“You’re a Spanish major. You must be fluent, right?”
I receive this question a lot nowadays, when I explain to loving family members or friends what my course of study at UMass has been. How I am a primary Spanish major. And how, no, contrary to popular belief, I am not fluent. Far from it.
There is something incredibly disheartening about admitting that to oneself. That no matter how much you have studied, or the time that you have poured into the major, or the number of literature reviews turned in, that you are simply not fluent and perhaps never will be. And what is profoundly strange about studying a language is that there are millions, hundreds of millions of people across the planet who are infinitely more skilled in the Spanish language because it is their heritage language—these skills they honed on the playgrounds and in school rooms and in thousands of bedtime stories con sus padres. By age 10, barely anyone knows about the realist theory of international relations or how to properly run gel electrophoresis—those things you learn when you study for a Political Science or Biology degree. But there are millions of ten year olds who can speak effortless Spanish, whose tongues don’t tap against their teeth in that oh-so-gringo way and who don’t mix up feminine and masculine pronouns of a score of household items.
So perhaps unsurprisingly, I have been trying to justify to myself why I’ve spent so much time studying this language. And I’ve come to the conclusion that it is because my intention on taking Spanish was never truly to learn Spanish. If I’m being honest with myself, the best way to have learned Spanish would be to direct enroll in a Spanish university, or move to Puerto Rico, or to take a job with only Spanish-speaking employees. And I didn’t do that. The question is why?
I think this is something that many students ought to consider when they are taking their Spanish classes, because the canned responses often just don’t cut it. Unless you spend at least a year abroad, probably more, your Spanish isn’t going to develop sufficiently to teach Spanish, or to communicate only in Spanish at a job. You’ll be proficient in Spanish, certainly, but fluent?—probably not. And so I realized that the reason I picked Spanish was because it appealed to something deeper-seated in me—the nagging suspicion that I, as a white-kid from the North Shore of Massachusetts, I didn’t know anything about the world more than 25 miles east or west of Route 495. Spanish meant a lot of things to me—it meant a broadening in every sense of the world; it meant engaging with people who I otherwise would have simply disregarded.
Let me explain. Here are some things I would never have considered had I not majored in Spanish.
I would not have ever read Cien años de soledad, and have pondered what it means to truly be alone.
I would never have learned about the life of the poor Lazarillo de Tormes, and the importance of the picaresque novel in world literature.
I would never have learned why it is that so many Latin words look like Spanish words but with less E’s and more F’s.
I would never have spent a long time considering what it means that my country is becoming more and more bilingual.
I would never have begun to turn my attention to Latin America, the so-called “forgotten continent,” and started an honors thesis on constitutional change in Central America.
In short, the vast majority of my academic development, both within and outside of the major, was the result of me selecting Spanish as my primary major. To select Spanish, at least for me, was the declaration that there is something inherently valuable in studying a culture that is not my own. That though I will never be able to understand every nuance of the language, or speak without the occasional (perhaps more than occasional) mistake, there is value in the simple act of trying, que vale la pena.
And so I am no longer embarrassed when someone asks If I’m fluent anymore. I simply smile, and shake my head. No, I’m not. But it was worth it. And I’m getting better. This much I know is true.
Quite a provocative perspective. You make good points here, but I always ask myself what “fluency†actually means. Perhaps under certain understandings of “fluency†as “accurate pronunciation†and awareness of certain grammatical details, you might be right – it’s very hard to reach “native fluency†when one starts a language later in life. Yet, I wonder where we fit that other cultural knowledge you list in your post’s second half. Wonder how we fit that under our understanding of “fluencyâ€. We definitely can’t assume that those “millions†you identify as speaking fluently necessarily have that knowledge.