One day, in the not-too-recent past, when I was still only a shy, serious, Luso-Canadian [2] youth in my late–teens, my friend “Mario,”[3]who had quit school a few years earlier to enter the work force as an unskilled labourer, turned to me suddenly with a pose of mock reprehension and asked, "So, when are you going to quit school and go to work?" I matter-of-factly replied to him "I'm not going to work. I'm going to University." He answered back - the beginnings of a wry, mischievous smile slowly spreading across his face -"University? You can't go to University! You're Portuguese! Don't you know that Portuguese are not supposed to go to University?!"

When this incident occurred, I had just recently begun to contemplate my future with a mix of ecstatic wonderment and gnawing anxiety. "Mario," who was one of my best friends at the time, had joined together with some of my other close friends who lived on the street (all of whom had also dropped out) and unexpectedly seized upon this opportunity to start "ribbing" me about my seemingly "outlandish" career decision. As self-conscious as I was about suddenly being made their focus of attention, I could not bring myself to defend myself against their friendly prodding. As “Mario’s” comments washed away amidst the warm waves of youthful laughter, which had been born of our sudden shared sense of the absurd, they nevertheless left within me an indelible imprint; one which, years later, would often cause me to reflect upon that day, and upon the kinds of realities which had led “Mario” to voice this belief and which had accompanied us throughout our working-class, immigrant childhood.

Part of the reason why I never forgot these comments was that this kind of teasing, about our futures, was not very common amongst my group of friends. Despite the fact that large numbers of Portuguese youth in our neighbourhoods dropped-out before graduating and despite our active participation in the ritualized labelling of those who had better marks or were academically overeager - whom we normally called “browners” or “brainers” - nonetheless there remained an unspoken respect for those young people who had academic or professional ambitions. This respect was also granted for the simple fact that these kids were succeeding in a school system which, at its best, was proving to be a difficult ordeal for many Luso-Canadian children from working-class, rural backgrounds. At its worst, our schools delivered to a select unlucky few an overwhelmingly negative school experience (especially those who were biding out their time in the “purgatory” of Basic- and General-levels of study). These schools not only ignored most of what we had grown up with in the rural-based, traditional Portuguese culture which we lived at home, but often did little or nothing to help us to see that we could ever be other than what we were.[4] Thus, I remember “Mario’s” words because I sensed unspoken feelings of pride behind the friendly put-downs, on that warm, summer afternoon.

I also did not forget “Mario’s” comments not because of their inherent absurdity but, rather, because at that point in time, within the Toronto Portuguese community, “Mario’s” words were essentially correct. When he voiced these declarations, I instinctively understood - and agreed with - what he was talking about. Since the overwhelming mass of Portuguese immigrants to Canada in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s, had been comprised of that segment of the Portuguese population that was of rural, working-class origins (most of which possessed four or fewer years of primary education) consequently, most Luso-Canadian children in our neighbourhoods grew up virtually without ever meeting (or even knowing about) any Portuguese who were university educated, middle-class or professionals. Thus, in the highly distilled and distorted social and economic context in which we had been raised, our notion of “being Portuguese” had been predetermined by a set of historical circumstances which most of us did not fully appreciate. Meanwhile the definitions of “Portuguese” which had subsequently been constructed for us alluded exclusively to individuals who were ghettoized from the mainstream of Canadian society by virtue of their low education levels and who were restricted to occupations of relatively unrewarding, and sometimes unpleasant, manual labour. Consequently, our visions for our future extended mainly as far as to imagine ourselves as plumbers, cleaners or carpenters, (or for a few, more ambitious, individuals: Hairdressers, real estate, travel or insurance agents). Thus, for most of us, our notions of “being Portuguese” did not embrace going to university or entering into a middle-class lifestyle. Meanwhile, for those few who did contemplate this path, the future offered only a vast, empty chasm, with few beacons ahead to light a path, or point out the dangers.[5] In essence, the truth of the matter was, that part of me very much felt the same way that “Mario” did and was very much frightened by the personal implications of what lay ahead.

As I looked back on it years later, I also remembered Mario’s comments because this had also been the first time in my life that I had truly questioned why I had never before found such comments, or ideas, absurd. Upon contemplating entering university, I was now suddenly having to come face-to-face with my own definition of myself, as a Portuguese-Canadian, and having to contemplate exactly what it was that I might become. In essence, this conversation with “Mario” graphically highlighted the fact that I had never before questioned the extent of my conformity to the assumptions that were part-and-parcel of my social context.

