According to the International Organization for Migration (2024), a migrant is a broad term for anyone who moves from one place to another, often temporarily for work, better living conditions, or education. In contrast, the term immigrant specifically refers to someone who moves to a new country to settle permanently.
Everything was fine in the animal kingdom until apes descended from the trees six to seven million years ago. They were the early hominins evolving in stages from “Lucy” to Homo habilis, to Homo erectus, to Neanderthals, and culminating in Homo sapiens, modern humans. They were distinguished by hairlessness, bipedalism, and high intelligence. Scientists identified five stages in human evolution: hunters-gatherers, nomads, herders, farmers, and industrial workers. Each subsequent society was more advanced. Hunters, gatherers, nomads, and herders were nomadic tribes led by their best tracker. They were constantly on the move; it was their way of life. Back then, they had plenty of space. Around 10,000 BCE, humans started establishing agricultural villages and became farmers and artisans, which led to the formation of social classes. Their populations increased. Over time, countries, states, or city-states appeared and created rules to protect themselves from undesirables. Trouble arose during mass migrations when great empires disintegrated, such as the Roman Empire in 395 CE. The European Migration Period followed. It lasted 300 years, and the political map was completely redrawn.
Presently, migrations are caused either by interreligious intolerance or by the unequal distribution of wealth between countries, continents, and even enclaves within the same country. People from poor countries are overwhelming rich countries. These migrations are on an unprecedented scale, aided by improved transportation. Not all immigration is bad. If done right, it is desirable. To be successful, there must be “acceptance” and “assimilation” of the immigrants into the new societies. What stands in the way are traditions, fear of change and competition from the hungry arrivals, and whether the immigrants are willing to blend in.
It was done without consulting with the people, who are still resentful, stubborn, generations-old German speakers refusing to assimilate with the rest of the Italians. South Tyrol is mountainous, beautiful and a tourist Mecca. Small villages were inaccessible and isolated until very recently, when modern roads were built, winding up from the deep valleys. Their medieval character has remained the same.
In 2008, Bruno and Elsa were vacationing on Lake Garda, in northern Italy. The 50 km lake begins in the broad Po River Valley. To its north end lies the exquisite town of Riva del Garda. There, the South Tyrol begins; it is an entry point to the Alps.
One day, they decided to drive north to Trento through the narrow valley of the Sarca River framed by mountains on both sides. It does not usually rain much in Italy, but that day was miserable. They drove slowly through the steady rain, - “sightseeing by car.” About halfway between Riva and Trento, they turned off the main road. The road was steep and narrow, and zigzagged up the hill. That day, it was engulfed in fog. There were no guardrails to prevent cars from plunging steeply down. It is conjectured that mountain goats have poor vision, so they do not see the precipices under them; a gentle fog has the same effect on car drivers. A chill seeped into the car, freezing their bones all the way to the marrow. At last, they arrived at a tiny mountain village. An establishment on the corner was a combination of a restaurant, pizzeria or bar, depending on the time of the day.
It was the middle of the afternoon, so it was a bar. A pretty waitress served drinks, and aside from Bruno and Elsa, two lonely figures at separate tables hunched over their beers, perhaps fortified with schnapps. Customers were the taciturn types, the air was stale, and boredom was spreading.
Bruno and Elsa ordered grog (a hot black tea spiced with rum, sugar and lemon juice), but with double rum each. It was the right choice, and they slowly defrosted. A new customer came in and sat down in a high chair by the bar. He mumbled something and handed the waitress an orange. She gave him a drink just as silently. He must have been a regular. When Bruno and Elsa finished their grog, the waitress came to clear the table. She lingered standing above them and addressed them in Slovak: “I noticed you were talking Czech.” So they were. The ice broken, the waitress told them her life story. She had come to Italy from
Slovakia to work. Beginning was not easy, as she had to learn Italian and also the Tyrolean German. The villagers ostracised her, but in time she met a nice local boy, and they started dating. She hoped she would be accepted. It did not help much, and she was considering returning home. “But I noticed,” Bruno said, “that the last customer brought you a gift.” “Yes,” she smiled, and pointed to her extended belly. “Everything has changed now that I have a little Tyrolian coming. We are married, and I am staying.
The hills and ridges are not high but rugged. Roads rarely cross them from one valley to another. Before modern transportation, the villages were isolated, just like in South Tyrol. Inhabitants are self-absorbed in their uniqueness. For a person, “wandering in” from villages nearby, even to marry or open a small business was rare. One such village is called Vír. The houses follow each other like goslings follow mother goose. The valley is wider only in a few places where the small creeks cascade from the hills. Lanes, about 4 to 5 houses long, branch out from the main road in those places.
Bruno’s forebearers discovered Vír four generations ago. They built a villa, then renovated another house, and Bruno’s father built a cabin in the 1930s. The families would spend summer vacations there for close to 100 years. Much had happened since Bruno and Elsa moved overseas, but 23 years later, they went back for a nostalgic vacation to where Bruno spent his childhood holidays.
On the first morning after arrival, he got up early and went for a walk. He ventured into a short, dead-end lane. Two older women were working in their yards with hoes. He initially passed by unnoticed, but the second straightened her back, shielded her eyes from the sun and yelled out: “If it’s not Bruno, the Mayers’ boy? Came back to visit us?” That opened the floodgates. Bruno was brought up to date on all his boyhood playmates’ whereabouts, who married whom, how many children they had had and who had died since. No one was left unmentioned. The first woman moved closer. She was swiftly shooed away: “Why are you joining in? What do you know? This is Bruno of the Mayer family; he grew up with us as a child.” Then she turned to Bruno and explained, “Mary here is a foreigner, wouldn’t know you.” Mary smiled and explained, grinning: “I married her neighbour 35 years ago, have two kids, and I’ve been living here ever since.” “As I said, Bruno, she’s a foreigner”, the second woman ended the discussion.
In the middle of December, Bruno ran into Bill by the coffee machine. He asked Bruno if they had plans for the Holidays and invited him and Elsa to a turkey dinner. They thought it was customary to hold company Christmas dinners for all employees. To their surprise, it was held in the owner’s private home, and the only other guests were a young couple from Quebec, also first-year employees. It was a fun afternoon; they shot pool, had dinner, and then they played Monopoly. Bruno was fascinated by the informal atmosphere. Bill won against stiff competition; he was the best businessman in the room after all. Bruno and Elsa, who were clearly the most junior employees in the firm, were puzzled by the invitation. They found out later that Bill, or his wife, thought they and the Quebecers would be lonely without their families living nearby. Bruno and Elsa knew they had chosen well. They found the new home!