Why is it that many of the young, white, undergraduates at Tufts seem to think it’s okay for them to use the “N” word whether in my presence or not. I get it: You’re a liberal, slightly bi-sexual beatnik from San Francisco, but that doesn’t change the main aspect of my incredulity. Granted, I ‘m well aware these crazy kids have grown up in this post-Dave Chappelle world where the word, “nigger” “nigga” “niggah” or any of its other hilarious forms can be nonchalantly thrown around humorously and is never considered hurtful, disrespectful or inappropriate, But, guess what? I find Dave Chappelle offensive, too. And he’s black!
Generally, I don’t care for it when black people or people of color use the “N” word. Honestly, I hate the word in itself. I had the time, the meaning, and the aspects of the African American life that it represents. But if you feel empowered by referring to your best friend using a word used to degredate my other and grandmother and great-grandmother, etc., for hundreds of years, who am I to protest? After all, you’ve embraced this word of bondage and made it a part of the Negro vernacular. Well, excuse me, but aren’t black people well aware of what happens when “we” assimilate something as a part of our culture? Somehow, it becomes inexplicably popular among young teeny boppers.
I love my friends. The white one, the Mexican one and that international guy we all think is gay, but if you disrespect me ONE MORE TIME by using this word in my presence, I’m going to…cry.
It’s true. I’ve never said anything out loud. I’ve never asked my friends to sit in a circle in our common room and discuss the negative aspects of stereotypes, racism and “hate speech” But, should I have to? I’ve had less black friends in eighteen years than I can count on my hands, but the hundreds of white people I knew in high school would never come out of their face – would never disregard the possibility that I would be offended and use this word in my presence, and hopefully, at all.
I just don’t get it. Don’t people understand that I’m black? I represent myself as a Nigerian, sure, but an entire half of me has lived on this country for innumerable decades. I would sit at the dining room with my great-grandmother and listen to her horror stories of oppression and threats of violence against her and her family in the south in the 1930s. I quietly wept as she told me about the fear that forced her to move away from her many sibling s and last surviving relatives for fear of the murder of her husband and innocent daughter. I don’t wear her tales on my chest, but by looking at me you should be well aware of the possibility that this is a part of my past. However, I have no intention of allowing it to be in my future.
I understand how fun it is to be politically incorrect. We all make fun of the Jewish guy, the tall one, the fat girl and our gay sidekick. Do we have the right to do that? I ungirt my teeth and answer ever so slightly offensive questions about my hair or the Bronx without injury. Taking life and its injustices too seriously is no way to spend our youth. Yet the words: kike, dykes and chinks never enter my vocabulary. I make the effort of not referring to gay people as “faggots,” nor do I allow those around me to us the word in my presence because I’m aware of the hurt it may arise in tone person. I’m not gay, but I don’t have to be. I’m a human being. I have feeling and I, at least, make the effort to take those of others in account as well. Why the hell don’t I deserve the same respect? Maybe, just maybe, I should demand it!
Let’s all be honest here, when you look at me, you see color, when I look at other people, I see color as well. That’s fine, because we’re all different. What’s important is that we don’t judge people based on what we see only on the outside. In the back of my head, I’m thinking “Is this chick Chinese or what?” but despite whatever gone inside my mind, I try as hard as one can not to label others.
What’s the moral of this story? I don’t know. Will this change anything? I doubt it. But, please, do me a for: stop singing that goddamn Kanye West song around me. If you want to go home and scream “broke niggas” at the top of your lungs, feel free, but refrain when in my presence. Just don’t say anything for the last two seconds of the verse. It’s awkward, yeah, but you’ll get over it. Stop quoting NWA, DMX or any other rap artist you happened to come across when cruising your roommate’s iTunes. Finally, stop discussing the appropriate enunciation or spelling of this word because it’s not appropriate at all, in any form, ever.
I’m not a bitch and I’m not weird or sensitive and I’m not the only one who feels this way. Whether it’s purposely meant to be hurtful or not, hearing some words trigger people and its not fair that they suffer in silence. I highly doubt that the quality of your life is going to decline significantly because I’m asking you to refrain from using this word in my presence. And although I also doubt it will improve my quality of life, it will certainly make things a lot less uncomfortable the next time someone suggests a singalong of “Fuck the Police.”
