The Immigrant Multiplier in Historical and Contemporary Contexts

I've been thinking a lot lately about the immigrant multiplier, a term used to refer to the number of other people that ultimately enter the country with, or because of, a single migrant. Many of the discussions revolve around trying to produce accurate figures for chain migration (through family reunification,) to understand not simply the number of people admitted each year for legal permanent resident status, but also the net immigration gain.

As comprehensive reform once again enters the political discourse, estimating the actual multiplier is bound to play a role. As an example of the power of the chain migration, many commentators point to the 1986 Immigration Reform and Control Act [among other factors] as causing many of the extreme backlogs in family preference categories today, as IRCA's amnesty provisions created a large number of new residents and citizens who could then petition for their family members to enter.

So what is the actual multiplier? In his theoretical account of the immigration reforms of 1965, David Reimers has shown that one student (on nonimmigrant status,) can enter the country, and within ten years, bring over 18 others. This multiplier of 18 is certainly the high point, and more empircally based studies have found the actual number to be far less. Jasso and Rosenzweig,* for instance, estimate the multiplier at only 1.2 other people per migrant, out of a cohort of 1971 labor migrants. The most up-to-date figures come from Bin Yu, using a wider sample size, and a slightly different methodology, which combines reunfication (i.e. those coming through chain migration,) and reproduction (2nd generation, etc..) Yu's figure is still far lower than Reimers, at only 4.3.

So how does this factor into my dissertation on the development of immigration policy in the 1950s and 1960s? The evidence that I have found in the archives so far indicates that policymakers in the 1950s and early 1960s based their estimates for divising immigration reform on studies of the first postwar piece of immigration legislation, the Displaced Persons Act (DP Act,) which worked to bring in those people affected by WWII and the Holocaust. Over and again in the debates over reform, legislators and bureaucrats referred to a multiplier of 2.4 family members per immigrant (though the term immigrant multiplier had not yet been coin.) This figure of 2.4 had significant weight when it came to proposals to widen immigrant admissions, as liberals and restrictionists fought over a slew of reform proposals. It also played into the creation of immigration/refugee bureaucracy, as policymaker decided where to open consulates, refugee centers, etc.

I am still trying to figure out how exactly to fit this information into my narrative of the rise a new preference system that heavily favored family reunification over all other categories (especially labor market needs,) but it strikes me that 2.4 is a rather small figure, which could help to account for some of the "unintended consequences" of the 1965 Immigration Act. It also makes me think that legislators were actually much more concerned with net migration than scholars have acknowledged.

Found in the Archives...

Congressional Record, Sept. 15, 1961, pgs. 19650-19651

Pastore: “The senior Senator from Rhode Island will never be satisfied until there is a real liberalization of the immigration laws. But it can be safely said here today that this is a very real step forward in bringing about the liberalization of the naturalization laws. I do not agree with every feature of the bill.”
Eastland: "Has the Senator ever agreed with every feature of every bill?"
Pastore: “There have been times. I have agreed with the Ten Commandments. But I know the Senator is jesting.”
Eastland: But the Ten Commandments have never been before the Senate in Bill Form.”

Dog Skeletons, Bigfoot, and American Intellectual History

This evening I finished reading a book by an anthropologist named Grover Krantz (1931-2002). The book, Only a Dog, is somewhat of a rare volume. I only learned of it from an intern at the National Anthropological Archives, where I am currently working on my dissertation. Krantz is most well-known for being one of the only professional scientists who supported the belief in the existence of Bigfoot or Sasquatch, a mysterious, human-like creature in the Pacific Northwest. Upon his death, Krantz donated his own body, and the body of his beloved Irish Wolfhound, Clyde, to science. Much of the book takes place in Berkeley in the 1960s, when Krantz worked at what is now the Hearst Museum of Anthropology. The book's honesty impressed me, as Krantz's story of his wonderful relationship with his dog is punctuated by struggles with alcohol. The vast majority of the book, however, fancifully centers on the enormous size of the dog. Perhaps due to the fact that I'm a graduate student at Berkeley or the fact that I miss my own dog, I was interested enough to read the book. The little, seemingly frivolous volume forced me to spend a little time contemplating how we view public intellectuals historically.

Krantz's book ends with an emotional description of the decline and death of his beloved dog, Clyde. The book details the emotional emptiness Krantz felt after Clyde's death. Krantz struggles though the dark weeks and months that followed. He broods through life, ending relationships, talking aimlessly to himself, and returning to booze. Eventually, Krantz returns to the site of Clyde's burial and he begins to disinter the grave of his beloved pet. Krantz recognized the value of Clyde's enormous skeleton and he hoped to add it to his growing collection of animal remains for study and teaching purposes. The process of digging up his deceased pet proved so emotional for Krantz that he forced himself back into his house before consuming a full gallon of wine, mustering up the courage to continue the work. Krantz's emotional difficulty in the task of digging up his former pet is understandable, he explains that prior to his acquisition of the dog, his life was virtually directionless. After ten years with his companion, he was an established scholar and less of a slave to alcohol.

