Can language be our protective shield? This idea has never occurred to me before. However, the more I think, the more I agree that when confronting the suppression of excessive works from a superior, people have to put up a language shield to defend themselves. Such a shield is created when one talks in a way that weaves rich emotions into a clear logic flow, allowing one to articulate his or her own opinions, and thereby achieving an ultimate goal.

It all started with the upcoming annual food event in my community. It is a day when groups of students prepare delicacies representing different countries, and I was thrilled to be in Group Spain. The group leader, Stan, designed a sign-up sheet for different tasks. Great! There’s a cooking task! Never-mind the planning, budget-making, and procurement. I could do far better with cooking. So, I chose the role that states “cooking Spanish dishes on the very day of the fair.” Cooking is enjoyable: the hot steam from the freshly cooked paella curling up like a white georgette, the yellow lemon and green lime slices floating in the plum-red sangria, and numerous students surrounding the booth for more churros with their eager countenance. What an experience!

Yet, the first few weeks after signing up for tasks slipped away unwittingly, and no one seemed to be starting their jobs — probably because that they were tired up by their school assignments, or that they were simply not in the mood. I was anxious that we might present a crappy Spain because of our slow progress. After telling other members in Group Spain about the consequences, they shifted their indolent attitude on the project, and we finally started with the preparation work. Hopefully, things will go smoothly after this. I can’t wait to see others savoring the mellow sweetness of my sangria.

Except that I received a message from Stan right after.

“How many cups of that drink do you plan to prepare?” He asked.

Maybe forty? I wasn’t sure. I asked the group members in charged of the planning about the number of people who would be at the fair, but they shrugged me back. Out of other solutions, I answered him with my count, also explaining that I might need to confirm with the organizer of the fair to know the attendance. Agh..Complications! How I wish they did their job!

Then one day after, on Tuesday, another message came.

“BTW, can you estimate the price for your ingredients?”

Sending him the rough price of the needed fruits, I frowned. This was supposed to be the task of the budget department. Why do I have to do it “by the way?” Again, for the progress of our group, I did not think much.

Then came the third.

“I mean, I need specific numbers. Make an excel table listing all the ingredients you need, the unit price for each, and the total cost, will you?” he bombarded me with pictures in details that explains of all his requirements on making the excel table.

Seriously? A cook has to do the job of an accountant? Just because you conveniently assign this work for me doesn’t mean that it is convenient for me. That’s it after this. Enough is enough. I tried to hold my manner as I felt rather discontent when I realized that he was assigning others’ jobs to me. Stan, you are a leader, not a dictator. Before I could do the market research for him, the fourth appeared — I did not even want to look at it. No doubt it would be another task he thought I could readily do without any effort. Maybe in his mind, every cook could excel at the jobs of a CFO, a CMO and even master the art of HR.

Never have I thought that, one day, I could be compared to the urban workers in the Gilded Age, exploited and stressed out by a higher force. To them, it’s the capitalist. Me? Unreasonable group leader. I, just like an urban worker, was doing time-consuming tasks, knowing that what awaited next would only be infinite demands from the superior. Although I understand that the unfair treatments I underwent was of much smaller scale than theirs, I still think that imposing a supposedly collective group work on one individual is not a wise solution.

A volcano of discontentment instantly erupted. How did he managed to drag me into such a trap so smoothly? Perhaps it was me who asked the other group members to do their job somehow gave him the idea that I was responsible for all the entire preparation process when, in fact, my task was simply “cooking Spanish dishes ON THE VERY DAY of the fair.” It was certainly not that I did not want to put my effort in this event, but that the sudden change of plans to throw all the work at me would simply upset the already-established division of labor.

I have to ask Stan to stop throwing others’ works at me. I must express myself to him. I calmed down to think for a while. I should organize my ideas instead of storming to him.

When I found Stan, I saw him in such a pose as if he was about to type me another message. He paused for a few seconds, I noticed, perhaps thinking about what other tasks he could conveniently assign to me.

“Let me clarify this, ” I went forward and declared after taking a deep breath to maintain my calmness. “I am not being uncooperative, but in fact, the very opposite of it.” I saw Stan’s mouth opened slightly but quickly swallowed back words as I continued.

“I’ve done enough, but, to your benefit, I won’t argue for all the task I’ve already done thus far,” I said to him. 

Silence.

“However, I need you to know that A), I signed up for the food department because I want to actually make the food, and the sign-up sheet clearly states that there are other students specifically responsible for all the calculations, research, and table-making,” I explained, trying to be rational, inhibiting my indignation. It was a futile work. Even with my pace and intonation under control, my fury still slipped through my words themselves.

He, on the other hand, nodded and nodded.

I pressed further, “B), We have so many hands in the food department. Why am I the one who is doing the jobs that were assigned to the others?” I meant to say the free-riders. Again, he had nothing to do but nodded, smiling awkwardly.

I told him that just because I was worried about the group and therefore said a few words to encourage and urge other group members to start working did not mean that I automatically become responsible for the entire process of the preparation. 

“You can not punish those who are working for the fault of those who are not, ” I wrapped up. Seeing him speechless, I walked away.

Later, Stan admitted his mistakes, acknowledged my role as promised by the sign-up sheet, and offered me help with presenting the food on the day of the fair to compensate his faults. The “cycle of exploitation” ended so easily. But…Why? Perhaps the air of determination of my strike intimidated him. Or, perhaps it was the power of my speech that did the magic. I found it hard to believe, and the fact that the rebuttal arguments I’ve prepared wasn’t even given the chance to showcase themselves made me slightly disappointed, though I’ve achieved my goal.

On that Tuesday night, before I fell asleep, I unconsciously started to rethink the whole incident and the reasons why I succeeded. As I went through my face-to-face “conversation” with Stan in my head, I came to realize that the power lies in my speech. Because of my abundant reasons and the discontentment spilling out from my words that intrinsically carry the fretful tone, Stan felt my indignant anger. I, while looking calm, exerted a potent force and made my standpoint clear. It is, therefore, the interplay between my logic and my tone that contributed to my success: whereas the logical structure is the plate of the language shield that strengthens the ideas I wanted to convey, the underlying subtle rage in my speech is the handle on the back of the shield that supports and push forth my argument. This unbreakable shield push back Stan’s unreasonable demands. It made him aware of my situation and unable to collect words to refute me. Feeling guilty, he stopped his demands and acknowledged his own mistakes.

Back in the Gilded Age, workers in the United States formed unions to protect their rights from deprivation. In response to capitalists’ extraction of labor, they rose up with their language shields to negotiate and made themselves heard. Likewise, I, whose standing in Group Spain is merely a worker, also stood up and defended myself for a just treatment with my own shield. Whether me or the Gilded Age workers, when we are able to clearly define the mutual rights and responsibilities between ourselves and our superior, we are using our powerful shields of language to effectively protect ourselves.