Part V: The Wounding Power of “Nigger”
We never had any trouble until some of our southern niggers go up north, and the NAACP talks to them, and they come back home. If they would keep their nose and mouths out of our business, we would be able to do more, and we'll enforce the laws of Tallahatchie County in Mississippi.
A. Why Does It Wound?
“Nigger” was the word kissing the air as families were auctioned throughout the American South. It hovered below black lynched bodies and accompanied civilian and police brutality against blacks throughout the last century. It was the word used by Sheriff Clarence Strider each day during the trial against two white men accused (acquitted, but later confessing to) brutally slaying fourteen year-old Emmit Till. Neither man ever served time for the murder. Sheriff Strider, the town's law enforcement official, greeted black court reporters and Till's mother each day with, “hello niggers.” On college campuses across America, whites have used the N-word to intimidate, bully, and encourage the departure of their black classmates. That blacks could only be “niggers” justified their compromised voting status, lack of legal rights, inadequate schools, and limited freedom.
But why is “nigger” perhaps the most explosive word in the American vernacular? How did “nigger” become synonymous with African, coloured, negro, and black? Why, after centuries of use by almost every ethnic population in the United States, does it continue to wield surreal power? Why are black women the ignored victims of its use by white and black men? Even Randall Kennedy fails to acknowledge black women in his analysis on the term and its targets, with the exception of conflicting anecdotal examples. Perhaps the power of “nigger” is located in the essence of the unshakeable imagery it evokes and the disappointment experienced by its targets that after centuries of investment in America, their collective marginalization persists.
To illuminate, consider first that part of the N-word's wounding power emanates from the images historically positioned aside it: the shiftless, lazy, and unmotivated person. This indolent straw person is always uneducated, disinterested in learning; she is untrustworthy, manipulative, oversexed, unappreciative, irresponsible, unsaved, and disloyal. Her companion is the criminal-minded black man who equally possesses the aforescribed traits, but also possesses a weakness for harming white women. As a result of their perhaps *194 genetic predisposition to these traits, their citizenship is limited or outright denied.
Second, the N-word, as with any pejorative label, locates its power in shaping the target's otherness or second-class citizenship. In this way, she is reminded of her “outsider” status. For black Americans, the outsider status has a historic as well as a contemporary dimension. Indeed, slaves, some of the earliest to settle and labor on American soil, were denied citizenship. This historical aspect of blacks' otherness is accepted by most as a tragic, dark mark on our nation's history, one that has yet to be fully appreciated or for which even an apology has been issued. The N-word could perhaps be more easily shrugged off by blacks were their collective contemporary citizenship or inclusion in America more obvious. If discrimination of African Americans were a relic of our past, rather than a part of the present, and likely future, “nigger” would no longer symbolize or trigger notions of second-class citizenship. However, housing segregation (even in diverse urban cities), disparities in pay, political disenfranchisement, increasing incarceration rate, and dilapidated schools in inner-city neighborhoods remind many of a divided nation where African Americans are less valued as citizens.
Third, no counter insult or label exists for the N-word in the American lexicon. Why is this? “Nigger” magnifies the marginal status of blacks, a position politically and socially unshared with their white compatriots. In this way, the word has significant class as well as racial dimensions. It is a term used in the United States to inflict pain among those deemed unworthy of citizenship and full inclusion. Anti-white pejorative terms lack the significance and power found in the N-word because they cannot hint at the disaffection of the nation-state. Rather, they might cause insult, but evoke an image far different from that of the “nigger,” indicating instead, power, dominance, and control--images that in the United States hardly cause embarrassment, shame, or humiliation.
Nevertheless, were such words to have existed, the physical punishment for using it could have caused severe punishment when one considers how far less stinging orations inspired lynchings.
