Can You Hear Me Now?

by Zacch Estrada-Petersen

“If I treat you kindly, does it mean that I’m weak? You hear me speak and think I won’t take it to the streets.” ~ Lauryn Hill

The way I talk has always been a matter of concern for some. Partially due to the fact that I grew up in three diverse regions (the North, the South and the Caribbean) with three distinct accents, I’ve learned to tailor the way I speak to the audience at hand.

When I’m with my friends, I talk as they talk. When I’m in class, I’m as professional and as studious-sounding as the best of them. When I’m with my family, you would think I was still on the beaches of St. Thomas, where I spent a number of my earlier years.

In that regard, I consider myself a social chameleon. What some people might deem as being fake or selling out, I see simply as an ability to adapt to any given situation and make it a comfortable experience for all parties involved.

The person I am doesn’t change; just the way I communicate. If I flew today to the backwoods of Indonesia (or somewhere), I can’t speak pure, freshwater American English and expect to get my point across. I would have to speak their language. My current situation is no different. The same “What it is, homie?” that I use with my best friend would probably win me a blank stare from my college professor. The same “Good morning, how might I be of assistance?” would probably fly better with my clients than it would with my roommate.

Taking the time to find the most effective way to communicate with different groups is something you could assume would be met with praise and gratitude. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Especially when I use complicated terms and I’m extra careful about pronouncing all my words, I’m accused of “forgetting” who I am.

I’ve noticed in the Black community that being educated and speaking professionally is seen as elitist. Among Black men especially, you’re viewed as soft. You’re accused of “talking white” and being an Uncle Tom – a derogatory term used to describe “an African-American who is perceived by others as behaving in a subservient manner to White American authority figures.”

If you ask me, having a lack of proper grammar is an educational deficiency that knows no racial boundary. Whereas popular Black figures like Nelly glorify “country grammar” as a way of life, I see it as having its own time and place to be spoken, if at all.

There is a debilitating stigma among some Blacks in regards to education and professionalism that isn’t as prevalent among Whites and other groups. In other communities, education is applauded. It’s rewarded not only with respect, but often with well-paid jobs and quick promotions.

In some Black circles, formal education comes second to street-smarts, and might even be seen as non-essential; maybe even counter-productive. I can still recall watching “Dangerous Minds” in middle school, and my confusion when the Black mother pulled her kids out of school and cursed out the White teacher for teaching them poetry.

Having a sense of professionalism and an awareness of the appropriateness of time and place is more about finding a middle ground than it is about switching sides. If my speech changes when talking to White people, it’s not because I want to “be White,” it’s because I want to be understood, whether my audience is White, Black or purple.

Ultimately, the whole purpose of speech is to effectively communicate. Regardless of what color my skin may be, the question is… can you hear me now?