The Language of Belonging: How Policy Shapes American Identity

In a small classroom in Nobles County, Minnesota, second-grader Lucia carefully traces her name on a worksheet. She hesitates, then adds her grandmother's surname as well – a name she rarely uses at school. Her teacher smiles and nods approvingly. It's a small moment, but one that carries the weight of generations.

"Last year, I would have just written my first name," Lucia explains in perfect English. "But now I want people to know all of me."

What has changed for this eight-year-old isn't just personal confidence. The cultural climate around her identity – who belongs and how they're allowed to belong – shifts with the political winds, from national policy to playground conversations. Lucia’s mother, who came from Honduras in 2007, said she continues to navigate the differences between her own journey in becoming an American and her American daughter’s journey. 

Across rural America, similar moments unfold daily, as residents navigate the increasingly complex intersection of identity, language, and belonging. Recent federal policy changes – from the Department of Government Efficiency's restructuring of federal programs to executive orders limiting multilingual government services – have revived a perennial American question: Who defines American identity, and what role does language play in that definition?

Echoes Through Time

To understand today's language policies, we must first recognize that we've been here before.

"American anxiety about language has always peaked during periods of significant immigration or social change," explains Dr. Corey Martinez, a historian who specializes in language policy. "It's a pattern that dates back to the 1750s, when Benjamin Franklin worried about German-speaking immigrants in Pennsylvania."

Throughout American history, language restrictions have followed predictable cycles, often coinciding with economic uncertainty or demographic change:

In the 1910s, as European immigration reached historic peaks, 15 states banned teaching in languages other than English. Nebraska's prohibition led to the landmark Supreme Court case Meyer v. Nebraska (1923), which struck down such bans as unconstitutional.

During World War I, speaking German became not just culturally suspect but sometimes illegal. Libraries removed German books from shelves. Schools stopped teaching the language. In Iowa, Governor William Harding issued the "Babel Proclamation" forbidding the use of any language but English in public.

"What many people don't realize is that before these restrictions, American public life was far more multilingual than it is today," Martinez notes. "There were German-language public schools, newspapers in dozens of languages, and civic participation happened in multiple languages."

The current executive order declaring English the "official language" for federal communications echoes California's Proposition 227 (1998) and the "English-only" movements of the 1980s-90s. Each emerged during periods of increased immigration and economic transformation.

The Human Cost of Policy

For Elena Ramirez, who teaches English Language Learners at a rural Iowa elementary school, these policy shifts aren't abstract history – they directly affect children in her classroom.

"When federal materials aren't available in multiple languages, that burden falls on local communities," she explains. "Schools don't get additional resources to translate crucial information. Healthcare providers struggle to communicate effectively. And families who are already marginalized become even more isolated."

Research confirms these observations. A 2023 study from the National Academy of Sciences found that language accessibility restrictions correlate with:

- 17% lower healthcare utilization among non-English speakers

- 23% decreased participation in public benefits programs

- 31% reduction in civic engagement

- Significant increases in anxiety and depression among bilingual children

Dr. Kim Potowski has documented the psychological impact of language restrictions across generations.

"When children feel their home language is devalued by official policy, it creates what linguists call 'subtractive bilingualism' – they lose their first language as they acquire English," Potowski explains. "This doesn't just affect communication. It fundamentally alters family relationships and cultural identity."

In one striking study, Potowski found that third-generation Americans who lost connection to their heritage language reported significantly higher rates of identity uncertainty and family communication difficulties compared to those who maintained bilingualism.

The Neuroscience of Language Loss

Recent neurological research has revealed that language loss affects more than just communication – it literally reshapes the brain.

Dr. Ellen Bonner, whose groundbreaking work examines bilingualism's cognitive effects, has documented concrete neurological benefits of maintaining multiple languages: enhanced executive function, better attention control, and even delayed onset of dementia symptoms by an average of 4-5 years.

"What we're finding is that bilingualism isn't just a skill – it's a brain-shaping experience," Bonner explains. "When policy pressures people to abandon their first language, we're not just losing cultural diversity. We're losing cognitive advantages that benefit both individuals and society."

These findings are supported by MRI studies showing that bilingual brains develop increased gray matter density in regions associated with language processing, attention, and cognitive control – advantages that disappear when the first language is lost.

For Ramirez's students, this research has real-world implications. "Children who maintain their home language while adding English consistently outperform monolingual peers in cognitive flexibility tasks," she notes. "We're literally seeing different brain development paths based on whether we support or suppress bilingualism."

Barriers Without Words

When official materials aren't available in multiple languages, the consequences extend far beyond inconvenience. A 2024 analysis by the Rural Health Information Hub documented specific harms in communities where language access is limited:

- Emergency preparedness instructions often reach only English-speaking residents, leaving vulnerable populations at increased risk during natural disasters

- Tax compliance rates drop by 22% when instructions are English-only

- Voter participation falls by 18-27% in communities where voting materials aren't available in residents' primary languages

- Preventable hospitalizations increase by 35% when health insurance documents and preventive care instructions are English-only

- School dropout rates increase by 15-23% when parents cannot read school communications

These statistics translate into daily difficulties for Maria Gonzalez, a home health aide in southwestern Minnesota. Though she speaks conversational English, she struggles with complex medical terminology.

"Last year, my mother's medication instructions changed, but I couldn't understand the new dosage," Gonzalez recalls. "I was giving her too much blood thinner for three weeks before a Spanish-speaking nurse noticed the problem. She almost needed hospitalization."

