![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The N-Word
Mar. 23rd, 2012 10:52 amJustin beat Mac up last weekend. Under contention: Use of the N-word. I have such a strong antipathy to those six little letters I can barely make myself write them, let alone pronounce them.
But with Robin, it’s “Nigger” this and “Nigger” that. Comes with being part of the hip-hop culture, I suppose, and make no mistake, if you buy the music, if you wear the clothes, if you watch the videos, you’re part of the culture.
“Robin, that is a really, really offensive word,” I say.
He shrugs. “Justin uses it all the time.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, give me a break, Robin. That’s disingenuous. Justin is black.”
“I’m one-sixteenth African American!”
That’s because my great grandmother was Tunisian.
“That doesn’t really count, Robin,” I say, although in fact at the time I was applying as an undergraduate to UC Berkeley, being one-eighth black actually made me eligible for affirmative action. Not that I applied – or was accepted – as part of an affirmative action program. I hate affirmative action.
“Robin,” I said, “you’re not black. I’m not black. We have African ancestry. So does every other human being on the planet – that’s where life originated. It’s just a matter of how far up you’re willing to climb on the family tree. Justin, on the other hand, is black. Frankly, I loathe the word whether it’s being used by white people or black people. I think it’s degrading. But I suppose when black people use it, it’s kind of like gay people embracing the word ‘queer.’ I dunno. But anyway, it’s not appropriate for you to use it and some day you’re gonna use it and get the shit kicked out of you.”
“Justin doesn’t care,” said Robin.
"I care, Robin," I said.
And apparently so does Justin. At least in hte right context. On Saturday night at Casa Justin in addition to the old New Roots posse, RTT, Justin, Kyle and Mac, there were also an assortment of Justin’s African American friends. Plus Justin was drunk. While Mac lay on the floor bleeding, RTT immediately called his dad and solicited a ride back to Trumansburg.
I tried to debrief RTT about the incident when I saw him again Monday. “So why exactly again did Justin beat Mac up?”
“You already know,” RTT answered sullenly. “’Cause Mac was calling him ‘nigger.’”
And you call him, ‘nigger,’” I pointed out.
“No, I don’t. I just say ‘nigger.’”
“As in, ‘Wass up, nigguh?’ I have news for you, Robin: That’s calling someone nigger.”
“Justin doesn’t think so.”
“Justin may well think so. Especially when Justin is around his African American friends. Which, you know, in college increasingly he will be.”
I had a friend in high school named Laura. We weren’t close friends, but we had exactly the same birthday, date and year, which maybe made me feel closer to her than I should have. Also, I will say that I have many flaws but racism isn’t among them. I suppose that’s part of my focus on individuals, not groups. I don’t hang out in groups. I’ve never hung out in groups.
Anyway, we both got into UCB and I expected the friendship would continue. But every time I saw Laura on campus, she cut me dead. And I finally realized: She had gotten into a social group that was an outlying satellite of the Black Panthers, she was embracing a racial identity that was more-or-less closed to her as the child of upwardly mobile, high earning parents. Black parents, of course. But professional black parents which in the late 1960s/early 1970s meant camouflaged, even closeted if you will.
Years later I ran into Laura again when I was dating Huey Newton. By this time she was a defeated, tired looking woman with a passel of kids and a low level social services job. I really wanted to ask her, Why did you cut me off like that? It hurt my feelings! But of course I already knew the answer.
I’m not saying RTT’s friendship with Justin will go the way of my certainly much less intense friendship with Laura. But it will change. And RTT’s gotta stop using the N-word.
But with Robin, it’s “Nigger” this and “Nigger” that. Comes with being part of the hip-hop culture, I suppose, and make no mistake, if you buy the music, if you wear the clothes, if you watch the videos, you’re part of the culture.
“Robin, that is a really, really offensive word,” I say.
He shrugs. “Justin uses it all the time.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, give me a break, Robin. That’s disingenuous. Justin is black.”
“I’m one-sixteenth African American!”
That’s because my great grandmother was Tunisian.
“That doesn’t really count, Robin,” I say, although in fact at the time I was applying as an undergraduate to UC Berkeley, being one-eighth black actually made me eligible for affirmative action. Not that I applied – or was accepted – as part of an affirmative action program. I hate affirmative action.
“Robin,” I said, “you’re not black. I’m not black. We have African ancestry. So does every other human being on the planet – that’s where life originated. It’s just a matter of how far up you’re willing to climb on the family tree. Justin, on the other hand, is black. Frankly, I loathe the word whether it’s being used by white people or black people. I think it’s degrading. But I suppose when black people use it, it’s kind of like gay people embracing the word ‘queer.’ I dunno. But anyway, it’s not appropriate for you to use it and some day you’re gonna use it and get the shit kicked out of you.”
“Justin doesn’t care,” said Robin.
"I care, Robin," I said.
And apparently so does Justin. At least in hte right context. On Saturday night at Casa Justin in addition to the old New Roots posse, RTT, Justin, Kyle and Mac, there were also an assortment of Justin’s African American friends. Plus Justin was drunk. While Mac lay on the floor bleeding, RTT immediately called his dad and solicited a ride back to Trumansburg.
I tried to debrief RTT about the incident when I saw him again Monday. “So why exactly again did Justin beat Mac up?”
“You already know,” RTT answered sullenly. “’Cause Mac was calling him ‘nigger.’”
And you call him, ‘nigger,’” I pointed out.
“No, I don’t. I just say ‘nigger.’”
“As in, ‘Wass up, nigguh?’ I have news for you, Robin: That’s calling someone nigger.”
“Justin doesn’t think so.”
“Justin may well think so. Especially when Justin is around his African American friends. Which, you know, in college increasingly he will be.”
I had a friend in high school named Laura. We weren’t close friends, but we had exactly the same birthday, date and year, which maybe made me feel closer to her than I should have. Also, I will say that I have many flaws but racism isn’t among them. I suppose that’s part of my focus on individuals, not groups. I don’t hang out in groups. I’ve never hung out in groups.
Anyway, we both got into UCB and I expected the friendship would continue. But every time I saw Laura on campus, she cut me dead. And I finally realized: She had gotten into a social group that was an outlying satellite of the Black Panthers, she was embracing a racial identity that was more-or-less closed to her as the child of upwardly mobile, high earning parents. Black parents, of course. But professional black parents which in the late 1960s/early 1970s meant camouflaged, even closeted if you will.
Years later I ran into Laura again when I was dating Huey Newton. By this time she was a defeated, tired looking woman with a passel of kids and a low level social services job. I really wanted to ask her, Why did you cut me off like that? It hurt my feelings! But of course I already knew the answer.
I’m not saying RTT’s friendship with Justin will go the way of my certainly much less intense friendship with Laura. But it will change. And RTT’s gotta stop using the N-word.
