THE IMMIGRANT IN THE LIBRARY
It is very difficult to be interesting or impressive while telling people things that they already know. I won't try to do that. Any one of you sitting in this audience could tell me a great deal more about the immigrant in the library than I can possibly tell you. What I am going to do is to ask you to have in mind what you know about the immigrant, to call up the figure of the immigrant in your libraries as you have seen him daily, and test by your knowledge what I have to say.
You know better than I do in what numbers the immigrants come to your libraries, how much of their time they spend there, what books they seek there. What I want to ask you is to share your knowledge of these things with as many people as possible; tell your neighbors every time you have a chance what the immigrant does in the library. Every little while we begin anew the discussion of the immigrant—to let him in, or not to let him in—and all sorts of arguments are presented on both sides. Representatives of various organizations—capitalistic, unionistic or what-not—hurry their advocates to Congress to speak for or against, on this side and on that side. I want to ask you to see to it that the knowledge that you have of the immigrant is also widely spread on such occasions. The caricaturist is always ready with his pencil to give us pictures of the immigrant in various amusing poses—more or less true, more or less false; the interesting author of the comic paragraph is always there; the artist of the vaudeville stage, and enthusiasts of one sort and another—enemies or friends of the immigrant—are ready to speak up whenever the question comes up. You have a fund of knowledge on the subject which is very special, very different. Bring it out on every occasion! When the gentlemen in Congress want to pass a law to hold up the immigrant at the gate because he cannot read fifty lines of our Constitution, say to them, "Hold! Wait and see what the immigrant's boys and girls will read when they are let loose in a public library." Remind them that the ability to read is not in itself a test of intellectuality. You know scores, hundreds of boys and girls of educated, cultured American families who do not take such an interest in your libraries as the boys and girls of these illiterate immigrants. You know what you know. Please tell it so loudly that every one may hear. Talk about the "five-foot shelf of classics"! Is it not true that the boys and girls of the immigrants swallow it whole and make no boast about it? Why, they are saturated with the classics the minute they get a chance. The mere ability to read—what does that amount to? You know what book the immigrant calls for. Every little while I read a short paragraph in the New York papers telling that the East Side branches of the public library have the greatest circulation of the classics. I would like to see those little paragraphs enlarged, printed big and spread where everybody can see them. We need to know these things.
Please let me speak today as an American, and not as an immigrant. I wish I could efface from your memory this once the knowledge of my origin. Don't make allowances for what I say because of what I was. I am not speaking as an immigrant making an appeal for the immigrants. I am speaking to you as an American. My credentials are these: I have been with you nearly twenty years. My father was an Americanized citizen before I got here and I married a native American. Please accept me as an American today. Let me speak as one of yourselves.
We are so ready to classify people by externals—by their habits, their customs, by the way they dress, by their gestures. Why, a better test of a man than the way in which he makes a living is the way in which he spends his leisure; and to that you can testify in the case of the immigrant. To gain our bread and butter we are forced to do this, that, and the other thing. But nobody drives us into the public library if the saloon is across the way. Speak up and tell to which door the immigrant turns in his leisure hours. People of dainty habits are disgusted with the personal habits of the poor foreigners. They have noticed a smell of herring and onions in the East Side of New York. The smell of onions, my friends, can be driven out, but a mean habit of mind is harder to eradicate. Many gentlemen who feast daintily on caviar content themselves with the sensational newspaper or the trashy novel. Are they superior to the hired laborers who feast on boiled potatoes and herring and onions and have a volume of the classics propped up before them while they eat? There are people who object to the uncouth manners of the alien. It would do us good to make a study of the natural history of the personal habits of the immigrants. There is a reason for the shrug of the shoulders, for the gestures that are so easily caricatured. They have a history, way back, that it would do us good to realize.
