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Abstract
Despite American schools administrators’ refusal to accept the
language of African-American students and their overzealousness to
frame language and literacy skills in terms of an “achievement gap,”
African-American Vernacular English (AAVE) is the language of
African-American imagination and reality. This article discusses the
characteristics of AAVE that make it a real language, as well as The
Dozens—an original use of AAVE and one of many creative vehicles of
expression used in the African-American community. The article also
describes how African-American adult learners used AAVE in their
composition class discussions and writings.
Nearly every African American, at some point, has spoken what is recognized as
African-American Vernacular English (AAVE). This language, which also is known
as Black English Vernacular (BEV), Ebonics, Spoken Soul or, simply, Black English, is
the vernacular most African Americans use with friends and colleagues in a variety
of social settings.
Part of what makes the language experience unique for African Americans in
the United States is that they know they must be bidialectal to survive. Most African
Americans speak AAVE when expressing their deepest feelings and most hilarious
moments. They use Standard American English (SAE) in settings such as workplaces
and schools—spaces that represent and reinforce the values of the broader European-
American society. Patterson (1973) asserted that though African Americans know
they must speak standard English to survive in this country, virtually all of them are
bidialectal and able to understand both AAVE and SAE.
Throughout history, the language used by African Americans has been scorned.
Patterson (1973) pinpointed what nearly every African-American student of literacy has
endured. He noted that knowing and speaking Black English does not interfere with
a student learning to read. Rather, it’s the teachers’ rejection of Black English and the
children who speak it that engenders learning problems.
In his seminal and frequently anthologized essay “If Black English Isn’t a Language,
Then Tell Me, What Is?” Baldwin (1985, 652) noted:
The debate over AAVE’s place in the classroom, or anywhere for that matter, did
not begin with the controversial 1996 Oakland Ebonics debate (Rickford and Rickford
2000, 165), where a task force was created to address the “challenge of helping students
make the transition from their home language, Ebonics, to achieve greater proficiency
in standard English.” Nearly three decades earlier in Ann Arbor, Michigan, African-
American parents successfully brought a suit against the school system concerning
the legitimacy of Black English. The ethnographic research on West African culture by
Turner (1932) and Herskovits (1941), as well as Labov’s 1973 groundbreaking research
on African-American speech communities, served as the bases for their arguments.
According to Richardson (2002, 11), “Turner and Herskovits’s research presented in-
formation confirming the systematicity, the West African background, the history, and
development of African-American Vernacular English.”
Without familiarity with student’s traditions, how will teachers see them clearly?
How will they recognize their strengths and envision their potential? (Terry Meier in
Rickford and Rickford 2000, 163)
The mountains of data relating to the achievement gap are a clear indicator that African
Americans have suffered in schools because of their language and ethnicity connection.
This torment and labeling of underachievement are related directly to how the broader
society views their culture. AAVE is a spoken language rooted in the oral tradition of
Africa. It was transcribed by writers of the Harlem Renaissance in the 1920s, and today
is the language spoken by most African-American urban youth. The language, as well
as the people who speak it, are perceived as being of low status. The myths surrounding
AAVE include that it’s not a real language, the speakers have sloppy English, and the
language interferes with reading and comprehension. These are beliefs commonly held
by teachers and school systems. African Americans internalize this negative perception of
their language and implicit degradation of their people and, as a result, have done poorly
in school. Erickson (1996) noted that school achievement is distributed along the lines
of class, race, ethnicity, and language. Studies show that students who use nonstandard
English in school do not do as well as students who use standard English.
English. She had low expectations for them and, as a result, these students never reached
their educational potential (Edwards 1997). The study also revealed that some students,
particularly those who had lower performance in school, insisted on using Patois when
talking to teachers. According to McKay and Hornberger (1996, 414), this was a form of
protest against the dominant culture and a “positive assertion of their black identity and
the rejection of the negative connotations placed on black language and culture by the
dominant white society.” McKay and Hornberger (1996, 414) also pointed out other studies
in British classrooms that revealed the “educational underperformance of black children
often had been linked with their inability to speak British English.”
The gnawing question is how will children who acknowledge the relationship between
their language and ethnicity ever be accepted and respected for their culture, learning
style, and language if those who decide which culture, learning style, and language are
represented in schools hold racist ideologies about the children? AAVE pioneer and
scholar Smitherman (1977) suggested that teachers of African-American students create
and include programs that expand their linguistic abilities. Despite the Ann Arbor victory
and the exposure from the Oakland Ebonics debate, the battle for AAVE’s recognition as
a valid language still wages. African-American students are criticized, marginalized, and
even despised for the language on which they were raised—the language that distinguishes
them as a unique people with their own way of talking.
