America Is In The Heart

What does America mean to Carlos Bulosan? Carlos Bulosan is the author of the book, America is in the Heart, and America means a lot to him. It means hope, promise, happiness, and opportunity. There are also many things that he finds wrong in America. In his book, Bulosan tells of his boyhood in the Philippines, his voyage to America, and his years of hardship and despair as an itinerant laborer following the harvest trail in the rural West.

Carlos Bulosan goes to America in the 1930’s or 40’s to find work at various odd jobs. At this time, racism was at large. The darker the skin, the more people hated. He suffered in America because he was Filipino. The mostly overlooked thing about his suffering was that it started at home, in the Philippines. His family owned very little land and eventually they lost it to the moneylenders. Carlos had to come to America to find work and to try to find hope.

America meant racism to Carlos. Even when he was on the boat coming to America racism was present. ‘“Look at those half-naked savages from the Philippines, Roger! Haven’t they any idea of decency?”’ (page 98) This was when a white woman shows that she thinks that Filipinos are savages. “It became no longer her voice, but an angry chorus shouting: “Why don’t they ship those monkeys back to where they came from?” (page 99) Carlos cannot even here the couple talking anymore, but just hears the refrain of racism.
“I was hiding two dollars in my shoes when one of the policemen came into my cell. I knew from experience that money was important and the men in my world hungered and died for it. I watched him stand boldly before me, his strong legs spread wide apart, his hands on his hips, showing the menacing gun. “Where did you come from?” he asked. I played dumb, pantomiming that I did not speak the language. “Are you Filipino?” He was trying another angle. “Yes.” Crack! It was that quick and simple. His right fist landed on my jaw, felling me instantly.” (page156)
Even the policemen were racist toward the Filipinos. They would arrest and hit innocent Filipinos and take their money.
“I brought my case before the Social Service Department again. The first woman came, not to help me but to tell me that there was racism even in the Los Angeles County Hospital. “You Filipinos,” she said calmly, “ought to be shipped back to your jungle homes!” I felt consoled when I realized that this Social Service woman was only voicing a personal opinion, an individual hate against Filipinos. I had read enough books now to know the roots of racism: I had had experience with it when I was still outside.” (page 253)
Carlos experienced racism even in the Social Service Department in a hospital. Even thought it was a personal hate against Filipinos, it was still in a hospital, so race should be put aside.
“Macario and I boarded a streetcar and went to the Vermont Avenue district. What we encountered there almost broke my heart. We saw a nice little apartment house near Commonwealth Avenue and when we approached the landlady took away the “For Rent” sign. She went inside the house and peered furtively through a window. When sure that we would not go back, she went out to the yard again and put up the sign. The next woman was more discreet. She stood by the sign as we approached. “This house is not for rent,” she said awkwardly. “The sign is nailed to the wall and it’s hard to pull out. Maybe you can find one next block.” But the next woman faced the issue squarely. She said: “We don’t take Filipinos!” (page 256)
Also when Carlos lived in America, he had practically no home because many of the people that rented rooms were racist and would not take in Filipinos. The prejudice there was extremely great.

Although there was a lot of prejudice in America waiting for Carlos Bulosan, there were also people that were good and nice to him.
“I was reaching for the doorknob when a white woman came out. She stopped short in surprise, letting the towel fall from her hands. “Please don’t be afraid,” I said. “Some men are after me.” She came forward. “Have you killed somebody?” “No.” “Did you steal some money?” “No. I-well, I-work with the unions.” She ran to a little room and brought me a clean shirt. She brought a basin of warm water and began washing my face gently. Then she took me to the kitchen, where she prepared something for me to eat. I watched her. She might inform the police. Could I trust her? “When did you eat last?” she asked. “I don’t remember,” I said. “Poor boy.” She got up. “Eat everything and go to sleep.” I almost cried. What was the matter with this land? Just a moment ago I was being beaten by white men. But here was another white person, a woman, giving me food and a place to rest. And her warmth! I sat on the couch and started talking. I wanted to explain what happened to me. “Poor boy.” There was a kindness in her face, some urge to reach me, to understand what I was telling her. And sometimes when she was touched by my description, I could feel her kind hand on my face. There was tenderness in her couch.” (page 209-210)
Although America was full of white men who beat Carlos, there were good people like this white woman who gave him food to eat and a place to sleep. He comes to realize that America is a two-side place. There were good people and there were the bad, prejudice people.

To Carlos Bulosan, America is what people make it. It is everybody living there, white, Chinese, or Filipino.
‘”It is but fair to say that America is not a land of one race or one class of men. We are all Americans that have toiled and suffered and known oppression and defeat, from the first Indian that offered peace in Manhattan to the last Filipino pea pickers. America is not bound by geographical latitudes. America is not merely a land or an institution. America is in the hearts of men that died for freedom; it is also in the eyes of men that are building a new world. America is a prophecy of a new society of men: of a system that knows no sorrow or strife or suffering. America is a warning to those who would try to falsify the ideals of freemen.
“America is also the nameless foreigner, the homeless refugee, the hungry boy begging for a job and the black body dangling on a tree. America is the illiterate immigrant who is ashamed that the world of books and intellectual opportunities is closed to him. We are all that nameless foreigner, that homeless refugee, that hungry boy, that illiterate immigrant and that lynched black body. All of us, from the first Adams to the last Filipino, native born or alien, educated or illiterate- We are America! (page 189)
This shows that Carlos knows that all that have worked and lived in America are Americans. He feels that America is the poor people, the homeless, and the hated people. He knows that America is not limited to just the geographical features. He discerns that America lives in the heart and not just on the land or on the outside. He shows that America is made up of the poor, the rich, the white people, the Filipino, and that they make up America. He is part of America.

In conclusion, Carlos came to America from the Philippines. He found America to be place filled with confusion. He sees Caucasian people so racist that they attack innocent people. To his surprise, he also finds white people that are nice to him and give him a place to close his eyes. He finds America with promise and he writes to show his feelings about. He is right and America does live in the heart.