Refinement

By Raha Zaki

Raha Zaki has always been interested in the world of literature. She’s especially fascinated by prescriptivism and language policing, wondering how these shape our views of language, identity and control. You’ll catch her crying over a vast range of literary genre fiction, and writing (and overthinking about) a novel she hopes to publish.

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I wake up at 6.15am sharp, as always. The tension in my body loosens as I do my morning stretch. A sense of ecstasy reveberates  – no, sorry, reverberates – through my veins; today’s going to be another enriching day of learning, another step to fulfilling my dreams of being an engineer. It’s going to be a great day once more. I can just feel it. 

By 7.00am, I get on the subway to my high school – sorry, High School. The ‘H’ and ‘S’ must be capitalised. I don’t know why, but it’s correct. The cabin is packed as usual, but what disrupts the routineness of today’s commute is the booming, passionate lamentations of the elderly man standing next to me. He’s apparently filing a complaint to The Refinery – the esteemed grammar police force under the Language Division. I hang onto every word as he condemns us young people for “carelessly” and “foolishly” saying ‘Slay!’, ‘six-seven’ and other words that other generations don’t understand. I take in the sharp cadence and exasperated tone of his voice and let it settle in my heart; I resonate with his frustrations. I get that we use language to form a microcosm where we feel belonged, but the more we use language like this, no one else will understand what we’re saying.

I eventually reach school, and at 8am sharp, homeroom period commences, during which our homeroom teacher, Mr McGuire, gives us the same reminder he gives us everyday: to use ‘correct’ and ‘appropriate’ language in all walks of life. Despite these words coming directly from the Principal’s mouth, I recite the pledge like a prayer, a personal promise to God. This pledge has become my sole focus, my driver to a brighter future for myself. How else am I supposed to survive in an economy where we have to communicate effectively with others to thrive in life?

By 8.20am, homeroom period ends, and I chat with my friends as we make our way to English lesson, our first lesson for the day (and my favourite lesson). As we gossip about the times fellow schoolmates got into trouble by The Refinery, I overhear the guys hollering derogatives at one another at the top of their lungs. My best friend Natasha tells them off, trying to explain how such words are deeply cutting to many marginalised communities. But one of the boys says smugly, “Why can’t I use slurs? I have a pass!”, and he pulls out a silver card from his wallet and waves it at Natasha’s face. It’s a Blind-Eye Pass – silver cards that one receive by the Division to attain conditional approval to use informal language varieties and words only in informal settings –  and at the back of the Pass states: “CLOSE ONE EYE AT the appropriation of derogatory language, GIVEN THAT no malice is intended”.  Natasha gapes at him, but the crinkled nature of the card makes it obvious to me that it is a Fake Pass clearly not officiated by the Division. I seethe at the boys; how dare they take advantage of our flawless language refinement system’s graciousness? Did they really think we’ll buy the fact that the Division would allow for such horrendous use of slurs? See…this is exactly why language should be policed. Otherwise, language’s castle-like structure will collapse, society will be divided by the use of derogatives and slang no one understands…the world would be in shambles. Right…?

During English lesson, our teacher, Ms Williams, announces that she has marked our recent essay assignment. Her face contorts in cold fury as she silently – almost like a whisper – complains about many of us using English wrongly. One by one, Ms Williams calls people out, shaming them for their sins regarding punctuation, spelling and grammar. She canes them hard using a bamboo stick for the rest of the class to see.  This is a common occurrence, and to me, a necessary protocol introduced by the Language Division, because it helps us understand the importance of using language correctly, and pain is the fastest teacher. Language is a determiner of our skills in the workforce, after all. But…Natasha gets caned for using ‘colour’ instead of ‘color’ (isn’t that just a stylistic choice? No…it makes sense). Admittedly, seeing my best friend get caned makes me flinch, and seeing all of them cower in fear, wince in pain, even burst into tears…my heart constricts in pain. Getting hurt just because of a few mistakes…isn’t that a bit too much? No, don’t question it. After the lesson, Nat tearfully rants about her having to be humiliated just for using language differently. “It’s not like I’m wrong!” she cries, wiping her tears (You’re right, Nat…NO! Snap out of it! Why do I question our coveted Language Division? They do this for our good!)

By 6pm, I come home from school, the memories of today still whirling in my head. I am greeted by my mother screaming at my father in the living room. Turns out he has been sacked from his job for constantly using Unorm — our country’s non-standard variety — at work, despite that being forbidden. He’s also been fined five digits worth of money by the Language Division. As I take in this information, my vision blurs as I dash to my room. Every limb in me shakes as the world around me shatters. Cold fury stirs in me, at my dad, at his workplace, but most importantly at all those people at the Division…they ruined my family. All because my dad used language differently, he faces shame from everyone. I bawl my eyes out for him, Natasha and everyone else who has to suffer…

No. It is my dad’s fault…no one asked him to use that ill-forsaken variety so many times. Such carelessness made him look stupid…now, he’ll be shunned by the workforce. If I follow every rule perfectly, nothing bad will ever happen to me. I’ll never speak like my dad. I will be better than him. I will make my family, and my country proud. That way, I’ll be happy.