Stranger

by Jorge Ramos

  There are also days where I feel as if I don’t belong to any country. I see the two governments, and they seem distant and unappreciative to me. But then something pulls me out of these abstractions and makes me part of a group, a home, a project on which we’re working.

  And since amphibians inhabit two worlds and handle two languages, we naturally evolve into translators.

  It never ceases to amaze me when I hear stories about bilingual children who have to translate for their parents on the phone because their elders don’t have a sufficient command of English. These children—temporarily converted into adults—bear a huge responsibility, often involuntarily. They are thrust into very delicate situations, whether they’re talking about immigration, finances, taxes, or medical issues, and are thus transported into a foreign world. They are the youngest translators. To be a son or daughter is, at least in part, to be Mom and Dad’s translator.

  I come from this tradition.

  It was never my job to translate English for my Spanish-speaking parents, but I spent the second half of my life translating it for others. Ever since the early 1980s, when I was starting out as a reporter for KMEX (Channel 34), the local Univision station in Los Angeles, I would go out and look for stories in any language I could find…but the report would have to be ready by six p.m. in Spanish.

  I would speak Spanish almost daily with immigrants, but most of the local politicians preferred to communicate with me in English. Bringing information back and forth, leaping between one language and another, became quite normal, to the point where a simple greeting would let me know whether someone wanted to speak in Spanish or English. Now, the decision is almost instantaneous. Automatic, even. I say “hola” or “hello,” and—depending on the language in which the other person responds, their accent, and their familiarity with the language of the initial greeting—the choice is made.

  Some people—for instance, Eric Garcetti, mayor of Los Angeles, or Tim Kaine, U.S. senator and former vice-presidential candidate—immediately answer me in Spanish, even if they feel more at ease in English. Both of them do this to demonstrate their genuine interest in the Latino community. And there are post-Hispanic Hispanics such as Congressman Joaquín Castro, his brother Julián, former secretary of housing and urban development, and Senator Ted Cruz, who speak Spanish to some degree but always prefer to communicate in English. Some politicians will offer only a couple of words—Hola, cómo estás, or Buenas tardes—as if they were sending out a coded message to let me know they’re Hispanic and that we have something in common.

  During the first few moments of any interaction with a Latino, several decisions are made and many things are communicated nonverbally. Those of us who are amphibious and bilingual have to know what world we’re coming from and which one we’re entering. It’s a quick and almost subconscious process. You have to adapt quickly to the situation presenting itself.

  These days, contrary to my experiences early in my career, more politicians are learning Spanish so they can communicate more effectively with their Latino constituents. The examples I remember most are New York City mayors Bill de Blasio and Michael Bloomberg. Both took intensive classes to help them give interviews in Spanish. But most politicians don’t do this; you have to interpret for them. What are they really saying?

  Former president George W. Bush made a significant effort to communicate in Spanish during the 2000 election campaign that won him the White House. He had a great Hispanic adviser, Sonia Colín, who taught him a bit of Spanish and sensitized him to issues of great importance to the Latino community. I have jokingly referred to Bush as the first American president who thought he spoke Spanish.

  But these steps are nothing to laugh at. It is entirely possible that many of the 537 votes that won him Florida (along with a little help from the Supreme Court) were from Hispanic voters, perhaps Cuban Americans, who heard his commercials and interviews in his rudimentary Spanish. Despite his struggles with grammar and pronunciation, Bush spoke to voters in their own language, making his intent clear.

  Four years later, during the 2004 campaign, Bush used a similar communication campaign to win almost half—44 percent—of the Latino vote. It was thought then that, going forward, Republicans might have a real chance to split the Latino vote evenly with the Democrats. Bush wasn’t willing to enact any immigration reform or suspend deportations, but his personal effort to communicate with Latino voters in Spanish—and his promise to treat Latin American immigrants “gently”—produced concrete results. His years in Texas served him well when he decided to go to Washington.

  That was when some Latino voters could be wooed by a candidate who spoke a few words of Spanish here and there. But we quickly realized that it wasn’t enough. Barack Obama borrowed the Sí, se puede cry of Cesar Chavez and Dolores Huerta. But Latino voters, disenchanted with Bush’s empty words and invented wars, asked Obama for an explicit promise. What was he willing to give us in exchange for the Latino vote? His guarantee: An immigration reform bill would be on his desk, ready for his signature, during the first year of his presidency.

  Ultimately, he failed to deliver.

  And all of this has been translated.

  Presidential candidates can reach Hispanic voters in many ways, but traditionally the most direct route has been through Univision, the television network where I’ve been working for more than three decades. After we made the first nationwide Spanish-language broadcast in 1981, back when the company was known as the Spanish International Network, President Ronald Reagan sent a message of congratulations and support.