You workers in the libraries, you see the immigrant in hundreds, you see him off guard; for a man in his hours of relaxation is not posing; you see the alien as he is at least on one side of his nature. Let your neighbors know what you know about the immigrant. Whenever testimony is being taken on the subject, let your voice be as loud as any. Almost every day you will read in your favorite paper letters to the editor, about "the immigrant peril"; how the foreigners lower our standard of life, demoralize our habits, spoil the manners of our children in the public schools. Some of these things are true, to a certain extent. But you, under whose observation the immigrant comes, and the immigrant's children, ought to be ready with an explanation of many of these things, and you ought to be ready to suggest a remedy. You know what kind of homes these immigrant children come from, and that explains a great deal. You sit there and agree with me, I can see by your faces. You nod and you smile and you turn to one another, as much as to say, "That is so." Don't tell it to me! I know it!! Tell it to those who do not know it.
A few days ago I received a delegation of boys and girls from the nearest village high school. They represented the debating clubs of their school. They were preparing a debate on the subject of immigration, and who could help them except I? We talked very earnestly for about an hour at my fireside about this perennial question, and these young people took me at my word and were very much in earnest about what I had to say and in the way in which they received what I had to say. That is all right. As a subject for discussion in the high schools that question may be made immortal, but as a subject for national agitation it ought to be laid at rest. Why is it that certain questions have been settled once and for all and others are always being reopened? Those questions are settled finally which are considered in relation to their underlying principles. Let us not confine ourselves to the superficial aspect of the immigration question.
Every once in a while, when we come to moralize about these immigrants—there are too many of them, they come from the wrong quarters of the globe, and what not—let us ask ourselves, Is that the real thing that concerns us, or is there something at the bottom of this agitation that ought to receive attention first? Are we really afraid that the immigrant is going to take the bread from our mouths? If so, let us stop and think about it. It is the law of nature that the best man shall come out ahead. Are we going to stop the immigrant by temporarily locking the door, while we have possession of the key? It will not be for long. Right to the end it is going to be a struggle between the better and the worse, and the better will get ahead. We need not be afraid that the immigrants will take the bread from our mouths if we see to it that we are equally able or better able than they to earn our bread. It is said they are taking the earth from under our feet. Not if we are strong enough to stand and hold our ground. If they are getting the better of us, it is because they are better than we, or else, if that is not so, then they can not be getting the better of us, and we need not be afraid of them.
We will never settle this question until we are willing to consider it along fundamental lines. Did our forefathers, when they launched the declaration that all men were created free and equal, refer to the few hundreds or few thousands of people who were then in this country? Why, in that case, many of you are here only as guests! Was there any thought in their minds that of all the people in the world, those who happened to get in here before they set to work to compose the Declaration of Independence were the ones who were born free and equal, and with equal opportunities, and all the rest of mankind with limitations? You heartily approve the sentiments expressed in our Constitution and our Declaration of Independence. How then can you limit the application of their principles? When did the day dawn when it was time to shut the gate? When did the hour arrive when we could say that all those of free and equal origin were already here and the rest could stay outside? I don't know at what moment immigrants begin to be immigrants and not pilgrims and voyagers for spiritual freedom.
People were surprised at a phrase I used not long ago, and quoted it right and left, as if I had made a great discovery, when I said that every ship that brings over the immigrants is another Mayflower. Why, I can not think of it in any other terms. Ships are now made to run with steam instead of with sails, and our forefathers did not come in the steerage because the Mayflower wasn't built that way.
