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Spanish barrier delays courts in Hernando

A need for interpreters for a growing number of non-English speakers is bogging down court proceedings.

By APRIL YEE
Published July 9, 2006

BROOKSVILLE - The judge couldn't understand the words coming out of the attorney's mouth. Nor the defendant's.

With his arm around his Mexican client, Assistant Public Defender Aurelio "Andy" Gonzales whispered loudly en Español.

Some in the courtroom smirked or laughed at the noisy scene. Others stirred, impatient for other proceedings - at least ones they could understand.

"Just for the record, the court reporter can't take any of that down," Circuit Judge Stephen Rushing said, then asked Gonzales to step out with his client so other hearings could move forward.

The confusion is just one way a growing Hispanic population has changed Hernando County's courtrooms.

An influx of Mexican immigrants, Puerto Ricans and even Spanish speakers from Miami has created demands the county has struggled to meet. Hernando now boasts the largest proportion of non-English speakers - 9.3 percent - in the five-county 5th Judicial Circuit.

"I have seen the county's Hispanic population grow significantly," said Gonzales, whom people familiar with the courts say is the county's only criminal attorney fluent in Spanish. "I really think this county within the next few years will need a full-time interpreter on call."

The introduction of Spanish in the court doesn't merely annoy court audiences. Hearings can be delayed for weeks to accommodate an interpreter's schedule. Juggling two languages in print can be "a challenge," said Joy Hayes, the owner of a court reporting service. And the law's nuances can be lost in translation.

"If you think about that need and how it could transform the court system, the impact could be tremendous," said Lisa Bell, who oversees interpreter training and certification for the state in Tallahassee.

Just last month, Gov. Jeb Bush signed legislation that will require interpreters to be trained, certified and disciplined by the Florida Supreme Court. In the 2000 census, Florida ranked fourth in the nation in the number of residents who spoke English "not well" or "not at all."

In Hernando, legal resources for Spanish speakers are limited by the county's size. Larger counties with denser Hispanic populations hire full-time interpreters. In Miami-Dade, the 11th Judicial Circuit commands 48 staff interpreters.

But in Hernando, most needs are met by a single interpreter from Plant City under contract with the court administration. Judges decide if an interpreter is needed, usually for most criminal cases and civil cases involving parental rights, mental incapacity and substance abuse, Bell said.

Until as recently as 2004, court staffers who happened to speak Spanish would simply step into the courtroom for minor traffic cases, said Clerk of the Circuit Court Karen Nicolai. About 10 of her 120 employees speak the language, she said. Other times, relatives would help out.

At the state level, Florida only began offering training and certification in 1998, said Bell, court operations consultant for the Office of the State Courts Administrator.

Even with an interpreter, the defendant's understanding can be compromised, Judge Rushing said.

"I've seen situations where a person will give an answer that will last for maybe 15 seconds. And the translator or interpreter will maybe say 'Yes' or 'No.' That's the danger for the Spanish-speaking person in the courtroom," he said. "It depends on the ability to communicate with the interpreter and then for the interpreter to relay what was said in the court."

Florida's new law to train and police interpreters was prompted by a botched case in the city of DeLand. In 2004, a judge sentenced Juan Ramon Alfonzo to 15 years in jail and another 15 on probation for first-degree grand theft, according to a report in the Daytona Beach News-Journal.

A year later, the sentence was reversed because the interpreter had not been fluent in Spanish, conflating "toolbox" and "dump truck." Alfonzo is now serving five years.

As a result of the new legislation, Bell can hire two more employees - a boon for her current staff of one.

"If the party doesn't speak English or doesn't speak it well enough to know what's going on, then they're not linguistically present, and they don't have the same access to the court that their English-speaking counterpart would have," Bell said. "Interpreters are only human, and mistakes could be made."

Court reporters rely entirely on the interpreter, blindly assuming the English is a faithful translation, said longtime court reporter Holly Kirchman.

"If I understood Spanish and I heard the interpreter misinterpreting, I wouldn't be able to say anything," Kirchman said. "Our role is just to take down what's being said."

One interpreter, Vivian Soto, entered the field to offer an alternative to cloudy translations. With Spanish parents and schooling in Spain and Central America, she was fluent in the language.

After retiring from running a blood bank in Puerto Rico, Soto volunteered her Spanish skills in U.S. courts. Attorneys and clients had complained to her, and Soto found the superficiality of translation "disturbing."

"Court is a very intimidating environment for the defendant, especially for someone who does not understand the language," Soto said. "The interpreter needs to tell the defendant what's going on."

So Soto founded her own company in Plant City. Excel Translations now has some 100 freelancers who serve the 5th, 6th and 10th judicial circuits. Soto handles most Hernando County cases herself, commuting to Brooksville six times a month. She often works with Gonzales.

At the county jail recently, Gonzales sat across from his 18-year-old client as he translated word for word two police reports and a diary entry in evidence.

Though the defendant could speak English, he felt more at ease with the language he spoke in Puerto Rico, which he had left just seven months earlier.

The man had been charged with having sex with a 15-year-old girl. Gonzales tried to explain the law to him.

"Tenemos dos culturas," Gonzales said. "Si esto pasó en Puerto Rico, la madre de ella no hubiera llamada a la policía, sí o no?" Gonzales asked.

"Sí," said the man, agreeing that had they been in Puerto Rico, the girl's mother likely would not have called authorities.

The difference between Puerto Rico's laxness and the United States' stricter enforcement of laws is one example of what Gonzales calls "cultural dissonance." Sometimes, it's customs - not words- that get lost in translation.

Gonzales serves as the public defender's de facto liaison between the Hispanic and American worlds.

In 1959, Gonzales and his parents left Cuba for the United States, sponsored by relatives in Ybor City. Though he never studied Spanish, his parents - a lawyer and a professor - corrected his speech.

His name has since spread by word of mouth through the Hispanic community. When his colleagues see Spanish-speaking clients, he often sits in. Of every 20 defendants, one is usually Spanish-speaking, and Gonzales exclusively speaks the language in such cases.

On Wednesday, Gonzales saw the client who had appeared in Rushing's court, amid confusion, a month earlier.

Rolando Olivo Gallegos, 41, immigrated from Mexico more than a decade ago. With only six years of school in his native country, Gallegos understands little English.

In 2005, Gallegos was put on probation for battery of and fleeing from a law enforcement officer. But after being charged with lying about his work status and other violations of probation, he had been taken back in.

The next day he would return to court. The state had agreed to only eight months in the county jail, provided everything went smoothly. With credit for time served, the deal would keep him in jail for only three more months - but even that seemed like a lot.

"Tres meses, es mucho," Gallegos said of the possible sentence.

"Pero es lo que tienes que hacer," Gonzales said. Gallegos would have to serve the time, and to get the minimum sentence he would have to hold back any explanations, limiting himself to yes and no. "Mañana, digas 'Sí' o 'No.' No debes explicar."

The next morning, Gallegos arrived in court, wearing a tan prison uniform and three rubber bands in his long hair. Soto stood by him.

"Let me just say that I don't mean to confuse you or anything," Rushing said. The judge paused every few words and even repeated some questions.

"Entiendes eso?" Soto asked Gallegos.

Yes, Gallegos did understand. And at the end of the drawn-out hearing, the judge gave him what he had hoped for - eight months.

Later on that day, Rushing said there was a reason he took his time with Gallegos.

"I don't want anybody to leave the courtroom without knowing what happened."

April Yee can be reached at ayee@sptimes.com or 352 754-6117.

[Last modified July 8, 2006, 22:54:25]