The Mortgage Law Firm, PC*

USFN Member (AZ, CA, HI, OK, OR, WA)

Words, and their effective use, fascinate me. The right word choice can elevate an argument; twist a phrase into something funny or biting; and give your audience a taste of your internal life. Alternatively, the view that there is a “right way” to communicate can be used to enforce social bias.

I was raised under the misapprehension that there is a right way of speaking:

• “Ain’t” ain’t a word.
• I don’t know if you CAN go to the park, but you MAY go.
• You lie down for a nap; you lay down the blanket.
• Irregardless is not a word, regardless of its use and its inclusion in Webster’s Dictionary.[1]

As a child, I bridled under these arbitrary rules and wanted to lodge a complaint about how these rules were ruining my life. My parents understood what I was saying. Why require this elaborate verbal dance to be acceptable? In my parents’ defense, they were not alone in this pursuit. They were the first in a long line of “right speech” advocates.

Eventually, I bought in. There is something exclusive about knowing “the rules,” like being invited to a VIP section. Viewed differently, these rules are gatekeepers. They create an elitist barrier biased toward a particular group of people and against most others. I became aware of this issue when I studied abroad in Ireland. My Irish roommates explained the impressions our various U.S. accents created to their Irish ears: New York was impatient, Boston was combative, and Southern drawl meant provincial. And mine? I had what they called a TV accent – no region, no character, but totally without baggage. My heart broke under the impression that my words made me boring, but acceptable.

That is when I started to think about why language style is sometimes given more weight than language content. It is when you consider what styles are “acceptable,” and which are not, that uncomfortable truths start appearing. This gatekeeping is “linguicism” or “accentism” – discrimination based on one’s language or accent.

People generally favor their own dialect, justifying the preference as “easier to understand.” This preference further reveals itself in the practice of code-switching – the choice to alter speech patterns to reflect the expectations of the audience. This starts at a young age - talking to your friends differently than adults. I have engaged in this practice countless times. For example, I lean into regional twang and provincial patterns to blend into a rural courtroom when I believe that being a “city lawyer” will not be an advantage. What is painfully obvious to me, however, is that my choices remain a luxury and at my option. My experience is that my vernacular is deemed professionally “acceptable.” I never worry that my dialect or written word will cost me a job or make my work performance more challenging. I never think that I need to change the way I speak at work to be viewed as acceptable and educated. This is not true for many speakers of the dozens of dialects spoken in the U.S. Many feel the burden to speak “correctly” to be taken seriously, and that means sacrificing their native dialect or living a double life, code-switching to protect both their professional and cultural identity.

Many would classify my general vernacular as Standard American English (SAE). What makes SAE “standard?” And why are other dialects (like African-American Vernacular English, Louisiana Creole, Ozark, Gullah, Boston Urban, Bonac, Southern Appalachian to name a few) such a barrier in the professional world?

Many impugn those beautiful dialects as “uneducated,” believing SAE to be the only option in education. But how could this view possibly be held as true? Must you change your vernacular to seek education? Of course not. However, the professors and publishers may demand it of you, whether written or spoken, to meet their imposed SAE-standards. Although viewed as “correct speech,” the SAE-centric impression of other dialects as inferior inherently considers the bundle of identity markers which built that dialect: socio-economic status, race, nationality, opportunity, and marginalization.

Further, the irony of such SAE-centered thinking is astounding. British English (BrE), the standard from which SAE is derived, should set the standard for SAE spelling: theatre, colour, realise, aeroplane, paediatrican, traveller, wilful – the list of alternate spellings goes on and on.[2] To a BrE speaker, SAE looks to be a C+ speller, at best. Why the difference? Historically, many of our ancestors did not possess the resources to confirm BrE spellings and resorted to phonetic spelling. Immigration and the introduction of other languages changed our accents, which accelerated the changes in spelling. The SAE evolution produced an altered phonetic rubric, omission of “extra” vowels, and reordered letters. Yet, the SAE standard demands we follow its singular evolutionary path – produced in part by restricted access to educational resources – to be “educated.”

Why does this matter? Because the SAE-centric view is another hurdle between our professions and inclusiveness. We should want a professional marketplace which encourages vibrant regional dialects; a work environment that sees the texture, interest, and history in regional or social speech patterns; and a culture that celebrates the people who inhabit those dialects. In such an environment, there is no need to force people into the TV-accent box.

I do not advocate for anarchy. Many words and phrases are not business appropriate like profanity. I still believe in the power of words and language – I just don’t believe my dialect holds the only power. In fact, I am certain it does not; there are worlds of powerful words and phrases that I have yet to uncover. That is exciting, but I also feel cheated that our self-imposed standards have suppressed such linguistic wealth. Our professional world needs to embrace cultural diversity in language as well as other markers of identity. We will be richer for it.