In America, The Official Language Sure Ain't The Queen's English.
By Jeff Smith
IN FOURTEEN-HUNDRED-and-ninety-two, Columbus sailed the
ocean blue...or so we've been led to believe. And when he ran
out of ocean blue he bumped up against the beach somewhere in
the West Indies.
Columbus, an Eye-talian, was running a smallish scouting expedition
for the Spaniards, whose queen he'd talked into fronting him three
runty ships for the purpose of finding a shortcut to India, where
they had lots of silk and tea and spices the folks back on the
Iberian Peninsula had a hankering for. When the ship hit the sand
out in the Caribbean 506 years ago, Chris declared he'd found
India and named the ruddy-complected surfers who greeted his boats
"Indians."
He was wrong every way imaginable.
So to appropriately honor Columbus' blunder, we here in America
(named for another Italian, Amerigo Vespucci, who also put in
certain claims for discovering major parts of the new world) manufactured
a creation-myth that holds sacred the notion--taught like a Grimm's
fairy tale to every kindergartner--that Christopher Columbus discovered
America in 1492. Never mind that he beached on a small island
southeast of Cuba and never came near the north American mainland;
never mind that he thought he was in India; never mind that Leif
Eriksen had been here centuries earlier; never mind all manner
of incontrovertible fact: Columbus discovered America.
How comes it, then, that in 1988 the voters of Arizona, the
last of the contiguous 48 to attain statehood, passed a constitutional
amendment making English the official language, and requiring
that all state business be conducted in English and English only?
Why not Italian, since we've propagated the notion that an Italian
discovered this place? Or how about Spanish, Castillian-style,
of course, since they put up the cash for the voyage of discovery?
But if you really think the first white man to plant his flag
ought to get dibs on the language thing, why not Norwegian?
Then again, hows about Indian? Oh my goodness yes: pass the
chutney. Or do you mean red Indian? Or do you speak with forked
tongue?
The point is, that half the languages on the planet have legitimate
claims to currency in America's history, its present and its future.
The French owned most of this place for a time; the Dutch had
a piece of the action, along with Portuguese, Africans, Mexicans,
a whole array of different tribal peoples from Aleuts to Athabascans
to Incas, Mayans, Aztecs...your boys named Sioux, your Algonquins,
Apaches...and then there were Russians, Chinese, Canadians.
If there's one thing an American is, it's a mongrel. And if there's
one thing the
de facto native tongue of this nation is, it's American, not the
Queen's English, though its linguistic lineage is more or less
descended from the written language of the British Isles.
American is a polyglot patois that borrows heavily--one might
say steals unconscionably--from every other language on the planet,
and consequently is the most rich and widely varied and expressive
human tongue extant. We've got a vocabulary several times greater
than the Romance languages, let alone the tribal tongues of the
second- and third-worlds, and older languages are only now beginning
to broaden their thesauri by borrowing back pidgen-American terms
we've already ripped off from them.
American language is a bawdy, brawling steroid-monster of a growing
child that draws its very vigor from its proximity to that storied
melting pot of other cultures and languages--all of which come
here and give.
So I ask again: What's up with the English-only thing? Most of
us couldn't speak real English if we wanted to. I rented The
Full Monty for Jones and his wife up in Flagstaff a couple
weeks ago, and Mrs. Jones didn't enjoy it at all. She could only
make out about one word in three. They were speaking working-class
English. Try a similar ethnic flick, subtitled in, say, southside
Chicago dialect, and your audience in Sheffield, England, would
be similarly at sea.
But aside from the inherent inaccuracy in calling Arizona's racist
little bit of initiative and referendum English-only vs. American-only,
there's that whole deal with the U.S. Constitution and the First
Amendment thereto. Nowhere in the founding documents of this nation's
government is there any reference to an official language. Nor
coulda, shoulda, woulda been.
The first freedom the framers observed in the Bill of Rights
was the freedom of speech, and therefor, of the press, and by
logical extension, of religion, faith, of assembly. It takes no
more sophisticated legal scholar than your typical 5-year-old
to recognize that if government declares English to be the only
lawful and official language of our society, and thus that government
business cannot be transacted in Spanish, Latvian, Urdu or Latin,
then the First Amendment is meaningless to Americans who happen
to speak one of those instead of English.
I said as much a decade ago, and predicted a short life for the
English-only amendment. As is so often the case, not only was
I right, I was way ahead of my time.
It took 10 years for the Arizona Supreme Court to issue a quite
simple, quite commonsensical opinion against the constitutionality
of the English-only law. And at that, the opinion was announced
a year after the retirement of the justice who wrote the majority
opinion.
And now the case must certainly go to the U.S. Supreme Court,
which has a recent history of cowardice in facing such outwardly
simple and uncontroversial cases.
Hey! We know American English is for all practical purposes the
language of U.S. government, commerce and daily life: We don't
need some xenophobic, racist law on the books to make it official,
and to force non-English speakers further outside the mainstream.
Down here in southern Arizona, where much of the local commerce
still goes on in border Spanish, the ruling gringo class likes
to look down its patrician nose at those ignorant, lazy Mexicans
whose English isn't up to Harvard standards. Never mind that most
of these white boys can't pronounce "tamales" or understand
when the waitress smiles and calls them "cabrones."
It's kind of like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers--Fred being
the white boy and Ginger the Mexican. Fed to the tits with hearing
Astaire lionized for his terpsichorean skills, Ginger once remarked,
archly, "Honey, I did every dance step Fred ever did...backwards,
and in high heels."
Comprende?
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