My dear boy,
Growing up, I had a shrill voice. I could hit notes that if I dared to dream about now, I’d go mute. Hence, when I spoke, I came off as too loud. A casual conversation was as though I was shouting. Then my older cousin told me something that changed it all. As a result, in recent years, there have been times when people have asked me to be audible as they couldn’t hear me.
In time, I found that raising my voice meant my argument was weak. In The Rules of Life, Richard Templar shares the story of a vicar’s son and the vicar’s note. For me, shouting in any form is a bad thing, a sign that I have lost control, lost the argument. “The son of a vicar once saw his father’s sermon notes and in the margin he had pencilled, “Shout here, argument weak.” I think this just about sums it all up.”
Furthermore, Marcus Aurelius in Book II of his Meditations asserts, “For the angry man seems to be turned from right reason, by a sort of pain and contraction seizing him unawares.” Invariably, a man in his “right reason” will not raise his voice. The voice of a man can expose the state of his mind.
This calls to bear, the white man’s voice.
In colonial literature and history, the white man’s voice connotes the voice of the colonizer, defining reality for everyone else. I still remember how colonial oppression was, Oluwatobi Dauda’s favorite topic of discussion in our literature classes. He was drunk on passion when he pronounced “oppression.” There was a stress on the word, as though to mete out oppression on the word. Well, European writers, administrators, and missionaries alike often spoke about indigenous peoples instead of letting them speak for themselves. Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness stands as a true testament to this claim.
In her 2009 TED Talk, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie warned that “the single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.” Post-colonial scholars describe this as epistemic authority, which is control of knowledge, narrative domination, seen in the downplay of oral traditions and the colonizer speaking for the colonized.
Given the institutionalization of European societies, in many historical contexts, a white man’s voice carried institutional power. This is reflected in the courts, media, education, religion, and government. In modern sociology, the idea also appears in discussions of linguistic prestige. Hence, a “white voice” can refer to any or all of the following: standardized accents, “proper” English associated with elites, and voices expected in media or professional spaces. There is pressure for some broadcasters to adopt a public-radio voice, which implicitly aligns with quite middle-class speech norms. Even though it reflects a specific cultural background, it is the voice that society treats as neutral, educated, and authoritative. I dare to argue that resistance to this pressure contributed to the growth of podcasting.
Discussing this triggers a fond memory of growing up. Mother worked tirelessly to ensure we sounded “white.” Each day after school was oral English practice. I do not deny, however, that proper pronunciation of words and a sprinkle of a foreign accent have been instrumental in navigating the world. Pair that with a well-tailored suit, a good dream, and you have yourself a strong charm. I digress.
Speaking of resistance, Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart stands as a direct response to Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. He and other writers such as Ngugi wa Thiong’o and Aime Cesaire from colonized societies began reclaiming narrative voice. Little wonder certain scholars have described African literature as a clapback to Western literature, inferring that it wouldn’t exist had Western literature about Africa not existed, since such writings shaped much of Africa’s written tradition. This is ill-informed and deserves no attention, as literature is not only that which is written.
Furthermore, the psychological meaning found in racial discourse suggests that the phrase sometimes refers to internalized authority. That is, people subconsciously accept the white voice as more credible. Even institutions reinforce this perception. Also, there is a historical record of the phrase’s use in texts. The idea of confronting the white man appears strongly in the work of William Apess. He lends his attention-grabbing voice to the discussion through his 1833 essay, An Indian’s Looking Glass for the White Man. This essay deserves an independent commentary.
A modern cultural example will be the film Sorry to Bother You. It satirizes this idea, and it gave rise to this letter. In the movie, black telemarketers use an exaggerated white voice to succeed in business. The film argues that the white voice represents economic privilege and social comfort.
It follows that the white man’s voice becomes a metaphor for a state of mind unfamiliar with anxiety, struggle, or uncertainty. Not necessarily because life is rosy for all white men, but because the mind of the white man is programmed to believe that victimhood is not an option. This performative whiteness is often linked with a higher socioeconomic status. Furthermore, this concept re-echoes the historical presentation of whiteness as the default professional standard in American media and professional environments; even black women are laden with the burden to wear their hair white.
See, the white man’s voice is synonymous with power, further reinforcing the idea of agency common within that socioeconomic milieu.
As exciting as this may seem, it is inimical to the growth and expression of the black spirit, in that for the black man to become, he must be white. Though seemingly far-flung, this mentality has given rise to various identity alterations within black communities. People bleach because the preferred color is white, or its equivalent. In other words, colorism is the order of the day. Hairs are permed to achieve a white look. It is not surprising that this has become the preferred look, in that attraction is a trained thought. We wear Western-style clothing, contrary to our climate, just to appear white.
The white voice is not necessarily the voice of a white man; some white men don’t have a white voice. The white voice is a state of mind. My dear boy, observe that the discourse of the white man’s voice is a Pandora’s Box, which opens doors for a plethora of identity discussions. In all, have an authentic voice.
Love,
Dad.
