When President Donald Trump officially designated English as the United States’ only official language earlier this month, the political conversation quickly turned to “efficiency” and “unity.” But on the ground, among immigrant families, low-income communities, and linguistically diverse neighborhoods, the move feels more like erasure than inclusion.

For many, government services available in multiple languages have been lifelines — offering access to emergency warnings, health care information, legal rights, and even the ability to vote. Now, under new federal guidance, agencies are being told to reconsider the need for such multilingual services, raising serious concerns about access, equity, and belonging.

Pam Bondi, the U.S. Attorney General, defended the policy shift by emphasizing the importance of a shared language in forging national identity. “A shared language binds Americans together,” her memo reads. But for millions of non-English-speaking or limited-English-proficient Americans, this “binding” feels more like a tightening noose.

Sonia Ramirez, a Miami-based social worker who assists Spanish-speaking immigrants, says the change is already creating anxiety. “Our clients are scared,” she says. “They worry they’ll miss out on key health updates, or that their parents won’t be able to navigate Social Security or Medicare because forms and hotlines are no longer in Spanish.”

This isn’t hypothetical. Bondi’s memo suspends the federal government’s Limited English Proficiency (LEP) website — a critical hub that guided agencies on serving non-English speakers. While the policy doesn’t outright ban services in other languages, it pushes agencies to determine whether those services are truly “necessary,” a term critics say is vague and open to abuse.

“There’s a message here,” says Dr. Amina Chowdhury, a sociolinguist based in New York. “It’s that linguistic diversity is a problem to be solved, not a strength to be embraced.” The rollback could impact civic engagement as well. Translated voting materials and language-accessible polling places have helped increase turnout in communities historically marginalized from the democratic process. Removing those tools risks reversing that progress.

“This is about more than language,” says Linda Nguyen, director of a community advocacy group in San Jose. “It’s about whether the government believes everyone has the right to participate fully in public life. Right now, that belief feels very conditional.” The consequences extend beyond the ballot box. Emergency services, especially in disaster-prone areas, often depend on multilingual alerts to keep residents safe. Limiting those services could endanger lives.

Supporters argue that encouraging English use promotes faster assimilation. But assimilation and integration are not the same. “Integration allows for mutual respect,” Dr. Chowdhury explains. “Assimilation demands conformity. When we say, ‘You’re welcome here, but only if you abandon your language,’ we’re placing conditions on dignity.”

Research also suggests that removing native-language support actually slows English acquisition, especially among adults who lose access to services that help them navigate daily life while they learn. In declaring English the sole official language, the administration appeals to a romanticized version of American identity — one where unity is forged through uniformity. But as history shows, America has always been multilingual. German, Dutch, Yiddish, Navajo, Spanish, and dozens of Indigenous languages have all played central roles in shaping this nation.

What’s at stake isn’t just access to services. It’s the soul of a country that once prided itself on being a mosaic — not a melting pot. If unity is the goal, many advocates argue, it should start with inclusion, not exclusion.