My First Graduate School Paper

In case you wanted to read some of my higher level writing (I call it my "fancy pants" writing) - check out the essay below that I wrote for my Foundations of Adolescent Literacy class. The purpose of the piece was to examine a moment of "linguistic prejudice", evaluate stakeholders and implications of the event. I just received a grade on it this evening - an A! Off to a good start, even though my Monday's are beginning to feel unbearably long. Take care my friends.

Linguistic Prejudice Evident in an American Classic

            Betty Smith’s American classic, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, examines the life of Francie Nolan, coming of age in Williamsburg, New York, at the start of the 20th century. Because it was a time of great change in the country and immigrant struggle in the city, Smith is able to explore themes of class, poverty, education and perseverance; however, a particular scene in the book poignantly exposes a moment of linguistic prejudice and its underlying implications. When Smith writes of Francie’s first vaccination, including the words of disdain of a cruel, Harvard doctor and Francie’s defiant articulation, we come to a deeper understanding of the distinctions between language and humanity. While language enables us to communicate with one another and create shared meaning, in its absence, we are no less human. We must respect others always, and never underestimate the intelligence, sensitivity and understanding of someone different than ourselves.

            In the passage, we meet Francie, who is seven, and her younger brother Neeley, who is six, alone and at the doctor’s office for their primary school vaccinations. Their father and mother are absent due to work and conscious avoidance;  Mrs. Nolan could not bear to see her children hurt, “not even by a pinprick,” (Smith, 145). Despite the importance of their appointment, the children were very nearly late, having spent the better part of the afternoon making mud pies in their front yard. Needless to say, when they arrive to the pristine facilities, they are joyfully dirty. However, when Francie enters the vaccination room her joy is cut short, particularly upon the entrance of a, “white doctor coming towards her with the cruelly poised needle,” (146). The doctor, we learn, is a Harvard educated man, who likens his obligation to perform weekly services at the free clinic to Purgatory, and has no sympathy for the immigrant patients he receives. As a stakeholder in the event, he is representative of the clean, educated, upper class, and plays the part with perfect arrogance. In contrast, we view Francie as a the face of an innocent, but dirty and uneducated lower class, a class that more often than not lacks the language and power to stand up for itself. Oddly enough, a third character and stakeholder is present in this scene, the nurse, a “Williamsburg girl” and “child of poor Polish immigrants” who has worked her way up and now has an awkward foot in each world. Unfortunately, she has chosen to forget her roots in exchange for ambition, so does not speak up when the doctor says, “Filth, filth, filth, from morning to night. I know they’re poor but they could wash. Water is free and soap is cheap. Just look at that arm, nurse,” (146). Doc Harvard chooses to proclaim these hurtful words in front of the child whom he must vaccinate, aware of her presence, but discounting her understanding. He doesn’t realize she won’t feel the prick of the needle, since, “the waves of hurt started by the doctor’s words were racking her body and drove out all other feeling,” (147). This is why it comes as such a startling surprise when the seven-year-old child exits, and confidently articulates, “My brother is next. His arm is just as dirty as mine so don’t be surprised. And you don’t have to tell him. You told me,” (147). The scene concludes with the unfamiliar taste of shame; “I had no idea she’d understand what I was saying,” (147).

            The underlying messages and linguistic prejudices of the scene reveal the role language plays when we establish concepts of otherness and classifications of people. Despite their shared American nationalities, the doctor views Francie and her kind as poor, dirty, disdainful, subhuman things, without thoughts, emotions, or language. He cannot comprehend that the dirty creature in front of him could possibly follow the high-brow commentary he shares with his colleague. If he had, he most certainly would have been more careful with his words and not gone on, “asking the nurse how that kind of people could survive; [saying] that it would be a better world if they were all sterilized and couldn’t breed anymore,” (146). It is unclear from whence his prejudice originates; is it because the patients of the free clinic are poor and dirty that they do not understand his language, or because they do not share his language that they are poor and dirty? Regardless, language is the cornerstone of a shared identity; if we share language, we share meaning and value; if we don’t share language, you have no meaning, you have no value. This is why when Francie speaks up for herself it upturns his understanding of the moment and concept of humanity. Oh no, he seems to realize, you understand what I’m saying? We now share meaning, you now have value. But perhaps a deeper and more meaningful thought, something the doctor might realize long after the incident, is that even if Francie had not understood what he was saying, she was still a human being with complex thoughts and emotions, and no less worthy of respect. Yes, sharing language enables us to communicate with one another and solidify a communal identity, but what we need to appreciate is that even if we do not share language, we still share communion with each other. We cannot discount the intelligence and integrity of others, even in the absence of a shared language.  

            The relevance this has to a teacher in an inner-city, low-income neighborhood is paramount, particularly for teachers of English Language Learners and special education students. As teachers, we should never underestimate the understanding of our students, discount the insight they may offer, or perceive them as uniquely different from ourselves. All language is acquired through experience and instruction; just because a student may not be able to read and communicate with eloquence, does not mean their ideas are less valuable, or their emotions less worthy of our sensitivity. Tchudi’s Nature of Language tells us that all languages are equally complex, as are the thoughts and emotions of the peoples that speak them. Therefore, we must be conscious to always respect our students and their families, in spite of the language barriers we might encounter. People are people regardless of socioeconomic class and language; act accordingly.

            When Francie Nolan speaks up for herself in Betty Smith’s, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, the other characters in the scene, “stared at this bit of humanity that had become so strangely articulate,” (147). What we learn from this moment, as teachers and human beings, is that humanity exists regardless of our individual abilities to articulate it. For this reason, even in the absence of a shared language or the fully formed abilities of our students to express themselves, we should never assume they do not have ideas or emotions to express. We must never underestimate them, but respect them, empower them, and enable them to become as articulate and precise as young Francie Nolan.