  Ever since then, any politician or candidate who wanted to communicate his or her message to Latinos in the United States would have to go through Univision, and it would have to be translated from English to Spanish. That was the route to take. Virtually every presidential candidate from the 1980s on has been interviewed on Univision, with the notable exceptions of Bob Dole, who lost, and Donald Trump, who won.

  As a journalist, my job has been to translate these politicians who speak only English for an audience that prefers Spanish. In fact, the extraordinary interpreters with whom we work in Spanish prefer that term—“interpreter”—to “translator.” And they’re right. It is never a question of literal translations; rather, it requires interpretations of very complex subjects.

  It is one thing to say that you support immigrants, but it’s something quite different to say that you are in favor of legalizing undocumented immigrants or giving them a pathway to citizenship. There are politicians who support the Dreamers but are unwilling to offer legal support to their parents. And when a Mitt Romney or Donald Trump constantly refers to undocumented immigrants as “illegals,” the interpreters must accurately reflect their words and prejudices.

  While DACA and temporary protected status (TPS) cards guarantee residence in the United States for a limited period of time, and have been awarded to hundreds of thousands of Central Americans, they are not the same as green cards. The subtleties of the immigration debate are central to the lives of millions of people. An acronym can mean the difference between staying and leaving.

  But according to most surveys, immigration is not the most important topic for Latino voters. The economy, education, jobs, and health care are also priorities. But immigration is the most emotional issue because it has the potential to end dreams and tear apart families.

  This anxiety felt by millions of undocumented Latinos must be translated and communicated correctly. And it hasn’t been easy. Many Americans, spurred on by Trump and his rank-and-file supporters, identify undocumented immigrants as criminals for simply having crossed the border illegally. They fail to understand that they are involved in a complicated economic phenomenon to which they are accomplices. Is this country willing to raise the prices on everything from hotels and restaurants to housing and food if massive sweeps of undocumented immigrants are conducted?

  This is the correct translation of what’s going on right now in the United State
s. As a journalist, my job is to translate what it means to be a Latino and an immigrant to the vast majority of Americans who do not speak Spanish. At the same time, on the nightly news, in my weekly columns, and every so often on social media, I have to communicate with Spanish speakers and report on the important issues happening in this country and around the world.

  I translate from one part of the world to another. I report on Latin America for the United States, and vice versa, albeit in different ways. For me, Latin American affairs are like local news. It’s common for me to know more about what’s going on in Colombia, Venezuela, and Mexico than what’s happening in Iowa, Kansas, or North Dakota, even though I am in fact closer to those parts of the United States. Yes, such a geographic disconnect does exist. I may be here physically, but emotionally and professionally I am crossing multiple borders.

  In one way or another, we are all translators. Each of us has a very personal story to tell and comes from a universe that is often alien to others. As journalists, we have a responsibility to explain what we are seeing and hearing, particularly when we are traveling through remote locations and conflict zones. We translate symbols, conduct, and decisions to a distant audience.

  When a reporter asks me what is the first thing he or she should do upon arriving in an unfamiliar place, my advice is usually this: Just tell me what you can see and hear, and leave the judgment for later. Take me to where you are. Be my eyes.

  I am an immigrant with a microphone, and because of that, I am frequently invited to appear on CNN, Fox, and other networks in English to talk about the issues affecting other immigrants. I don’t represent anything or anyone. But I do believe that part of my job is to give a voice to those who are not fortunate enough to be able to speak in front of a camera. It is all too easy to attack a group that has no political representation and cannot defend itself, such as the undocumented.

  And when the government announces a new health care policy or changes existing immigration laws, my job is to read the fine print and explain what it means for the Latino community. My work as a journalist and translator is, ultimately, a public service.

  Besides the headlines, my Spanish-speaking audience is looking for guidance and direction on issues ranging from health care and education to immigration and the voting process. And this is one of the fundamental differences with English-language news broadcasts. For many immigrants, the number one issue is how to survive in a new country with a different language that can often be hostile to your very presence.

  That is why I consider journalism to be a public service.

  And for that, you have to translate.

  Amphibians are good at it.

  When to Stop Being Neutral

  A journalist’s primary social function is to question those in power. Yes, you have to report the facts clearly and accurately. But once you have the data, you have to question—and in some cases challenge—the powerful.

  This does not conflict with objectivity.

  I agree with the principle of objectivity in journalism. As Professor Michael Bugeja of Iowa State University wrote in an article for the Columbia Journalism Review, “Objectivity is seeing the world as it is, not how you wish it were.” I like this definition: it is clear, it shows intent to see things as they are, and it admits that reporters have prejudices and opinions and do not act in a vacuum.

  There is, of course, no such thing as complete objectivity. As soon as we decide to cover one story at the expense of another story in a different location, a number of subjective elements have already been introduced into the equation. Why do I cover the United States and not Nigeria or Vietnam? Still, though, once we decide to cover a story, the audience should expect journalists to display a reasonable level of objectivity. Our credibility depends on that. And if a journalist cannot be trusted, his or her work will have no value.

