The Changing Face of St. Louis 

Why new Americans settling here are the city's best hope.
(part 3 of 3)

By Kevin M. Mitchell, St. Louis Magazine

	May Wu and her 18-month-old son, Rich, immigrated to the area when her husband was a graduate student in University of Illinois - Springfield.

	"When I came to here, the language and lifestyle I could not get used to," she says. Like the Lebanese who find sanctuary at St. Raymond's and the Armenians at the Armenian Apostolic Church, Wu finds her church, the Taiwanese Presbyterian Church, a bedrock of support. When she arrived here, she says it was the only Chinese house of worship in St. Louis she found. Today there are a total of six, including Catholic, Baptist, Christian, and Buddhist denominations serving an estimated 30,000 Chinese.

	"I feel St. Louis are very friendly," she says. "Even the people at the supermarket are so friendly. Sometimes they know we are not good at English yet, and they are very helpful."

	Today she is director of the St. Louis Chinese American News. Founded in 1990, the newspaper prints 6,000 copies and has an on-line edition. "We publish in English too so our American friends can understand what's going on in our community. Also for the younger generation, the second generation, who don't know Chinese very well."

	The Wus speak Chinese in their home, but their son often answers in English. 	"For us it is very hard for us to keep our culture. When we talk to him in Chinese he usually answers us in English."

	Despite the large Chinese population, individuals assimilate into different areas, as opposed to claiming a specific neighborhood. Immigrants naturally will tend to live where their family, friends, or relatives live. Refugees become noticeable in an area in South City usually because it's near the location of the Institute, South Grand. After all, someone has to find these people places to live.

	It's the day before Thanksgiving, and I'm crawling into a 1982 rusted blue Ford pickup with a dashboard that may or may not fall off in the not too distant future. I'm with Suzanne LeLaurin, an Institute Vice President, and we're going to the airport to pick up a family of three from Afghanistan. The driver of the beloved vehicle goes by Sam, but his name is Semere Desu.

	Desu is a refugee from Eritrea, a spot in Africa I had to look up (it's a sliver near Ethiopia). He arrived here as a 17-year-old the year after this truck was made, and like Barekzai, came with siblings and his mother. He, too, found his treatment from other St. Louisans good. 

	"I only got in trouble once!" he says with an infectious laugh. "This guy stole my bicycle off my back porch and I smacked him. Soon the police came. In my country, someone steals your bike, you hit them. You don't call the police, because they never come." 

	It's his job to find apartments for new clients, and today he's pleased with himself because he found a nice one-bedroom for $360. It's two blocks from the Institute and near other Afghanis, although he's more interested in finding deals than grouping people together. There are catches for the landlord: no deposits, no signed lease. Problems? Of course. But they tend to be cultural. One complained that a new American was hanging his clothes to dry off his front porch (back is fine).

	We're in post-9/11 airport hell. Waiting for the family at the gate is out of the question. We have to hope they figure out how to work their way through the tunnels of Lambert without help. Barekzai paces, and I ask LeLaurin about discrimination.

	"Do landlords say ‘no' to us? Oh, yeah, every day," LeLaurin says. She tells the story of one landlord who was interested in taking clients from the Institute but added a "no blacks" stipulation with the adjunct of "of course I'm fine with it, but the other tenants...." LeLaurin rolls her eyes at this story. "We're like, ‘Then sorry, we can't do business with you.'"

	It's 40 minutes after the flight has landed, and Barekzai, who has met us there, is about to lay his trump card. This is when he goes to the airport authorities and pages the new St. Louisans in Farsi. He's surely as nervous as those who have just landed, and equally as glad when he finally spots them. They look relieved and greet us with a smile.

	But all drop their smiles quickly. There are eight people, not three. Two families. Are they connecting somewhere else? No. Is the family of five with one of the Catholic agencies? No.

	Cell phones fly out. First, we need more transportation. The second family is asked to show papers--something they associate as a bad thing. But they are quickly comforted, as the Institute group assures them that it's not their fault.

	Hours later, Barekzai patiently takes the family of three through their new home while Desu furiously tries to chase down another apartment.

	"Many of us arrived in St. Louis in the late 19th Century, so there are still stories told about how great-grandfather struggled," Jones had told me. "We're the results of those success stories. What makes us think we can't have more of those?"

	Barekzai is handing the woman and her two teenage boys the keys. She smiles and signals for a pen. I volunteer mine. Maybe she'll use it to start her story. I hope for our sake it's a good one.