There is little doubt in my mind that this reductionist definition of being "Portuguese" arose, in large part, as a consequence of mainstream Canadian society's long-standing tendency to appropriate from its minority groups their right to create and disseminate their own public self–definitions, from the unique perspective of their own particular frame of reference. In essence, the mainstream of Canadian (and North American) society has a tradition of disseminating explanations of the cultural differences of its minority groups that regard these as expressions of inherent differences, or “deficiencies,” in values and morals, (rather than as expressions of similar values, which have arisen as an adaptation to different sets of social and economic conditions). In this fashion, the mainstream has denied its minority groups the right to create definitions which are based upon each group's intimate knowledge of why they choose to act in the way they do, and not upon some mainstream interpretation of that group's cultural difference.[6] This tendency is one of the practices which has denied groups such as the Portuguese the freedom to create, define and express public identities from the unique perspective of their own particular cultural frames of reference. In consequence, what has traditionally been passed on to us immigrant children are the mainstream's reductionist, stereotypic and ultimately depreciative explanations for the practices and attitudes of our ethnic groups and of ourselves; a notion where words like "illiterate", "uneducated" and "simple" have been legitimized in our minds as being the only acceptable synonyms for "Portuguese,” and where notions like “slow-witted”, “unambitious” and “abusive” have been conjured up to explain why those from our culture appear to act in different ways.

Yet, it also did not help much that our parents' manner of dealing with the ideas which we inevitably brought home from school, and with which they often did not agree, was frequently to label these under the general rubric of a bad "English" or "Canadian" influence. This was the way which many mothers and fathers had of striking back at the daily dismissal – and occasional racism – shown towards them and to their culture, by the Canadian mainstream society of the 60's and 70's. Home is where they drew a cultural line of "no trespass"; the one place where they had a degree of control over their lives and their environments, and it was the one place where they most refused to be culturally alienated. Home is also where many fought the most tenaciously against the increasing distance between themselves and their children.

More than anything else, this manner of protecting themselves from the alienation forged for them in society–at–large was, for many Portuguese immigrant children, the most destructive practice in which our parents could have engaged. Their defensive reaction to the cultural and economic hegemony of urban, North American society greatly exacerbated for us the notion of a cultural duality; one in which the arguments of conservative versus progressive thought, rural versus urban lifestyles, social and technological change versus the maintenance of traditional practices, and the conflict between the generations were continually being confused with, and explained in terms of, notions of ethnic allegiances.[7] Thus, in this climate, the simple act of wearing blue–jeans was often regarded by some Portuguese-Canadians in the 1970’s as a sign of acquiescence to "Canadian" habits, rather than as a world-wide fashion trend amongst all youth. Similarly, the desire to further one's education in order to become "somebody" was, in the highly monochromatic social environment of the Luso-Canadian community of the 60’s and 70’s, sometimes assumed by some individuals in both the Portuguese as well as in the mainstream communities as being part–and–parcel of a desire to leave behind one's ethnic roots.

Although we did not perceive it at the time, these notions of "being Portuguese", which my friends and I held, were also invariably bound up with, and inseparable from the particular attitudes regarding social class and status, which our parents had brought with them from Portugal. My parents, (along with the vast majority of those Portuguese over fifty years of age who immigrated to this country), were raised in the class–based, rigidly–segmented, quasi–feudalistic society of the Portugal of the 1940's and 1950's. Under the Salazar dictatorship, this was a society where the rich, powerful and educated, at best, ignored the plight of the rural peasant and, at worst, often exploited or abused rural and working–class people. My parents, like their contemporaries, were brought up distrusting and denigrating many of the elites of that society. Thus, for them, the act of casually casting disparaging remarks amongst themselves at those people whose higher education afforded them some position of leadership in their village or region often became a cultural demarcant: A bonding ritual of the culture of poor, rural Portuguese. Thus, the deprecation behind the expression "senhores Doutores"[8] – a term that is often used to sarcastically demean one or another professional who has somehow interfered in our lives – was as instantly familiar to us as to those Portuguese of my parent's generation, with whom we were raised, and such attitudes were a common fixture of our working–class, Portuguese–Canadian home–lives.

Unbeknownst to my parents, this was one of the realities of traditional, rural Portuguese culture which for me, held major implications for my considerations regarding my future:[9] While my mother and father saw little or no contradiction in denigrating the educational or political elites of our community while simultaneously encouraging me to become one of these myself, I - nonetheless - was left inevitably disquieted by the prospect of becoming the very person that I had always been brought up to distrust.[10]

Because of these deeply held assumptions, there was also emerging within me a growing sense of guilt; a nagging ache on my conscience, which had slowly begun to well–up inside; a sense of shame for wanting to enter into an experience which – in my

fact was that, despite my parents' continuing approval and their support of my decision to go to university, I harboured a deep anxiety that, by so doing, I would somehow be "betraying" my Portuguese heritage.