You see I am not sticking to my text—a proof of an inexperienced speaker. But I am not a speaker. I am a witness on the witness stand. I have been called from the ranks to testify. Now each of you is in the same position. It would have been an impertinence on my part to get up before a body of scholars without a finished address, if I had any idea that I was going to make an intellectual contribution. I simply answer to my name as a witness, and each of you can do no less: testify to what you know. Now remember I am not asking this for the sake of the immigrant. If this were the proper time and place I would tell you just how, in what order, my interest in the immigrant on the one hand and in America on the other developed. With me it was America first, and it still is so. I was not conscious of the immigrant as a special class of our citizenship until I became conscious of certain American problems. It is with me the immigrant for the sake of America, not America for the sake of the immigrant, and I beg you to believe me. And why do I insist that all the truth you know about the immigrant shall be brought out? I am not speaking—I can not repeat it emphatically enough—because I am an immigrant, not even because I represent that specially large group of immigrants, the Jews. If America should go back on its ancient traditions and close its hospitable doors, the Jews would suffer bitterly. But what is one more disappointment in the history of the Jews? They have known how to lift up their hearts and thank God for disappointments before. They would simply adopt another dream. It is not for them that I speak. Nor is it because I am a great lover of justice. I want to see that justice is done to the stranger, to be sure; let us know all sides of the immigrant that no injustice may be done. But the thing that makes me speak to you more than any other is my love for America, for the ideals that I was taught to cherish in the public school. I took everything in my school books literally; when I read that this is the land of freedom; that the door is open to all worthy men and women, and that all shall have an equal opportunity. I want to hold you to that, to a literal interpretation of those terms.
I went back to Russia two years ago, to Polotzk on the Dvina, the city in the Pale where I was born, and again I felt as I felt in the beginning, when I first came here, after seeing how those people over there regard us. They still take us at our word. When we turn them away at the gate, for this and that petty excuse at the bottom of which is some selfish motive that we do not dare to acknowledge, they are bitterly disappointed. And yet they are not the worst sufferers. It is we who suffer, we as Americans, for in turning them away we abandon our ideals, and lose the consciousness that we are still conserving the ideals of our forefathers. It always seems to me that in our attitude towards the immigrant, more than in any other branch of our national policy, we make manifest our true ideals. In our formal dealings with foreign governments we may make blunders, we may betray weaknesses, but on the whole these matters remain a secret with the foreign ambassador. The people at large do not follow very closely these dignified negotiations about treaties and tariff and what-not; but as we meet these individual men and women at the gate, here we give ourselves away. There, at the gate of entrance, we, the people of America, deal directly with the people of the world. The immigrant with his million eyes is looking at us, and he will tell whether or not we still believe in the things for which we honor our forefathers on all our patriotic anniversaries.
There was a young Jewish girl working in my household as a cook, who had been through very unhappy experiences in this country, experiences which, unfortunately, have been multiplied in the lives of many other girls who come here unprotected. She told me her story once, and I saw that what hurt her more than her own misfortunes, more than the agony she had been through, more than the disgrace she had suffered, was her disappointment in America. She found that in America, in this instance that she knew of in her own life, a man may do a gross wrong and there is no way to get hold of him and punish him. She had times of discouragement when she would talk to me and complain of that thing. Oh, it shook me to find that in the mind of this ignorant, illiterate child of seventeen, we, the American people, had lost something of our prestige. I talked to her—perhaps the need inspired me—and explained to her that our laws, like the laws of civilization at large, are not yet perfect; that law and civilization are things of gradual growth; and showed her that although we are still to blame for many things that here exist, we have done far better than other people in some respects. I made it my business to try to prove to this ignorant Russian girl, my cook, who waited on me every day, that America was still America, despite some mistakes and some failings, and that, on the whole, we have gone further in the quest of justice than other nations. It mattered to me that this one girl should think we were still Americans, and surely it matters to you just as much.
Do not let these millions that come to our gates get the wrong impression of us. Do not let people with selfish interests to serve, who send representatives to Congress, speak louder than you do when this question comes to be discussed. Let the truth out every time. For the sake of our country I am asking it, not for the sake of the unfortunate foreigners. We owe them something, as a people of charitable heart, to be sure, but we owe more to ourselves and to our traditions.
