Sara Przybylski
Stevens Point, WI
People think this is a great place to live, work, and raise kids… and it is. Just under the surface, though, there’s a little more going on. I grew up here. I saw my first African American person at the grocery store at the age of four-ish and loudly complimented his “really good tan,” much to my poor mother’s embarrassment. There wasn’t much in the way of cultural diversity (save a family here or there) until the late 80s, when Hmong refugees were relocated to, among other places, Central Wisconsin. Since then, our Hispanic population has also increased (some of the population is migrant, some year-round), and more African-American families and individuals have moved to the area. While the White population sits at around 85% or so, things look different than they did just 25 years ago… and some people aren’t reacting well.
I teach English as a Second Language, and work closely with many of these students who, a quarter of a century ago, would have looked incredibly out of place in our schools or on our streets. On the surface, things are OK… and then you start hearing things. We’ve gotten past the “Hmong people will eat your dogs!” fever of the early 1990s, but I’ve had (college-educated) friends make some comments that could have come straight out of the mouths of 1960s-style segregationists.
“I’m glad I don’t live in that neighborhood anymore. You know, the Hmongs.”
“They all used to live in the John’s Drive housing area. Why are they moving other places? It’s better to keep all those kids at one school.”
“They live, like, 12 people to a house. This isn’t the third world. We don’t live with four generations and an aunt and an uncle under one roof here.”
“I’m glad my kids are in private school so we don’t have to deal with all that.”
These are things I hear from people who I would otherwise have considered to be friends. College-educated, mostly. The half-truths and twisted truths and complete fabrications boggle the mind. The historical hypocrisy of it never ceases to amaze. Yes, many second-generation citizens are still speaking a language other than English at home. You know what? My grandmother, whose grandfather immigrated to the U.S. from Poland before her father was born, failed kindergarten because she couldn’t speak English. So, you know… pot, meet kettle. Know your own cultural history before you shoot your mouth off about someone’s assimilation, or lack thereof. Last I checked, we still eat ponczkis before Lent starts and dance the Polka at weddings, and most Polish-Americans in Portage County are, what, fourth (Fifth? More-th?) generation at this point.
I love you, dear hometown, but you’ve got some work to do.