Thus, not only did I feel shame for wanting to embrace an institution which embodied many of the mainstream norms and ideas which my parents frequently rejected in our home, but I also felt culpable for feeling the desire to follow a path that had been atypical for my rural grandparents and great-grandparents, my urban working–class parents, and for the great majority of the Portuguese immigrant youth coming out of Toronto's high schools, during those years.

Richard Rodriguez, an American writer of Mexican descent, has written in his autobiography, Hunger of Memory, about these same feelings of psychological departure from his community and of the sensations of guilt and shame which this occasioned,

What I am about to say to you has taken me more than twenty years to admit: A primary reason for my success in the classroom was that I couldn't forget that schooling was changing me and separating me from the life I enjoyed before becoming a student, [italics in original]. That simple realization! For years I never spoke to anyone about it. Never mentioned a thing to my family or my teachers or classmates. From a very early age, I understood enough, just enough about my classroom experiences to keep what I knew repressed, hidden beneath layers of embarrassment. Not until my last months as a graduate student, nearly thirty years old, was it possible for me to think much about the reasons for my academic success. Only then. At the end of my schooling, I needed to determine how far I had moved from my past. (Rodriguez, 1982, p. 45)

I intended to hurt my mother and father. I was still angry at them for having encouraged me toward classroom English. But gradually this anger was exhausted, replaced by guilt as school grew more and more attractive to me. (Rodriguez, 1982, p. 50)

The uneasiness which I felt was also accompanied throughout the years by the inclination to interpret my decision to continue studying as a sign of vanity, laziness and as a general lack of industriousness. In fact, this impression has continually been reinforced throughout my university education and the subsequent “white-collar” employment opportunities which these have afforded me through the ever-present, nagging feeling that I am not really “working” and by a constant questioning of myself as to why I am supposedly seeking to be “better” than my family, my friends or my acquaintances (who, often in my mind, are still the only ones who truly “work” for a living). This question has been especially poignant for me at those times when friends or family inevitably ask me what, and why, I am still doing in school and these types of conversations have seldom failed to send me into pangs of self-doubt.

Yet, this is not a feeling which was exclusive to me. Da Cunha (1977) has described a much similar way of regarding higher education amongst certain rural Portuguese families.

For these rural families, to study longer is also a sign of hubris (i.e. an attempt to escape the social conditions of the family) and, therefore, an insult to those who accept those conditions. (Da Cunha, 1977, p.7).[11]

The intensity of this view amongst at least some people in my community (i.e. that students are not contributing to the advancement of the family or the community) was graphically demonstrated at a national conference of Luso–Canadians in Ottawa, which was held to form the first Luso–Canadian National Congress (Aguiar, 1993; Costa, 1995; da Silva, 1993; "Já temos," 1993). During debate on a motion involving university students, one prominent member of the Toronto Portuguese establishment, (ironically enough, himself, a university graduate and lawyer), publicly described continuing students as "social parasites". Although his words were not specifically directed at me, I was nevertheless deeply hurt, exactly because his comment touched upon this long–standing doubt engendered by this deep–seated axiom of rural Portuguese culture, equating studying with idleness.

There is little doubt in my mind that my choice to attend university created some measure of personal apprehension, (as indeed, it often does amongst many other prospective post-secondary students). However, in actuality, this option represented a compromise in the face of another, potentially more radical, decision: As a result of the exhortations of my high-school art teacher and my grades in Fine Arts, in the final years of my secondary education I applied for entrance into the Ontario College of Art. I was short listed for an interview then, at that occasion, promptly proceeded to sabotage any chances of admission that I may have had. This I accomplished by deliberately admitting to the interviewing committee that, in the case that I were not accepted by the Art College, I would simply enrol in a university general arts & science programme.

I sabotaged the interview since, I had little, or no, clue about how I was ever going to explain, or justify, to my father the fact of my wanting to become an “artist.” In the impoverished, rural Portuguese village of the 1930’s and 40’s, a life devoted to art would not put food on your table, clothe your children, or help you fix the roof on your tiny, stone-walled, peasant home. Moreover, in the tightly-knit and interdependent social matrix which comprised the rural Portuguese family, choosing to live a life devoted to art could often be regarded as the height of foolishness, frivolity and selfishness towards the other members of the family.

In fairness, it should also be said that, having been socialized for most of my life in the attitudes of traditional, rural Portuguese society, I also have adopted at least some of my parent’s beliefs regarding the meaning of life, family obligations and career choices. For this reason, a part of me also shared my father’s apprehensions considering a life devoted to art. This made me feel highly irresponsible to even consider entering into this type of career.

