"Language of Identity"                                                                                                                                              

 Cindy Carr

 

Thirty years ago, I experienced a ‘language moment’ that I now see was a representation of how language and identity are inextricably woven together. After graduate school, I received a fellowship to study abroad in Oslo, Norway for a school year. I studied the French horn at the Norwegian National Music Conservatory, and my teacher spoke fluent English. In fact, so many Norwegians from all walks of life spoke English comfortably that it was not absolutely necessary for me to learn Norwegian. However, I couldn’t imagine being a guest in a country for nearly a year and not attempting to learn the language, so I took an intensive Norwegian class for foreign students at the University of Oslo.

 

Because there was not a common first language or even a common lingua franca among us, the teacher spoke exclusively in Norwegian. During the first class, we had an “ice-breaker” speaking activity in which we learned to say what country we hailed from. The class was composed of a wonderfully eclectic mix of students, so as we progressed around the table we heard: Jeg kommer fra India. “I come from India.”  Jeg kommer fra Tunisia. “I come from Tunisia.” Jeg kommer fra Tanzania….fra Chile….fra USA. Then we came to a young man who stated defiantly in English: “I am a Palestinian.”

 

This was a stunning moment for me.  Although I was aware of the ongoing conflicts in the Middle East and the fact that both Israelis and Palestinians were vying for the same territory, this moment gave me a leap of insight into one small slice of the personal implications of such a struggle. In our melting-pot Norwegian classroom, the instructor was trying to give us specific language tools to share with each other an important part of our individual identity: the name of our native country. Yet this Palestinian had no native country (socio-politically speaking), so he had to invoke a different set of language tools (his knowledge of English) to “engage in identity construction and negotiation” (410). This language moment serves as a demonstration of how, whether in spoken or written language, students will find a way to use the language that is comfortable and known to them in order to present and develop the way they see themselves in the world.

 

Work Cited

Norton, B. (1997). Language, identity, and the ownership of English. TESOL Quarterly, 31 (3), 409-429.

 

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"Que Pasó"

 Mattie Hensley

 

In our readings by Keith Gilyard (Voices of the Self) it became apparent that the acceptance or rejection, suppression or expression of language has an effect on the speaker. In Gilyard’s case, he assimilated into the school system and observed undergoing a Dubois-esque double-consciousness that contributed to a dope habit in his high school years. The alienation Gilyard suffered both at home and at school took a toll; he later applies the term “educational schizophrenia” to the high profile case of Edmund Perry. Is this possible, I thought, that language difference can really mess with people so much?

 

I grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, which has a large Hispanic population. It never occurred to me that language difference could cause what I’ve always heard termed “behavioral problems.” Yet, there I was, watching Jose* slip out of his seat like any 7-year-old and proceed to flee from his mom on all fours, class in full session, and 15 other open-mouthed 7-year-olds looking on. The sweet young teacher in the front of the classroom valiantly proceeded to describe what a Mobius strip was (God bless STEM curricula), while Jose zipped behind her desk, followed by mom, crawled where mom couldn’t reach, and, when she had lowered herself to her hands and knees, veered past her grip and sought refuge underneath the crafts table. Moments later, mom had his arm in hand, not meeting anyone’s eyes as she was handed Jose’s lunch box.

 

That summer, I was assured that his behavior stemmed from conflict at home. But I’m no longer so sure. Authors like Keith Gilyard, Lisa Delpit, and Gloria Anzaldua paint a picture of linguistic frustration when language—our “second skin”(Delpit’s term)—is not understood or recognized.  Sure, he was only 7, and—looking back now—I realize he was probably a second language learner, not a speaker of an English variety like many of our authors. But if I had known then what I know now about Spanish, and about the effects of linguistic exclusion, I’d like to think I would have done something differently, if only something as little as saying, “buenas dias” or “esta bien, todo va a estar bien.”

 

*This name has been changed.

 

 

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"The In-Crowd"    

 Danielle Hodges                                                                                                                                              

 

I had always thought that Standard English was “correct” English, that to write “right” you wrote in Standard English, even if you grew up around foothill Appalachian English. I remember asking my mom once why we wrote things differently than we said them and she said, “We just talk lazy.” In college when people would comment on my speech, it was always with the same sarcastic question, “And you’re an English major?” One of my undergraduate professors once even said that I speak a different language than I write. I contented myself with the idea that it was simply my identity. I didn’t care to conform my speech patterns to the Standard or correct way of talking; for me, writing was most important and I would write it right, avoiding red marks and attaining A’s, even editing other students’ papers to help them meet the grammatical Standard as well.

