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 Editorials | Opinions | June 2007 
Immigrants Understand the Language of Opportunity
 Victor Landa
When I was a junior high school student in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico, my English teacher banned me from his class.
I was a transplant to the city and to the school. I had gone to elementary school (kindergarten through third grade) in Laredo, and English was spoken in my home, so my fluency was that of a native speaker. More important, it was better than my English teacher's.
It didn't take long for my schoolmates to catch on. When they had a question about a translation or a verb tense, they would turn to ask me instead of the teacher. I'm sure this must have annoyed him (all these years later, I'm still reluctant to name him, but suffice it to say we called him "el Diablo" because of his pointed eyebrows, high forehead and angular features).
In fact, it annoyed him so much that one morning as I entered his classroom, el Diablo told me to stay away from his class. He said he'd give me a 100 for the term, I could do whatever I wanted during that time and I shouldn't be caught roaming the school.
It was during that school year that I found the tree in the back of the school that led to the roof and provided the perfect cover for a kid trying to be inconspicuous. It was also the year that, sitting on the roof, I taught myself to blow cigarette smoke rings.
I was very young when I learned the power of language. I was just a boy when I learned that language could be used as an excuse for exclusion and that fear and insecurity were toxic. I learned that language was a means to an end and that what mattered more were a person's ideas and feelings. (I'm reminded of the Mexican man who said that he didn't like to watch American comedies because he didn't know how to laugh in English.)
I was also young when I learned that language, specifically words, could open doors of understanding, adventure and opportunity (whether I called them smoke rings or anillos de humo, they all looked pretty much the same).
Here's something else I know: In this country, English is the de-facto official language. All official transactions are done in English. (There is the exception of El Cenizo, near Laredo, where all government business is done in Spanish. But the intent there is to keep government working while the residents learn English.)
All of my classmates in Nuevo Laredo knew this as well. They wanted to learn English from whoever could teach them best. In fact, I've yet to meet anyone, living in this country, documented or undocumented, who didn't want to learn English, especially immigrants. And as long as there are people spreading the untruth that immigrants don't want to learn English, I will steadfastly argue for the truth.
Although there is a stubborn myth to the contrary, there isn't an immigrant mother who doesn't urge her kids to learn the language; she considers it the key to their success. There isn't an adult English class that isn't filled to capacity, with waiting lists several pages long. And there are many immigrant grandparents who lament the loss of their native tongue among the younger generations.
There are opponents of immigration and proponents of English as the official language of the United States who seem to be cluttering the same hilltop, seeing things from the same perspective (maybe not the correct perspective, but the same one nonetheless). Their fears have them standing on the same little lump of dirt, next to my old teacher el Diablo. And with the renewed debate over immigration reform, they're once again raising the specter of the United States-turned-Babel.
I've wondered what would have happened if my old English teacher would have kept me in his class. Had he been more imaginative than fearful he could have used me to help his class learn. The same goes for the tired anti-immigrant, English-only crowd. Were they more optimistic, they would use the energy of immigrants to help them learn, instead of fretting in a corner, fearing what they don't know.
America is better than that.
vlanda@sbcglobal.net |
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