Vendredi 26 juillet | Eugenia Corriés | Rotonda

Once, when I was little, I spent the night at my grandparents’ house in Mar del Plata. The noise their clock made scared me, and seeing that I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep, I asked my grandmother to read me a story in bed. There were no children’s books at their house, except for an old Pinocchio in its original Italian version that I found, by being persistent, in the bookshelves. Since she was born in Italy, I thought that she would be able to translate it for me. I handed her the book, I brought her a chair, and I slipped into the bed and waited. She sat in the chair, nervously opened the book, looked at it, then looked at me with sad eyes. I understood in that moment that she wouldn’t be able to read it: she had forgotten her mother tongue.

An Italian immigrant family on New York’s Lower East Side, ca. 1910, photographed by Jessie Tarbox Beals (American, 1870-1942). Beals was an American photographer, the first published female photojournalist in the United States and the first female night photographer.

The family shown here is living in an “old-law” tenement. The apartments in these buildings were not required to have ventilation in each room. The window facing the kitchen appears to look into a smaller room or closet. More than 100,000 immigrants lived in rear apartments (behind other buildings) that were wholly unfit for human habitation. In a room not thirteen feet either way slept twelve men and women, two or three in bunks set in a sort of alcove, the rest on the floor. In the summer months 3-4 babies would suffocate in the airless tenements every night.

Book Signing: Mike Ventimiglia - Italians of the Monterey Peninsula

Saturday May 9th & Sunday May 10th – 12-2pm: Since the early 1900s, Monterey was known for its fishing, mostly for salmon and the abalone that was plentiful in Monterey Bay. The migration of the Sicilian Italian community is credited for reaping what was called the “Silver Harvest.” The Silver Harvest is the name that was given to the fishing of sardines in Monterey, which mostly was done by the…

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This is a family portrait of my mother-in-law’s family in 1925, the year she was born. Helen (DiMascio) Richwine, who was born in 1925, passed away peacefully last week. Her father and mother emigrated from Italy and married here in 1914, settling in the Monongahela River Valley of Pennsylvania, where just about everyone (except the women) worked in the steel mills.


So over the past year or so I’ve been learning more about my second-great grandfather, Jack (who came over from Sicily in 1882 with his wife and proceeded to have a gob-smacking eighteen children - eleven of which would survive into adulthood). Back in that day, in St John Parish (Louisiana) anyway, there weren’t that many Italians - although there were plenty of French and German immigrants - and so, they were discriminated against. Grandpa Jack and his wife were effectively peasants back in Sicily, and owned a rice farm in Wallace at the time - I don’t think it’s that much of a stretch to say that it would have been easy to let education slide. However, Grandpa Jack took himself down to the local courthouse and insisted that his children be allowed to go to the public school with the other immigrant children. He was victorious, and they went on to become doctors and midwives and businessmen. Go Grandpa Jack!

The top photo is him, of course. The middle photo is the version I restored with my limited skills from the original (bottom), of him and his wife and almost all of his children. My great-grandfather is the baby seated on the lap of the rather serious-looking matriarch in the middle.



Makikipost lang po.

Kelangan to para bukas e x)

Once upon a time, an Italian immigrant named Filippo Ignacio Barziza met and fell in love with a young woman named Cecilia Amanda Bellett. The two were wed and settled in Virginia, and not long after a small child was born. And then another. And then another. And, to their constant shock and annoyance…. another. You would think, at this point, they might try to cool down a little bit. Perhaps stop having sex, or at least try some form of birth control? But no, because either they were wild about one another or just had the worst luck when it came to pregnancy, for yet another small child was born.

This went on and on, until the very sexed up couple now had nine happy little children to take care of. From then on, Barziza swore that that was enough. Nine kids surely are enough to continue the family name and all that fun stuff. They didn’t plan on any more kids. They honestly thought they were done.

And then another son was born, and both of them were completely shocked. Happy, but shocked. And more than a little flustered. Still, happiness prevailed, and Barziza went to the local tavern with some friends to celebrate the birth of his 10th child. It was at this party that he realized the child didn’t have a name, and he couldn’t for the life of him come up with anything good.

And then, in a stroke of pure genius, one of his very intoxicated friends proudly shouted, “Then, damn it all, Barziza, name him Decimus et Ultimas!”

And naturally, being rather drunk and in good spirits himself, he thought this was absolutely genius.

And so it came to pass, that in early September, 1838, Filippo Barziza named his son Decimus et Ultimas Barziza-  “tenth and last”.

anonymous asked:

ive seen you talk about your homelife and you said you got beat once. Sounds to me like youre being abused. have you ever thoguht of talkign to someone about it?

this whole damn website has made me very confused about what is and isn’t abuse when it comes to parenting.
Whenever I talk about how my parents raised me I get several messages afterwards telling me that I was abused.
Bruh, have you ever been raised by italian parents? Immigrant parents in general? There’s a difference between them giving you discipline and straight up beating you until your black and blue for no reason.

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The Japanese-Peruvians interned in the US during WW2

Approximately 2,200 Latin Americans of Japanese descent were forcibly deported to internment camps in the US.cAs many as 4,000 people were interned during World War Two in this camp in Texas run by the US Immigration and Naturalization Service. Most of the detainees were of Japanese descent, although some German and Italian immigrants were also held there.

In 1988, then-President Ronald Reagan signed the Civil Liberties Act and apologised on behalf of the US government for the internment of Japanese-Americans. Under the act, the government paid tens of thousands of survivors of the camps $20,000 (£13,000) each in reparation. But Japanese-Latin Americans did not qualify for the payments because they had not been US citizens or permanent residents of the US at the time of their internment.
Outraged, they filed a class-action suit and 10 years later, the US government agreed to pay them $5,000 each. Most accepted, but a small group headed by camp survivor Art Shibayama decided to hold out, demanding to be paid the same as Japanese-Americans.

Blanca Katsura says that even though her childhood at the camp may not have been traumatic, no amount of money can compensate her family for its loss. “My parents wanted to go back to Peru but couldn’t. They missed the life they had there,” she recalls. “The Peruvian government sold us out to the US government and that is not a very nice feeling. How would you feel about it?”

I was 26 years old I had lived here for nearly 20 years, what about all my Welsh friends? I had been to Court twice, to help the police as an interpreter! My years at school and in business? The bitter truth slowly dawned on me. I was still Italian, and technically I was an enemy. That morning one or two ladies were admitted [to the police station] but only to bring some coffee, very welcome, Mrs Belli! Next day we were loaded onto a bus, with a police escort and taken to Maindy Barracks, Cardiff. More men arrived constantly until we must have numbered 2,000. My uncle Tony and John came, we were out on a large field guarded by the Welsh Regiment. Food was spasmodic and scarce, nobody’s fault, the whole operation was sudden, ill-conceived and unprepared. One incident brought home to me the futility, the paradox of the situation. A friend and relative, Obertelli from Ystelafera, has sons born here. To his great consternation he saw that his son Peter was one of the soldiers on guard around the perimeter. He was one of the thousands who had been called up, how did he feel guarding his dad! (Servini 21-2)

Port Talbot, 10 June 1940

Servini, Les. A Boy from Bardi: My Life and Times. Cardiff: Hazeltree Press, 1994. Print.

anonymous asked:

I'm front italian decent and I look like a regular sicilian.. I was born in peru (because my italian immigrant family *some german British austrian..*moved there) but I was raised since a baby in florida and still am here..what's my "race"?..

you are white, since you are from italian descent, yout race has absolutely nothing to do with where you grew up or were born