18. The Little One looked up into his mother's face in perfect faith.
Sui Sin Far, "In the Land of the Free" (1890)
Last week: O Pioneers, by Willa Cather (1913)
This week: Sui Sin Far, “In the Land of the Free” (1890)
Next Week: Ursula Le Guin, The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas (1973)
When reading this week’s story for the first time, an electric shock of recognition ran through me. It was as if I’d heard this story recently, read it in today’s feed: A family separated from their child at the border by US Customs officers. Months of paperwork that seem to lead no where. Family heirlooms sold to pay for an unscrupulous — but effective — lawyer. The theme of the story — the human cost of bureaucracy — the red tape that binds the lives of immigrants — is still so relevant today.
Edith Maud Eaton (1865-1914) published as Sui Sin Far, first in the Montreal Star, where this piece appeared, and later in periodicals in the United States. Born in England to an English father and Chinese mother, Edith Eaton immigrated to Canada and then to San Francisco. Her ethnicity was assumed to be white, and her father’s background smoothed the way for their immigration to the United States. At that time, in Canada there was a Chinese Head Tax to curtail immigration and the Chinese Exclusion Act was in place in the United States. Through various acts and subsequent exclusions, the limitations on Chinese immigration was in place for the entirety of Eaton’s lifetime.
She wrote extensively about her experiences as a Eurasian in the United States, and believed that by sharing her experiences from a position of privilege, she could lessen prejudice against Chinese people more generally, a project that ran through her writing for her entire career.
The short story makes a tight loop, from the immigrant’s hopeful arrival to disillusionment in four pages. As the Eastern Star enters San Francisco Bay, the mother shows the baby their new home:
Such a beautiful moment, looking out over the landscape of a new home, a new country, a broad and fortunate future. The sweetness of the knee-high baby boy and his “perfect faith” in his mother, Lae Choo, gets me every time.
The father Hom Hing lets the news slip that this is the baby’s first visit to America, in answer to the Custom’s agent seemingly innocuous question, ‘Where was he born?” — “In China” — “Ever been to America before?” — “No, not he,” answered the father with a happy laugh.
The customs officers begin to gather, stroking their chins. We know that this is not good, as does Hom Hing, who recognizes his mistake and tries to leave. Of course, he cannot. The boy doesn’t have papers, and so forth. Even the custom’s agent is sympathetic:
There is not proof that this is his son, and there are no papers proving it. Hom Hing protests, tells their whole backstory and tries to negotiate. But in the end, they are required to leave their baby with these men. Lae Choo resists, grabbing the baby from her husband. He turns and speaks to her in Chinese, telling her that it must be done. A betrayal, of the official over the personal.
“You, too.” Ouch.
The parting that follows: I couldn’t do it — I wouldn’t know how. She tries to make the most of her hope, waking the next day with happiness that they will fetch their son, and the day after “breaks” and Hom Hing comes home empty handed. This continues for months.
“Thus was the law of the land complied with.”
The language of the narrator has left us entirely in the hands of the government. As readers we do not know whether or not to hope. As readers, we are as lost as Lae Choo.
In this new situation, the bureaucracy intervenes between these three hearts. First, this betrayal of a wife’s belief in her husband, then as the days and then months pass, she begins to fade away. Afraid for his wife’s life, Hom Hing agrees to a lawyer’s solicitation. Then another betrayal, this white lawyer will help but only for an exorbitant fee, $500 in 1890s money is about $16,000 now. he says he doesn’t have it, and the exasperated wife comes in with everything she has — every piece of jewelry or inheritance worth cash. The lawyer takes what they have — surely not yet worth so much — and buys a ticket to Washington to plea on their behalf.
With the paperwork finally done, the last heartbreak comes: the boy doesn’t recognize them, so much time has passed.
I have to run enjoy my own sweet kiddo’s birthday. I feel so blessed to have immigrated without fear. I’ll leave you with this image that I saw at World Press Photo in Amsterdam last week:
