mid-19th century Jewish migration from Germany. I have yet to uncover the story but have had to make some guesses based on the little that I have managed to learn.
Thew immigrant experience does not change that much from century to century as I have realised listening to this week's Book of the Week on BBC Radio 4, The Making of Mr Hai's Daughter by Yasmin Hai. It is the story of an Indian/Pakistani settling in the UK in the 1950s and how he 'Anglicised' himself and his family.
The drive to integrate is strong, among the first generation. Their home culture is retained privately and a semi-caricatural public persona is created, more English than the English. Separated by 100 years, the actions of both the Hai family and my own are very similar, although the Jewish attempts were made easier by closer physical similarities to native Britons.
The process, across the years, was this: my grandparents appear to have become British citizens as soon as possible; they sent their son to an old English school (where one of his contemporaries was J. R. R. Tolkien). Their experiences during the First World War, when my grandfather had stones thrown at him for being a 'Hun', was interned but freed on a bond from his fellow merchants (English), were repeated throughout the immigrant community - as they may be again among the 'Asian' populations. Their son, my father, was serving in the British army and, in imitation of the Royal Family, changed the family name to a more 'English' form in 1918. He even converted to Christianity.
By the time I was born, we were 'integrated' so far that my brother and I could be sent to a French school!
Corresponding with Tibetan friends who have found refuge in Canada, I am hearing of similar efforts by them. They do not abandon their private practice, nor do they pretend to be other than Tibetan whilst, at the same time, studying to be as 'Canadian' as possible and to bring up their children as good Canadians, with a sense of gratitude towards the host nation.
Where I find a problem is among the children of some immigrants, born here but with a sense of rootlessness. Gone is the sense of obligation towards the nation and, I believe, it arises from the fact that native Brits no longer know who they are themselves so that there is nothing to be admired or followed. The result is a turning back towards the culture of origin which, in the interim since their parents came over, has become 'radicalised' or acquired the glamour of distance.
Just a few thoughts from a grandchild of immigrants who retains a sense of obligation to the place ofd safety that they found.
If we were to take a poll of our membership, my guess is that we would find that a majority of us come from immigrant or refugee families, not more than two generations back.
My own grandparents came as part of the mid-19th century Jewish migration from Germany. I have yet to uncover the story but have had to make some guesses based on the little that I have managed to learn.
Thew immigrant experience does not change that much from century to century as I have realised listening to this week's Book of the Week on BBC Radio 4, The Making of Mr Hai's Daughter by Yasmin Hai. It is the story of an Indian/Pakistani settling in the UK in the 1950s and how he 'Anglicised' himself and his family.
The drive to integrate is strong, among the first generation. Their home culture is retained privately and a semi-caricatural public persona is created, more English than the English. Separated by 100 years, the actions of both the Hai family and my own are very similar, although the Jewish attempts were made easier by closer physical similarities to native Britons.
The process, across the years, was this: my grandparents appear to have become British citizens as soon as possible; they sent their son to an old English school (where one of his contemporaries was J. R. R. Tolkien). Their experiences during the First World War, when my grandfather had stones thrown at him for being a 'Hun', was interned but freed on a bond from his fellow merchants (English), were repeated throughout the immigrant community - as they may be again among the 'Asian' populations. Their son, my father, was serving in the British army and, in imitation of the Royal Family, changed the family name to a more 'English' form in 1918. He even converted to Christianity.
By the time I was born, we were 'integrated' so far that my brother and I could be sent to a French school!
Corresponding with Tibetan friends who have found refuge in Canada, I am hearing of similar efforts by them. They do not abandon their private practice, nor do they pretend to be other than Tibetan whilst, at the same time, studying to be as 'Canadian' as possible and to bring up their children as good Canadians, with a sense of gratitude towards the host nation.
Where I find a problem is among the children of some immigrants, born here but with a sense of rootlessness. Gone is the sense of obligation towards the nation and, I believe, it arises from the fact that native Brits no longer know who they are themselves so that there is nothing to be admired or followed. The result is a turning back towards the culture of origin which, in the interim since their parents came over, has become 'radicalised' or acquired the glamour of distance.
Just a few thoughts from a grandchild of immigrants who retains a sense of obligation to the place ofd safety that they found.
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Comments
Palzang
So, yes, I know about becoming more native than the natives - one has to to survive.
And I know about the coping strategies one adopts to NOT stand out in a crowd - even though the old Feller is English and obviously we speak English to each other in the house, when we are out and about we speak to each other in French. Why? Because this doesn't make locals feel uncomfortable - they can understand what we are saying and we seem more "normal" and less threatening. They may wonder why we are doing it but it puts them at ease.
I've been in restaurants with friends on a visit here where we have been speaking English to them and I have also simultaneously listening to "Bloody English, coming over here, buying our houses for holiday homes" conversations going on around us, because people assume if you are speaking a foreign language, you are incapable of speaking the local language.
I know about putting up with behaviour that wouldn't be tolerable in my old country because this is THEIR culture and their tradition and if I choose to live here, then I take the good and the bad and live as they do.
Admittedly things are easier over here in the East where the English invasion isn't so noticeable - back in Brittany things were getting very racist with English cars being vandalised, (real) estate agents who sold to the British having their windows smashed and demonstrations on the streets about the rising house prices.
Here we are an oddity but a sort of eccentric, loveable oddity. No matter how we try to fit in, we are different - but the upside is that everyone knows us and says hello - because we are "the funny English couple with the dogs", and that is a sort of acceptance I can live with. People I only know by sight always greet me in the market because they know who I am, even if I don't know their name. That's good.
I know that in Brittany where there were loads of British ex-pats, there was a temptation for the newcomers to make no effort to integrate at all, hang out with the other Brits and not learn the language, and then wonder why it alienated the natives.
What really made me howl with laughter was when they then explained to me that they had left the UK because it was full of foreigners who didn't speak English and couldn't see that they were doing exactly the same thing in France themselves.
If one moves to a place where there are very few of one's old compatriots, the impetus is there to integrate. Sure, one holds onto one's old culture and customs at home but suffers a bit of duality as a consequence.