Black people have long practiced ‘code-switching’

August 28 is the anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech. I often re-read the speech. Not just for the message — which remains saddeningly relevant some 60 years later — but also for the writing, which is masterful. Dr. King was speaking to a largely Black and white audience and nimbly threaded his remarks with references chosen to appeal to each. It’s a marvelous “Rosetta Stone” of “code-switching”: literary, with constitutional references for the sympathetic white audience, and flourishing biblical references for the Black audience. The magic of the speech is how smoothly King glides between them. It was more difficult than it looked.

Everyone code-switches, not just Black people. With most people, it’s optional, but for Black people, it’s a survival tool. When a white person and a Black person stand across from each other in dialogue, hundreds of years of painful racial history rushes like water into the space between them. For much of that history, the burden of interracial communication fell heaviest on Black people who, if disliked or misunderstood, could suffer serious consequences. So, for the last four centuries, Black people have code-switched — not just on the plantation, but in the boardroom, at the supermarket and on the golf course. It’s a strategy introduced to most of us by the time we hit puberty — like a rite of passage. When Jewish boys in America reach their teenage years, they are celebrated with a bar mitzvah — Black boys get “The Talk” instead.

There are many versions of “The Talk.” Some parents use the occasion to educate their children about the realities of being Black in America, others use it to emphasize all the reasons Black people should be proud of their contributions to this nation. I’m sure Dr. King shared his own version with his boys 60 years ago. Regardless of the theme, the goal is always the same — to teach vulnerable Black children how to act and speak in the presence of white people. It’s their formal introduction to the practice of code-switching.

To code-switch is to make any number of adjustments to one’s way of speaking, or dressing, or behaving to put someone else at ease. Everyone does it. Children do it to fit in at school, former President Barack Obama has famously been caught doing it, I’m doing it right now. Because of the dangers and disadvantages that still exist in this country for Black people, code-switching is essential to everything from getting fair treatment by the police, to winning a promotion at work, to securing a table at a restaurant. Every Black person I know has their own way of doing it.

“First, I determine what kind of person they are,” said a friend of mine who works as one of only two Black people for a tech company in Virginia, “real, fake, trustworthy…” Then, she added, “I speak deliberately and clearly, versus authentically. I pay attention to word choice, clarity, use of slang, etc.”

Another Black friend emphasized the importance of understanding your audience: “I lead with their self-interests. Whatever it is that I’m discussing, I lead with what I think would be most relatable to them — even if that is not the most convincing or important element.”

Whatever the approach, the goal of code-switching for every Black person, whether in the workplace or at Walmart, is to soften the impact of our Black skin, which has been freighted over the centuries with so many of this country’s racial anxieties and fears.

I have my own personal way of code-switching — sometimes it’s apparent, sometimes it’s not. If you are a white person, and you hear me say I speak Russian, I’m code-switching. For a time, I found myself slipping references to the Culinary Institute of America into conversations at parties — that was me code-switching too. I code-switch at work all the time. I learned the hard way that repeating myself is key. If I am engaged in a difficult conversation, my method is to remain calm and repeat myself at least three times: first to establish my point, again to ensure that the point punches through my blackness, and then a third time to confirm that the point was received.

If you think all this sounds exhausting, or even demoralizing, you’re right. If you’re wondering why Black people put ourselves through it, please know, it’s not a choice. Like any other racial group in this country, we’d rather be seen the way Dr. King envisioned, and judged by our character alone. But, 60 years later, it’s clear that we have yet to reach that mountaintop.

K. Ward Cummings ([e-mail]) is an essayist and social critic. He lives in Baltimore.