It hits like a dart. A dart, thrown without warning, that pierces your armor. A word or two that won't break your bones but inflicts great harm. That time when someone said something that hurts.
The surprise, of course, is that they said it and your are required to respond. No getting away from it, their outrageous belief demands attention. To remain silent is complicity. The kind of complicity that you decided long ago never to be a part of. Yet, here you are, silent.
There are reasons for your silence. Assumptions made by someone in your environment mean that the offending person did not think that you would mind their racism, or sexism, or ridiculous beliefs. You do, but there are reasons for your silence. Sometimes, survival.
So here you are, an eye witness to racism, and you have a difficult time responding.
Case in point:
In the early summer of 1970, I found myself with a small group of friends traveling in a VW microbus from New York to California. We had very little moneyed slept inside the bus whenever possible. The maintenance of our vehicle was paramount because we needed to be in California within two week. We were deep in a forested, semi rural area and needed to stop for gas. The day was dark and the smell of rain was in the air. We stopped at a gas station about 60 miles from Hershey, Pa. A young man about 25 or 30 came out to pump the gas. I stood near by to open the gas tank and pay him. A friendly sort, he quickly asked me if I was a baseball fan. When I mentioned I was a Giants fan, he looked puzzled, probably because our vehicle had a Texas plate. I told him my dad was a New Yorker and that Giants baseball was what I grew up with and revered. He smiled and proceeded to tell me that he was actually a baseball scout for the Giants. We continued our conversation, though I was somewhat skeptical, but he mentioned that in the towns nearby there were a number of excellent prospects in the high schools and he'd been responsible for signing a few in the past.
"We've got one guy, in particular right now, but I'm not so sure I'm going to sign him."
"Why not?" I questioned.
"Because he's a N___" "And I hate N_____s."
Those seven words. Just like that. Right in my face.
My heart raced, but I said nothing. Just paid the man, and told my friends, "Let's get out of here, I'll tell you why in a minute.
We split. I told them what he said, and we all sat in silence for the next half hour or so.
Coming from Texas, where the KKK advertised on street signs and many of the politicians and law enforcement officers were openly racist in those days, we weren't shocked by the use of the epithet. We just didn't expect it in Pennsylvania.
Of course all this begs the question whether or not anyone can use the N word, under any circumstances. My view is that it depends on context. But like all speech, even a complicated word usage has consequences. The context is all important here. I think the word should be used when describing or relating its usage by another infection or non-fiction. Teaching or reading Huckleberry Finn is a good example. Relating a true story where the word was used in anger or ignorance is another, because to do otherwise would dilute the sting and intention. Scholars and political leaders have discussed and debated the issue for years. When we consider the use of the word by African Americans themselves, and the unwritten rules which govern that usage, the complexities increase.
I doubt the word will drop from common usage, whether innocuously or thrown like a dart, I cannot say. The connotations linger on.
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