However, I also sabotaged the interview because I instinctively understood that the personal and social realities to which I would have had to adapt at O.C.A. would have made it extremely difficult for me to hold on to my Portuguese home life, my relationship with my parents and to a large part of my ethnic identity, (as I conceptualized these at the time). Although still young and relatively sheltered, I nevertheless already possessed a sense for the process of creating art. I realized that, such a process often demands the forging of an intimate synergy between an artist’s life and his or her work. Thus, I sensed instinctively that the institutional and social culture which I would be entering in O.C.A. would have forced upon me a process of experiential personal self–development which would have been totally incompatible with the intimate realities of the traditional Portuguese family in which I had been raised. In essence, since I guessed that my traditional Luso-Canadian identity and lifestyle, as I knew them at the time, would have become incongruous with the demands placed upon me by my teachers and peers, I felt that in order to succeed at O.C.A., I would have had to change on a deeply personal level. If my parents had believed before that high school was changing me for the worst, by transforming me ever more gradually into a “Canadian,” I could only wonder with gnawing apprehension what would likely have been their degree of horror at the changes which they would have seen in me, had I entered O.C.A..

Well before the interview, I had thus developed a sense that I could not risk entering into this process and still hope to emerge as the same person, or with a semblance of the same peace which I enjoyed in my home-life. Nonetheless, I was still curious to see how a panel of artist would evaluate my work. I was also fearful of losing out on an unknown opportunity in life. Thus, I went to the interview with the ideas of satisfying my teachers' wishes, appeasing my curiosity and chasing away any spectre of regret, which could have come over me in the future. Because of this, I did not really enter into this process with the necessary drive or dedication which would allow me to succeed and, in the end, I was, in fact, deeply relieved when I received my rejection letter.

Unfortunately, my attempts at taking the path of least contrition were not altogether successful. There are still many times today when I stop and wonder with some measure of regret what my life would have been like, had I gone to that interview with a more positive attitude, without so much apprehension or so many preconceived ideas. Although I do not harbour remorse over having entered a university programme (which I have found deeply rewarding) I nonetheless regret having had my options limited by fears and social constraints, especially those of a kind which, in a prosperous and more progressive society - such was the Canada of the 1970’s - should have little influence over one’s choice of life and career interest. I also regret having abandoned what would have certainly been a genuinely different and potentially rewarding life opportunity.

Throughout this discussion, I have spoken of some of the conflicts and considerations which were an inherent part of the personal and social contexts in which I and my Luso–Canadian friends had been raised. I have also tried to describe how these often turned my life as a student and my decision to enter university into a bittersweet affair; one which was inevitably fraught with compromises.

Yet, in the end, I do not feel that my personal story is somehow unique in this regard. I must recognize that I am not the only one who has had to structure their life in this fashion and that the decisions of all students – and indeed of most people in general – are inevitably full of compromises; ones which oftentimes have less to do with talent or interest than with considerations of pragmatism, necessity or expediency.

Nonetheless, I continue to feel that the choices which Luso-Canadian students, such as myself, are invariably led to make are shaped, to a greater extent, by the particular social and family contexts in which we are raised, than is the case for a typical, middle-class, mainstream Canadian student. There are many cases, amongst Luso-Canadians, where family and social factors weigh more heavily in life decisions than any particular, personal considerations of talent, interest or professional ambition.[12]I know for a fact that many of my Luso-Canadian friends lived their lives, until they were old enough to marry and consequently to leave home, in similar juggling acts; and, in truth, there were quite a number of them who were not as lucky I have been. There were even some for whom the inability to negotiate these compromises eventually turned tragic.

In my particular case, these compromises have quite frequently left within me feelings of having limited myself and my options, of having settled for somewhat less than the ideal. A few times, they have even left me with the bitter taste of disappointment. Yet, in fairness, they have also allowed me to live my life in relative peace and security, within an all-embracing family support system, where my rights and obligations were, most of the times, clearly delineated and where I could count on a type of emotional and material support that many mainstream youth could only admire and envy. In that sense, I am like most other Luso-Canadian young people and, like the vast majority of those who have had the opportunities to go to school and to raise a family in the closeness and warmth of the traditional Portuguese-Canadian family, I feel that I have been extremely lucky.

I have begun my thesis journey with my own experiences for a number of reasons: Firstly, my desire to answer essential and overriding personal questions has been the primary catalyst which has accompanied me throughout my school years and my experiences in working with the Portuguese community.[13]: Questions such as, "Why did I feel that it was perfectly normal that Portuguese should not go to university?", "What factors in our upbringing led many of my friends to dismiss university as an unrealistic option?", "What aspects of our social environment led us to gauge ethnic identity in terms of education level, occupation, or status in society?", "What factors allowed me, and others, to continue our education despite the difficulties?", "Why has my academic progress been accompanied by feelings of guilt and uneasiness?". These are, in part, the questions which have spurred me to enter graduate school and to engage in this particular thesis exercise. Ultimately, on a deeply personal level they are, for me, what this research project is all about.