Similar stories emerged across rural communities after federal translation services were reduced. In Iowa, emergency room visits increased 28% following cuts to Spanish-language preventive health materials. Local hospitals absorbed these costs without additional resources.

For indigenous language speakers from Guatemala and Mexico, the situation is even more dire. Languages like Mam, Q'anjob'al, and K'iche' – increasingly common in meat processing communities – rarely have any official accommodations.

"People assume everyone from Latin America speaks Spanish, but that's not reality," explains one professional who works with indigenous communities in northwest Iowa. "We have patients who speak Mam as their first language, Spanish as their second, and are just beginning to learn English. When there are no materials in Spanish, they're doubly excluded."

This linguistic complexity is often invisible in policy discussions. A 2023 Census Bureau analysis found that among Spanish-speaking households in rural America, approximately 18% also speak an indigenous language at home – a statistic rarely captured in official planning.

 Data Collection and Visibility

Beyond language itself, recent changes in federal data collection have raised concerns about which Americans are counted and represented in official statistics.

The CDC's revision of data collection categories, including the elimination of specific tracking for transgender individuals, follows a pattern seen in previous administrations. In 2020, the Census briefly considered removing questions about Hispanic ethnicity and racial categories before public backlash forced a reversal.

"Data is how we become visible to policymakers," explains demographer Dr. Robert Chen. "When we stop counting certain groups, they effectively disappear from policy considerations, resource allocations, and public health interventions."

For rural communities with diverse populations but limited resources, these federal changes create significant challenges.

"When federal data doesn't reflect our community's reality, we have to create our own systems," says Maria, who works in public health in a Minnesota county where nearly 30% of residents are Hispanic. "That takes resources we don't have."

The Cost of Translation Versus the Cost of Exclusion

The newly created Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) represents the most substantial restructuring of federal programs in decades. Its mandate to streamline government operations has already affected language access services across multiple agencies.

"The problem isn't efficiency itself," notes former federal language access coordinator James Wilson. "It's how we define efficiency. If efficiency means simply reducing costs without considering outcomes, then language services will always seem expendable. But if we measure the efficiency of government serving all citizens effectively, multilingual services actually save money long-term."

Wilson points to studies showing that investments in language access reduce healthcare costs by improving preventive care, enhance tax compliance by making instructions accessible, and improve educational outcomes by engaging parents effectively.

A 2024 cost-benefit analysis from the Urban Institute quantified these tradeoffs. While eliminating translation services for Medicare materials saved approximately $2.3 million annually, the resulting increase in preventable hospitalizations and emergency care cost the system an estimated $31.7 million – nearly 14 times the "savings."

Similarly, when IRS instructions weren't available in Spanish, the resulting errors and compliance issues cost an estimated $47 million in additional processing expenses and lost revenue – far exceeding the $4.1 million saved by not translating materials.

"Historically, language restriction has been portrayed as common sense efficiency," Wilson adds. "But the data shows it's actually inefficient governance."

Knowledge That Can't Be Translated

Beyond measurable policy outcomes, language loss carries cultural costs that can't be quantified.

Dr. K. David Harrison, a linguist who studies endangered languages, emphasizes that languages encode generations of knowledge and unique ways of understanding the world.

"Each language represents thousands of years of human observation and problem-solving," Harrison explains. "When we lose a language, we lose an entire knowledge system – medicinal practices, environmental observations, cultural wisdom."

These losses affect even those who don't speak the language. Harrison cites agricultural communities where indigenous crop rotation practices preserved in traditional languages outperformed modern techniques in sustainability. "Those knowledge systems benefit everyone, regardless of what language they speak," he notes.

In northwest Iowa, this phenomenon appears in unexpected ways. At a local manufacturing plant, supervisor Carlos Rodriguez noticed that workers from Guatemala had trouble learning standard machine maintenance procedures but excelled when allowed to translate concepts into their indigenous language, Mam.

"They have specific words for different types of mechanical friction that don't exist in English or Spanish," Rodriguez explains. "Once we recognized that knowledge, their maintenance recommendations actually improved our overall system."

Finding Their Voice

Policy shifts don't happen in abstract. They materialize in daily decisions, community relationships, and personal identities.

Pastor Miguel Santiago leads a congregation that includes both long-time local residents and recent immigrants. When federal changes reduced Spanish-language resources, his church created its own information center.

"We started with volunteer translators for health forms," Santiago explains. "Now we help with everything from school enrollment to employment applications."

Ironically, restrictions often strengthen the very communities they target. In northwest Iowa, a weekly language exchange program has gained participants as official resources have dwindled.

"People want to communicate with their neighbors regardless of what happens in Washington," says program coordinator Sarah Johnson. "When bridges get removed, communities build their own."

This resilience reflects a pattern documented by historians: periods of restriction often catalyze cultural preservation efforts. German-language benevolent societies flourished after World War I restrictions. Spanish language schools expanded following California's Proposition 227.

For second-grader Lucia, these larger forces shape her daily reality in ways she can't fully comprehend. But she understands something fundamental about identity.

"My grandma says our names tell our story," she explains, carefully writing both her American and Mexican surnames on her paper. "I want people to know my whole story, not just part of it."

As the U.S. navigates another cycle of defining who belongs and how, the response from rural communities suggests that official policy is only one force shaping our national identity. In classrooms, churches, and community centers across the heartland, Americans are writing their own definitions of belonging – in multiple languages, despite what official policy might dictate.

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*This article is part of The E'ville Good's ongoing series examining language rights, cultural identity, and community resilience.