Letters to the Editor: 01.02.97

Ebony And Phonics

East Hampton

December 1996

To The Editor:

Years ago it might have been called slang or street language. But not today. In our supposedly enlightened times of political correctness, where we dare not offend this group or that, we now have a new language. Its name is Ebonics.

Ebonics got its start out on the West Coast of our country, where countless other mind-numbing trends and new-wave ideas have been born. In Oakland, Calif., at a school board meeting, Ebonics was sired.

The name, Ebonics, comes from two words really. The words ebony and phonics have been bastardized to form the new word. Heck, why not? In America today, in these times of liberal-think and great compassion, anything goes.

Now here's the rationale. At this school board meeting, it was decided that African Americans were predisposed to speak in a certain manner. Like any other ethnic group, they had their own terminology, so to speak, within the bounds of the English language.

Toni Cook, the spokesperson for the Oakland School Board, went a step further, however. She claimed that African American students were much more than predisposed; Ms. Cook said that these students were actually born to speak Ebonics. It was in their blood, an instinctual thing. Dogs bark, cats meow, and young African Americans, well, you get the picture.

All of this, of course, begs the question, just what is Toni Cook smoking? Her outrageous and insulting remarks are so far afield that, almost to the man or woman, black leaders are disgusted by her assertions. Good for them! If any person of noncolor were to make such an implication about African Americans being unable to comprehend and speak proper English, that person would be castigated and humiliated by every pundit in the country. As well they should be.

Needless to say, there are many underlying reasons for Ms. Cook's and the Oakland School Board's strange position. By coming to the conclusion that black students in Oakland are really speaking a second language and not a street slang, these folks hope to open the faucet of Federal and state tax dollars to study and teach it. Yes, the teachers would learn first. After doing so, they would be in a better position to reach their African American students. So who's running the asylum?

All of this nonsense has other far greater negative ramifications, not just for the students of whom we speak, but for America too. Once more, because of a misguided and shameful grab for dollars and a desire for separation from broad society on the part of some, further disintegration between the two races is taking place.

All that can come of it is more resentment and polarization. I'm convinced that a small minority in the black community would welcome this. After all, race hate is a two-way street.

To succeed in America, or anywhere for that matter, people must learn to assimilate and become part of the bigger whole. Successful Asians or Koreans or Germans even must learn to speak English fluently and correctly to get ahead. That goes for everyone, not just immigrants. This is not to say a person must forget his heritage or leave it behind. The language of America is English, not Ebonics. Just ask some of the many accomplished African Americans what language they speak. Their reply? English, thank you!

RICHARD BYRNE

The Christopher Tree

Amagansett

December 26, 1996

To The Editor,

Christmas is a special time of year for all of us to reflect on our lives, the meaning of family, tradition, and goodwill toward others. This year, my thoughts have been both tremendously elated and deeply disturbed. And, while love and joy will prevail this Christmas, I carry just a note of uneasiness about our community and the future my children will face.

The story begins when a boy was born and his father planted a living Christmas tree in the front yard in his honor. The Christmas tree was long a source of joy and remembrance for a growing boy. It was thrilling each year to put lights on the tree and see it become a towering conifer both mighty and magical.

And though the father did not live to watch the boy or the tree grow past 5, the boy, now my husband, cherished the thought and wanted to repeat this Christmas tradition for our son. And so, on our Christopher's first Christmas, we decorated a living Christmas tree, counted our blessings, and continued a tradition. The beautiful little pine was planted despite the cold frozen earth and nurtured dutifully throughout the year.

We began to call it the Christopher tree and relished the time when the family could together stand at its base and peer up to the heights and remember a child being born.

A few days ago, my husband lit the Christopher tree, and others, to celebrate our love of Christmas and to share good cheer with the community. The trees shone out of the darkness on a windy winter road and warmed the heart as if to say, "Peace, joy, happiness, and good tidings to all."

As we approached home last night, I told my son he would see his special tree brightly lit for Christmas. We were both excited to see it, and as we rounded the corner we saw the twinkle of lights but something was wrong. I could not see the Christopher tree. I thought with a panic that maybe it was unplugged and I just could not see it in the darkness.

I squinted and strained for the Christopher tree. I thought it must be there, it's a tree. I got out of the car and I felt for it in the night. The Christopher tree had simply vanished. The next thing I felt was a stump flush to the ground. Someone had taken a buzz saw to the Christopher tree, carefully unplugged it from the extension cord, and taken it away.

My heart sank, and my mind jumbled. Who could do something like this? Will someone actually enjoy celebrating Christmas under a stolen tree? Will that family know that this already brightly lit tree was cut down, thrown in the back of a truck, and whisked away from my home? Has the celebration of Christmas sunk to such a low point that morals no longer exist, and happiness is purely in the material? Then I thought how mean-spirited it was that some stranger could simply destroy my family's tradition.

The Christopher tree is now gone forever. Whatever possessed this individual to commit this crime will never be known. And, while I am sad at the loss of the tree, I am sadder for the chiseling away at my faith in the goodness of people and at the world my son will live in.

Thankfully, my son is still too young to understand this story so I do not have to explain it or mend any hurt feelings. When I replant a new Christopher tree, I do not know where I should plant it. Maybe I should secrete it away from public view to keep it safe. Or maybe I should stand up to this grinch and plant the Christopher tree where it was so that it can continue to share its joyful delighted dance and twinkle of lights with all of you each holiday season.

Peace be with you all.

JEANNETTE SCHWAGERL

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