Fourth, “nigger” is not transitional, nor does it bear a rational relationship to its targets. Very high-achieving blacks, including some of those identified by Professor Kennedy, have experienced the sting of “nigger,” despite their success, intellectual acumen, or demonstrated loyalty to America. In this way, ill-meaning whites (even those far less educated) reminded them that notwithstanding individual achievement, they were yet outsiders and marginal. “Nigger” is a fixed, illusory reality in the American imagination at once synonymous with black, negro, or colored identity. Given its interchangeable relationship with descriptors for African Americans, its targets cannot overcome *195 its association just as they can never overcome blackness itself. “Nigger” carries an immutable quality.
One cannot overcome “nigger” status by even individual achievement. Indeed, how can one ever really overcome something that she never was? Herein lies a significant component of its wounding power; “nigger” transcends group identity and can be fixed even on the individual who works tirelessly toward inclusion, achievement, and assimilation. Moreover, as all scapegoat labels intend to inflict some modicum of guilt, one carries the weight of false association with all the ills besetting her state and nation.
Fifth, “nigger” penetrates the veil of assumed kinship, friendship, and camaraderie. While anger is often perceived as the primary byproduct of an assault with a racial epithet, it may be secondary to the hurt and disappointment experienced by the attacked victim. Dashed expectations surely contribute to the feelings of disappointment. Consider, for example, the disappointment of black servicemen and women who returned from our nation's wars only to be jeered by whites and excluded from parades celebrating the heroism of our veterans. Commentators documented the frustration of black sports heroes, writers, and musicians often booed or belittled at home in America and yet celebrated abroad. It is an incredible challenge under such circumstances to stay peaceful, committed to racial unity, and open to reconciliation. Yet, if blacks are to be hopeful about racial progress in America, then they are ever positioned to be emotionally vulnerable to their fellow white classmates, colleagues, and citizens.
B. The N-Word & Narrative: From The Mouths of Babes
Several years ago, when my daughter was only three years old, her four-year old, white classmate called her a “nigger” in front of a class of Barney and Kermit-loving pre-kindergartners. My daughter surely looked perplexed, as the N-word was not a word used in our home, nor could it have possibly been heard over a television program (at least in her house), as we did not watch television in our home. Her classmate went on to explain that “niggers are black, stupid, nasty, and mean people, and we won't play with them.” With that my daughter was pushed aside and suddenly abandoned by children who the day before were probably her bosom buddies. Prompted by the arrival at our home of a close family friend, who happens to be white, my daughter began to weep and told her new “race” story while tears streamed down her cheeks. She pushed herself against a wall, almost as to remove herself, hide from the embarrassment, or perhaps simply to show her fear. It did not matter that at the time she attended *196 a Southern school; I had experienced that same type of trauma in the North, only I was six when my first assault with the N-word occurred.
Among many considerations opened by my daughter's experience were questions about what prompted an otherwise probably pleasant little girl to act in such a vile manner? How had she come into contact with the word? How did she come upon its definition? Was the definition explicitly expressed to her or inferred based on other language and context? Had there been a crisis in her family where the N-word was then bantered about? Why was my daughter (or any child for that matter) the target of racial scapegoating? What purpose did it serve to target my daughter?
I was curious about how my daughter's teacher responded; decades prior, my teacher responded by sending me to the corner of the playground to play by myself. That powerful experience was one of the few memories that I have of *197 my early educational experience. It helped to shape my understanding of how people affiliate and draw lines of solidarity along racial lines. For students of color in predominantly white academic settings this can lead to considerable isolation, often exacerbated by the lack of faculty of color employed by the school or in the school district.
Of the many possible ways that my daughter's teacher or I could have responded, the least reasonable would have been to obsess over the “pitfall” and “perils” of addressing the situation. Indeed, one of the great political and social gains to emerge from America's civil rights movement was the freedom to articulate the pains caused by racial discrimination and hatred. Although sometimes at one's own physical cost, the unveiling of hidden racism caused our nation to reflect on its hypocrisy and the maintenance of separate (and unequal) societies. These narratives liberated victims or racial injustice, while also providing evidence that harms had been committed and that the social order disrupted. The retelling of the story can be equally powerful and useful, as it provides an opportunity to educate broad audiences.