Upon his death, Krantz donated his own remains to the Smithsonian Institution, with the condition that the remains of his dog be placed with his own in the museum. Today, Krantz's remains can be seen at the end of the Smithsonian's Written in Bone exhibit. In his book, Krantz details his amusement in seeing the reactions of passers by in observing his dog's enormous size, so I like to think Krantz would have appreciated the reaction of most visitors to his remains, which are articulated along with Clyde's skeleton; befuddlement, amusement, and interest. I am only so bold as to assume this because I recently spent some time observing visitor reactions to his remains at the Smithsonian.

Krantz's career in anthropology began in the 1960s and he therefore falls outside of the purview of my dissertation, which concludes at the end of the Second World War. What interests me about Krantz is the manner in which he is perceived by those interested in the history of anthropology. Krantz made several important contributions to the study of ancient man and played a role in the court proceedings surrounding Kennewick Man. Krantz also wrote extensively about the concepts of race and human evolution. He also built extensive personal collections of human and animal remains that would add to the collections of other public institutions upon his death. If pressed, my guess is that most contemporary physical anthropologists would recognize some of Krantz's intellectual contributions to their field, yet they would also probably chide his belief in the existence of Bigfoot above all else.

Contemporary physical anthropologists may not be alone in this assessment. When historians finally attempt to take Krantz into account in their own narratives (I've yet to see a treatment of his career by a historian of anthropology) my guess is that they, too, will focus mainly on his interest in Bigfoot Studies. Krantz's role as a public intellectual, frequently appearing on TV, popular magazines and in newspapers, typically surrounded this belief in the existence of Bigfoot. His embrace of the role of as "Scientist for Sasquatch," will no doubt shape his public memory.

As a student of intellectual history, I struggle with the tendency to place various intellectuals into boxes, or at least the desire to fit the ideas of specific intellectuals onto flash cards. As historians we often fail to draw more complete portraits of individuals unless we provide them with more extensive treatment in the form of intellectual biography. More often, intellectuals are represented in our works as representative of key ideas being espoused at particular moments, as pieces of evidence to prove our thesis. It is tempting to include details about the life history of intellectuals into our work, as though every scrap of information about their childhood informs their later intellectual contributions. Instead, perhaps it is best to aim for a broader understanding of the intellectuals we study, while informing our readers of our close reading of personal intellectual developments. No doubt, this is easier said than done.

A reminder that a controversial intellectual like Krantz was more than a Bigfoot theorist, or an expert witness in a heated trial, or an articulated skeleton at the end of an exhibition - is probably a good thing. My hope is that this more rounded portrait isn't lost on historians who hope to fit Kantz into their stories. Krantz's personal life was deeply afflicted his relationship to drink, and it was something as seemingly as trivial as a dog saved his entire life and career.

NARA II Screenings

Lordy…it has been a while since my last post, but in the time that’s passed, I have managed to finish off my research in the State Department records at Archives II. From everything I had been lead to believe, the State Department records are some of the worst-cataloged and difficult-to-navigate collections imaginable. The finding aides are in multiple parts, depending on the year (Prior to 1949 has one system, 1949-1963 has another, and 1963- a third,) or department.

But at least there are finding aides.

Having moved on from State, I was hoping to look at the Department of Justice and Bureau of the Budget Records. A substantial portion of the DoJ files have been declassified, but pretty much anything after WWII has to go through another round of security review before you can even see any of the files. (Why the initial security review was not sufficient, who knows? The staff certainly doesn’t!) This review can take up to six weeks to even get a case number assigned, and an indefinite amount of time for the actual review to take place. And to make matters worse, the bulk of the finding aides are classified. It is almost impossible to figure out what departments are where (i.e. how do I even request the Office of Legal Counsel files, to have them reviewed?) It seems as though these requirements are to maintain the privacy of case files, but I am only interested in administrative records, pertaining to immigration policy. I have contacted the archivist who works on the collection, but I’m not entirely optimistic that I will see any of the files anytime soon.

The Bureau of the Budget records also have no comprehensive finding aids. Instead, there is an alphabetical list of the sub-record groups (i.e. Department of State Budget Records, 1949-1952, Legislative Files, 1939-1970), that points to the Master Location Registry (MLR) for the record group (51). Aside from the fact that a number of the entries in the alphabetical list do not match up with the MLR, the only way to get to the finding aides for each sub-record group is to find the collection in the MLR, and then request box #1, which supposedly contains the finding aid.

