Here’s a short version of a group interaction.
Katherine: Angie, when you corrected Ying’s grammar, I felt a wave of nausea. It made me wonder—do you believe the way you speak is superior? Grammar rules uphold class hierarchy. So when you insist on speaking “properly,” I’m curious—what does that give you?
Angie: I never thought about it before. It’s just a habit. My mother drilled it into me.
Ying: I like to know grammar. Please correct me.
Katherine: Grammar is a form of social signaling. The way we speak marks us—education, status, intelligence. But let’s be real—who decided what’s “proper”? Enforcing those rules reinforces stereotypes about who’s competent, who’s credible, who’s worth listening to. I thought we were here to decolonize our minds.
Ying: I see what you mean. For me, learning English is survival. In my country, no English, no job. I learn it, but I keep my mouth shut—afraid to make a mistake.
Martha: What does that cost you?
Ying: I hold back. No play. No joke. I believe people who speak native English are better than me.
Kiara: I’d love it if I didn’t have to code-switch in a mixed-race group. I would say, You fo’ real, Ying. You straight up speakin’ my language. I hustle, adapt, and bounce back ’cause survival ain’t a choice, it’s my life. But y’all ain’t ready for this.
Angie: The convo just got real. It just hit me that Ying you have to learn English to survive—and how hard it is for you to speak. That’s life and death. And now hearing Kiara say, “Y’all ain’t ready for this,” I’m realizing…I haven’t been ready for this. But I want to be.
As the facilitator, I felt myself unraveling inside. I asked myself—why do I reflexively avoid phrases like “Where you at?” when they sound so warm, so connecting? Every word I choose is laced with conditioning, shaped by the quiet pressure to sound educated or upper class.
This conversation wasn’t just about Ying’s survival or Kiara’s desire to drop the mask. It was about all of us reckoning with the ways we uphold invisible hierarchies, even in spaces meant for liberation. I caught myself flinching at the idea of speaking outside my grammar training—why? Because I’ve internalized classism. I’ve swallowed the idea that speaking “correctly” makes me more credible. That shame runs deep.
We sat with the judgments we’ve been carrying, the ways they have shaped our interactions. The discomfort was sharp, but it cracked something open—honesty.
Honesty is not about weaponizing our thoughts or venting emotions without regard for others. Instead, it’s a practice of uncovering the assumptions, biases, and patterns that shape our actions and beliefs. It involves recognizing how power dynamics, like those embedded in grammar norms, influence our interactions and choices. Radical honesty asks us to examine not only what we say but also why we say it, creating space for curiosity, accountability, and transformation in our relationships. By being transparent about our intentions and being open to feedback, we co-create a culture of trust and growth. That’s liberation. That’s badass.
– Article by Martha Lasley