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One of the strange contradictions about writing a newsletter about language and words is that people assume that I am probably fluent in multiple languages, yet I only speak English. I studied French for years, but it has been a while since I have needed to speak French, so I’ve lost most of my proficiency. I have a keen interest in languages, but I have never been that good at speaking foreign languages, and this has always bothered me.
For years, I wondered why I always seemed to hit a wall when learning a language. I could learn the vocabulary and do well on exams, but when it came time to speak or exist as a French-speaker I always had some kind of mental block. After thinking about and observing this impediment for years, I realized that I always felt discomfort when that moment occurs when my brain starts to think in a foreign language. Thinking in a foreign language is essentially the metaphorical bridge we need to cross to obtain fluency, and for some reason I never liked that endeavor. This was not a conscious decision. Just an instinctive reaction, and for years I have wondered why my brain has reacted in that way.
On a recent trip to New York City, I’m pretty sure that I found the answer and the method for crossing the bridge.
Alone in an Absurd World
From a very young age, I had concluded that the society around me made no sense. In my book, The Crime Without a Name: Ethnocide and the Erasure of Culture in America, I talk about this realization in relation to American racism, but this awareness extends far beyond race.
In elementary school, I recognized racism for the first time, and it genuinely made no sense to me. I remember thinking, “I did not pick where I live. I did not pick who my parents are. And I did not pick the color of my skin,” so I thought it was ridiculous that someone could judge me based on something that I had no power in deciding. I did not choose to be Black. My Blackness was beyond my control, so the idea that someone could think negatively about me because I’m Black was simply the most absurd idea.
This realization also brought on another realization that still shapes my life today. If people in the South can judge me based on something I have nothing to do with, then they are empowered to judge me however they want and without any logical justification. If these white people in the South don’t like me, there is a higher likelihood their opinion is based more on their own delusions than my actions. Likewise, if they like me then who is to say that they truly like me because of my actions and not instead because of some complimentary delusions?
This perspective shaped my childhood, but it did not give me a negative disposition about the world or myself. I was confident that the world around me was inadequate, but this world did not define me. My task within this absurd world was to learn about myself, pursue my interests, and at a bare minimum not continue the normalized, irrational destruction and racism that I encountered.
This realization might appear to have no relationship to language, but it has actually shaped my relationship with language, and especially foreign languages.
When I was studying French, and my brain eventually began to think in French, I fought against this transition because I did not want my mind to change so dramatically that I thought in a different language. My mind is what kept me grounded within a world shaped by irrational ideas and delusions. If I crossed this metaphorical bridge I questioned whether I would find the liberation of a foreign language or become more susceptible to the ethnocidal mauvaise foi of American life.
The act of reshaping my mind so dramatically that it thought in a different language just instinctively felt like a bridge too far. For many years, I’ve thought about what I needed to do or change about myself so that I could comfortably take this step, and I think I found the answer last week while I was in NYC.
Community Helps Us Grow and Evolve
Last Thursday, I drove from Washington, D.C. to New York City with Andrea and our baby. This was our baby’s first trip outside the greater D.C.-area. We had to pack so much baby stuff for this three day trip, and it was interesting to see how the rhythm of life just naturally changes once you become a parent.
Prior to having the baby, we could make these trips on a whim and sleep in our friend’s apartment on an air mattress, but now we needed to stay in a hotel and pack countless things for the baby. On the drive up to NYC, I sat alone in the front, and Andrea sat in the back with the baby. A drive that used to consist of random conversations and a couple music playlists had now become far quieter as we hoped the baby would sleep most of the way.
However, one of the most impactful distinctions of this trip was when my friends in NYC saw me, I had unmistakably become “Barrett the dad.” In D.C., my life looks very much the same except I now have a young son, so it is easier for people to relate to me as if I am the same person I was before fatherhood. I can leave the baby with Andrea and grab a coffee or a lunch, and now for a couple of hours life is almost how it was before fatherhood, but on this trip to NYC I did not have that option.
