By Adilson González Morales
Whenever I talk to friends and colleagues about their experiences learning Spanish, French, or another language, you’d think they all went to the same school. Most people know the story – your bladder is about to burst, you raise your hand and ask in English if you can go to the bathroom, only for the teacher to slowly respond, “en Es-pa-ñol.” You fumble for the right words, but “¿Puedo usar el baño?” won’t quite make it to your tongue. The seconds feel like an eternity as your urgency grows.
Now imagine that same moment of struggle – but instead of a classroom, it’s a hospital emergency room, a courtroom, or a disaster relief center. Imagine being told, “in En–glish,” while trying to get food assistance, medical care, or housing support. That is the reality Trump’s executive order threatens to create.
The United States has never had an official language, and that’s a good thing. It reflects our nation’s diversity and recognizes that every language spoken here belongs. More importantly, civil rights protections ensure that all of us – regardless of the language we choose to speak – are protected. By giving federal agencies the choice to “opt out” of offering multilingual services, this administration is not just undermining history; it is creating a path to silence our families and neighbors in times of crisis.
As an environmental advocate and communications strategist at Conservation Law Foundation, I see firsthand how language barriers deepen environmental injustices. When Eversource planned an electric substation in East Boston, neighbors fought back, but without translated notices or interpreters, many were shut out of key decisions. And despite 84% of voters opposing the project in a referendum, the substation will be built.
But this is not an isolated issue. In 1993, Chinatown residents fighting a parking garage on Parcel C had to translate legal filings, mobilize bilingual volunteers, and push for government documents in Chinese just to be heard. In 2016, Spanish-speaking tenants across Massachusetts were denied leases, legal notices, and even eviction appeals due to a lack of language assistance – yet they fought back and won a settlement. And since 2019, New Bedford residents challenging a waste transfer station have jumped hoops to get access to critical hearings in their native language.
From public health to housing, language access determines who gets a say in decisions that shape their lives. It’s already hard enough to make your voice heard – this executive order threatens to make it even harder.
When I moved to the U.S. at 16, I spoke only Spanish. Navigating a new country as a teenager was overwhelming, but I made it through because people helped me understand. Over the years, I have studied other languages – French, Portuguese, Russian – because it has helped me understand and better help others, too. But even as a multilingual person, I know that in moments of distress, language fails us all. Our words slip away when we are in pain, afraid, or desperate for help, even in our first language.
We always find a way. Every movement for justice has been fueled by voices refusing to be ignored, in every tongue spoken on these streets. Communities translate, advocate, and make themselves heard – even when the system tries to shut the door. Speaking another language isn’t a weakness – it’s a superpower. No executive order can erase that. And just like no teacher could stop a desperate kid from finding a way to ask for the bathroom, no politician can silence millions determined to be understood.
Adilson González Morales is a senior communications strategist for Conservation Law Foundation.