Orlando Sentinel

Speak Spanish in public with pride: Don’t let anyone silence our tongue

- By Jennifer Acosta

I spent half of my life growing up in a predominan­tly Latino urban area of New Jersey. The other half, I lived in a predominan­tly white rural town in Central Florida. Existing in both of these spaces has taught me two things:

I am “not Latina enough” — whatever that means.

I am “too Latina” — again, whatever that means.

One thing’s for sure, though: I am a native Spanish speaker. In the era of Donald Trump, however, speaking Spanish may become more difficult, if not dangerous.

I just graduated as a psychology and global cultural studies student at Duke University. At Duke, I spent a lot of time thinking about identity and culture. I reflected a lot on how being a low-income, first-generation college student and firstgener­ation Latina immigrant to the United States impacted my college experience. I realized two things:

My experience­s have shaped my identity, and my identity has shaped my experience­s.

It has also shaped how I approached my studies: Because of my experience­s, I became interested in conducting research on ethnic- and racial-identity developmen­t. This has led me to spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to belong to a particular group, what it means to be “Latina,” and what it is that makes up my “Latinidad” or my “Latinaness.”

Some might argue, for example, that speaking Spanish is a necessary component of being Latina. I disagree.

At the same time, however, I worry that my little sister (who is now 8) won’t learn Spanish. Not because I’m afraid it’ll mean she’s less Latina, but because of the shame she has learned to connect to her native tongue.

With Trump in the Oval Office and the spike in hate crimes — which, perhaps, have only become more visible — I noticed I hesitated to speak Spanish in public. Recently, this aspect of my cultural identity has become more salient to me. I find myself becoming more vigilant in public spaces.

I’ve also realized, to my dismay, that I’ve become more and more silent. Because of this fear, I’m losing my voice. I’m losing parts of me.

When people glare at me for speaking Spanish in public, refer to it as a “dirty” language, tell me to “go back to my country” or say “Speak English. You’re in America!” —is it any wonder that some Latina/Latinos begin to feel ashamed about their language and/or cultural/ethnic identity? Perhaps that’s the detractors’ point: They want to make us feel ashamed about who we are.

As anti-immigrant sentiments grow more vocal, I worry about the shame other Latina/ Latino children will feel about their identity and language. For a developing child like my sister, this shame could mean resisting to learn their home language, whether it be Spanish or another non-English language.

Not only is this a problem because it pushes children away from seeing and understand­ing the world in alternate ways, but also because it prevents children from becoming better thinkers. Research on bilinguali­sm, for example, has connected it to a host of social and cognitive benefits.

What can be done? It’s become evident to me that, in America, simply being can be a form of resistance. Choosing to speak Spanish in public, while not without consequenc­es, has become an act of subversion now more than ever.

After noticing my own hesitation, I’m choosing to resist being silenced. I urge other non-English speakers to do the same. Don’t let anyone erase you or your beautiful languages.

To those who don’t speak Spanish but disagree with the prevalence of anti-immigrant rhetoric: I urge you to learn another language. If you have kids, make sure they learn another language. Make the effort to teach them to value difference, not just tolerate it. Support bilingual education programs that teach academic content in two languages. Join the National Associatio­n for Bilingual Education. Contact your congressme­n and tell them that you support bilingual education programs.

If you’re learning Spanish and feel self-conscious about your language abilities — don’t. Your broken Spanish doesn’t put you in danger.

Now is the best time to practice.

 ??  ?? Jennifer Acosta, 22, was a year old when she came to the U.S from Cuba. She graduated from Duke University magna cum laude and Phi Beta Kappa. In 2013, she was the valedictor­ian at Tenoroc High School in Lakeland.
Jennifer Acosta, 22, was a year old when she came to the U.S from Cuba. She graduated from Duke University magna cum laude and Phi Beta Kappa. In 2013, she was the valedictor­ian at Tenoroc High School in Lakeland.

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