 

I had an “aha” moment reading an article by Peter Trudgill in my second year as an English graduate student, however; I mean, if I were a cartoon character, a lightbulb would have lit above my head. Though, in the article, Trudgill does ultimately argue for the same viewpoint I previously had – that variety in speech is acceptable but use of Standard is the unbreakable law of writing – he opens it with such statements as “a standardised language is a language one of whose varieties has undergone standardisation” and “Standard English, whatever it is, is less than a language, since it is only one variety of English among many” (117). Even in reading, studying, and believing that dialects of English were acceptable, grammatical, even wonderful, I had still thought of them as derivatives of that golden pinnacle of the Standard or branches off the English language itself. Trudgill’s definition, his specific wording, made me realize that English spans all its dialects, is all dialects and varieties, and that Standard English is simply one chosen (or even constructed) arbitrarily from among them all.

 

From this perspective, I see that Standard English’s status is only what we have given it socially. Standard English is just like the fads when I was in middle-school; who gets to decide what’s “right” anyway? The rich and popular kids in school? The groups with power and prestige in society? Just as you had to wear Aeropostale clothing (specifically with the name brand written across it) and write with Yikes! pencils to be “cool,” to be part of the in-crowd, so Standard English is just a brand of English that keeps everyone in line, divides the in-crowd from the outcasts. And I, for one, am way over middle-school.

 

Work Cited

Trudgill, Peter. “Standard English: what it isn’t.” Standard English: the widening debate. Eds. Tony Bex and Richard J. Watts. London: Routledge, 1999. 117-128. Print.

 

 

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"Understanding Language Diversity"                                                                                                                    

  Lisa Hagerty

                                                                                                                                              

From the first night of class when the instructor discussed the ideas of code shifting and code meshing, I knew I was going to be exposed to ideas I had never heard before. I think it’s safe to say there have been several moments of realization, or what I like to call ‘Aha’ moments from that night forward. These are MY reading and lived moments. They brought me to the place I am today where I can better understand the relationship between language, identity and education.

 

My first ‘Aha’ moment occurred when reading “The Standard Language Myth” where Lippi-Green examines the norms in society as they relate to peoples’ perspective on language. I gained the realization that I have been like the majority of the population in the belief that power is “inextricably tied to education and literacy” (61) and those in power epitomize the use of Standard English. Then Trudgill broadened my understanding of Standard English by describing it as only one variety of the English language. Moving forward, reading Jones and Delpit had a profound effect on my understanding of language differences. I was able to identify these pieces with a woman at my work who is African American. I couldn’t wait to let her read them and get her reaction. Just as I thought, she could relate. She shared her story as a child when she struggled with gaining proper education in a predominantly white world. She found herself learning Standard English at school (as required by the education system), while using her home language outside of school. She was raised to code-shift and didn’t even know it. What she did know is that the language she spoke at home, with her friends and family, was not acceptable in public. We both agreed that the use of Black English was not going to open any doors for her, but would have the complete opposite effect.

 

This is when my struggle to understand language diversity became evident. Are we suggesting that our educators teach Black English and those other home languages that are not Standard English? The Standard English ‘blinders’ I was raised with sparked a fear in me that what I had come to learn as the norm might change and ‘proper’ language might become ‘muddy’. I faced an internal conflict. On one hand, this new exposure or realization of the link between language and individual identity has opened my eyes to a whole new level of understanding about language. Language provides a source of individual pride in one’s culture. On the other hand, the perspective of the majority population shines a derogatory light on any language use in the mainstream of education other than Standard English.

 

More recently, I experienced one of my biggest ‘Aha’ moments thus far. Because of what society dictates, this moment seems harder for me to grasp. At the time I am writing this, it seems clear to me that our goal is not to teach the many different dialects or varieties of English. The intent here is to embrace the language differences. I’ve come to realize that it’s acceptable to mix a person’s home language with Standard English. Meaning can be expressed using varieties other than, or along with, the standard. The idea is to have a better understanding of how a first language might become part of a second language. Currently there is a huge knowledge gap in the education system. For generations, children have been taught to conform to the standard. Many of those children have grown up to be teachers who have trouble understanding or acknowledging the gap. I could have been a “poster child” as an example of the ignorance. I was brought up learning, like everyone else my age, that there is only one proper language. All others are sub-standard and unacceptable to use if a person wants to be successful. The attempt to stifle cultural differences by requiring everyone to learn the same Standard English has not stamped out those other languages. Research has found this attempt to cause great conflict within the lives of those from various cultural backgrounds. It has also suggested that the failed success of many was due to the inability of our education system to bridge the knowledge gap. The hope in embracing and perhaps, promoting cultural difference through language is to provide a bridge for healthier and more productive learning.

