OUTSIDE PERSPECTIVES

Growing up in a Rhode Island suburb there were very few people who didn’t look like me or speak my language.  

My first real wake up call to this was when I was 18, went to college, and met my college roommate.

He is a first generation American, and when we moved in, he had his parents, and some other relatives with him to help him move.

Other than his sister and niece, no one spoke English.

Over a decade later, he is still one of my best friends, we Snapchat at least daily, and I know if I need anything, he’s a phone call away.

It just so happens, he is also one of the most successful people I know. He got his master’s degree in exercise science and works for a major league baseball team organization.

I say all of this because I was recently reminded of how much adversity people face when English isn’t their first language.

During an interview with new Owatonna Police Officer Iris Reyes, she shared her journey of spending her toddler years in Mexico, moving back to Minnesota as a kid, and having to learn English.

Like my friend, Reyes learned English in school. But the two of them recognize how hard it was.

Reyes also discussed in detail what it means to be a bilingual Hispanic cop in a community with a diverse population.

She understands the fears some in the Owatonna community have about calling 911. Will they understand me? Will I get in trouble? Those are thoughts that go through people's minds.

The vast majority of us take for granted being able to press three digits on our phone and knowing help will arrive, and the dispatcher will understand us.

It gave me a reality check. Being from Rhode Island, I get frustrated when people can’t understand my thick accent, my dialect, or the fact that I speak fast.

But the reality is, this is not even close to the difficulties others have to face.

It also got me thinking of people I see every day.

The same week my wife and I got married, we moved from Rhode Island, where we lived during the pandemic, to an apartment in south Minneapolis. Yes, we moved across the country in a U-Haul, got here on a Monday, and got married on a Saturday.

After about a year, we bought our first home in St. Paul, in what I would describe as a very diverse, mostly immigrant neighborhood. 

Keep in mind, we did very little research on where we would be moving. We decided we’d find a home big enough to raise our future children, that was near decent schools, and well, of course, was affordable.

The demographics of the neighborhood were irrelevant to us.

When we first moved in, it was very clear we were one of maybe two or three couples who speak only English.

Out of the approximately 16 households on our half block, there are only two white families. Out of those, I may be the only one who isn’t able to speak Spanish (my wife speaks Spanish well, I will get to that later).

At first, it was clear people wouldn’t talk to us much, likely because of the same fears I described earlier: not being understood.

But over time, I became friendly with my neighbor, an immigrant from Honduras, who speaks very little English but runs and owns a successful business in the community.

Eventually, through Google Translate, he told me his story and about his journey.

Like many other families, half of his family has moved to America and half are back home.

At first he would apologize for not speaking well, but I made it perfectly clear to him he shouldn’t.

I grew up in a middle-class household, both my parents went to college, and I went to college myself. I had and still have privilege, and I should’ve been able to learn Spanish.

The biggest wake up call for me, that I need to learn Spanish myself, was one day last summer.

A group of guys were outside my neighbor’s house, and they invited me over for beers.

One of the gentlemen there speaking to me in Spanish could clearly tell I didn’t understand him, and then he spoke to me clearly in English, “You don’t know any Spanish at all?”

Over time, my neighbors have become more comfortable with me and my inability to speak their language. They aren’t uncomfortable speaking broken English around me and, when needed, will pull out their phones to translate knowing I won’t be offended, get mad, or anything to that effect.

I understand this.

My wife is an educated woman, worked her way through college, and has multiple degrees.

She also speaks Spanish well, but even she feels uncomfortable because she’s afraid of saying the wrong word.

I am trying to learn Spanish. I think it’s important, and quite honestly, I wish there was more of an emphasis on it when I was going to school.

My wife and I don’t have kids yet, but when or if we do, we have already discussed it. We would like them to learn every language spoken in the neighborhood when they are young. Instead of their friends and classmates speaking to them in English (most of the kids in the neighborhood are bilingual), I’d like nothing more than for them to speak the language their friends speak at home.

The point of all of this is, over the next several months, through a grant we received, there will be a page or two of stories about marginalized communities in the community.

Stories about language barriers, immigration issues, poverty, disabilities, and so much more are going to be written.

Sure, some of the issues may not impact you directly, but the challenge is to stop and reflect on the story and how it may impact someone you know.

Take the Iris Reyes story for example.

Maybe you're not Hispanic or Latino, or a cop, or afraid to call the police.

But maybe your neighbor, maybe your cousin, or a friend is.

The stories we write about in this newspaper 99.99% of the time will be something directly impacting Steele County, and my hope is everyone remembers that.