However, Kennedy's passionate warning to readers about the perils of fighting the N-word's use might ultimately discourage dialogue rather than inspire social discourse. Indeed, his position hovers on the dangerous as it encourages the silence of those harmed (who may already be situationally vulnerable--hence the racial attack). He argues that our racial progress “begets new problems, and [“nigger” ] is no exception.” Among these problems he suggests are the “overeagerness to detect insult,” “unjustified deception” by blacks, “the repression of good uses of nigger,” and “overly harsh punishment” of those who use the word “imprudently.” While these issues deserve careful consideration in a more thorough analysis on verbal racial assaults, conflating them proves a disservice to an informed dialogue on racial epithets. Among other considerations, here the author overlooks the profundity of racism in America that would allow false claims to thrive (i.e., but for such situations being entirely believable, people would pay little attention to them). Moreover, Kennedy fails to take into account the overwhelming number of cases where racial harassment occurs but is never reported. This omission further misinforms what is probably a very broad audience reading his book.
*198 Kennedy leaves little room for dialogue on situations similar to my daughter's experience. In an attempt to highlight malice and insensitivity on the part of black Americans who exploit racial sensitivities, his effort overshadows the psychological harms caused by racial assaults using nigger that affect blacks and whites. In an effort to remind blacks that there are “pitfalls” and dangers to fighting the N-word, Kennedy perhaps misses the point of social responsibility on the part of white Americans. He offers accountability only for blacks by admonishing those comparatively few that have captured media attention through false claims of racial harassment.
Kennedy's position offers neither accountability for whites nor any psychological relief for blacks. In fact, Kennedy's approach in his third chapter seems rather disingenuous as it leads with examples of black women lying about racist attacks. Kennedy gives a harsh lashing to these women, suggesting that racial progress in the United States is severely set back by their misdeeds. He argues, “of all the things that have hurt the campaign against nigger-as-insult, unjustifiable lying and silly defenses have inflicted the most damage.” One might think, based on his reading, that America's race turmoil of the past two decades lies squarely with black teenaged girls.
While Kennedy acknowledges the discomfort among those targeted by use of the N-word, his proposed formula for addressing the repercussions of bigoted speech: “just heal,” is tantamount to a doctor telling a wounded victim to take two aspirin and call her in the morning. This approach overlooks the context in which verbal attacks using “nigger” occurs. It usually accompanies violence of some sort, public embarrassment, and humiliation. To have my daughter shrug off her experience and pretend that her life had not been transformed (because it had--race would now matter to her), would have been imprudent. Equally unwise would have been to leave her with the impression that somehow she embodied what her classmate accused her of being (conveyed through silence), or tell her that the word itself was no big deal and that no one really believes those things.
“Nigger” is a fantasy, developed over the centuries to reify race categorization and the racial supremacy of whites, while reminding blacks of their ever-subordinate position in the United States. The N-word itself, as popularly used, has little to do with the substance of its actual definition or etymology. Instead, we live with the implicit reality of “nigger,” even when the target of such derision seems the antithesis of the word itself. Thus, a child such *199 as my daughter, who at three was in an advanced class, could write her name, form written sentences, and had begun to read, could be made to feel somehow less than a citizen in her classroom and school. She did not feel less capable than her classmates, but rather she began to recognize that her world (school) accommodated the myth and perhaps provided the fertile soil for its growth. “Nigger,” for her, was an unfair blow that told her she was an outsider.
An image had been projected upon my daughter that perhaps could have been explained by the absence of things. Her school simply stood as a microcosm of a larger social order. There were no other black children at her school, and beyond my efforts to donate artwork to the school, only white children and animals were on the walls of most of the other classrooms. Books other than those provided by her parents almost always exclusively celebrated white children and their families, as if blacks did not live in America, could not be found in its churches, streets, or even in its kitchens. As my daughter attempted to negotiate the boundaries of race, she began to ask questions about whether black and “nigger” had the same meaning to white people. She wondered aloud whether pictures of blacks were left out of books with white families because they were afraid that the “nigger person” would appear and scare the little white children and their parents in the stories? She questioned whether “nigger” is forever, or would it go away someday? What do white people do with “niggers?”