However, although they are inexorably important to the exploration of my own personal development, my intimate memories of the road to university also represent – in the context of this study – a great deal more than a mere narcissistic exercise.

More than anything else, my experiences provide a glimpse of the complexity and the all–pervasive nature of the factors involved in the issue of the underachievement of Luso–Canadian children in Toronto. They hint at the interrelationships which exist between minority students' choices of career goals, directions and self–concepts and their notions of roles, personal and ethnic identities and "cultural allegiances". A complexity in which a minority child's subjective "naming" of the world (Freire, 1970, p. 76) can never easily be disentangled from, or explained away in terms of simple, so–called "objective", social or structural factors and one which has never really been done justice in past quantitative and qualitative work on minority underachievement, (see section on minority underachievement).[14]

A second, and most obvious point - in light of what I have said above - is that my personal experiences also provide evidence of the importance within the study of minority underachievement, of minority group members' personal/subjective evaluations of their own existential situation. The one obvious, yet often disregarded, point within educational research is that, while educators and researchers often regard the educational problems of minorities as issues of a purely practical or "technical" character (for example, involving questions of access to E.S.L., streaming, the cultural inclusiveness of curriculum, the availability of role models, etc.), and while they often overlook, dismiss, or relegate the experiences of students and parents to a "passive", secondary or "reactive" role, the minority students and communities which are engaged in these issues often see them as primary, deeply personal, social and philosophical problems of a complex existential and subjective nature.

Although appearing – on the surface – disarmingly simple–minded and trivial, this difference in viewing the problem is extremely important: As my personal story has indicated, Luso-Canadian youth often make practical decisions in their lives on the basis of personal, social and existential considerations, involving subjective conceptions of roles, identities, group membership, family and community expectations. Thus, understanding how Portuguese children and the Portuguese community view themselves and their education in relation to mainstream society is as important - and perhaps even more so - than examining and deconstructing the school practices and policies which serve to limit their academic success.

Paulo Freire recognized the importance of this subjective element in the study of the human situation, when he discussed the indivisibility of men and the world, and when he described the complex interrelationship between men and their social environment. Freire (1970, pp. 75–118) wrote of the "praxis" between men and the world, reflection and action:

To exist humanly is to name the world, to change it. Once named, the world in its turn reappears to the namers as a problem and requires of them a new naming. Men are not built in silence, but in word, in work, in action–reflection. (Freire, 1970, p. 76)

In Freire's view, it is not possible to separate people from the world: "World and men do not exist apart from each other, they exist in constant interaction", (p. 36). To deny either the importance of people's environment, (objective reality), or their subjective perception of that environment, would be tantamount to denying the existence of human action and the human condition:

There would be no human action if there were no objective reality, no world to be the 'not I' of man and to challenge him; just as there would be no human action if man were not a 'project,' if he were not able to transcend himself, to perceive his reality and understand it in order to transform it. (Freire, 1970, p. 38)

The Anthropologist John Ogbu, whose Cultural-Ecological Theory of School Performance attempts to explain the basis for the underachievement of a number of minority groups, has also made subjectivity an essential element within his theory on minority underachievement. As Ogbu and Simons (1998) stated:

Structural barriers and school factors affect minority school performance; however, minorities are also autonomous human beings who actively interpret and respond to their situation. Minorities are not helpless victims. (Ogbu & Simons, 1998, p. 158)

In summary, my personal account serves to highlight the overriding importance within underachievement research of the interpretation of minority group members regarding their social and personal realities.

Thirdly, my personal story also illustrates how many Portuguese-Canadian children invariably find themselves trapped within a social system that is characterized by strong contradictory and opposing demands and expectations, which originate from the many societal groups who have a stake in their education. This is a state of affairs which often gives rise to a profound sense of cultural duality within Luso–Canadian children.

This idea of cultural duality and its supposed negative effects on the personal development and psychological well–being of minority children is not a new concept in the study of Portuguese immigrant children (ex. Bulger, 1987; Gameiro, 1984; Nunes, 1986, pp. 29–36). In fact, the issue of the cultural duality within minority children, in general, has largely been regarded as a “given,” as the inevitable byproduct which results from the innate search of all young people for an identity, and as a disadvantaging state of affairs that is particularly intrinsic to the situation of all bicultural children.[15]

Yet, this conceptualization and study of the phenomenon of the cultural duality of minority children have almost always served to centre the issue of academic underachievement on the problems and “cultural deficiencies” of the minority child (see chapters 4 and 5). In fact, as I illustrate in chapter 4, a number of authors have directly attributed the problem of the academic underachievement of Portuguese children to its effects.

