A French Ellis Island? Museums, Memory and History in France and the United States
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A French Ellis Island? Museums, Memory and History in France and the United States Nancy L. Green History Workshop Journal, Issue 63, Spring 2007, pp. 239-253 (Article) Published by Oxford University Press For additional information about this article http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/hwj/summary/v063/63.1green.html Access provided by University of California , Santa Barbara (9 Mar 2014 10:45 GMT) HISTORY AT LARGE A French Ellis Island? Museums, Memory and History in France and the United States by Nancy L. Green Can a museum save the suburbs? When the poor neighbourhoods of the French banlieues, peopled by immigrants and their children (French-born, French citizens), erupted in riots in November 2005, the planners of the Cite´ nationale de l’histoire de l’immigration (CNHI), could well ask the question. If one of the purposes of the projected national museum of immigration history is to solidify the social contract, or, as the Minister of Culture Renaud Donnedieu de Vabres said recently, to play ‘un roˆle de tout premier plan ...pour maintenir et faire vivre le pacte qui unit nos concitoyens entre eux’, this may be a tall order.1 Besides the political agenda behind the project, to which I will return, the pertinent question for historians seems to be why now? After two centuries of immigration to France, three decades of historiography on the subject and twenty years of museum projects, at a time when the impoverished suburbs have erupted, when the sans-papiers (undocumented immigrants) continue to make headline news and when debates over history and memory and France’s colonial past have surged, why have the French decided to commemorate their immigrant ancestors now? More generally, why do questions of memory arise at certain moments and not at others? History, historiography, and memory are not identical; each has its own timeline. But they are not entirely disconnected. Ellis Island has at times been invoked in France as a museum to emulate. A very early French ‘mission’ of historians went there to investigate.2 I would like to take up the Franco-American comparison here, both with regard to history and especially to its representation through museums. The French frequently compare their country to the United States, often lamenting a French lag with regard to things American. In a rhetoric of comparison from Tocqueville to the present, ‘America’ has been called upon as an example to follow – or to avoid at all costs. American immigration history more generally has been pointed to as proof that the history of immigration can and should be part of France’s history, as in the United States. I have argued elsewhere that the French invocation of American immigration history has frequently ‘flattened’ the latter, assuming erro- neously that immigration has been a constant of American history, historiography and memory, and remaining impervious to the great History Workshop Journal Issue 63 doi:10.1093/hwj/dbm011 ß The Author 2007. Published by Oxford University Press on behalf of History Workshop Journal, all rights reserved. 240 History Workshop Journal oscillations of its periods of welcome and those of rejection.3 However, the ‘use’ of another model is produced by and for those using it. I explore the Ellis Island and CNHI projects here not so much to question the (limited) rhetorical value of the former for the latter but as a way of examining issues of history, memory, and amnesia through an exploration of the choices taken in museum-making. ELLIS ISLAND, FROM GULLS AND OYSTERS TO TOURISTS4 The history of Ellis Island, whether as entry-point for twelve million immigrants to the United States between 1892 and 1954,5 or as a new port of entry for the memory of migration in the United States today, is little known in France. And I daresay the link between the island’s history and its memorialization is also less linear than most visitors to the Ellis Island museum suspect. Ellis-the-Island is a classic example of changing use over time and the ever-changing relationship of memory to history. The story of its opening, its closing, and its reopening as a museum is that of a multitude of decisions – political, economic – that mark changing perceptions about immigration, ranging from praise to indifference to political calculations to nostalgia. The first owners of the island were of course Native American Indians, who called it Kioshk or Gull Island after its principal visitors. When the Dutch settled in New Amsterdam, it was used for picnics and renamed Oyster Island. After the English in turn chased away the Dutch it became known as Gibbet Island, since pirates were hanged there. The island ultimately became private property, and its first recorded owner, in the late eighteenth century, was a Mr Samuel Ellis, whose name stuck even after the State of New York took possession in 1794 in order to build fortifications on the harbour outpost. With persisting fear of invasion, the federal government took over the island in 1808 for use as a munitions depot. The ‘invasions’ were to be civil rather than military. A sign of the times, and of the history of mass immigration to the United States, the State of New York opened an immigrant-processing centre in the southern part of Manhattan in 1855. Castle Garden, ‘the fort that let outsiders in’, served this purpose until 1890. (It then became an aquarium, from 1896 to 1941, when it was razed to make way for a bridge that was never built.) Although it processed eight million immigrants over forty-five years of loyal service, Castle Garden has nowhere near the name recognition of Ellis Island, which handled twelve million over sixty-two years.6 Castle Garden was too small, conditions were poor, and corruption apparently rampant. After an interim solution in Manhattan, its operations were transferred to Ellis Island, which was inaugurated in 1892. Yet conditions were still poor, and the food service largely inadequate. (European immigrants complained bitterly, among other things, about ginger ale. It was the main beverage provided until saloons with wine and A French Ellis Island? 241 beer were finally introduced – and harshly criticized in turn, this time by temperance militants.) Worse yet, a fire destroyed the wood buildings in 1897, and the facility had to be closed for three years. The new central building (the location of the museum today) – described by one immigrant as a palace on the outside, a prison on the inside – was built with the idea that immigration was on the wane due to economic depression in the United States and industrialization in Europe.7 However, its reopening in 1900 corresponded to the beginning of a major surge in immigration to the United States from Eastern and Southern Europe. An all-time record was set in 1907 when fifteen ships arrived in one day with a total of 22,000 passengers. Eighty percent of all passengers only stayed from three to five hours on the island, and a mere two per cent of those arriving were rejected and sent home. Nevertheless, Ellis Island was feared world-wide as a place where detention or rejection was possible. The peak years of 1900 to 1914 are in many ways still at the core of representations of mass immigration to the United States. But they were in fact the beginning of the end of Ellis Island’s heyday. The First World War and rising xenophobia tolled the knell of the European mass immigration to the United States. (Chinese immigration had already been halted in 1882.) Quota Laws in 1921 and 1924 set limits according to national origins and drastically reduced the number of legal entries. A secondary effect of these laws was that the image of immigration was frozen, evoking essentially this earlier period. The era before World War One, with its Eastern and Southern European immigrants, was to be the period that first captured the imagination of historians in the 1970s as the historiography of immigration in the United States was reborn. Activity at Ellis Island thus declined throughout the interwar period, and during the Second World War the site was transformed into a concentration camp for Germans and Italians – a part of its history rarely mentioned. Several thousand displaced persons then passed through the island to enter the United States after the war, but the Quota Laws were still in effect, fundamentally untouched by the reforms of the McCarran-Walter Act of 1952. As one of its last functions, Ellis Island became a holding place for militant activists and people without visas in the process of expulsion. In 1954 the government closed the site. The buildings started to deteriorate under the combined impact of the salty air and vandals (in canoes). But Ellis Island became obsolete for other reasons, one ethnic, the other technological. In the mid 1960s, thanks largely to the unintended impact of the new immigration legislation of 1965, there was a shift in the origins of immigrants to the United States: henceforth they came from the South (of America) and the West (Asia) rather than the East (of Europe). Hispanics and Asians soon transformed the image of immigrants in America. Following a movement begun in the interwar period, some entered on foot or by swimming (across the Rio Grande). Others came by airplane. 242 History Workshop Journal Ellis Island lost its historical raison d’eˆtre as the main port of entry. Its function as a site of memory could begin. But it did so only slowly. ELLIS ISLAND, HISTORY, HISTORIOGRAPHY, AND MEMORY Setting up a museum was but one of various options that were discussed in the 1950s as a solution for the abandoned buildings.