Intro: Samantha Greenspan discusses the power of words, the value of listening, and issues of legibility and marginalized languages. This blog post was inspired by Dr. Nēpia Mahuika’s workshop “Oral History and Indigenous Peoples: Rethinking Oral History, Methods, Politics and Theories.”

Growing up, I had no idea I had a speech impediment. I knew that some people mumble, others speak slowly, and absolutely everyone has an accent. I was a happy and chatty kid, the kind to constantly ask questions and strike up conversation with strangers.

But the fluent English I spoke was unintelligible. Or so I was told by my sixth grade English teacher when she referred me to a friend of hers, a speech therapist named Ms. Nice.  I can remember looking up at a blank Microsoft Word document projected onto the moss green wall of her office.  Whatever she typed – words like ‘snake,’ ‘sizzle,’ and ‘list’ – I said. And then she would correct me, and I would say the word again. The process was cyclical and boring, and I never practiced my word lists at home like I was supposed to. Really, I just didn’t care and couldn’t see the point. She knew she would need a different approach to get through to me. She asked what I like to do for fun and when I told her I loved art, she soon provided me with craft supplies. While focused on the crafts, I was more open to her lessons and started progressing more rapidly. By the time I was finished with the therapy, Ms. Nice completely changed the way I created and thought about sound.

No one knows I used to have a speech impediment. My college application boasted accomplishments from the following few years, all which had been predicated on the “fixing” of my speech. My command of language enabled me to express myself accurately and compellingly, helping me to become the president of my high school’s Mock Trial team and Model United Nations club.

Since coming to Barnard College, I have learned a lot more about language than just the methods of articulation I learned in speech therapy. I have witnessed its political dimension in classes, at protests, and have realized that the power of language is not wholly good. In a more meta sense, I realized the language we use to talk about language in itself indicates its potential for violence; our so-called “command” of language; a “hard-hitting” phrase; a “cutting” insult. Psychologists have found that psychological pain can be experienced in the same way as physical pain – we know this if we have experienced being yelled at by a disappointed parent, or have gone through a bad breakup.

Being sworn at in an unfamiliar language, however, does not have nearly as strong an effect. We use language to try to convey specific meanings, but we do not have control over how our words will be interpreted. Like scalpels, words can be used both to debride wounds and inflict more damage. In fact, a case about “fighting words” was brought to the Supreme Court in 1942. It is clear that words do things, but only if they’re understood.

I presume this is why I did not find any articles or blogs online advocating against speech therapy. The assumption is that kids with speech impediments feel broken or misunderstood. I didn’t feel that way; I was a self-assured kid with thick skin. Yes, I wanted to be understood, but I knew it was more important to be understood by people who tried to understand – especially when it required effort.

Even with a speech impediment, I was speaking New England English, a powerful dialect of English, the second most spoken language in the world. And so, it was by chance alone that I spoke a globally accepted language and could learn to speak “normally” with ease. Anyone who can read this blog has certain privileges, the costs of which are often unknowingly incurred by people who lack such privileges and are charged without their consent.

A powerful spoken word TED Talk by Dr. Jamila Lyiscott illustrates the widely eurocentric perception of language where “proper English” is equated with class status. On the other hand, African American Vernacular English (AAVE), for example, is often invalidated by comparison. This poem by Dr. Lyiscott also shows how people who are marginalized are often forced to learn the language of their oppressors and adapt to the entangled dominant culture in order to “prove” themselves in society. In Dr. Lysicott’s situation, this means code switching in the classroom in order to be seen as articulate and, thus, intelligent.

Indigenous languages undergo similar sociopolitical discrimination and lasting pressure from colonialism. Dr. Nēpia Mahuika, a Maori man and history professor, recently spoke at Columbia about Maori oral history and the importance of speech-making. Maori people have a culture of delivering beautiful, impromptu speeches in which they weave rich metaphor, history, and heritage, often joining all three into phrases heavy with symbolism. Not just anyone can stand and make a speech, he told us. But in order to bring a more authentic understanding of his tribe’s practices to a broader audience, Dr. Mahuika entered the academic world. People like Dr. Mahuika and Dr. Lyiscott have placed themselves within academia to alter colonial understandings. But the fight for these languages to survive, to be recognized as valuable, extends beyond these spaces. This article on Miriwoong discusses an indigenous language spoken mainly in Western Australia which faces many of the same issues as Maori. Native speaker Glennis Galbat-Newry emphasizes intergenerational learning and the very real benefits to combating cultural loss through language loss.

Languages are actors in the world. They have traits and impact, and can serve as sites of anything from colonialism to indigenization. I can’t help but wonder about the implications of going to speech therapy, of what I implicitly subscribed to by working to speak as I “should.” How many people in my life have felt self-conscious, as though they were the lone native speakers who struggled speaking their native tongue? Did I accidentally invigorate the hegemonic hierarchy of languages embedded in our society?

A speech impediment, like a metaphor, hides truth below a refracting surface that can confuse individuals whose minds are not adequately trained to understand it. It is effortless for many of us to ignore that which confuses us, that which we do not comprehend or appreciate. To understand those that have been marginalized, we must support people in the use of their language, their way. We must begin by listening; their words have value even before we understand them.

Samantha Greenspan is currently studying Sociocultural Anthropology at Barnard College. She is a fervent believer in the power of careful listening, especially as a necessity for effective teaching. She practices these skills as a volunteer tutor with the Petey Greene Program and is excited to use oral history tools in many of her future pursuits as well.

This post represents the opinion of the author, and not of OHMA.