VOICES

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Black English --
An Issue of Pain and Pride

By Michael Datcher

Date: 12-27-96

Black English exists -- it is fluid and various, with meanings that shift quickly from time to time and place to place, and this, argues PNS associate editor Michael Datcher, is why it does not belong in a formal school setting. The issue is crucial because black children must master standard English without losing the vibrant language of their own culture. Datcher is a Los Angeles-based freelance writer and co-editor of "Tough Love: The Life and Death of Tupac Shakur".

The strident reactions to the Oakland schools' decision to recognize "ebonics" as a second language reflect the crucial role that language plays in the lives of African Americans. This situation is made more complex, and more painful, because so many of us still look to white Americans to recognize our intelligence and to confirm our humanity.

When I was still in grade school I was chosen to attend a "magnet" school -- a white school on the other side of town. To prepare me for the unbalanced playing field black people face, I was not allowed to use slang even in the house. As my mother told me, "You can't be just as good as the little white boys in your class -- you have to be better."

But once I reached the sidewalk outside our cramped apartment on the east side of Long Beach, I was free. Our neighborhood was brimming with black life -- a host of characters -- would-be professional athletes, hustlers, preachers, pimps, -- all quick to expound, and loudly, on their philosophy of life.

These brothers wouldn't just talk. They would "rap." Their colorful and rhythmic speech, combined with the ever-evolving body of new words and phrases, made for an intoxicating mix. They made me fall in love with words -- I would just sit around and listen, luxuriating in the language.

Many of those black people who criticized the Oakland decision can appreciate the linguistic brilliance on display in black neighborhoods because they have been exposed to it. In the privacy of their homes, some may even slip in an "ain't" from time to time. However, since the way one speaks "standard English" is seen as an indicator of intelligence, these same people show no love for ebonics in public.

This is why ebonics becomes something we do in the dark, behind closed doors, away from the outside world. Most successful black professionals learn to "code switch." When in Rome we speak as the Romans do -- but in a black context, we speak with the flair that brings African American conversation to life. It is the best example of the duality that black people must deal with day by day as the descendants of enslaved Africans living in America.

The school district's attempt to validate ebonics is interesting, but it is not the answer. We often romanticize the school room when its function--as Mark Twain knew -- is a straight-forward one of indoctrination. It is the writer, the poet, the orator who elevates the spoken word to the level of literature.

In addition, ebonics is too regional and too dynamic to be taught as a separate language. The phrases and usage patterns vary greatly from place to place, and words are continually being created and may have different meanings and different connotations in different parts of the country.

The bottom line is that black kids need to learn standard English as a tool they need to navigate in a world likely to be hostile to them. But this does not mean they should learn to value the mainstream white aesthetic over the African American aesthetic -- if the millions of white Americans who buy hip hop music teach us anything, it is that white people love the way we turn a phrase.

In the end, the responsibility falls on black parents. They must find a strategy to ensure that their children learn to master standard English and benefit from the vibrant language of black culture.

The key is balance. Today, when I operate in a mainstream context I love to slip into eloquent ebonics just to send a message -- I speak standard English because I can, I speak Black English because black is beautiful.