The catch? Each box (Even the ones containing only finding aides) has to be reviewed onsite before they will give them to you (something they do not tell you in advance.) So while at least the records are reviewed as you order them (hopefully), there’s not telling how long that review can take.

All in all, if you plan a trip to Archives II, make sure to leave yourself ample time, and understand that you might not see the boxes you want on the first trip…

How Many Bodies?

The subject of my dissertation is the history of the practice of collecting, researching, and displaying human remains in the United States. For those unfamiliar with the history of anthropology, medicine, and the American West, this may seem to be somewhat of an esoteric subject. On the contrary, I argue that the practice of collecting, studying, and displaying bodies was central in the development of ideas about race in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

I recently strolled through the Smithsonian's new exhibit Written in Bone. I plan to write more about this exhibit either here or elsewhere, but I pinky swear that you will be the first to know. The public displays of human remains made me ponder their history; other than recent, traveling blockbuster exhibits such as Body Worlds, museums in the United States have been hesitant to display remains in their public exhibitions. While a complex history informs this hesitation, the new exhibits did cause me to think anew about the scope of human remains collections in the United States. Believe it or not, I am asked this question quite often at cocktail parties. If I had to venture a guess, I would think that when most people think of bodies in museums they first think of Egyptian mummies. Mummified bodies from Egypt, certainly, are a component of the overall number of bodies in museums in the United States. But they are vastly outnumbered by the remains of American Indians and other indigenous groups from around the world.

But just how many sets of human remains are in museums in the United States? I've struggled to find a single, clear estimate of the total number of remains in the US, but several major museums give an estimate of the number of human remains they have in their collections. This information is relatively easy to find via Google searches, but I thought it might be interested to explore nonetheless.

A 2000 report from the Hearst Museum of Anthropology lists 9,600 sets of remains (some of these catalogue numbers may reflect more than one individual).

The Smithsonian Institution’s website explains that when the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) was initially passed in 1990, the museum possessed 33,000 sets of human remains. 18,000 of these remains were of Native Americans. The Smithsonian claims that since 1990, 5,400 sets of remains have been offered for return and a total of 3,652 of these have been successfully repatriated.

The American Museum of Natural History possesses a collection of nearly 12,000 individuals collected from around 50 countries.

Numerous other museums and universities possess collections that range from a handful of remains to several thousand bodies. Certainly, statistics that attempt to size up these collections fail to tell the whole story, which is exactly why I get to write a dissertation on the subject of human remains collections.

From Ike to Camelot

After my trip to Abilene in June, Boston and the JFK Library was next on my list. All in all the JFK Library was one of the easiest-to-use archives I been to, and with a location on Columbia Point, overlooking the Bay, it was certainly one of the prettiest. (Since my visit coincided with Ted Kennedy's death, it was also quite a humbling time to be there...I'm not going to detail about my experiences navigating the archives around the wake, but I will say that I was interesting to be a part of everything that was going on.)

I'd like to say that the JFK Library is pretty far from downtown, and it is, but after having to drive 2 1/2 hours from Kansas City to get to the Eisenhower Library, the 50 minute commute from Cambridge wasn't bad at all. Logistically, from the JFK/UMass stop on the T Red Line, you hop on Bus #2 (free), which takes you on a nice tour of Columbia Point, ending in front of the Library. The building itself overlooks the Bay with stories-high glass windows, very modernist / minimalist...the view from the reading room is spectacular. The archives themselves are not marked, so to get to them you have to walk through the gift shop to the lone security guard, who takes your name, and escorts you to an elevator, which then takes you to the reading room. Once you know where you are going it is fairly easy, but at first it is quite confusing.

In terms of the archives themselves, the staff is incredibly knowledgeable, and really laid-back - after the brief orientation, they basically leave you alone, though they are always ready to answer any research related questions. The reading room is also one of the more high-tech I've seen, with wireless internet access, and digital locks for their lockers. There are also bathrooms and a water fountain inside the reading room (albeit away from the records,) and I cannot tell you how clutch it is to have those two things there, rather than having to leave the research space, as in most other archives I've been to.

There are a few downsides to the library - for one, not all of the finding aides are digitized and online. They have paper copies of everything in the reading room itself, but I find it much easier to be able to keyword search through the aides. More importantly though, parts of certain collections (or entire other collections,) such as the RFK Attorney General papers, are still closed, for one reason or another. While I understand that there are donor restrictions and other such issues, it is frustrating to know that there are potentially useful materials sitting in the library that I just cannot access.

I did find some really useful documents, and hopefully in a future post I'll go through some of them...For now, I am headed back to DC!

The Weird Stuff We Archive

Let's have a friendly little competition for who can find the weirdest archived object this year. I'll start - samples of human hair from around the globe.

Yes. You read that correctly, single strands of hair. Clearly labeled, for your researching convenience.

Good luck topping that one, guys.