In this fashion, the focus of thought around underachievement in the Portuguese-Canadian community has often tended to centre upon the duality itself, rather than upon the situation of contradicting social and cultural choices which these children confront on a daily basis, or upon the political, social and cultural expectations and conflicts which occurs between the different groups who have a stake in their development.[16]

The natural consequence of regarding the problem of cultural duality from this perspective is then that, the study of the phenomenon of academic underachievement has similarly been approached from this child–centred viewpoint. Quite often in research conducted on Portuguese children, (and in much of the underachievement research, in general (see Chapter 5), the child and his/her "cultural baggage" has implicitly been regarded as the catalyst for, (and hence the tacit origin of), the cultural conflicts that are often regarded as being at the root of academic failure. By relegating the conflict between social forces to a secondary role – by making the child's cultural duality, rather than the conflict, assumptions and expectations of the different groups, into the object of research – these studies have often reflected the subtle assumption that, without the cultural duality, (or, in essence, without the children and the influence of their maternal culture), the cultural conflict would not present a problem. In this fashion, these studies have – to a large extent – avoided directly confronting and analyzing the differences in expectations, demands, influences, role definitions, social positioning and power of the social groups whose actions have a direct influence over Portuguese children.

Yet, as my personal experiences illustrate clearly, the personal/subjective evaluations of Luso-Canadian students arise not from their seemingly “innate” cultural duality but, rather, from the pressures, expectations, assumptions and limitations imposed upon them by their family, their community and the Canadian mainstream. All of these groups have an important stake in the outcome of their cultural allegiance and the pressures brought to bear by all of these are ultimately what have a hand in creating this sense of duality. Furthermore, my story serves to clearly emphasize the fact that some Luso-Canadian children do not normally see their difficulties in negotiating educational and life choices as necessarily arising from their feelings of duality, or personal identity conflicts, (even when these result in identity conflict) but rather, they regard both these difficulties and the ensuing duality as a consequence of the demands and conflicts imposed upon them by their social environment. They are usually able to identify these personal and existential consequences (the duality) as being outside of themselves; as resulting from the conflicts, assumptions and constraints in their social environment. Thus, they also choose to dwell instead on these immediate demands imposed upon them, characterized by the push and pull of the clashing cultural pressures that invariably assail them.

Thus, the main elements in the consciousness of Portuguese youth – and most probably other minority children – in understanding themselves and their actions are not necessarily personal considerations of an innate struggle for identity, but are most often reflections on how they are going to negotiate the demands of the conflicting social and cultural forces, that are incessantly vying for their allegiance. In other words, what is foremost in the minds of Portuguese young people are not the existential questions regarding their identity (“Am I Portuguese? Am I Canadian?”), but rather practical questions about how they are going to meet the demands of their community, home and school and how their success or failure in this endeavour will ultimately impact upon their sense of self.

My personal story further illustrates the fact that Portuguese youth are not simply the mere passive recipients of dominating social influences, (as the references to their cultural duality would sometimes have us believe). My story shows that, not only are many Portuguese children acutely aware of the important stake placed on their identity development by the different groups in their society, but that some of them are also able to carefully manage their cultural persona, as a way of navigating through the inherent contradictions and conflicting demands placed upon them.[17] This fact also serves as a further illustration of the importance of the subjective element in issues of underachievement.

Fourthly, my experiences hint at how the demands that are placed upon Luso-Canadian children are mediated by complex assumptions influenced by political, social, economic and historical realities which, themselves, are often based on the differing power relationships between societal groups. My personal story hints at how there exists an ongoing struggle, that is being waged between the Luso-Canadian minority and the dominant Canadian mainstream society for the cultural hearts and minds of the newer generations. More importantly however, it also illustrates how this struggle ultimately impacts upon the academic choices of Luso-Canadian youth. This struggle has affinities with the many other struggles which occur throughout the world, where dominant and subordinate social and economic groups are in conflict, over such things as land, resources or political control.

Paulo Freire describes how politically, culturally and economically dominated groups come to regard dominant groups, (the "oppressor") as their model of manhood, (Freire, 1970, pp. 29–30). As Freire stated, "Their ideal is to be men; but for them, to be men is to be oppressors" (p. 30) and "They are at one and the same time themselves and the oppressors whose consciousness they have internalized."

Thus, Freire's descriptions of the process of domination and subjugation has implications for the cultural domination and the existential duality which many bi–cultural children endure in North America. Freire could very well have been describing the cultural duality of most Portuguese–Canadian children, (or aspects of my own experiences), when he stated,

The conflict lies in the choice between being wholly themselves or being divided; between ejecting the oppressor within or not ejecting him; between human solidarity or alienation; between following prescriptions or having choices; between being spectators or actors; between acting or having the illusion of acting through the action of the oppressors; between speaking out or being silent, castrated in their power to create and re–create, in their power to transform the world. (Freire, 1970, pp.32–33)

Yet, for Freire, this duality is not the important element, in perpetuating the disadvantage of the oppressed. The duality is rather a byproduct of the unequal exercise of power between societal groups, the dehumanizing tendencies of the “oppressor” and of the lack of critical consciousness of their situation, on the part of the “oppressed.”

