Honoring African American Language in the Lives of Black Children

Cirecie West-Olatunji, Ph.D.
3 days ago
3 min read

Teacher smiling and gesturing to student with raised hand in classroom. Whiteboard with blue writing in background. Engaged learning setting.

Language is never neutral. It carries the weight of culture, history, identity, and power. For Black children in the United States, African American Language (AAL)—often mischaracterized as “slang” or “broken English”—is not an acceptable way of speaking. It is a linguistic system rooted in specific West African languages. Yet, in classrooms, clinics, and community spaces, AAL is often misunderstood, pathologized, or outright dismissed. The implications for Black children’s cognitive, emotional, and social development are profound.

As a counselor-educator and researcher, I have witnessed the damage that can be done when the language of a child is framed as a deficit. Far too often, Black children who speak AAL are viewed through a deficit lens: misdiagnosed with language delays, underestimated in their academic potential, or disciplined for perceived "disrespect." These are not isolated incidents—they are manifestations of systemic bias that emerge when linguistic diversity is not recognized as a legitimate form of cultural expression. Teachers, mental health professionals, and parents often promulgate these ideas with the best of intentions.

However, we must shift the paradigm.

African American Language Is Legitimate and Rule-Governed

Research across linguistics and education has affirmed that AAL follows consistent grammatical rules and syntactic structures. It is a full-fledged language variety with deep historical roots, tracing back to West African linguistic traditions and shaped by the legacy of enslavement, segregation, and cultural resilience. When African people were enslaved on U.S. soil, they did not receive ESL (English as a Second Language) classes. So, in learning English, they integrated English words into the architecture of their existing West African languages. The structure remained the same, but the words did not. For example, the verb "to be" is often omitted where Standard American English would require it, as in "She pretty" instead of "She is pretty."

When educators and mental health professionals fail to understand this, they may inadvertently contribute to the marginalization of Black children. For instance, language assessments that do not account for dialectal differences may result in false positives for language disorders.

Linguistic Bias and Its Psychological Toll

We cannot overlook the emotional and psychological toll that linguistic bias imposes on Black children. Being told—explicitly or implicitly—that the way you speak is “wrong” can fracture a child’s sense of identity. It can send the message that who they are and where they come from are not acceptable in learning spaces. Over time, this can contribute to internalized oppression, reduced self-esteem, and decreased school engagement.

In culture-centered, trauma-informed care, we advocate for affirming every aspect of a child’s identity—including their language. For Black children, honoring AAL means affirming a part of themselves that is deeply tied to family, community, and culture.

Young boy with focused expression writing in a notebook, wearing a striped blue and yellow shirt in a bright room with a blurred background.

What Can We Do Differently?

Educate Ourselves and Others: All professionals who work with children must become linguistically informed. Understanding the structure, history, and cultural function of AAL is a critical step toward equity.
Advocate for Culturally Responsive Assessments: Speech-language pathologists, school psychologists, and counselors must use assessment tools that distinguish between language difference and language disorder. We must advocate for protocols that are grounded in cultural and linguistic competence.
Affirm, Don’t Correct: In classrooms and therapy sessions, we must resist the urge to “correct” AAL. Instead, we can support code-switching as a bilingual skill—recognizing when and how to shift between language varieties without devaluing either.
Center the Voices of Black Children: Ask them about their linguistic experiences. Listen to their stories. Allow them to be the experts of their own language and culture. This not only builds trust—it validates their lived realities.

Conclusion

African American Language is a rich, complex, and dynamic form of communication. It deserves respect, not ridicule; affirmation, not erasure. When we honor AAL, we honor the brilliance, creativity, and resilience of Black children. Let us move beyond compliance with linguistic norms and toward a vision of justice that embraces the full humanity of our youngest speakers.