We’re failing Spanish speakers in Philadelphia if we don’t provide more language access

There are a lot of reasons why 80% of businesses fail within the first five years — poor planning, a lack of revenue, failure to adapt, the list goes on.

But in a city where residents speak at least 180 languages — and nearly a quarter of the population barely uses any English at home — a communication barrier should not be one of them.

Except that’s exactly what may have happened to Alma Romero and Marcos Tlacopilco, the Spanish-speaking husband and wife owners of Alma del Mar, a restaurant in the Italian Market.

My Inquirer colleague Michelle Myers’ recent story chronicled how Romero and Tlacopilco closed in October after struggling with crime and after having difficulty communicating with cops and city agencies.

The story stopped me in my tracks. You’re telling me that in a city where Latinos are the fastest growing demographic, where about 160,000 people are native Spanish speakers, and where the second largest community of stateside Puerto Ricans call home, no one could figure out how to help them?

¿Qué qué?

I wanted to be sure I wasn’t missing something, so I called Romero this week and asked in my Nuyorican brand of Spanglish: If the family felt like they were able to fully communicate with the city’s police department and Department of Licenses and Inspections, would they have kept their doors open?

Her answer was unequivocal: “Sí.”

Wow, ¡qué lástima! — or, for the English-only police officers and city officials the couple have interacted with in the four years they’ve had their restaurant: What a shame!

What a shame that when they called the police after a series of thefts — like when their refrigerated truck was stolen and their restaurant ATM was robbed — the response was often slow and mostly only en inglés.

And what a shame that in addition to those incidents, the couple said that they found themselves in similar no entiendo territory while trying to navigate the city’s Department of Licensing and Inspections. (L&I officials did not immediately respond to a request for comment.)

Speaking of things that are hard to understand, here’s something I probably wouldn’t be able to grasp in any language: Police and city officials insist that they are “committed” to language access and clear communication with all members of the community. Police said they offer access to a 24/7 language line service (though that was news to many people I talked to). But how is communication really possible when, according to police, just 181 Philadelphia officers in a force of over 6,300 speak Spanish to some degree (only 99 of those are certified as Spanish translators)?

Or when Juan Carlos Romero, president of the Association of Mexican Business Owners of Philadelphia, told The Inquirer that he’s lost track of how many times Mexican businesses in the Italian Market have been unable to get help due to language barriers.

Or when just last year, a lack of translation left many scrambling for information about the city’s water supply after some pollutants from a chemical plant made their way into the Delaware River.

According to a city dashboard, there have been more than 1,600 requests for Spanish interpretations from police, about 39,000 from 911 calls, and 88 from L&I from July 1, 2021, to June 30, 2024.

Romero recalled one police district meeting where a Spanish-speaking officer conceded that there is a lack of bilingual officers — and then suggested their children might want to consider joining the force. (Insert the universal face-palm emoji here.) That is all fine and good but it doesn’t do much for the problem at hand.

It is no doubt heartbreaking that a family restaurant that seemed to have so much going for it — including passionate owners, loyal customers, and a dash of fame from being featured on Netflix’s Queer Eye Season 5 episode, “Father Knows Fish” — didn’t make it.

But this goes way beyond one family or one restaurant. A language barrier may have cost this family their dream restaurant and a chunk of their livelihood, but it can — and has — cost others much more.

In 1979, 12-year-old Julio Lozado lost his life in Hartford, Conn., when a garage collapsed on him and the responding firefighters didn’t understand the pleas from his family and friends. He died at the hospital, but among the changes from his death was a mandate that required the city to hire bilingual and Spanish-speaking personnel in all its public safety departments to better serve the community.

In 2018, deputies in Dane County, Wis., mistakenly blamed an immigrant worker for his son’s death on a dairy farm. The sheriff’s office has since agreed to reforms meant to ensure residents who speak limited English can get needed services.

And just a couple of months ago, a migrant from Honduras was shot and killed in a confrontation with police in Montgomery County, Md.; the victim’s family later said that he did not understand the officer’s commands in English.

There is so much national anti-immigrant rhetoric in the country right now, which makes Mayor Cherelle L. Parker’s nonresponse to calls that she reaffirm Philly’s sanctuary city status only more curious and disappointing.

And not just because it’s the right thing to do. Given the extent to which Spanish speakers are driving the city’s population growth and contributing to the local economy, figuring out a way to serve this community makes sense from a civic governance standpoint.

We owe the newest Philadelphians a lot, and the very least we can give them is a sense of support and security that isn’t dependent on language fluency.

But when recent arrivals can’t even count on being able to communicate with those who are responsible for helping them, they are neither protected nor served.