 

 

Works Cited

 

Delpit, Lisa. “No Kinda Sense.” The Skin That We Speak. Eds. Lisa Delpit and Joanne Kilgour Dowdy. New York: The New Press. 31 – 48. Print.

 

Jones, Rachel L. “What’s Wrong with Black English.” Newsweek 27 Dec. 1982: 349-351. Print.

 

Lippi-Green, Rosina. “The standard language myth.” English with an Accent. Language, ideology, and discrimination in the United States. London and New York: Rutledge, 1997. 53-62.

 

Trudgill, Peter. “Standard English: what it isn’t.” Standard English: the widening debate. Eds. Tony Bex and Richard J. Watts. London: Routledge, 1999. 117-128. Print.

 

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"Understanding the Conversation"                                                                                                                      

 Abigail Roach

 

Working with Dr. Lovejoy on the Journal of Teaching Writing (JTW) was how I was first introduced to concepts of language difference. The first issue of JTW that I worked on contained an article titled, “Ebonics and Composition: Extending Disciplinary Conversations to First-Year Writing Students” by Staci Perryman-Clark, in which she describes and explores a way in which language diversity awareness, specifically, African American Vernacular English (AAVE), can be included in teaching research writing in a first-year composition classroom. Through reading her article and discussing concepts of language diversity with Dr. Lovejoy, I began to understand why resolutions like, Students’ Rights to Their Own Language, the Oakland Policy, and the King Trial were so important. By the time Perryman-Clark’s article was published, not only did I gain some knowledge about language difference, but I also realized that my previous thoughts on language was narrow-minded and naïve. And while my concept of language had changed, I found it difficult to my new perspective with others.

 

My grandmother was interested in seeing what kind of articles JTW published, so I gave her a copy of my first issue. To my surprise, she actually read most of the articles. During a family dinner, my grandmother began to ask me questions about language. She wanted me to elaborate on the concept of AAVE being a legitimate language. I tried to explain how AAVE has its own grammar, rhetoric, and speech patterns. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting my grandmother to be as receptive as she was. Maybe she figured if professionals in the field were writing about it, they must know what they are talking about. Or maybe it just made sense to her that AAVE is its own language, because it is so different from her own.

 

 I wasn’t the only one who was surprised by her easy acceptance. Most of my other family members exchanged uncomfortable or shocked looks. The impression I got was that they didn’t see AAVE as much more than slang or broken English and chalked up our conversation to academic pontification. As the conversation awkwardly ended, I realized how pervasive the concept of standard English is, and that my “pontification” was never going to be relatable to those outside academia if I didn’t speak in a language they too could understand.

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"A Language Moment"

 Kim Brian Lovejoy

 

Be careful of how you treat people because you don’t know who will be at your side when you take your last breath—a paraphrase of the words of Jack Selzer, surgeon and writer.  Maybe this is a bit too dramatic for the story I am about to tell. But I thought of these words as I remembered an experience I had some years ago when I was at a conference where my wife was presenting and my role was to watch our two small children.

 

I was sitting in the hotel lobby with my children when the doors of the Grand Ballroom opened and people started to pour out, forming small groups in the lobby area. There was much chatter about the discussion in the session they had just attended. I could tell it was a lively/spirited debate because people were animated, saying this and that about who said what and how someone responded. I was eavesdropping on the conversation in the group closest to me. One of the speakers then said something that made me grimace. “And did you hear the number of times she said ‘irregardless,’” she said. “My god, It’s not even a word!” She was using this small detail to discredit one of the speakers—a single word that the speaker used in a heated exchange that, for the person standing next to me, was enough to disqualify the speaker. I was observing an act of violence: Language was the weapon.

 

Finally, I looked up at the group and said: “But it is a word!”  They turned and looked at me. Uncomfortable pause. One said, “What? It’s NOT a word.” And I responded, “Of course it is. She used it, and you understood it. It may not have been the best choice, but it got the point across.” And they all turned, somewhat irritated at my imposition, and began to walk way.

 

If we pay that close attention to language in a speaking situation, we’re probably not listening to what the speaker is communicating. And when we try to discredit people based on the language form they use, we’re probably too caught up with our own elitism and self-importance to give them credit for ideas we wish were our own or for getting  the attention we wish we had had.