Immigrants hurdle language barrier with help of Cuban-Americans

Holed up in an office in the Diamond District of Manhattan, Luis Iza laid aside his work with a diamond engagement ring to fill in the blanks on a worksheet of English vocabulary. He chatted and laughed with a client, as he got ready to leave his office, carrying the worksheet in his briefcase. But he was not ready to go home yet. He was headed for a small Spanish-speaking church in Dumont, New Jersey.

Luis Iza and his wife, Maggie, volunteer their time to teach English as a second language (ESL) to Bergen County immigrants, where Luis was going to use the worksheet as an answer key for language exercises. One Anglo lawyer joins the Izas and several other Latinos to teach classes at the Iglesia Bautista Resurreción on Washington Avenue twice a week. The Izas learned English as their second language and are helping fresher immigrants do the same.

The Izas were immigrants themselves, many years ago, so they remember "how it feels to be new and to have no friends," said Luis.

Luis came from Cuba to Miami when he was nine years old, and landed in the New York City area with his family soon after. He admires his father's work ethic greatly—"My father was a tremendous entrepreneur," said Luis. The elder Luis brought his family from Havana after Fidel Castro came to power.

Once in the States, he worked hard to adjust to his new country. He opened a variety store—like a department store—and sold wholesale textiles and other goods. "I would only see him on the weekends because he worked so hard," said his son. The son Luis carried on the elder's hard work, going into the jewelry business and moving his establishment to Manhattan.

Maggie's family had been leaders in Cuba's labor movement, but went to Spain as an indirect escape from Castro's Cuba into the United States. She spent three years in Spain waiting for a visa to enter the United States. After already finishing high school, she made it over the Atlantic to New York.

There, Maggie worked at a Hispanic bank and struggled to learn English. She attended college in New York, as did Luis, but met him because the bank where she worked was in the same neighborhood as his father's variety store.

Luis asked Maggie out to dinner half an hour after meeting her in the bank. His brother warned him not to drink Maggie's Cuban coffee—"you'll end up in the church." Luis laughed as he recalled the incident. He drank her coffee on the first date, and sure enough, the fabled power of Cuban coffee to bring about romance eventually propelled them to marriage. They faced the struggle of establishing themselves in New York together.

Subsequently, the two Izas "drank the Coca-Cola" together and became Americanized, according to Maggie. They moved to Bergen County, New Jersey, and though they kept ties with their friends from their early days of living in the States, they gradually lost touch with the world of the recent immigrant.

That is, until they met Mario Martinez, a member of the Iglesia on Washington Avenue. Martinez also came from Cuba, but he moved back and forth between the U.S. and his home country until emigrating permanently to the States in 1970. He brought Elia, his wife of 11 years, and raised his children in greater New York City. His son still lives in the area.

Martinez's son attends the same church as the Izas, and introduced Martinez to them. Martinez and Luis immediately connected because both remembered their experiences as immigrants lost in the English-speaking world of New York City. "I was by myself in this country for a year and a half," said Martinez, without anyone to guide him through the English-speaking world.

Now, Martinez works with the Izas and several other volunteers to make sure that newer immigrants have someone "helping them navigate these new waters," said Luis. His wife said, "coming here, we really fell in love with what Mario was doing."

Martinez and the other teachers hold classes on Monday and Tuesday nights during the school year, as they have been doing for about five years. He first started ESL classes 20 years ago, working with one other person, after hearing from a local Mexican pastor who told about hundreds of migrant workers gathering nearby. The migrant workers were isolated because of their inability to speak English and interact with the other New Englanders.

"I felt the need to do something about it," said Martinez, "to make them feel like a family."

Martinez and his colleague taught the first series of ESL classes, then discontinued them for about five years. Later he restarted the classes "with a better view of what we should do," he said.

Martinez's better series of classes run from October to June. By design, each teacher has no more than 12 pupils, who are placed into classes according to their skill with English. Four skill levels are taught, using the same book series, "Side by Side," as the local community college. The students much purchase the books themselves, which run about $20 in bookstores.

The students consider the classes worth it, because of the better job opportunities that come with speaking English. Luis said of the immigrants, "what they want is to work and provide for their families—empowering. They work very hard, these guys—they remind me in many respects of my dad."

His father's work ethic is mirrored in the students'. One Colombian student, Maria Marlene Quiceno, skipped dinner in order to attend class on May 24. She worked on finishing her ESL homework under a tree in the churchyard just before class started. Quiceno and several other students regularly do not have time to eat between getting off work and starting class.

In part for the benefit of those who cannot not eat before class, the Iglesia provides a small budget for snacks and coffee during a mingling time halfway through, said Maggie. The church's pastor also speaks for a few minutes about the Christian gospel.