My name is Joyce Chan, and I’m a Biology major hoping to pursue a career in animal research. I was born and currently reside in Flushing, Queens. My mother is Taiwanese, and my father is Cantonese, originally from Hong Kong. My hobbies include playing the piano, practicing guitar (although I am still an awful beginner), insect collecting, bird-watching, reading at the library (right now I’m reading Thoreau’s works), and keeping to myself. I’m kidding (sometimes) about the last part, and hope that this semester will be a good one.

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Living in the Concrete Jungle

Looking back at our visit to the tenement museum, I find that there were actually many things that made an impression on me, though I didn’t feel or realize it at the time. Although I think this may be because the things in anime, TV, and dramas desensitize us to tragedy, I actually have to place myself in the position of the Levines to feel overwhelmed by the sensations of hope, despair, and uncertainty emanating from the rooms of the tenements.

The first thing I noticed was how low and cramped the rooms were. I know that everyone noticed it, and that it’s very obvious because it’s a tenement. But at the time, the feeling of security that one has when owning something physical, although tentative and not theirs for eternity, is a very comforting feeling. The Levines could have been worse off: they have shelter, a tight-knit community, financial security, and the prospect of a better life to live off of. This is already a lot to be grateful for; thank goodness they’re not working in life-threatening conditions, or under supervision by the stern and grisly foremen (or forewomen) in Sinclair’s The Jungle. Although, they probably have to thank those who preceded them, the earlier immigrants who did face these circumstances with little or no cultural community to comfort, assist, or advise them. These earlier immigrants were the ones who built their communities from the ground up, often expiring to give those they love, and even those they will never meet, a helping hand in life. (Even when they are long gone, forgotten, and remain only an entry in the books of the U.S. Census, these entries are, nonetheless, building blocks that form the history of us…)

However, things can always be better. What was the head Levine thinking, gazing out that same window day after day, during the brief periods when he was not putting together dresses? How often did he exercise his body or his mind, and did he develop arthritis or ruin his eyes after years of straining himself? Most importantly of all, how DID he manage to work in the same room with young children? (I would like to learn his parenting techniques, because getting kids to sit down long enough to actually accomplish work is a blessing anyone would be thankful for!)

To a more serious note: the story of the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire. The newspaper that was circulated around the Jewish community reminded me of the Chinese community back in my hometown of Flushing. I would always hear stories and news from my mom, or 世界新聞網 (The World Journal newspaper) about news that affected or received a reaction from the community of Flushing. In the same way that the Jewish community was outraged at the deaths of some of their members in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, the Chinese community in Flushing would be outraged if a member of their own community was treated unfairly, robbed, or assaulted. (There was this one time when a Chinese man was assaulted, and nothing was done to help him. However, the next time he was robbed, the community members who knew about the previous robbery all rose up, protected the man, surrounded the assaulter, and turned him in to the authorities.) I can readily picture what the reaction of the immigrant community must have been at that time towards the Triangle Shirtwaist fire. Although I know that some of them never found peace with this tragedy, I find consolation with the fact that the quality of life and the opportunities available today, even for newly-arrived immigrants, have made great improvements from the conditions so many years ago.

IMMIGRATION STORY

FLUSHING NEIGHBORHOOD