GOP Keys on English-Only Push in Ohio

Like a prosecutor eager to share damning evidence, state Rep. George E. Terwilleger shoves a grainy Polaroid across his desk.

Angelenos might strain their eyes trying to spot some irregularity in this shot of a government building and a placard reading, “Department of Human Services-- El Departamento de Servicios Humanos. “ But Terwilleger sees such signs of the times as proof of multicultural chaos to come.

In April, he introduced a bill to make Ohio the 23rd state to declare English the sole language of government. Abruptly, the self-described “farm boy” found himself slugging it out on the local front of a “culture war” issue that has also seeped into the 1996 Republican presidential race.

The issue was elevated into the national debate last month when Senate Majority Leader Bob Dole (R-Kan.) called for English to be declared the nation’s official language.

Speaking at an American Legion convention, Dole worried that the United States is unraveling into “a jostling crowd of competing groups. . . . Language, history and values, these are the strings that bind our hearts to America.”

But those strings are more intricately entwined than many acknowledge; here in the Buckeye State, the issue of language often prods complex reactions. And history comes in cycles, as evidenced by Cincinnati’s recent reversal of a law banning German street signs, a remnant of the anti-German-language crusade that swept the Midwest during World War I.

Ohio, which has moved its primary election up to March 19, will likely be an important stop on the presidential nominating trail next year. It is also a bellwether of who finally is elected President--since 1896, it has backed a losing candidate only twice.

As the GOP candidates seek support in this key state, Ohio residents will find that the language issue can create surprising divergences. While Dole and at least two of his rivals--Sen. Richard G. Lugar of Indiana and conservative commentator Patrick J. Buchanan--have latched on to the official-English cause, Sen. Phil Gramm of Texas recently said he “disagreed sharply.” Noted for his unswervingly conservative views on most issues, Gramm last week told a Cuban American group in Florida that “I don’t think it is the duty of the federal government to tell any city what language they should print their street signs in.”

Veto Pledged

Meanwhile, Ohio Gov. George Voinovich, a popular Republican and strong Dole supporter, has pledged to veto Terwilleger’s English bill.

Voinovich has said there simply is no language problem that needs fixing in Ohio--where, according to 1990 census figures, just 21,000 people speak Spanish exclusively, and half that number speak an Asian or Pacific Island language.

Terwilleger, whose file cabinets sport “Dole for President” stickers, counters that he and his constituents want to head off what’s happening in states such as California, where taxpayers must spring to print ballots and tests for driver’s licenses in a variety of languages.

He and his supporters say that a single official language encourages the blending of many cultures: E Pluribus Unum.

Critics say that assimilation is an unstoppable force, that language laws merely undermine ethnic goodwill.

If those on either side agree on anything, it is that the language battle cuts to the heart of what it means to be American.

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Up in Ohio’s northwest corner, the city of Findlay got its big boost in 1884 when a German-born physician tapped into the area’s natural gas reserves. Thousands of German immigrants followed, and today the Hancock County Historical Museum in Findlay celebrates the subsequent boom, when gas lamps blazed on streets draped with banners boasting: “Women Split No Wood in Findlay.”

The exhibits omit, however, the ethnic antagonisms that evolved--harbingers, it might be argued, of sentiments today.

In that period, German was the largest minority language in several states. An 1863 Pennsylvania law, for example, mandated that all official notices appear in German-language newspapers. More than 4,100 public and private schools nationwide taught in German.

As Francois Grosjean points out in the book “Life With Two Languages,” German Americans lobbied aggressively for their right to maintain their mother tongue and culture, with considerable success.

German Ghosts

Mainstream backlash against such recalcitrance tapped into the anti-German sentiment stirred by World War I: Chicago and Cincinnati banned German-language books from libraries; St. Louis and Milwaukee closed German-language theaters.

In his book “Hold Your Tongue,” James Crawford writes: “In Midwestern states alone, nearly 18,000 persons were charged with violating anti-German statutes and emergency decrees.”

In Findlay, the old ethnic conflicts largely have been forgotten as new ones have arisen.

Museum docent Ruth Smith says she believes firmly that English should be the official U.S. language. In a tone of mild frustration, the 77-year-old Republican describes the stream of foreigners, mainly Japanese, who now pass through the museum.

As Smith talks, volunteer Jeannette Bibler’s face becomes animated, a pet peeve clearly on her mind. When Smith begins a thought--”I think it’s educational to learn other languages, but if they’re going to . . .” Bibler can’t refrain from finishing: “. . . live in our country, they should learn our language.”

