Carla Labto / The SWC Sun
A Perspective
I take a deep breath as I prepare to leave my home’s protective cocoon. The pain in my chest lingers for hours as I try to make myself understood in my second language – English.. I am not alone, from hundreds of Southwestern College students whose primary language is Spanish every everyday conversation feels like a constant reminder that we don’t belong..
Being at home means feeling understood. It means speaking without calculating every syllable, without fearing what might come out. As if every sentence carries the possibility of correction, or even humiliation?
For me, as a student, and for many others,navigating life in the United States can create a huge tension when it comes to speaking, because language is more than a tool for communication. It becomes a test of identity, belonging, and worth.
Anthropology professor Maria Jelaca, who has spent years teaching at Southwestern College, describes this tension as deeply tied to identity. Originally from the former Yugoslavia, she now must identify as Serbian after the country’s breakup, despite having grown up with a broader national identity that no longer exists. Living and working in the United States has added another layer to that complexity, as she navigates her identity through a second language that also marks her as different.
“I feel I come from a country that doesn’t exist anymore,” she said. “Now in a new one, I’m asked to identify as something specific, but it’s not that simple. I don’t fully know who I am.”
Her experience reflects a broader reality: language does not simply reflect where someone is from, it exposes it.
“Language carries identity whether you want it to or not,” she explained.
In the United States, however, that identity can become a point of judgment. For Gael Sánchez, a linguistics student at UCLA who started at Cuyamaca College and crossed the border from Baja California to pursue his education, the challenge extends beyond academics.
“It’s an exhausting feeling that my words are never enough,” he said.
In interviews with students at Southwestern College, several described similar experiences, including moments where professors or academic staff dismissed them, simplified their language unnecessarily, or, in some cases, made subtle jokes about their pronunciation. These interactions, though sometimes framed as harmless, contribute to a broader sense of exclusion and discomfort in academic spaces.
The pressure to sound “correct” goes far beyond grammar. It becomes a physical presence in the effort to soften sounds, to control the rolling of “r’s,” and to erase any trace of origin.
“I’m constantly paying attention to how I speak,” Sanchez explained. “And sometimes that leads to self-sabotage, you try to be perfect, and then you freeze.”
That hesitation, the pause before speaking, is a common experience among non-native speakers. It is the moment where thought and language collide, where ideas exist clearly in one language but struggle to take form in another.
“It’s not the same to speak in English as it is to express yourself in English,” Sanchez added, pointing to the gap between knowing a language and being able to fully exist within it.
For students, language becomes more than a system of words. It transforms into a space where identity is questioned and reshaped. Many describe “a tension in a sense of existence between worlds, no longer fully connected to their home language, yet not fully accepted in the new one.”
For Professor Jelaca, this tension persists even after years of professional experience.
“No matter which language I speak, I feel like I don’t fully belong anymore,” she said.
From an outside perspective, an accent may appear to be a minor detail. It can influence how seriously someone is taken, how intelligent they are perceived to be, and whether they are included or excluded.
Drawing from his linguistic studies, Sánchez pointed out that these perceptions are historically constructed.
“Certain accents or ways of speaking tend to carry less prestige,” he said. “They’ve been associated with lower socioeconomic status or lower intellectual ability, even when that’s not accurate.”
These perceptions have real consequences. They shape opportunities, interactions, and confidence, turning language into a barrier rather than a bridge.
“I never tried to lose my accent,” Professor Jelaca said. “It doesn’t change my ability to do my job, it only reveals how others choose to see me.”
Sánchez shares a similar view: “The way you speak doesn’t define what you’re capable of. You define that yourself.”
Language is not just sounds leaving the mouth. Because being from here or there does not change the value of who you are. Because a tongue that rolls or stumbles is not inferior, but vast, daring to communicate the unfamiliar without fear. Because the one who speaks carries their culture and does not hide it. We cry the same, we laugh the same, and we love the same, the way we speak is a portrait of our personal story.
