People often forget what a big deal language is. It has evolved with us humans and some may even consider language a configuration of art. Growing up I learned Bengali, Hindi, English, and some Arabic. I lived in a part of New Jersey where many people did not share my appearance, my culture, or my experiences. I understand now that my languages were a luxury, they are more than a form of communication. They were something I had to put on a pedestal, something I should’ve showed off. It was empowering but all I felt was embarrassed. Embarrassed at every phone call, every doctors appointment, every parent-teacher conference. I realize now that these feelings are prevalent in many minority communities. POC solidarity exists within our experiences with language. To get past my irrational feelings I learned to put myself in the place of my father.

I imagine myself a South Asian man coming to New York all alone. My only dream to make a living and learn the language everyone praised as intelligent. Trying my hardest to learn a completely new language whilst living through discrimination, 9/11, multiple epidemics, and a wife and kids back home, almost sounds impossible. My earliest memory of an instance where I failed to see the effort my father put into learning English is when I first got admitted into primary school. I remember him standing in the mirror practicing the lines he planned on saying to my principal. “I want my daughter to go to this school.” It was such a simple line. 5 year old me felt pity for him. I didn’t know why it was so hard for him when I could speak so easily. Now when I look back at these memories all I feel is sympathy. No one saw how hard he was trying, including his own daughter. As we sat down at the principal’s office, a white man greeted us. You could say I already knew how this was going to proceed. My father reciprocated and attempted to cover up his accent. My father spoke the lines he had practiced the previous night. Only difference is that he lacked so much confidence. He stuttered, barely getting the words out. I knew what he was trying to say but to someone who could only speak standardized English, his words might’ve sounded gibberish. The principal made his confusion clear, and gave every effort to communicate with him. Shortly after they have given up and turned to me to translate. His English was perfectly understandable by me. He gave his words thought, and I could see his effort. In Mother Tongue by Amy tan, she states “It has always bothered me that I can think of no way to describe it other than “broken,” as if it were damaged and needed to be fixed, as if it lacked a certain wholeness and soundness.” I relate deeply to this quote and know now that his commitment was anything but broken.

I never knew how hard it must’ve been for my dad. That was just one of many occurrences. However, each time I stopped feeling embarrassed, it felt less and less like a chore. I started taking pride in my fathers progress. Instead of being in agony whenever he called to me for help, I encouraged it. I wanted to be someone he could

rely on but also someone who could teach him a luxury. I wanted him to see that his hard work and dedication didn’t go to waste. I was proof of that. He didn’t deserve to be treated insignificant because he couldn’t reflect his thoughts into his words. People often associate not speaking proper english with being unintelligent.

my dad speaks 4 other languages fluently. Why should 1 single language determine how intelligent he is? I’ve never had issues with learning English, I spoke pretty fluently after kindergarten. So I can’t even fathom what it must’ve been for my dad. It occurs to me now that my father made me prioritize English because he didn’t want me to go through what he did. He didn’t want me to experience what this country does to first generation immigrants. My embarrassment soon turned into gratitude. It took time but I’m thankful I got here.

I had an epiphany when I faced an experience something similar to that of my father’s: the first time I traveled back to my home country. I couldn’t read or write in Hindi and Bengali. I spoke it in a way that many native speakers would’ve considered “broken.” I was taught to prioritize english over all my other luxuries. Language connects people in amazing ways but this was an instance where language was a barrier. I was called “gora” (whitewashed) by my relatives. I hesitated asking questions because often times I would get made fun of. I didn’t understand many casual phrases nor did I possess the native accent. People were constantly talking over me and made me seem small. I felt exactly what my dad had felt for years. Its not a great feeling is it?

In many South Asian families we seldom talk about our feelings, so I’ve never had a chance to build a bond with my parents. After this experience I felt the need to share my feelings with my parents, especially my dad. He told me that my Bengali was perfectly fine for someone who was born in a different country. He told me to ignore those who shame me for trying to learn a language I’m not fluent in. He told me it’s okay to speak with flaws, anyone in my situation would’ve been the same. Everyone has their own journey and this is mine, he said. I could tell those were words he would’ve said to his younger self. I knew his words were genuine and from experience. I felt closer to my dad than ever, and I’m glad that language was the reason.

The only thing I could conclude from my experience and my father’s is that society is too cruel on people like us. They are quick to make judgments based on our appearance. They take our language and criminalize it. They rush us. They have no mercy. They’ve built a hierarchy only the best can join. Not someone with broken speech. Not someone who isn’t born here. Not someone who has limited English, limited thoughts. The reason I stated “POC solidarity exists within our experience with language” is because white, or at least “white-passing” people do not go through the same things. Lets be honest, languages such as French, Italian, those languages are romanticized. They are almost never associated with being unintelligent. The person speaking it is more or less white and that’s just another requirement for society’s hierarchy. The 25% of people in this country that identify as an ethic minority has been a victim of language bias. Even someone like me who has spoken fluent English from a young age. Yet another instance of language being a barrier. It’s inevitable when language is often connected with race. Linguistic prejudice is real and the sooner people realize it, the better. We need to understand that languages are a luxury and anyone willing to learn it deserves the world.