We Speak English in the USA, Ese
If you come for the freedom, don’t spit on the culture that gave it to you.
So, there I was in LA, cruising with my friend, hungry and ready to demolish a McDonald’s Big Mac like civilized adults. We roll up to the drive-thru, expecting the usual “Welcome to McDonald’s, may I take your order?” Instead, we get… silence. Then a confused look. Then the cashier either didn’t speak English or just didn’t want to bother trying. We repeated ourselves, slower, louder, more exaggerated, like we were ordering in some ancient lost language. Nada.
Five minutes, several awkward glances, and a growing line behind us later — we were still stuck, holding up the entire drive-thru like the world’s most ridiculous traffic jam. Meanwhile, I’m thinking: How the hell does someone get a job at McDonald’s if they don’t speak English? And if you don’t want to speak the language, if you refuse, then maybe—just maybe—this isn’t the country for you. Maybe it’s time to pack your bags and go back to wherever you came from.
Look, I get it. America’s a melting pot, and we celebrate diversity like it’s our national sport. But if you come here for the dream, for freedom, for a better shot at life, then the least you can do is respect the language that built this country. We don’t need perfect Shakespearean English. We don’t need you to ditch your culture. But speaking English in the USA? That’s not a request. It’s a rule. Like traffic laws or paying taxes.
This isn’t about being “racist” or “intolerant.” It’s about respect, integration, and having the common damn courtesy not to hold up a McDonald’s line because you won’t speak the language that everyone else here does. Because if that’s too much, maybe you should reconsider if this is your home—or just a stopover.
The Immigrants Who Built This Country Weren’t Soft
Let me tell you a story. My great-grandfather came to America with nothing but a suitcase, a thick accent, and a stubborn streak wider than the Mississippi. He didn’t know a lick of English when he landed, but by God, he learned it—by working his fingers raw, falling flat, and getting back up again. He wasn’t waiting for someone to rewrite the rules or install an app to translate every word. He adapted. Because that’s what it took to survive here.
That’s the real immigrant story—the one nobody wants to talk about anymore.
Back in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, waves of Italians, Irish, Poles, Jews, Cubans, and countless others swarmed the shores of America like desperate tides. They were not delicate. They didn’t come with participation trophies or “safe space” demands. They came with hope, ambition, and backs bent from centuries of hardship.
At Ellis Island, they were processed like livestock. Their names mangled. Their culture mocked. But none of that stopped them from grinding in factories, mining coal in Pennsylvania, laying tracks in the West, or sewing the clothes that clothed a growing nation. They learned English by listening to street vendors, schoolyard kids, and the grimy radios in break rooms.
They came here to become Americans, not to stay foreigners forever. They knew the price: swallowing pride, shedding parts of their past, and joining a language and culture that was foreign but promising. They didn’t whine about cultural erasure; they embraced it as transformation. Because they understood the honor in belonging.
Imagine working 16-hour days in sweatshops, surviving discrimination, and still coming home to a cramped apartment where the radio played Uncle Sam’s calls to arms. They didn’t ask for handouts or a rewrite of the rules. They took the system as it was—harsh, raw, imperfect—and fought tooth and nail to claim their place in it.
Their version of patriotism wasn’t waving flags on Instagram or calling out “systemic injustice” between avocado toasts. It was picking cotton, building railroads, or enlisting in wars they barely understood, all while learning a language that wasn’t theirs.
Fast forward to today, and the game’s changed. The language barrier is no longer a mountain to climb; it’s a line people refuse to cross. They want to work, yes—but on their terms, speaking their language, demanding accommodation instead of adaptation. They want the American Dream without the American hustle.
This isn’t just hypocrisy—it’s a slap in the face to the millions who came before. The ones who didn’t wait for the system to soften, who didn’t call the flag oppressive, who didn’t turn their backs on the language that united a nation.
They didn’t demand the system change for them. They rose to meet it.
That’s the legacy we’re trashing when we allow anyone to sidestep the most basic expectation of living here: Speak English. Respect the culture. Earn your place. It’s not about erasing your roots—it’s about planting new ones deep into the soil of this country.
So if you think America owes you comfort and linguistic hand-holding, think again. This isn’t a playground. It’s a battlefield. And if you can’t learn the language, can’t respect the culture, maybe this isn’t your fight to join.
Because the immigrants who built this country? They weren’t soft. They weren’t entitled. They were warriors. And they’d roll their eyes at half of today’s nonsense before going back to work.
So here’s the truth nobody dares say: If you come to America, learn the language. Love the culture. Fight for your place. Because the country you want isn’t owed to you — it’s earned by those willing to rise above, not those who demand the world change to fit their comfort.
The immigrants who built this country weren’t soft — and neither should we be.