This same girl of whom I speak also afforded an illustration of some of the nobler traits of many of our immigrants that you are aware of, and that you ought to testify to. I mean the reverence for learning that is found among the ignorant, the illiterate, of many of our immigrants. This girl who could not read or write a word in any language until she came to me (when gradually, by means of the cook-book, she made some progress), had a genuine reverence for learning, which is in itself half of the material for making a scholar. I kept her pretty busy in my household, as I usually do keep our maids, and sometimes, when there would be a rush of more work than I could do, I would put her to extra trouble, to bring my luncheon upstairs, perhaps, when I could not stop for meals. "Oh, Miss Antin," she used to say, "it is wonderful that I can wait on somebody who can write books!" A respect for letters such as this is not one of our prominent characteristics as Americans. I ought to have the courage of our foreign visitor, who told the truth about his people. I can do no less. We can not boast of too much reverence for learning. Is it not a great asset these foreigners bring with them, this reverence for learning? The man behind the pushcart can't read fifty lines of the Constitution, but his heart bows in reverence before the man who can, and that is worth more than the ability to read the Constitution and forget it.
There are so many ways of classifying the immigrants—as laborers, as a peril, as a help, according to one's point of view. But I always think of them as a cloud of witnesses in the tribunal of the nations. They go back and forth, in person or through letters; their experience is reported all over the world, and they tell the truth about us. The immigrant is the only visitor, you know, who comes to stay and finds us out. The tourists, the critics, the honorable guests of various honorable institutions, who are taken around in carriages and shown our best front, what do they know about us? The letters home that go out from the East Side, shiploads of letters, some of them written at dictation, sent by persons who cannot write themselves—(I used to write letters for my cook; I have never forgotten some of them)—those are the documents that go all over the world. They are forming their opinion of us in the far corners of the earth. What shall they say of us?
If you see that justice is done in the case of the immigrant, they will have no evil to say of us. Our traditions of liberty, of hospitality to the oppressed, will be realized in the eyes of the world.
Now it does not matter that the immigrants today may not be running away from religious oppression, or may not be victims of political martyrdom. Martyrdom of the worst kind is martyrdom of the spirit, and immigrants who have suffered such martyrdom are still coming to us by the shipload. It is accurate to say, in a certain way, that the immigrants in the beginning came in search of liberty, and today they come in search of bread. That may all be, but with most of our present-day immigrants, if you give them bread and nothing else, they are not satisfied. You know it. And I know what the people said in Polotzk only two years ago. If any of you thought, from reading my story, that I had put down the reminiscences of my early childhood, with the haze of the past over all, that I had idealized everything in my enthusiasm, I can assure you that while my story was in manuscript I went back to Polotzk, to find out if I had told the truth, and I found that I had. I found there my old rabbi, my teacher who taught me my Hebrew letters. I talked with various of the old scholars, who were very old when I got back after seventeen years' absence—these old men who spend their time over the Talmud in the corridors of the synagogues—and I found among them just that attitude toward America which I remembered to have existed when I came away nearly twenty years ago. They look on us today as on the upholders of justice and true liberty. They still believe in us.
Do not let them lose that faith! It is more to us than it is to them that they shall be satisfied in their high longings. That is all I ask of you. You know the immigrant as he is in the library; you have a view of him that most people have not. You send your little paragraphs to the New York papers. They are not printed big enough. Nobody sees them. Speak up and tell what you know about the immigrant, that justice may be done, that we may remain sound-headed and true-hearted in our national life, true to our traditions; and the immigrant will hear with a million ears and see with a million eyes and run with a million feet to the far corners of the earth, to cry that America is still America.
The FIRST VICE-PRESIDENT: I shall ask you to rise as an expression of thanks and appreciation of Miss Antin's address. (The audience remained standing for a moment.)
The next speaker will discuss the subject of immigrants as contributors to library progress. It gives me very great pleasure to introduce to you Mrs. ADELAIDE B. MALTBY, who is in charge of the Tompkins Square branch, on the lower East Side, of the New York public library.