Did it matter that these were little girls in this one-way exchange? Would my daughter's emotional and psychological response have been different were she a boy? How would she feel about playing with white girls in the future? Would the little girl have approached my child with the same expression if she were a boy instead of a girl? Would it have changed the teacher's response? Would my response have been different? Should I have forewarned my daughter about the possibility of racial attack with the N-word? By doing so would I have been stereotyping?
My response, to comfort my child, discuss with her what race, racism and “nigger” mean, talk with her teacher and spend time in the classroom reading books to the class would have probably been the same. Arguably, with this particular teacher, her response would probably have been similar, although, she shared with me that she was never prepared through professional development classes or in her academic training to handle such situations. The more sensitive long-term questions were how this experience would shape my daughter's view of herself and how her understanding of female relationships across color lines would develop. Had the barrier of sisterhood between white girls and black girls been established in her mind after this incident? Was it already there for her classmate? Would future incidents occur with other white female classmates that would distinguish my daughter in a negative way and how would future teachers respond?
*200 “Nigger,” signifying dirty, indolent, lazy, and imbecilic was not something my daughter could achieve around or overcome on her own, as she never possessed any of those characteristics. It stood as a myth not only in her reality, but also for millions of others. Professor Kennedy largely overlooks this mythical reality, although those pejorative images were part of a recognized arsenal of terms historically associated with blackness, which in turn translated to “niggerness.” Arguably, “nigger” and black were, and, among some, continue to be, synonymous. Over the centuries, that imagery fueled notions of inferiority among blacks, regardless of age, social position or intellectual achievement. For whites, on the other hand, it served to elevate their social, political, psychological and moral status. To further support this illogical association, scientific explanations were developed to give credibility to such stereotypes and images, most notably through eugenics. The political force behind the eugenics movement would lead to the sterilization of thousands of black women (for fear that they would propagate), and indirectly justified the exploitation of blacks through inadequate schools, housing segregation, and economic exploitation.
As for my daughter, according to her teacher, she was one of the most intelligent and thoughtful children in her class. Her teacher commented that she was “rule oriented” and was focused on following directions and demonstrated good manners. Not surprisingly, “nigger myth” does not draw its strength from reality; it has never truly relied upon reality. Indeed, biological explanations used to support notions of differences between blacks and whites would be given short shrift today, but were common only decades ago. “Nigger-myth” is a race fairytale that although known as false becomes perpetuated overtime and passed on like family china.
C. Big Girls Don't Cry?
At the center of the Harvard Law School controversy last year was a *201 “piggy-back” e-mail sent to a black female student who complained about the use of “nigs” in an online summary of an infamous 1948 Supreme Court case, which involved restrictive covenants in housing contracts. The student who posted the original note asked “Nigs buy land with no nig covenant; Q: Enforceable?” After the female student raised concern about how the blacks in the case were described as “nigs,” an anonymous e-mail was sent to her. In that communication, she was chastised to “work hard” if “you, as a race, want to prove that you do not deserve to be called by that word.” Ironically, the very recent efforts of black students at Harvard Law School to receive a legal education without the disruption caused by racial epithets hurled in their direction resembles that of an era in the not-too distant past. Its use has accompanied physical and emotional violence, which inevitably leads the disruption of social order and causes pain.
Matthias Scholl might certainly have been aware of the racial tensions caused by the original e-mail (as the incident was discussed in classes and comments appeared in the student paper). Nonetheless, he sent a communication to his classmate, advising her to work hard and prove to him that she did not deserve to be called a “nigger.” Implied in his anonymous communication to her was the assumption that blacks could be judged as a group, are lazy, and do not work hard.
