Memories of an Immigrant Child by Eliana Maxim

Shortly after arriving in this country, someone – probably my parents – gave me my first doll. She was Chatty Cathy, a large size hard plastic doll with a pull string in the back of her neck, blond wavy hair, unreal blue eyes and a fixed smile.

My greatest joy was that Cathy spoke to me personally. In my language.

When I pulled her string, I became convinced that among her many utterances, she stated in a clear loud voice, “Que rico Colombia!” (loosely translated to “How wonderful is Colombia!) I look back now and realize the complete nonsense of my belief. There was no way Mattel was going to personalize Chatty Cathys for homesick immigrant girls.

I know I ran around pulling that string like crazy, demonstrating to anyone who would listen the brilliance of my doll; she was able to know where I came from and how wonderful it had been there.

My parents humored me and nodded with what I assumed was our shared melancholy for home but now that I think about it, it was probably sadness for a little girl who could not let go.

There were well meaning folks, our new American neighbors, whose greatest desire was to educate me and were quick to point out that Chatty Cathy was American and therefore only spoke English, that she could only repeat 11 English phrases, that I needed to listen carefully and this would help me learn English.

And so I did.

Eventually.

I pulled the string over and over, listening closely to Cathy’s message to me and it suddenly dawned on me that no matter how many times I pulled the string, she was no longer saying “Que rico Colombia”.

It was pointed out to me that she said “I love you”, “Take me with you”, “Can I have a cookie” and other well-intentioned phrases, but she no longer said what I needed to hear. I remember hot tears of frustration mixed with sadness when the truth hit me. No one was reminding me of the special place I came from. No doll would smile at me and speak words I understood. I’d been fooled.

I remember one evening undressing Cathy and without my parent’s knowledge, took her in the bath with me. A strictly forbidden activity because of her talking mechanism. I’m not sure what I was thinking or if it was intentional. But that was the night I silenced Cathy.

For a few days afterwards she gurgled a bit when her string was pulled, but eventually she just smiled silently at me. A little mockingly, I believe.

Chatty Cathy was relegated to a shelf in my room. At one point I took her down and with a marker scribbled something on her forehead and put her back on the shelf to languish.

I share this story from my childhood because it reminds me how we, as church, can do better in engaging with immigrant communities.

When I say something sounds a certain way, believe me.

Not everything translates seamlessly and those of us who are obligated to live in a bicultural (and bifurcated) world, many times will take the helpful from a variety of sources and meld it together in order to make sense for our context. For example, Robert’s Rules may make all the sense in the world for the dominant culture running a denominational meeting, but to an immigrants’ ears, elements of it may be dissonant, confusing, and even unfair.

Another example is the immigrant pastor who was frustrated at being misunderstood at his repeated offers to worship together with the Anglo partner congregation. His invitations to co-lead worship were interpreted as his congregants would provide the music for the service. Every time. He protested that this was not sharing in worship. The other congregation’s pastor didn’t see it. The immigrant pastor’s assertions were not believed or valued. He stopped offering to share in worship.

Listen. And believe. Although it may not be what you are experiencing or living, it is the truth of the immigrant. Which leads me to…

Devaluing my story can lead to complete disengagement.

Not being listened to, not connecting on a mutual level can lead to disillusionment and disappointment. If you will not take the time to listen to the unique narrative of the particular immigrant, you are not speaking directly to them. You have generalized or even worse, marginalized them. Why then would an immigrant community then wish to engage with a mainline denomination that has not taken the time or made the effort to hear their particular story?

The stories of our Rwandan refugee community are vastly different from the stories of our Kenyan congregation. Rather than crafting an “African Worshiping Community” strategy, our presbytery has had to find ways to approach each community individually, listen deeply and take our lead from them. The stories of our Rwandan members is vastly different from those of the Kenyan or Burundi or Ethiopian. We honor imago dei when we value the individual stories.

Valuing a story helps you realize the necessity of the other’s story in making your story whole. I am incomplete without the other. And this should be so not only in our worshiping and fellowshipping, but also when we organize as church leadership in decision-making groups. Language accessibility is crucial. Personal invitations a necessity.

Communities of faith should not exacerbate the sense of displacement and dislocation experienced by immigrants making their home in a new country. Rather, can we be the ones who speak familiar words of welcome, listen to understand, and partner justly to serve?

 

Eliana Maxim is an ordained PC(USA) minister and currently serves the Presbytery of Seattle as Associate Executive Presbyter. Her portfolio includes working with new worshiping communities and immigrant fellowships, as well as congregational revitalization. Eliana was born in Barranquilla, Colombia.