The Symbolic Ethnicity of San Gennaro

By Alec Pruchnicki

When new immigrants come to the United States, whether they are ethnic, racial, religious, or political groups, they are immediately faced with the need to assimilate into American society. There are some changes that occur which are common to all groups. Their family language, if different from American English, usually disappears by the second or third generation born in the U.S. Educational levels usually approach U.S. standards by a few generations also. Economic success follows education and the “American dream” of upward mobility spurs most immigrants to be hard working. They often take jobs and work in conditions that many who are American-born avoid.

But many people are still proud of their family origins and show it in a variety of ways. Sometimes there is an effort to retain the original language. Sometimes it is food or food related traditions. It could include participation in ethnic celebrations such as parades, wearing “Kiss Me I’m…” buttons, donating to philanthropic organizations or religious institutions even when not participating in the religion itself. There are many other symbolic expressions of pride. In 1979, sociologist Herbert Gans described this as “symbolic ethnicity.” This need not involve every member of a particular group and participation can vary. When I asked one of the doormen of my building, an immigrant from the Dominican Republic, if he had gone to the recent Dominican parade he stated, “No, I know who I am.”

Retaining or changing political affiliations can vary. Leftist origins can become conservative and conservative traditions can become liberal after a few generations of involvement with American political issues. Sometimes this is controversial. The American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) has been criticized for its support of Israel and U.S. politicians who support Israel. But whether AIPAC is justified in its support or criticized, its actions are not completely unique. During the Cold War, there were many political action organizations advocating for various positions in relation to the Soviet Union. After Russia invaded Ukraine some Ukrainian and Polish restaurants on the Lower East Side of Manhattan started fund raising drives for the Kiev government (Veselka and the Ukrainian East Village Restaurant, both on Second Avenue). During the civil war in Northern Ireland (“The Troubles”) Irish American organizations raised funds, mostly humanitarian, to support people there even though Irish immigration to the U.S. peaked in the 1850s. Similar support by anti-communist Cubans, Chinese, and Koreans have occurred over the years.

My own ethnic symbolism has taken many forms. My surname is Polish but my mother was Italian American. Both Polish and Italian ancestors were grandparents, with both my parents born in the U.S. But I grew up closer to my Italian side of the family and in a predominantly Italian neighborhood ─ Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. I speak neither language except for the names of a few foods, curse words, and hand gestures (that’s the Italian side). The red sauce Italian food I grew up on, and still love, is a Southern Italian tradition and consistent with my grandparents’ roots in Naples.

My family was never very religious but I was raised as a Catholic and received my first Communion and Confirmation at St. Martin of Tours in the Bronx. My early education was in public schools but when I went to Fordham University, I left the Church after learning more about its teachings. (Although that is a story for another day some residual Catholicism remains.) When I get together for family dinners it is usually on Christmas or Easter. On Good Friday and Christmas Eve I try to not eat meat ─ only fish. There are specific foods for Easter (grain pie and pizza rustica), Christmas (panettone), and St. Joseph’s Day (St. Joseph’s pastry and sfingi). The Polish side of me likes baked ham for Easter and Christmas, and sometimes for parties on non-religious days.

Speaking of food, that brings us to the Feast of San Gennaro ─ or simply, the Feast. It started in 1926 as a religious celebration honoring a patron saint of Naples where many of the Italian immigrants to the U.S. were from, including my maternal grandparents. The food is typically red sauce Italian, lots of deep-fried sea food, sausage/braciole sandwiches, pastries, pastas, and, well you know the drill. Over the last few decades other ethnic and non-ethnic foods are available along with souvenirs, clothing, and jewelry. I got my first car when I was about 18 in 1965 ─ a ’56 Chevy ─ and one of my first trips into Manhattan from the Bronx was to go to the Feast. I have been going there for about 60 years, only missing a few, so I’ve been symbolically celebrating my ethnicity for more than half the time the Feast has been in existence.

There have been many other feasts for various saints that I’ve gone to over the years, including many on Arthur Avenue. San Gennaro is the big one. Of course, as a physician, I have to warn you that a steady diet of this cuisine is not the healthiest even if followed by a chaser of red wine or Lipitor. But even though I, like my doorman, know who I am, from Thursday, September 17 to Sunday, September 27 I will be making my annual pilgrimage to Mulberry Street. I will be walking around what’s left of Little Italy, ignoring every dietary guideline I lectured my patients about, and I’ll probably drop into the Italian American Museum at 151 Mulberry Street. And, of course, you don’t have to be Italian, Italian American, or a Neapolitan to do the same. See you there!