When I entered the classroom to interpret for the middle school parent and teacher conference, the student shouted that I wasn’t necessary. The teacher had called for my services because for two semesters she had been telling the mother that her son was flunking. And for two semesters, the mother had grinned ecstatically and said, “Thank you”—her only English words. The son had “interpreted” to his mother that he was on the honor roll.
By the end of the meeting, the mother was glaring at her son with the promise of consequences to come. He was glaring at me, wishing me six feet under. The teacher, however, was very pleased, and so she should have been. She finally had made real contact with the parent of one of her troubled students, even if it was nearly the end of the school year.
Since that time, I have called parents when a child needs to be hospitalized, informed social workers of the death in a child’s family (which accounted for some disruptive behavior), explained the results of special education testing and helped school nurses determine if a student had been exposed to tuberculosis. Children of immigrants frequently have parents who don’t speak English at all, or who have a limited command of the language.
Some would argue that using interpreters is a frill—an extra service for special people that we can’t afford in this bad economy. Yet how can the simple act of communication be a special privilege? That question is especially important when it comes to the well being of children. The same people who object to providing interpreters often say that newcomers should learn English. But they are! According to a 2001 GAO report on students with limited English proficiency, it takes three years of intensive study for older students to learn to speak conversational English. It takes another four years to learn academic English, which includes vocabulary about school subjects. By the time mom and dad learn English, their child will have graduated from high school!
As school budgets are squeezed, it’s worth noting that some students will suffer more than others—none more so than those with parents who can’t vote. While mom and dad may have perfectly legal work permits, they are unable to vote for members of the local school board. Therefore, it’s safe to say that school board members may consider cutting funds for interpreters in the schools, regardless of the number of English-as-a-second-language students (and fluent English speakers with immigrant parents) in the district. Alternatively, perhaps the schools will rely on the janitor, the foreign language teacher, volunteers or older, more fluent siblings.
The janitor, however, might not know how to say “quadratic equations” or “acute anxiety disorder combined with attention deficit disorder.” (Not to belittle janitors. I have known some very gifted janitors in my time.) The foreign language teacher might not speak Acholi, a Sudanese tribal language. The teacher might not understand why a mom will call a psychotic break a headache. This is a cultural question. Knowing the language doesn’t mean knowing the culture. Many newcomers speak languages not included in the standard foreign language offerings of schools. Older siblings, unlike the interpreter, have to go home with the person they helped. This is an impossible situation, especially when the news is bad and may affect the interpretation.
Finally, accessible schools work better. And the Civil Rights Act of 1964 obliges schools to be accessible. So does the Equal Education Opportunities Act of 1974. So does the court decision Castañeda v Pickard of 1981. Schools are required to take appropriate steps to assure equal access to school staff and information. Such access is not a perk or a privilege. It’s a necessity.
Rocha-McCarthy is a Teaching Tolerance blogger who has worked for more than a decade as a translator in schools, district courts and hospitals.
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