HOW shall we teach the dark-eyed child ingles? The debate continues much as it did two decades ago.
Bilingual education belongs to the 1960’s, the years of the black civil rights movement. Bilingual education became the official Hispanic demand; as a symbol, the English-only classroom was intended to be analogous to the segregated lunch counter; the locked school door. Bilingual education was endorsed by judges and, of course, by politicians well before anyone knew the answer to the question: Does bilingual education work? Who knows? Quien sabe? The official drone over bilingual education is conducted by educationists with numbers and charts. Because bilingual education was never simply a matter of pedagogy, it is too much to expect educators to resolve the matter. Proclamations concerning bilingual education are weighted at bottom with Hispanic political grievances and, too, with middle-class romanticism.
No one will say it in public; in private, Hispanics argue with me about bilingual education and every time it comes down to memory. Everyone remembers going to that grammar school where students were slapped for speaking Spanish. Childhood memory is offered as parable; the memory is meant to compress the gringo’s long history of offenses against Spanish, Hispanic culture, Hispanics.
It is no coincidence that, although all of America’s ethnic groups are implicated in the policy of bilingual education, Hispanics, particularly Mexican-Americans, have been its chief advocates. The English words used by Hispanics in support of bilingual education are words such as ”dignity,” ”heritage,” ”culture.” Bilingualism becomes a way of exacting from gringos a grudging admission of contrition – for the 19th-century theft of the Southwest, the relegation of Spanish to a foreign tongue, the injustice of history. At the extreme, Hispanic bilingual enthusiasts demand that public schools ”maintain” a student’s sense of separateness.
Hispanics may be among the last groups of Americans who still believe in the 1960’s. Bilingual-education proposals still serve the romance of that decade, especially of the late 60’s, when the heroic black civil rights movement grew paradoxically wedded to its opposite – the ethnic-revival movement. Integration and separatism merged into twin, possible goals.
With integration, the black movement inspired middle-class Americans to imitations – the Hispanic movement; the Gray Panthers; feminism; gay rights. Then there was withdrawal, with black glamour leading a romantic retreat from the anonymous crowd.
Americans came to want it both ways. They wanted in and they wanted out. Hispanics took to celebrating their diversity, joined other Americans in dancing rings around the melting pot.
More intently than most, Hispanics wanted the romance of their dual cultural allegiance backed up by law. Bilingualism became proof that one could have it both ways, could be a full member of public America and yet also separate, privately Hispanic. ”Spanish” and ”English” became mythic metaphors, like country and city, describing separate islands of private and public life.
Ballots, billboards and, of course, classrooms in Spanish. For nearly two decades now, middle-class Hispanics have had it their way. They have foisted a neat ideological scheme on working-class children. What they want to believe about themselves, they wait for the child to prove: that it is possible to be two, that one can assume the public language (the public life) of America, even while remaining what one was, existentially separate.
Adulthood is not so neatly balanced. The tension between public and private life is intrinsic to adulthood – certainly middle-class adulthood. Usually the city wins because the city pays. We are mass people for more of the day than we are with our intimates. No Congressional mandate or Supreme Court decision can diminish the loss.
I was talking the other day to a carpenter from Riga, in the Soviet Republic of Latvia. He has been here six years. He told me of his having to force himself to relinquish the ”luxury” of reading books in Russian or Latvian so he could begin to read books in English. And the books he was able to read in English were not of a complexity to satisfy him. But he was not going back to Riga.
Beyond any question of pedagogy there is the simple fact that a language gets learned as it gets used. One fills one’s mouth, one’s mind, with the new names for things.
The civil rights movement of the 1960’s taught Americans to deal with forms of discrimination other than economic – racial, sexual. We forget class. We talk about bilingual education as an ethnic issue; we forget to notice that the program mainly touches the lives of working-class immigrant children. Foreign-language acquisition is one thing for the upper-class child in a convent school learning in French to curtsy. Language acquisition can only seem a loss for the ghetto child, for the new language is psychologically awesome, being, as it is, the language of the bus driver and Papa’s employer. The child’s difficulty will turn out to be psychological more than linguistic because what he gives up are symbols of home.
Pain and Guilt
I was that child! I faced the stranger’s English with pain and guilt and fear. Baptized to English in school, at first I felt myself drowning – the ugly sounds forced down my throat – until slowly, slowly (held in the tender grip of my teachers), suddenly the conviction took: English was my language to use.
What I yearn for is some candor from those who speak about bilingual education. Which of its supporters dares speak of the price a child pays – the price of adulthood – to make the journey from a working-class home into a middle-class schoolroom? The real story, the silent story of the immigrant child’s journey is one of embarrassments in public; betrayal of all that is private; silence at home; and at school the hand tentatively raised.
Bilingual enthusiasts bespeak an easier world. They seek a linguistic solution to a social dilemma. They seem to want to believe that there is an easy way for the child to balance private and public, in order to believe that there is some easy way for themselves.
Ten years ago I started writing about the ideological implications of bilingual education. Ten years from now some newspaper may well invite me to contribute another Sunday supplement essay on the subject. The debate is going to continue. The bilingual establishment is now inside the door. Jobs are at stake. Politicians can only count heads; growing numbers of Hispanics will insure the compliance of politicians.
Publicly, we will continue the fiction. We will solemnly address this issue as an educational question, a matter of pedagogy. But privately, Hispanics will still seek from bilingual education an admission from the gringo that Spanish has value and presence. Hispanics of middle class will continue to seek the romantic assurance of separateness. Experts will argue. Dark-eyed children will sit in the classroom. Mute.
Richard Rodriguez wrote ”Hunger of Memory,” the autobiographical account of a Mexican-American child’s learning.