Tongue lashing

When Dad was a kid, he had a heavy Spanish accent. Spanish was his first language, and while he spoke some English he didn't really use it as much until he entered public school.

In those days, Dad told me, he was regularly chastised for his accent by teachers, and teased by kids. If he actually spoke Spanish in school, he'd be beaten. As far as the school was concerned, speaking Spanish was a violation that ranked up there with fighting and vandalism in terms of deserving corporal punishment. At the very least, Dad said, he'd have to go to the head of the class, where the teacher would rap his knuckles red with a ruler if his tongue slipped.

Keep in mind that this was in Albuquerque, which already had a fair-sized Hispanic population. Of course, they were just called Mexicans then, and the concept of "English-only" wasn't controversial. Add in my dad's dark skin and traditionally Spanish-sounding name, and growing up in the 50s had a profound effect on him.

Dad never lost the pride he had in his culture, and I think a lot of that had to do with the Chicano movement of the 60s and 70s. He was finally told that it was not only OK to be Mexican-American, but it was something to be proud of as well. Dad passed this on to me.

Still, I never heard Dad talk with an accent because he went to broadcasting school, where he worked hard to overturn and smooth and bury it under a tarmac of the flat, Midwestern ideal. My name is a shortened, more Americanized version of his. At his insistence, English became my first language and, unfortunately, my Spanish is still embarrasingly weak.

As I was growing up, I regularly heard Spanish spoken all around me, not only at home, but also at school, church, everywhere. Spanish was taught in schools, not punished. "Hispanic" became a category on the forms we filled out at the beginning of every year.

Still, maybe I'm naive to be surprised that the sort of discrimination my dad had to endure still snakes through our communities. I'm certainly not surprised by my feelings of sadness, and disgust.

In Kansas City, which has a large and growing Hispanic population, 16-year-old Zach Rubio was suspended for speaking Spanish in the hallway at school. Someone asked him, in Spanish, for a dollar. Rubio, not even thinking twice about it, answered back in Spanish. A teacher heard and sent him to the principal, who sent him home for 1 1/2 days.

The point is, he shouldn't have to think twice about it. Language is not, and should not be, against the law. Anybody should be able to say what they want, in whatever language they care to use. Unfortunately, that's not what is being taught at this school.

Luckily, sometimes the people who come to this country as immigrants learn the principles native citizens often take for granted, or worse, ignore or distort. Rubio's father had this to say:

(Lorenzo) Rubio, a U.S. citizen, credits U.S. immigration law for his decision to fight his son's suspension.

"You can't just walk in and become a citizen," he said. "They make you take this government test. I studied for that test, and I learned that in America, they can't punish you unless you violate a written policy."

Rubio said he remembered that lesson on Nov. 28, when he received a call from Endeavor Alternative saying his son had been suspended.

"So I went to the principal and said, 'My son, he's not suspended for fighting, right? He's not suspended for disrespecting anyone. He's suspended for speaking Spanish in the hall?' So I asked her to show me the written policy about that. But they didn't have" one.

Rubio then called the superintendent of the Turner Unified School District, which operates the school. The district immediately rescinded Zach's suspension, local media reported.

Thankfully, at least, the days of quietly walking to the head of the class to accept our punishment seem to be over.