Jace Easley

The Politics of Language

An important moment/moments as it pertains to my language and literacy experiences is back when I was in 6^th grade. My parents were always the main individuals who shaped the way I spoke. I was taught proper grammar at a young age and spoke quite eloquently. For example I would say things like, “Greetings mother. I am in need of sustenance at this very moment”. However, after my elementary school days came to an end, and I moved on to 6^th grade, my vocabulary became quite distasteful. It was an all-boy school. I was moved from my wholesome environment into a void of fist fights and profanity. Everyday I was exposed to the loose usage of the “n” word and the “r” word. Heinous speech that I shamefully adopted in spite of my proper teachings. The “n” word became part of my vocabulary. I used that word to refer to practically everyone. Although I was aware of how wrong it was, the influence of my peers was overbearing. I was morally conflicted. On one side of the coin, I was favored by my classmates and looked upon as a pretty cool peer of theirs. On the other side, my parents would be sent into an unyielding rage if they were to ever find out about my newly acquired vocabulary.

On my first day at that new school, I awaited being welcomed by like-minded individuals, with whom I could have intelligent conversations with. As I walked in those doors for the first day, it was like walking into a mosh pit. There was fighting and crying. Splats of blood painted the walls. I turned around to see my parents driving away, leaving me to endure this newfound hell. I was approached by a much older gentleman. He claimed he was only in 7^th grade, however he appeared to be in his late 30’s. He informed me that in order to ensure my survival, I must join one of a group. I asked where the intelligent group was. He chortled. He told me that brawn was the only characteristic that stood a chance in there. The bell rang, and the mysterious student/grown man, as quickly as he had arrived, disappeared into the shadows. I never saw him again after that day. Ultimately, it’s the school’s fault that there was such a lack of order. None of the staff seemed to care about any of the student’s wellbeing, forcing them to solve every social problem they had the only way they knew how. Sheer violence.

In my first period class, I walked up to a friendly looking group of my peers. To my surprise, they welcomed me into their group. I had done it. I ensured my survival without having to resort to violence, as per that man’s warning! Or so I thought. As I got to know them, I realized they were not as innocent as they presented themselves to be. They made fun of people behind their backs, they fought, I even got the sense that they’d turn on each other at the first sign of danger. As they got to know ME, they realized I was not fit to be a member of their pride. They said to me that for my true initiation into the pride, I would have to use obscene language while addressing an authority figure. My heart sank. I could never have dreamed of such an act. Although my morals would never allow me to do such a thing, my survival was too important. I walked up to a faculty member. The events that occurred next forever changed me, and completely tarnished my reputation. I was finally a member of the pride. I felt such immense fulfillment.

I fought alongside them with great honor. We were inseparable. We would feast together, we would cheat on tests together, we even listened to music together. Specifically rap music. Any other music, and you would be considered weak. You’d become someone’s prey by the end of the day. The rap music that was played had the most vulgar lyrics I had ever heard. However, that music slapped harder than the belt that would later be used to whoop my ass. In that school, word spreads fast. Not just among peers, but to parents as well. There were many instances where a student would be found beaten all to hell because his parents found out about his actions. My circumstance would be no different. Unbeknownst to me, the dean had been observing my behavior. Word quickly reached my parents. I had no knowledge that the last period of that day would be my last time as a pride member. When I arrived at home, the wrath that was unleashed upon me was unlike anything I had ever imagined, nor experienced. The anger in my parent’s eyes, as they annihilated me with their belts, was petrifying. “Your insolence will never again go unpunished!” they exclaimed. I told them that my ignorance wasn’t my own wrongdoing, but a product of the influence of my peers. Saying that was yet another terrible mistake. My parents informed the dean, and the dean informed my pride. They were distraught at the fact that I would ever dare snitch. I was quickly exiled from any and all groups now. I was alone. An outcast. Doomed to walk the deadly halls of my school without a group to protect me. I was also grounded at home. Later on, I assembled a group of fellow outcasts, who’s circumstances were similar to that of mine. We started a rebellion against the groups that enforce the social laws of the school, and we worked to spread peace throughout the halls. But that’s a story for another time. The point is, being exiled made me realize important lessons. First of all, the politics of language are quite corrupt. The social punishments of not adhering to the established laws of language in your area are excruciating. One will be unjustifiably shamed for just being true to themselves / unique. Standing alone, and staying true to what you believe in, is always better than being a part of a problem.