What informed Mr. Scholl that he had the authority to impart such judgment or that he should to his female, black classmate? How would he judge when his colleague and her people no longer deserved the punishment inherently and intentionally inflicted by the epithet? What led him to believe that his comments were welcomed? Perhaps he thought he was being helpful, attempting to give the student sage advice about herself and other black people. Although they were classmates, the tone of his e-mail implied a sense of superiority and inferred his black colleague's inferiority. His message, while certainly disruptive, and painful to the victim, especially shortly before final examinations, is nonetheless informative for us all.
Black students, professors, and the Society of American Law Teachers have expressed their concern and frustration, with white faculty members awkwardly stepping into the post-“nigger” racial fracas. One professor, Charles Nesson, proposed a mock trial where he would defend a white student's use of the N-word in a communication to his classmates. Another law professor, David Rosenberg, announced that “blacks have contributed nothing” to torts theory, nor does black studies or critical race theory “enhance understanding” of the discipline. These among other incidents have led black students to assert that *202 Harvard Law School promotes a hostile and unwelcoming environment.
Because law schools can be enormously stressful environments, bouts of depression, anxiety, and frustration are not uncommon aspects of the law school experience. The pressure to demonstrate intellectual capability, compounded by an overwhelming sense of competition with peers, and feelings of isolation, can be debilitating. And, law schools are in a new space; the more diverse the law school's environment, the more difficult it becomes to reserve intellectual excellence (or even competence) as an exclusive, white-male space. On the other hand, the myths of black inferiority, incompetence, and slothfulness are shattered and thus a social paradigm that perpetuates notions of white supremacy slowly falls apart. Feminist legal scholars have increased our understanding on this point with the integration of women into the legal academy.
Mischaracterizing the national or even university diversity dilemma as a black issue or “the women's problem” removes attention from the extent to which it is a white problem. Said differently, our society relies upon “nigger” to buttress white insecurity and fear. Kennedy might likely disagree with me on this point. The recent Harvard Law debacle, and other racial incidents at universities and schools across the United States, demonstrate not only that words have the power to wound and deeply offend, but also that a younger generation of white Americans are willing to use epithets and racial stereotypes to achieve those purposes. In reality, “nigger” does more than offend; it castigates blacks, reminding us all that in spite of African Americans' several hundred years of service and servitude, we are not all brothers and sisters under the American flag, united for liberty and justice for all. The wounding or even killing power of the N-word translates equally in America's colleges and universities, places where we would hope for ideals of “good citizenship” to be in constant action and revealed in faculty and student conduct.
*203 In the context of “nigger,” whites are aware of the betrayal, indignity, sting, humiliation, fear and casting conferred by the N-word's use, and black are aware that they know. Why, if blacks know about the game of “nigger,” would they continue to be offended by its use Kennedy asks? Critical race scholars Mari Matsuda, Charles Lawrence, Richard Delgado, Patricia Williams and others comment on the emasculating power of racial epithets. The wounding power of “nigger” may be derived from the physical violence and social castration that historically has accompanied its usage. “Nigger” reminds us of who has citizenship and who does not.
Scholarship on hate speech in large part responded to racial attacks on college campuses across the United States in the 1980s and 1990s, wherein students, many of them black women, were verbally assaulted. The N-word (as to which it is euphemistically referred) evokes fear, and it accompanied violent rampages in the United States, assaults that ended in lynchings of men, women, and children. There is a power, purpose, and pressure in a tense environment to allow oneself to “let go.” This “letting go” process can allow one to project his fears and inadequacies on others, a scapegoating of sorts on those perceived or actually more vulnerable. Once freed of his own anxieties, he can walk away and wrap himself in the First Amendment, while the object of his aggression is left to suffer the repercussions of his blow and compounded anxieties. This, perhaps the crudest form of engaging with another human being, requires dehumanizing the other while assuming a posture of superiority.