Yo mama so skinny when she turn sideways she disappear. (A snap from The Dozens)
In a speech community (Hymes 1968), there are rules and expectations that are un-
derstood and accepted by the members. In the 1980s, hip hop exploded onto the scene,
changing the music industry and
the view of African-American urban
culture forever. In the South Bronx
The Dozens grew out of the dark days of slavery in the United States. It was a time
when people of African descent were dehumanized and sold as property. The slaves in
the best condition exacted the best price. In contrast, slaves with disabilities were not
worth much on the auction block. These inadequate or damaged slaves were packaged
in groups of 12 and sold as a set at bargain basement rates to anyone who would have
them. Being one of the 12 in a group of “Dozens,” as they were called in those days, was
considered the ultimate insult by the
black community-at-large (Pop and
Though many young people don’t know the history of the game, they certainly know
and understand what it takes to hold your own during this speech event in their com-
munity. Playing The Dozens always is done in front of a crowd. Much like “battling” in
rap, playing without an audience is futile. The Dozens is a measurement of strength— not
physical strength—but strength of wit.
In “Rules for Ritual Insults,” Labov (1997) touched on some guidelines surrounding
The Dozens. The use of “mama” (someone held in high esteem in African-American com-
munities), sexual metaphors, and “cracks” about the conditions of poverty are popular
subjects. Others include snaps on facial features or intelligence, or slams on personality
traits, bad breath, or body odor. Youth wait in hopeful anticipation of someone initiating
The Dozens, so they can “lay down” snaps such as:
Though no official rule book exists for The Dozens, participants know when someone
has won. The audience serves as the judge and determines the victor of the event, gener-
ally based on who gets the loudest cheers and laughs. In The Dozens, the loser does not
get upset, but often gives his or her opponent a “high five”—the slapping of palms in
midair—to acknowledge the winner’s wit and send a message of respect, admiration,
and brotherhood or sisterhood.
Noted author Toni Morrision (in Rickford and Rickford 2000, 5), credited AAVE as
the distinctive ingredient of her fiction.
The language, only the language. . . . It is the thing that black people love
so much—the saying of words, holding them on the tongue, experimenting with
them, playing with them. It’s a love, a passion. There are certain things I cannot
say without recourse to my language. It’s terrible to think that a child with five dif-
ferent present tenses comes to school to be faced with books that have less than his
own language.”
In their book Spoken Soul, Rickford and Rickford (2000) devoted a section to the
use of AAVE by writers, preachers, prayers, comedians, actors, singers, toasters, and
rappers—some of the most gifted and talented individuals in the African-American
community. These examples illustrated
how AAVE articulates the imagination
You are 100% incorrect that ‘Ebonics’ has no rules, structure, or dictionary.
Africanized English has a consistent structure and rules. . . . Please do not confuse
street slang with Africanized English. (America Online contributor as quoted in
Rickford and Rickford 2000, 91)
One of the first comprehensive dictionaries of AAVE was Major’s 1970 Dictionary of
Afro-American Slang. In the early 1990s, Major (1994) updated this work and expanded
it into a 548-page dictionary. Also in the early ’90s, Smitherman (1994a) compiled the
AAVE dictionary Black Talk. AAVE vocabulary is forever changing, morphing to fit the
times and ever-evolving imagination and reality of African-American people.
Students often are amazed to learn that AAVE is a language with a formal structure
and that they indeed speak a valid language. In the fall of 2002, during the second week
of class, Chuck, a student in his late 30s, stated, “When I talk, I don’t feel I’m speakin’
right. I feel that I’ve been talkin’ dis way all my life with my friends, hangin’ out in
the street and all, you know, and it ain’t right. It can’t be right.” Chuck’s comment
ignited a discussion that lasted for 40 minutes. At first, he seemed to resent validation
of his language and his bidialectil-
ism. He closed the class discussion
with, “I’ma have to disagree wit
you on dis one, Ms. Ruiz.” After a
By not correcting his language, Sealey-Ruiz let Chuck know that his voice was ac-
cepted and valued. Students are encouraged to discuss their lives and the literature in their
unique way. At times, only their language can evoke the exact emotion that a memory
brings. Wertsch (1991, 232) upheld this practice: “Voice pertains to the role of language in
constructing meaning. Voice applies to written as well as spoken language and relates to
point of view: it is concerned with the broader issues of a speaking subject’s perspective,
conceptual horizon, intention, and world view.”
Most students in Sealey-Ruiz’s semester-long class were employed and held positions
such as transit clerks, administrative assistants, waiters and waitresses, nursing home at-
tendants, and school aides. Speaking SAE was an everyday occurrence for them because
many had been told that speaking AAVE was wrong. They transferred this belief to their
writing. Once AAVE was validated through research articles and class discussions, they
began to compare AAVE speaking and writing to SAE. When they were not sure how to
spell a word or clearly articulate a thought in SAE, they were asked to write it as they
would say it. The result was that they turned in writing assignments written completely in
AAVE or SAE, or a combination of both. Creative writing assignments (poetry, dialogue for
short stories, and informal essays) were enhanced by their use of AAVE. However, when
their 15-page research paper was due at the end of the semester, there was no confusion
for them: they knew the paper was to be written in SAE.
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