In summary, my personal story provides clues to indicate that, Portuguese children often begin viewing the phenomenon of their biculturalism, their duality, their place in society and their roles within the social conflicts from a different vantage point than that of many researchers. My story suggests that, Portuguese children do not often reflect over their cultural duality as much as they ponder the forces vying for their cultural allegiance and how those forces will affect them; in essence, they quite often do not assume the problem of cultural duality within themselves, but rather focus this problem within the push and pull of the conflicting demands which their societies place upon them. By concentrating upon the significant effect which different societal forces appeared to have had upon the course of my life, my friends' lives, upon our notions of ourselves, our belief in our future and our perceptions of our place in society, my story illustrates how I understood the essence of my cultural duality and my academic future to be firmly linked to those societal forces and community expectations.

In this regard, my experiences also serve to provide a glimpse of what happens to some minority children when their ethnic allegiances are fought over, manipulated, negotiated, surrendered, bartered or appropriated by different groups involved in a struggle to dominate and resist domination. It was clear to many of us at that time, (as it is certain to me now), that our ethnic allegiances, cultural identities, roles, values, beliefs and cultural skills were regarded and treated as commodities; assets which granted both power and legitimacy to those groups in the adult world who were able to own and direct their development.

When regarded in this fashion, we can see that, the Portuguese in Canada share certain commonalities with other groups throughout our world, who are in positions of being socially, economically, or culturally dominated by another, more powerful segment of their communities. In many examples throughout the world, it is often the ownership of land, money, arms or resources that is frequently contested between rival nations or between different segments of their societies. However, for the Portuguese in Canada, quite often it is the language, cultural identity and ethnic allegiance of their children which are the resources that are most frequently disputed and utilized as a means to grant the control and legitimacy of the mainstream or minority group over the other.

[1]David Hunt in his book Beginning With Ourselves, (Hunt, 1987) exhorts teachers, administrators and researchers to begin their work from the basis of their experiential knowledge.

[2] "Luso" is a term designating Portuguese and/or Portuguese descendants. Lusitania was an ancient Roman province, encompassing Portugal and parts of western Spain; territories which were originally inhabited by a people called the Lusitanians, who fiercely resisted the Roman occupation. This historical connection gave rise to the term “Luso” being applied to the Portuguese.

[3] Not his real name.

[4] Ironically enough, this was the result of our schools not having exposed us to many mainstream, middle-class environments, (ex. work-places). One measure of this was that, up until the beginning of my university years, I was under the impression that my family was “middle-class.”

[5] No better proof of this can be found than by observing the fact that, many of those of us who have long finished university continue to struggle even today with trying to define ourselves and where we fit, within a community that still remains predominantly lower-working-class.

[6] The tendency in societies which have deeply-ingrained historical notions of racial hierarchies, differentiation, segregation and stratification (such as amongst those of Anglo-Saxon and Germanic origins) has traditionally been to interpret different observed customs and habits as arising from differences in values or moral integrity in other cultures; in other words, in order to explain the lack of assimilation of the minorities in their midst to mainstream habits, they have assumed that these could only have arisen from “distorted” values and/or moral failings. Rarely have they been seen as adaptations to different environments. This tendency has normally been followed by a public pillorying of these cultures through the widespread creation and dissemination of assumptions and images which target the postulated underlying values behind those habits (and, ultimately, the “moral worth” of those cultures) rather than the adaptive usefulness of those practices. So, for example, in this environment, the cultural segregation of Jews and their struggles to achieve economic (and thus personal) security in the midst of centuries of persecution is regarded as an inborn tendency towards deviance and avarice; the habits and customs of African-Americans which have developed as a response to centuries of discrimination, and to the lack of employment and educational opportunities are attributed to laziness, a tendency towards violence, and lowered levels of intelligence or “civilization”; thus, in a similar fashion, the tendency amongst the first generation of Portuguese to maintain traditional rural habits and customs, to embrace manual labour, closely-knit family ties and networks of friendships (as a way which they developed to survive in a land of rural poverty and a feudal social order) is regarded by those in the mainstream as arising from mental turpitude, inflexibility and lack of ambition.

[7]Years later, upon returning to Portugal, many of the immigrant Portuguese of my parents' generation and rural origins were surprised and disenchanted to find that both young and old alike had – in their absence – taken to wearing blue–jeans.

[8] In English, this would be analogous to calling educated individuals by the sarcastic term "their lordships."

[9] Although to be truthful, at the time, I still had not understood this too well.