  But being objective does not mean that we should always remain neutral. Sometimes neutrality runs counter to the truth itself.

  Elie Wiesel’s 1986 Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech has had a profound influence on the way I view journalism. There are times when neutrality is not an option.

  The world remained silent about the atrocities committed during the Holocaust, and that silence marked Wiesel for the rest of his life. As he said, “That is why I swore never to be silent whenever and wherever human beings endure suffering and humiliation. We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men or women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must—at that moment—become the center of the universe.”

  This applies to us all, not just to journalists. And, yes, sometimes we must intervene.

  Even the most credible American journalist in history, Walter Cronkite, did not believe in maintaining a blind sense of journalistic neutrality at all times. As he once said on NPR, “Early in 1943, I reported a bombing raid over Germany. In my lead, I wrote that I had just come back from an assignment in hell. But no one attacked our stories because they lacked objectivity. If neutrality is the test of integrity in journalism, then we failed in our duty to accord the Nazis fair and balanced coverage.”

  During that same program, Cronkite again touched on the subject in regard to the civil rights movement in the United States, saying, “Basic human decency was making editorial neutrality futile. Not since World War II had right and wrong seemed so clear cut….But no amount of editorial neutrality could now rescue the South from itself.”

  What would Cronkite say today about the attitude journalists should assume with regard to Trump? That much is impossible to know. But from where I stand, suffice it to say that when you have a president who lies, who has made sexist, racist, and xenophobic comments, who attacks journalists and judges, and who generally behaves like a bully, you cannot remain neutral. He is the president, but that does not mean he is in the right. His behavior isn’t a good example for adults in this country, let alone children. And if we remain neutral in spite of all this, we normalize his behavior and others will repeat it.

  I’m passionate about the issue of journalistic neutrality during times of crisis, because journalists are the only ones who can challenge those in power with difficult and uncomfortable questions. At a 2017 TED Talk in Vancouver, I said the following:

  I am a journalist, and I am an immigrant. These two conditions define me. I was born in Mexico, but I’ve spent more than half my life reporting in the United States, a country which was itself created by immigrants.

  As a reporter and as an immigrant, I learned that neutrality, silence, and fear are not the best options, whether in journalism or in life. Neutrality is often an excuse for not taking action, for shirking our duty as journalists. And what is that duty? To question and challenge those in positions of power. That is journalism’s true purpose. Its true marvel: questioning and challenging the powerful.

  Of course, journalists are obligated to report reality as it is, not as how we would like it to be. And I agree with objectivity as a basic principle of journalism: if a house is blue, I’ll say it’s blue, and if there are a million unemployed people, I’ll say there are a million.

  But neutrality does not necessarily lead to the truth. While it is thoroughly balanced to present two points of view on any given issue—Democrat and Republican, liberal or conservative, government or opposition—this does not guarantee that I’m going to get to the truth.

  Life is much more complex than that, and journalism must reflect that complexity. I refuse to be a simple tape recorder. That’s not why I became a journalist. Of course, nobody uses tape recorders nowadays, so instead I’ll say that I refuse to press “record” on a cell phone and face it forward like some fan at a concert.

  That’s not real journalism. Contrary to what many might think,
reporters are constantly making judgments based on ethics, morals, and values, and they are always making decisions that are very personal and completely subjective.

  What if you were a journalist in a country ruled by a dictator, like Augusto Pinochet’s Chile or Fidel Castro’s Cuba? Would you have reported everything the general and the comandante said without questioning them?

  What happens when you learn that students are disappearing by the dozens, and that hidden graves are being unearthed? Or if millions of dollars suddenly disappear from the federal budget while a former president is becoming a multimillionaire? Do you only present the official version?

  What if a presidential candidate for the world’s top superpower were making racist, sexist, xenophobic comments? Well, that’s exactly what happened to me.

  In certain circumstances, journalists should not remain neutral. Not in cases of racism, discrimination, corruption, dictatorships, public lies, and violations of human rights. In these six cases, it is our obligation to set aside neutrality and indifference.

  There is an extraordinary word in Spanish that perfectly describes the space that journalists should occupy. The word is contrapoder. As journalists, our place is to always be standing opposite power.

  If you’re in bed with a politician, if you attend the governor’s son’s wedding, or if you’re simply a friend of the president, how will you be able to criticize them?

  When I prepare for an interview with someone in a position of power, I think about two things. First, if I don’t ask them an uncomfortable question, who will? And second, I operate under the assumption that I will never see this person again, and therefore I don’t try to play nice or expect further access in the future.

  If I have to choose between being a friend of the president or his enemy, I would prefer to be his enemy. Being an accomplice to power never makes for good journalism.