I almost cried the day we got our first “ciao” on the street in our neighborhood. And then, ten minutes later, we got a second. Sure, they were from the Bengali guy from our corner market and the neighborhood pervy old man, but we finally felt like we belonged. Someone was actually happy to see us.
It’s really interesting to me that the most friendly people to us right away were the other outsiders. The Bengali guys at the market and at the laundry, the awesome Chinese family at the coffee bar – these were the first people who treated us like people here. I have to think that as hard as it’s been for us to assimilate with the local Italians, it must have been ten times more difficult for these other immigrants. At least Jose and I could pass for Italians (with our mouths closed, of course). The Chinese, Bengali and African immigrants will always stand out right away as “foreigners” no matter how good their Italian is.
There definitely seems to be some kind of segregation going on within this community. When you look around our neighborhood, you see Italian shops filled with Italians. And then there are “foreigner” shops filled with “foreigners”. One of the few integrated shops is the gelato shop… where at least you see the occasional Bengali or Chinese family stopping in for an ice cream.
Perhaps this can be attributed to differences in cultures. There definitely seems to be differences in the food and dress of the different cultures. The Bengali ladies in saris are definitely not going to need to shop at the Italian clothing boutiques – and vice versa. Also, Italians don’t seem to have much interest in non-Italian cuisine. At the grocery store, there are very few foreign foods. Around town, it’s very difficult to find restaurants serving any food except Italian food.
Tradition also seems to be highly valued in Italian culture. How could it not be when you are surrounded by remnants of your own ancient civilization? The neighborhood we live in was actually physically built by the working class people who moved here in the 1920s… Maybe there is a sense of ownership that comes along with knowing that your grandpa built your neighborhood. You grow up shopping where your mom shopped and things just stay the same, even as your neighborhood is changing around you.
Maybe religion plays a part, too. Catholicism was actually the official religion of Italy until fairly recently. Every tax payer has to decide whether he wants a percentage of his taxes to go to his religion of choice or to the state. If religion, particularly Catholicism, is such an institutionalized part of society – it seems like it could be difficult for people of other religions to fit in here. My Italian hairdresser shocked me with animated feelings about Muslims praying “right there on the street” – and claimed that “Italy is a Catholic country” and essentially that he objected to having to witness people practicing other religions “in front of him”.
And, maybe the Italian locals are a little shell-shocked by the constant barrage of tourists and influx of immigrants. Our landlords are super nice, seemingly liberal people (based on the books on their bookshelves). But we were a little taken aback by this quote from the little guidebook they put together for their house guests describing the neighborhood:
“From some years on a Bengali community is present with Call Centers and shops that remain opened until night (10 p.m. approximately). Now a Chinese community is putting its roots. Not so loved because of its commercial expansionism.”
Like every other country and culture in the world, Italians put a high value on their own way of life. If I were them, I’d be a little more threatened by the Auchan market down the street than I would by the Bengali vegetable stand on the corner. I understand that shop-keeping Italians have achieved a work-life balance that they are very happy with… and that maybe go-getter immigrants could threaten this… but a store like Auchan, that’s open on Sunday, that has predictable merchandise, that abides by posted hours, and has very competitive prices – that would keep me up at night.
Perhaps the whole unification of Italy thing is also an issue. 150 years ago, Italy didn’t have a single, national identity. It was a bunch of different states with really distinct traditions, dialects, cuisine and identities. Even with the sesquicentennial celebration of Italy’s Unification this week, campanilismo, or local patriotism, is still a very powerful force in Italian culture.
I know these are all issues that face my country of origin as well… and probably every other country with an immigrant population. As I told my hairdresser, maybe the difference is the whole melting pot thing… that assimilation is actually a two way street… and that no culture is immune to the influences of other cultures, no matter how good your cheese is. I don’t think we have mastered this in the US yet, but it is something the majority of Americans aspire to. Maybe it’s a little easier to come by when you know that pretty much everyone (except Native Americans) are immigrants. I’m not sure that blending together cultures is a shared value at all here in Italy. It would take a long time, and a much better understanding of the language and culture, for me to reach any definite conclusions on Italy and immigration.
Having an “immigrant experience” here in Italy has taught me so much. I’ve always been so impressed with the immigrant spirit. Now that I’ve experienced a tiny hint of that first hand, I’m more awed than ever. I see it in the Bengali and Chinese communities here in Italy, in my in-laws who came to New York from Equador, and looking back to my great-grandparents who came from a tiny, poor town in Italy to great opportunity through hard work in California.
We’re virtually on vacation here. We don’t really have to fit in. We don’t need to work or get an education. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have to overcome so many obstacles… all knowing that your home is here now and there’s no turning back no matter how unwelcome you may be.
I can’t tell you the overwhelming gratitude I’ve felt for the people who have had patience with me as I learned the ways and language here. The simple kindness of someone showing you something and telling you the word for it – it’s so amazing to be the recipient of that gift. It is a really loving thing to help someone fit in – to actually teach someone how to live in your world. And, I think it’s a gift that rewards the giver as well.
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