After staring at rows and rows of bags, my grandmother stopped to graze her fingers across a maroon Prada purse, surveying it before picking it up to clutch close to her heart.
I remember her turning the bag in all sorts of directions, looking for the price tag and walking towards a worker nearby, heels clicking against Nordstrom’s tiled floor.
I remember her tapping the worker’s shoulder, mouth moving as she gestured to the tagless bag in her hand.
I remember the worker’s furrowed brow and the way her hand ran through her hair as if the entire situation was a hassle, mouth forming the same “What?” over and over again.
I remember, as my grandma thanked her and walked away, the worker going over to another salesperson, sighing and rolling her eyes.
“She lost me at hello.”
My grandma graduated from one of Taiwan’s top universities. She became president of a Taiwanese business and culture club when she moved to Los Angeles. She has an impeccable fashion sense. She wins every game of Blackjack at family reunions. She even taught me to write some of my first Chinese characters.
So that day, 8-year-old me couldn’t understand why the Nordstrom worker acted the way she did. If someone as incredible as my grandma didn’t deserve her time and respect, then who did?
Even as I’ve grown older, the situation, in many ways, hasn’t changed.
Checking out at a grocery store. Ordering a coffee. Scheduling an appointment over the phone.
No matter the location or task, I see my grandma struggling every day to be heard, seen, or understood.
According to the 2023 Kaiser Family Foundation/Los Angeles Times Survey of Immigrants, 53% of immigrants with limited English proficiency say that difficulty speaking or understanding English has made it difficult for them to get jobs, health care services, and receive help in stores or restaurants.
Accent bias is pervasive in many public settings. The mere sound of a voice is used as a marker for determining someone’s character and capabilities.
When people talk to my grandma, many see an Asian woman who can’t speak fluent English.
When I talk to my grandma, I see a woman who has been one of my greatest teachers and inspirations.
My grandma and I cannot speak each other’s languages fluently. But even with my broken Mandarin and her limited English, we’ve had countless conversations and interactions.
One example that always comes to mind is when I was younger and often got in trouble with my parents. As I sat pent up in my bedroom after an argument, she’d wordlessly come in and hold me close as I cried, mumbling soft consolations in Chinese.
According to The Hearing Journal, experts in intercommunication have estimated that only 30% of communication involves the words we use. In other words, approximately 70% of what is involved in communication is nonverbal.
My grandma and I might not be able to speak each other’s languages fully, but that’s the thing about language; it’s more than words.
Language is expression. Language is behavior. Language is the unification of a community.
Language isn’t just what is understood out loud. It’s holding hands with a loved one. It’s sharing secret glances with friends. It’s sitting in a room with someone and enjoying the silence together.
It frustrates me to see others looking down on or treating my grandma as if she is below them the moment they hear her speak.
Intelligence, respectability, competence—none of these traits have a sound to them. An accent or lack of fluency is not an indicator of one’s full capability.
It’s crucial that we reexamine what we think credibility or aptitude sounds like. Only after we remove these implicit expectations can we end the explicit exclusion of those outside of that perceived norm.
Effective communication and human connection are both forces that transcend words; they are rooted in empathy, understanding, and love.
That’s why I’m upset when I witness people not bothering to listen to someone because of how they talk. Because I’m still that little girl, crying in her bedroom, her grandma clutching her close to her heart.
