From Trump to Trump: American Nativism
Judging from the all the chatter generated by Donald Trump’s presidential aspirations, one would think that the popularity attained by his radical ideas is a new phenomenon in American public discourse. But that’s not the truth. American nativism has a long history. This is not the first time that an intolerant and xenophobic voice gains prominence in American politics.
In “Strangers in the Land” — an essential book on the topic — John Higham defines nativism as the intense and virulent opposition toward a foreign minority group, whose presence, in the eyes of the person who discriminates, in some way threatens the identity or security of the majority. Since its foundation at the end of the 18th century, the U.S. has lived through a number of episodes of this kind. Higham identifies three different instances of nativism during the country's first century of independence. One such episode emerges out of the anti-Catholic tradition. According to Higham, the first Americans viewed Catholicism with suspicion because it went against "the concept of individual freedom imbedded in the national culture.”
The second variant of nativism was related to the fear inspired by the social transformations that took place in Europe during the end of the 18th century, specifically the French Revolution. A large sector of the USA's political class saw with veritable fear the possibility of foreign agents disturbing the stability of their young nation; for this reason, they made efforts to prevent citizens' full political participation through various methods, many of which remind us of the desperate attempts that Republicans resort to today to marginalize minorities.
The third type of nativism is, of course, the racial kind. The U.S. has always exhibited a two-faced schizophrenia. On the one hand, it would not even exist — and this was even truer during its first century — without the presence of immigrants. But alongside this strategic hospitality (it was impossible to populate such a vast, growing country without immigrants), part of the U.S. population viewed (and still views) with suspicion the waves of foreign groups that have come to its territory. Some of them, like the Chinese, were victims of "lynchings, boycotts and mass expulsions," as Higham points out.
Obviously, highlighting the historical internalization of nativism in American public life is not the same as justifying it. All those groups, which at different stages of American history were singled out and persecuted by nativists, were assimilated into society. In many cases, they planted seeds — pardon my romantic flair — that later became green and truly American trees. Marginalizing these groups has always turned out to be an absurd and counterproductive enterprise.
The most interesting case is that of the great German migration that took place during the second half of the 19th century. Since the migratory avalanche that followed the revolutions of 1848, Germans remained for decades the largest migrant group coming into the USA. Almost immediately, they began moving west, establishing communities in many cities and states. The arrival of millions of Germans was received with much enthusiasm by many, but with nativist mistrust by others.
John Higham reminds us that simple things such as the Germans' fondness for beer perturbed many puritan minds at the time. Other gestures, such as instituting schools where German became the primary language or the birth of German newspapers, gave rise to more vicious reactions (yes, the similarities with what’s happening today with Hispanics are notable). The political repercussions that were seen then are similar to those we see today. The year 1855 saw the birth of a nativist party whose intention was, among others, to fight against the “malicious” influence of Germans, Irish and other foreign communities, which already numbered in the millions. This party — known as the Know Nothing movement — alongside other analogous manifestations of racism, attempted to halt immigration into the U.S. and to complicate the naturalization process of those who had recently arrived. They were, in other words, the Donald Trumps of those times.
The curious thing is that the Trump of back then was not named Donald but Fred. Donald Trump’s grandfather was born in Germany and arrived in the U.S. in 1885 as a mere teenager at the height of the German immigration wave. Trump took advantage of the hospitality offered by his new country and became a citizen seven years later. His son — the first member of the Trump generation to be fully born and bred on American soil — would be born in 1905. Frederick C. Trump, an immigrant’s son, would end up establishing the foundations of a real estate empire, lifting his family out of poverty. His son, Donald, an immigrant’s grandson and direct beneficiary of America’s inclusive policy, would lead that business to its greatest heights, fulfilling the American dream.
What would have happened to the German immigrant Fred Trump if intolerant people like his grandson Donald had had their way at the end of the 19th century? It is a terrible offense for a politician (or any other person) to turn his or her back on a nation’s history. Much worse is to turn one’s back on one’s personal history, on the lives of one’s parents and grandparents. From wherever he may be, grandfather Trump condemns his cynical, undeserving grandson.
