Doing fieldwork on a community requires a specific and inclusive approach in investigating and reporting – one that doesn’t assume that one description can encompass an entire cultural area. By zeroing in on the interlocking lives of the residents of a single building complex, Suketu Mehta depicts the all-encompassing experience of living within a microcosm of a community without generalizing or patronizing its people. “The Meltingest Pot” begins with a description of the Calloway Chateau building, its street location and the process of getting there: “You put your bags down here, a half-hour’s drive on the Grand Central Parkway from J.F.K., and pause to gather breath for the journey into the hinterland” (1). Right off the bat, it tells the reader what the article is going to focus on, and puts them into the perspective of the actual residents. Mehta meticulously lists off the ethnic demographics, size, and features of the Calloway Chateau; all of which are substantiated by input by the population division of the City Planning Office and several tenants.
At one point, Mehta remarks that although the building’s exterior is unimpressive, the entryway “lends itself to collegiality,” noting “On warm evenings, Russian grandmothers stake their claim with folding chairs and tables and settle down for their nightly card games. Little girls slip rope behind them; boys ride around on their bikes…” (2). The entire building isn’t represented as one plane of existence for the Corona area. Instead, a single driveway-turned-communal area within the building is represented as one of the many spaces of shared experiences and recreation for multiple demographics. Different people come in at different times for different purposes. This space is merely a piece that is a facet of Corona. Overall, it appears that observing the lives of multiple perspectives (rather than one amalgamated perspective) and including information provided by residents and city officials are necessary for creating an authentic yet accurately-sourced field study.
In contrast, Adam Ellick’s report on Jackson Heights is an instance of a failed interaction with a community. At the beginning of “In Queens: A Melting Pot, and a Closed Book”, he gives up on trying to enter a Korean bar and instead ruminates on what could possibly be behind the door: “Was it a brothel? A private club? Somebody’s apartment? A chic gathering place of lissome Korean models who drink soju and read Dostoevsky?” (1). Ignoring the bizarre exotification of that description, I, as a reader, was confused by Ellick’s struggle. If he cared so much about fieldwork that he moved to Jackson Heights to “discover these discreet ethnic underworlds”, why was too nervous to even enter a bar right next to his house? It turns out that he has always drawn away from interacting with his neighbors, dismissing it as due to them ostracizing him for being a white American. I don’t believe Ellick’s comments about immigrants rarely jogging and finding the sight of a white man taking photographs appalling. He also claims that the Latinos in Roosevelt Avenue were afraid to talk to him because “almost all apparently were in the country illegally” (2). He doesn’t seem to actually interact with or get information out of these people, so to me it seems as if he’s using a racist assumption to excuse his own failure. Ultimately, the biggest vice to this report is the lack of input from other voices. Since it seems that the writer is isolating himself from the community, everything is told through his own assumptions and self-aggrandizing (he spends a good chunk of the paper discussing his identity as an American “expatriate” and makes sure to let the reader know that he signed a lease with Manhattan at the end).
I was born and raised in Brighton Beach, one of the most immigrant-populated areas in Southern Brooklyn. I lived among a primarily Latino and Muslim neighborhood surrounded by scattered Russian enclaves, in a popular tourist area that attracts people from multiple boroughs. By default, I had to navigate different “windows” as a way of living. I grew up alongside the corner-store pizzerias and bodegas, and found communal spaces around the beach and in the local public library. There’s always going to be a sense of otherization – the first exchanges would often be something to the effect of “Where’re you from?” – but it is done in a sense of well-meaning camaraderie and curiosity. In fact, the only times I was actively “blocked out” for my perceived differences was from the Chinese-American community, rather than from other ethnic groups. As an Americanized Chinese person who grew up being around non-Chinese people and speaking English, I find communicating in Chinese spaces more difficult than anything else; mainly due to a language barrier, but also partially due to the internalized struggle within the culture of being “too Chinese or too foreign (which in this case means ‘white American’)”. For the most part, I am considered an immigrant living among other immigrants, so I found Ellick’s report to be more bizarre than anything else. I suppose that the big lessons we can take from Ellick’s story is to be aware of our own differences without being racist about it, and to keep trying to enter bars in case the door happens to be open.