[10]I would hazard to guess that this may also be a partial explanation for the great hesitancy displayed by many of the children of the Portuguese immigrants in Toronto, to assume positions of leadership in our community. As one Portuguese succinctly described the apathy of the Luso–Canadian generation of two decades ago "They are not doing anything wrong, but they are not doing anything right, either" (Slinger, 1971). Although today the situation has become somewhat improved, there still exists a great deal of reluctance amongst many young people in this community to become involved in positions of political and cultural leadership, since many of them know the depth of distrust and hostility that they will have to suffer people in the community.

[11] This question becomes particularly relevant to me during those occasions when I am forced to rely on my parents for temporary financial assistance. While most of my friends who long ago left school for apprenticeships, manual labour or professional jobs have by now acquired a home, a car, and a well–defined, respected place in society, I continue to find myself in a kind of social "limbo", good at many things, but expert at nothing, living from hand–to–mouth, from assistantship to contract to assistantship and perpetually trying to convince my parents that, indeed, my life has already "started".

Persuading one's parents in this matter, is one of the most difficult tasks that young Portuguese–Canadians who choose to study must face. This is because, it is a widespread belief amongst traditional Portuguese society that a young person's "life" has not begun, in any important sense, until he or she is married and financially independent. "Quando começares a tua vida..." (When you begin your life) is a common expression of many Portuguese parents, which is used to refer to that time when their children will run their own household and be self–supporting in a secure, long–term job.

The prevalence of this notion arose partly from their upbringing in a cultural environment which relied very much on a system of markers, symbols and rituals to rigidly delineate the various and distinct life stages which characterized village life. However, it also resulted from the particular economic system which characterized Portugal in the 1940's and 50's.

Under the dictatorship of Antonio Salazar, strict rules of employment governing hirings and firings virtually guaranteed lifetime employment, for those who held state–recognized, full–time, permanent, salaried positions with private or public companies. As a result, many Portuguese fully expected their children, upon entering the job market, to seek out and hold lifetime employment in one company or institution.

Upon immigrating to Canada, many had difficulty accepting the fact that their offspring, which shuttle from one job to another in the unstable, uncertain North American marketplace, or who labour part–time to support studies, had truly "begun their life". Many, today, are still waiting perpetually for their children to finally one day "establish" themselves permanently in one company, one profession, and one role in the community.

[12]It is important to note that, I am in no way suggesting that personal and social considerations don't enter into the decision–making processes of mainstream youth. I am only making the point that, the incongruencies present in the situation of most minority children render the various options available to them, throughout their lives, much more difficult to reconcile.

[13] This is also a common driving force for many other researchers, although the need to maintain a "professional" demeanour of "objectivity" often prevents many researchers from admitting it.

[14]Cummins (1984, chapter 5) recognized this complexity by reviewing the information on academic underachievement and postulating that no one variable or set of variables are the sole explanation for minority academic failure.

[15]This approach to this issue starts from the assumption that even if a contradiction between Portuguese and Anglo cultural norms did not exist and did not lead to a duality, differences in other factors, (such as economic status, physical appearance, etc.), would cause conflict and division within these children anyway.

[16] This manner of viewing the problem has invariably placed the child within a role that is, ironically, simultaneously both active and passive: A child's role is active in the sense that he/she is always regarded as the central element in the existence of the duality, by virtue of his/her innate need to create an identity. Put simply, the problem is seen to exist, to a large extent, because the child exists and his/her struggle to find an identity exists. Yet, simultaneously, the child's role is also seen as passive, in the sense that Portuguese and other minority children are mostly seen as victims, as having little or no control over the forces that assail them. Yet, from both viewpoints, the essence has remained that the child is the focus of attention and, thus, the implied heart of the problem.

To use a simplistic analogy, a dart–board in a bar, can be conceptualized simultaneously as both a passive and active object. It can at once be seen as an object that waits passively to receive the action of dart–throwing, and – at the same time – as an active lure of patrons and of their dart–throwing inclinations. Yet, inherent in both of these ways of looking at this issue is the fact that it is the board – and not the darts or the patrons – which remains the focus of attention. When problems occur, such as damage to the wall or frequent arguments between drunken patrons over use of the board, it is always this object and the fact of its existence which are seen as the main focus of attention and the cause of the problem. This happens irregardless of the board's lack of active solicitation to patrons' attentions. From this perspective, one can also recognize the train of thought behind the unspoken, subtle assumption that, to solve the problem of cultural duality in bicultural children, one should either remove the child or the child’s maternal culture and language from the situation (rather than confronting the conflicting social stressors which are engendering the duality).

[17]Once again, I am not suggesting that this process does not occur with mainstream children. I am merely making the points that the demands placed on minority youth, such as the Portuguese, are much more severe and thus, that Portuguese children are often painted in the literature on cultural duality as being powerless against these forces.