By Shin Freedman
I remember a funny story about a student with an accent. A country boy left his rural home to attend college in Seoul. Naturally, he picked up the Seoul accent from his classmates. During school vacation, he returned to his hometown, where his old high school friends were happy to see him. However, they quickly noticed his changed manner of speaking and did not appreciate it. Feeling both inferior and somewhat jealous, they decided to do something about their newly refined friend.
They concocted a story with a surprise ending. Upon hearing it, the Seoul student instinctively reverted to his old country accent. At that moment, his friends accepted him back into the fold. I don’t know why I remember this story or how it relates to what I am about to share, but it lingers in my mind, nonetheless.
A friend of mine, whom I hadn’t spoken to in years, recently commented on my Korean. Teasingly, he pointed out that I now spoke Korean with an American accent, particularly in how I articulated a telephone number. Apparently, a "real" Korean does not enunciate numbers the way I had. Who knew? Surprised by this observation, I silently asked myself, "Did I really?"
I began learning English in middle school, starting in the seventh grade. Most of my teachers had learned English from their own teachers, who, in turn, had been taught by Japanese instructors. You can imagine how their spoken English might have sounded. It wasn’t until I entered college — nearly six years later — that I encountered a native English speaker for the first time. This experience revealed the stark gap between written and spoken English in my education.
In America, a nation of immigrants, everyone has an accent. People frequently reminded me that I had one. Being labeled as "a person with an accent" followed me wherever I went. Once, I collaborated with a colleague who had a thick Southern accent. He was two levels higher than me in our workplace hierarchy. Many Northerners assume that Southerners are less refined based simply on their accents. That experience taught me that accents carry weight — socially, culturally and professionally.
For example, people from Boston have a distinctive Bostonian accent. Their pronunciation of the vowel "o" often sounds more like "a," and they tend to change the "r" sound to an “h.” You may have heard the phrase, "I pahk my cah in the Hah-vahd yahd" (I park my car in the Harvard yard). Some say Bostonians are arrogant or less friendly than West Coasters. These assumptions, based purely on accents, illustrate how language shapes perception.
If one wishes to speak standard American English, the Midwestern accent is often considered the benchmark. Otherwise, everyone has an accent, whether they admit it or not. When someone is singled out as having an accent, it can stir feelings of insecurity, fear, alienation or not belonging. It is rarely intended as a compliment.
Fast forward to today: I am a grandmother. My grandson, speaking to me as if I were one of his 6-year-old schoolmates, exclaims, "Hey dude, that’s awesome! Let’s do that again." I chuckle to myself. At some point, he will realize that his grandmother speaks with an accent. But more importantly, what will he make of that realization?
Will he perceive my accent the way Bostonians view Southerners? Will he be curious about my place of birth? Will he assume that I am not well educated? Or will he simply shrug it off, knowing that accents are just a part of who we are?
Accents tell stories — stories about where we come from, where we've been and how we've changed. They are not barriers but bridges to understanding. The real question isn’t whether someone has an accent; it’s what we choose to hear when they speak.
Shin Freedman ([email protected]) is an author, writer and educator.
English (United States) ·