We took the baby everywhere we went, and there were no buildings, neighborhoods, or landmarks that helped tell the story of how I existed prior to being a father. When my friends saw me on this trip, what they mostly saw was “Barrett the dad,” and it was interesting to notice how they saw me in a different light.
Also, since my son is only nine months old, I spend much of the day talking to him in a language devoid of words. My brain has learned to understand what his sounds and facial expressions mean, and I find myself speaking baby gibberish all the time. I also have no problem speaking this gibberish in front of my friends even though I know I look silly.
During this trip, it had become evident that I had grown and changed, while still being myself, and on the drive back to D.C. I had time to think about it since my new driving mission was to not wake the baby instead of jamming out to my favorite music.
Upon reflection it became clear to me that I had traversed a metaphorical bridge, but the bridge allowed me to cross both ways. I could cross into fatherhood without entirely losing my previous self, and I realized that my previous self remained, not just because I remembered him, but because my friends and community remembered him too.
As we all sat in the park in NYC and they played with my son, they saw me in a new light because they still remembered the previous version. To see something new, you must still remember the old. We communicated in a new way and our conversations were different, but we still remembered that the potential of the old conversations still existed. They just now had to exist alongside my growth.
This trip to NYC made me think about language because my perspective of the world since childhood had been very isolating. I had friends and was a happy child, but when people attempt to define you based upon their own delusions, it makes sense to be fearful that you may lose yourself and succumb to their delusions.
For example, if white people say that Black people are dumb and cannot accomplish X,Y, and Z; it is very easy to believe a sliver of their delusions and now feel that as a Black person you have an obligation to prove them wrong. But if their opinion is baseless and grounded in absurdities, then there should be no need to “prove” anything and it would be impossible to “prove” them wrong because they could just fabricate additional absurdities to “prove” their baseless idea.
In the absence of a community of people, I did not believe that I could preserve and not lose myself once my brain started to think in a different language. I worried that the metaphorical bridge might collapse once I crossed it or that my sense of self might spin out of control as my thoughts and language changed.
American society is very individualistic, self-centered, devoid of guidance on how to live a good life, and we are encouraged to define others based upon our random delusions. This status quo is the antithesis of cultivating community, and this absence of community impairs our ability to grow and change.
Many of us may want to grow into the people we hope to be, but the lack of a community surely undermines this endeavor. Without a community, growth can feel like losing the past instead of building bridges for the future.
As America becomes more fractured and destructive, we all need to spend more time thinking about, observing, and meditating on how a nurturing community can provide us with the necessary strength and stability to grow and counter our society’s ethnocidal division.
Thank you so much for your weekly newsletter. They are truly grounding and keep me inspired to continue to try shaping a better world with others for future generations like my daughter and your young son. As you said, traditional U.S. culture is based on individualism. I have been processing that the idea of “Independence Day” is such a farce because it is basically a celebration of freedom without accountability, a “go it alone so I can do whatever I want” ethos and elevates individual wants over community health. On the other hand, the idea of a “National Community Day” gives me hope because it is based in the idea of joining hands with others so all can flourish. It might be highly naive to think that way yet when I look at indigenous farming practices I have learned to make my small community garden plot thrive, they are all based on the idea of interdependence of plants and the different roles they play together, not one uber plant that lords over all the others. Thanks again for all that you share.
Perhaps if you were objective about racism and it's absurdity from a scientific perspective you could start by not calling everything racism. Even ethnocide would be more honest. "My mind is what kept me grounded within a world shaped by irrational ideas and delusions. If I crossed this metaphorical bridge I questioned whether I would find the liberation of a foreign language or become more susceptible to the ethnocidal mauvaise foi of American life." What makes you think that you haven't already crossed a similar metaphorical bridge where your "opinion is baseless and grounded in absurdities, then there should be no need to “prove” anything and it would be impossible to “prove” them (you) wrong because they (you) could just fabricate additional absurdities to “prove” their (your) baseless idea?