Wednesday, September 13, 2017 // The Statement
6B
Let’s Talk About It: Do you speak English?

E

nglish is the language my 
tongue commands with 
the most power and versa-

tility, yet it is the one from which I 
feel the most estranged — or almost 
unwelcome. I perform spoken-word 
poetry in English, I write articles 
for The Michigan Daily and I plan to 
teach English in secondary schools. 
Despite that English is my first and 
most fluent language I know others 
will not fully accept me as a native 
English speaker because when they 
see my hijab, or Muslim headscarf, 
they question whether I speak it 
before any words leave my mouth.

The notion that I do not speak 

English is even more peculiar when 
considering English is my primary 
language. To some, my knowledge 
of English only serves as evidence 
that the British colonized the coun-
tries of my parents and ancestors. In 
one of my classes last fall, I brought 
up 
that 
European 
accents 
are 

thought of as superior, despite their 
difference from American accents, 
while other non-European accents 
like the South Asian accent are 
often mocked. I talked about how, 
although my parents learned Eng-
lish at school in their home coun-
tries, their miniscule South Asian 
accents — or perceived accents — 
can still be mocked as comedic. My 
professor then returned my com-
ment with a question that made me 
stumble: “Isn’t the fact that they 
learned English in their schools 
eurocentrism?” I was taken aback 
as I realized the language I hold 
such strong command over, that was 
taught to my parents and grandpar-
ents, was only a language learned because 
of European colonization.

This made me think of how English 

came to be the primary language spoken 
in my home — because of my eldest broth-
er’s kindergarten teacher. She called my 
parents one day deeply concerned that he 
was speaking to her in Urdu — my par-
ents’ native language — instead of Eng-
lish. My parents decided it would best if 
they stopped teaching us Urdu altogether, 
a flawed solution that came as a result 
of my teacher’s idea that bilingualism is 

problematic. 

In my School of Education courses, I 

learned this episode was hardly unique 
to my family. Many children that were 
originally bilingual are discouraged from 
speaking their home language. This cre-
ates a conflict of demands that is impossi-
ble to satisfy. Even when in public, people 
have questioned my and my family’s Eng-
lish. How is it that people can want others 
to know English, and yet, even when they 
do, it is never considered “good enough?” 
How is it that I can speak, read and write 

in English just as well as the average Eng-
lish speaker, and yet my English ability is 
still questioned?

Growing up, not being fluent in Urdu 

was frustrating for me. In the mosque I 
grew up in, Urdu is a big part of the cul-
ture and adults and friends often mocked 
me, asking me how much I understood.

“Do you know what ‘cow’ is in Urdu?” 

“Do you understand what I am saying?” 
“You don’t know Urdu, right?”

I was treated as inferior by many of my 

friends because Urdu was such a central 

part of their lives. It was only 
because of my childhood friend 
and her parents that I know as 
much Urdu as I do now, and they 
were the only ones who did not 
judge me for how much I knew. 
I spent many of my summers 
listening to them speak to one 
another or to me in Urdu, and 
sometimes responded when I felt 
brave enough. Consequently, I 
know enough to get by and even 
help some of my friends by trans-
lating for them when sermons are 
in Urdu at my mosque, but the 
obstacles that I face with Urdu 
still frustrate me.

At first glance, not many peo-

ple know how far my interest in 
language stretches. I’ve spent 
much of my life studying Arabic 
and recently used this knowledge 
when traveling abroad. I am cur-
rently learning Farsi and slowly 
building up my Urdu with prac-
tice. I find myself trying to hide 
the amount I know, and often do 
not respond to people in Urdu 
when they speak to me.

It was only when I asked my 

mother that I fully understood 
what my feelings on this are. Her 
response was, as always, about 
the importance of good values. “I 
think it was more important that 
we taught you how to be good 
people, and so I don’t think it 
really makes a difference wheth-
er we taught you Urdu or not.” 
Her response made me think 
about all the good that I did learn 
from my parents.

Language is not about supe-

riority, and knowing one better than 
another does not make a person better or 
worse, or more or less intelligent. I have 
been viewed as inferior because of my 
experiences being an English speaker who 
wears a hijab and being a South Asian that 
does not speak her mother tongue fluently. 
Yet, it was the more important lessons that 
were taught in my house — values of treat-
ing others with kindness regardless of their 
background, as well as other religious val-
ues — that formed a culture in my home 
stronger than my South Asian culture.

by Rabab Jafri, Columnist

ILLUSTRATION BY RABAB JAFRI