In “Strangers in the Land” — an essential book on the topic — John Higham defines nativism as the intense and virulent opposition toward a foreign minority group, whose presence, in the eyes of the person who discriminates, in some way threatens the identity or security of the majority. Since its foundation at the end of the 18th century, the U.S. has lived through a number of episodes of this kind. Higham identifies three different instances of nativism during the country's first century of independence. One such episode emerges out of the anti-Catholic tradition. According to Higham, the first Americans viewed Catholicism with suspicion because it went against "the concept of individual freedom imbedded in the national culture.”
The second variant of nativism was related to the fear inspired by the social transformations that took place in Europe during the end of the 18th century, specifically the French Revolution. A large sector of the USA's political class saw with veritable fear the possibility of foreign agents disturbing the stability of their young nation; for this reason, they made efforts to prevent citizens' full political participation through various methods, many of which remind us of the desperate attempts that Republicans resort to today to marginalize minorities.
The third type of nativism is, of course, the racial kind. The U.S. has always exhibited a two-faced schizophrenia. On the one hand, it would not even exist — and this was even truer during its first century — without the presence of immigrants. But alongside this strategic hospitality (it was impossible to populate such a vast, growing country without immigrants), part of the U.S. population viewed (and still views) with suspicion the waves of foreign groups that have come to its territory. Some of them, like the Chinese, were victims of "lynchings, boycotts and mass expulsions," as Higham points out.
Obviously, highlighting the historical internalization of nativism in American public life is not the same as justifying it. All those groups, which at different stages of American history were singled out and persecuted by nativists, were assimilated into society. In many cases, they planted seeds — pardon my romantic flair — that later became green and truly American trees. Marginalizing these groups has always turned out to be an absurd and counterproductive enterprise.
The most interesting case is that of the great German migration that took place during the second half of the 19th century. Since the migratory avalanche that followed the revolutions of 1848, Germans remained for decades the largest migrant group coming into the USA. Almost immediately, they began moving west, establishing communities in many cities and states. The arrival of millions of Germans was received with much enthusiasm by many, but with nativist mistrust by others.
John Higham reminds us that simple things such as the Germans' fondness for beer perturbed many puritan minds at the time. Other gestures, such as instituting schools where German became the primary language or the birth of German newspapers, gave rise to more vicious reactions (yes, the similarities with what’s happening today with Hispanics are notable). The political repercussions that were seen then are similar to those we see today. The year 1855 saw the birth of a nativist party whose intention was, among others, to fight against the “malicious” influence of Germans, Irish and other foreign communities, which already numbered in the millions. This party — known as the Know Nothing movement — alongside other analogous manifestations of racism, attempted to halt immigration into the U.S. and to complicate the naturalization process of those who had recently arrived. They were, in other words, the Donald Trumps of those times.
The curious thing is that the Trump of back then was not named Donald but Fred. Donald Trump’s grandfather was born in Germany and arrived in the U.S. in 1885 as a mere teenager at the height of the German immigration wave. Trump took advantage of the hospitality offered by his new country and became a citizen seven years later. His son — the first member of the Trump generation to be fully born and bred on American soil — would be born in 1905. Frederick C. Trump, an immigrant’s son, would end up establishing the foundations of a real estate empire, lifting his family out of poverty. His son, Donald, an immigrant’s grandson and direct beneficiary of America’s inclusive policy, would lead that business to its greatest heights, fulfilling the American dream.
What would have happened to the German immigrant Fred Trump if intolerant people like his grandson Donald had had their way at the end of the 19th century? It is a terrible offense for a politician (or any other person) to turn his or her back on a nation’s history. Much worse is to turn one’s back on one’s personal history, on the lives of one’s parents and grandparents. From wherever he may be, grandfather Trump condemns his cynical, undeserving grandson.
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