As it happens, neither Smith nor Bibler are aware of a relevant Findlay fact: In 1914, backlash against the Kaiser’s Germany was such that the city fathers levied a $25 fine against anyone caught speaking German on a public street.

“I guess I’m not surprised,” said Smith, whose grandfather spoke only German. “I do think Germans were looked down upon, mainly because of World War I.”

For most of Findlay’s 38,000 residents--a relative handful of whom are nonwhite--questions of immigration and assimilation seem more a curiosity than a concern.

At Olers, a Mexican restaurant across the street from the Cooper Tire and Rubber Co., customers gripe halfheartedly about the linguistic cacophony they encountered in New York City restaurants, Los Angeles taxicabs or in Tennessee motels owned by East Indian immigrants.

Then there are the eight Japanese-owned companies that have set up shop in the Tall Timbers industrial park at Findlay’s edge.

“Some of these companies, you’ll be delivering parts and upper management will be there gibbering away in Japanese,” said Chris Nagy, who owns a local electrical equipment company. “You have to look all over for an American to tell them what you want.”

But such inconveniences aren’t enough to raise Nagy’s interest in the official-English debate. Forking a bite of an enchilada, he shrugs. “It makes me no difference.”

Jeff Dietsch, 37, is a bit less ambivalent. “You come to this country, you might as well learn the language,” he said from behind the counter of the homemade candy-and-ice cream store his father and two uncles founded in 1937.

Japanese Restaurant

But then the phone rings, and Dietsch gladly takes an order he never would have gotten a year ago: several gallons of custom-made green-tea-and-ginger ice cream. The customer is Japan West, a new restaurant--arguably Findlay’s most elegant--launched a year ago by the president of a Japanese company that makes automotive electrical harnesses.

That sort of cross-fertilization is hardly new. Out where Main Street turns rural, Mickey Tooley stands behind the counter of her husband’s gas station and convenience store.

Tooley’s black T-shirt is emblazoned with Japanese characters, which she obligingly translates: “Joe’s Carry-Out Store.”

Tooley’s real first name is Miwako. She came from Tokyo to study at the University of Findlay in 1963 and eventually married the Joe referenced on her shirt.

She is now a citizen and a voter, leaning Republican. “When you’re a student, you can afford to be liberal because you have nothing to lose,” she said.

But argument about “official English” is one of those American quirks that confound her. She can barely hide her amusement at some natives’ language chauvinism.

“When I came here,” she said, “I knew more about English grammar and literature than American students.”

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Back in Columbus, Terwilleger’s bill has moved to a committee of the state Senate. Its future, though, seems sealed. Voinovich has called it a “bad bill” and is intent on vetoing it.

Terwilleger, meanwhile, has been blasted as elitist, even racist.

“I really can’t figure it out,” he said with a guileless smile.

He got the idea for his official-English bill when clerks in his Warren County district began complaining about deeds and documents being filed in Chinese, Japanese and other languages.

Other constituents complained that their children sometimes found it impossible to understand their college instructors and teaching assistants, so Terwilleger added a clause requiring public institutions to refund tuition in such cases.

It’s not that he is opposed to people speaking other languages or maintaining ties to their native culture, he says.

Terwilleger’s grandparents, he explains, spoke German, and he is also one-quarter Cherokee. But at the same time, he said, “I believe in the United States continuing to be a melting pot.”

Opponents of Terwilleger’s bill, and of similar bills nationwide, say that America doesn’t need any official proclamations to advance the process of assimilation.

“Hispanics have lived on this continent we now call the United States for 500 years. Why haven’t we needed this before now?” asked Jose Luis Mas, director of the Ohio Commission on Spanish Speaking Affairs.

“I found it so terribly offensive when Dole discussed the issue in virtually the same breath as flag-burning, making [non-English speakers] sound un-American,” said Mas, whose group has joined at least 55 others nationwide in opposing official-English laws.

Theirs is a minority view, however. On Sept. 18, the advocacy organization U.S. English released a poll showing that 86% of voters--including 81% of immigrants--support making English the nation’s official language.

Over in the German Village section of Columbus, at Schiller Park, 48-year-old Robert Richardson, a cook at the Holiday Inn, says the issue will likely affect his vote.

Standing near a bronze statue of the German philosopher-poet Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller, Richardson, a registered Democrat of African descent, said: “English is all we have to link us as true Americans. I think it’s very important for people to communicate. It’s the only way to come to understanding and compromise.”

As history shows, though, such virtues may take decades to achieve. To quote an aphorism by William Tell, which has been carved in granite and mounted in the park’s brick walkway: “ Die Zeit Bringt Rat-- Time Brings Wisdom.”