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My Turnby Maileen Hamto |
 |
From The Asian Reporter, V18, #30 (July 29, 2008), page 6.
Delayed epiphany
Family and food top the list of conversation starters with Julia, my favorite downtown food-cart vendor. An immigrant from Russia, she shared with me how important it is for her to teach her toddler the Russian language, along with English. That recent exchange led me to think about an error in judgement I regret. When my daughter was young, I didn’t make an effort to teach her Tagalog, my native tongue.
The decision seemed sound at the time. American English will be her first — and only — language. After all, she’s growing up and going to school in America, where people are expected to speak mostly English.
On a recent trip to the Philippines to visit family in Manila, my tween daughter became frustrated by linguistic isolation brought on by being surrounded by people who spoke only Tagalog.
When she asked why she never learned the language, I didn’t know what to tell her. None of the answers I could muster seemed sensible, expedient, or even sane.
Here’s the honest, awful truth: I wanted my daughter to have an easier time in America.
Certainly, if she spoke perfect American English, she would have an easier time than an old friend, someone I met shortly after I came to the United States back in 1992. In middle school, my friend was ridiculed for her strong Filipino accent and for not being up-to-speed with the latest teen lingo. It’s hard enough to be a newly minted teenager. It’s harder still to be one branded an outcast.
My friend attended middle school in the ’80s, when America was less tolerant of differences. To be less "old country" was the challenge for almost everyone struggling to assimilate into a new culture. It was difficult to hold on to old traditions, languages, and customs when mainstream society was dictating otherwise.
Determined to fit in with the cool kids, my friend resolved to speak only English. She spoke English at home with her immigrant parents and siblings. She spent evenings after school painstakingly practicing her pronunciation in front of a mirror, trying to train her mouth and tongue to sound more American. She kept a dream diary in anticipation of "the moment" — dreaming only in English (a tell-tale sign of being completely, and undoubtedly, fully fluent).
For immigrants of color, complexities of race and class in American society add another dimension to the acculturation process. Across all communities of color in America, undertones of feeling inferior continue. Black, Asian, Latino, or Native American: there is a common fabric of deep-seated insecurity — seldom acknowledged, often masked. That somehow, we are "less than." Inadequate. Expendable.
At a recent health disparities forum attended by African-American community leaders, the pastor of a local church put it simply: "There are some of us who believe that the white man’s ice is colder."
Having come from a culture that has suffered one too many bouts with colonization, I can relate to that sentiment. I understand how self-effacement stems from the experience of powerlessness through many generations.
It took many years and encounters with other immigrants and empowered leaders of color before I realized that simply being "tolerated" was hardly the optimal goal. It’s inspiring to learn from the struggles of successful people who have managed to maintain their cultures, hold on to their values, and embrace their identities.
Alas, my delayed epiphany has already taken its toll. My daughter can understand the context of Tagalog conversations, but she cannot speak the language. I’m conversational in Tagalog, but find it difficult to write grammatically correct sentences in my first language.
All hope is not lost. Raising a child in an increasingly diverse America and an ever-expanding globalized world offers many teaching moments.
For now, we’ll start with basic Tagalog words and phrases.