Wednesday, November 16, 2011

"Nigga, please...(reconsider)!"

“And niggas say ‘nigga’ to a nigga, a nigga write ‘nigga’ in a lyric, expect a white boy to omit it
The white boy spit it like he spit it, recite it to his friends who, by the way, ain’t niggas…”
-Wale, “The Kramer”

Sometime about one year ago, I came to a realization and resolution: I was no longer a fan of the word nigga, and would therefore stop using it.

There are a plethora of arguments for why (Black) people should or should not use the word nigga, ranging from socio-historical context to more contemporary views of the word’s implications. As I’m sure you noticed, I placed “Black” in parenthesis in the previous sentence because that in and of itself is a common debate point; who has the authority/permission to say nigga? Some individuals believe anybody who is non-white can use it without consequence, but more often (in my experience) more seem to agree that Blacks and Latinos have clearance, absolute and situational respectively (possibly because of many Latinos also identifying as Black as a broader racial categorization), or any bi-racial person who “got some Black in ‘em” (i.e., at least one parent is Black). Now, you may be at best slightly puzzled by that last statement – do not be alarmed, you should be; it’s quite ambiguous. And that is indicative of one issue I have with the entire argument – it is way too open-ended and unclear (for one, where does Blackness begin and end?). As it stands right now, anyone who chooses to use the word nigga is at the mercy of the opinions of those around them at the time of usage; if those within earshot do not deem me “Black enough” (or, nigga enough) to use the word, there are potentially some serious negative repercussions for me. Considering that question was what actually caused my original pause in my own usage of nigga. I was, admittedly, an avid (dare I say enthusiastic?) user of the term. But when I made the transition from undergrad (at Hampton, a school full of…Black people) to Penn State (an overly-white institution, yet and still boasting a wider variety of ethnicities than Hampton), I began to hear other people using the word. Specifically, I heard many Latinos using nigga like it was nobody’s business, when in my opinion, there wasn’t an ounce of Blackness to them (physically, ethnically, or any other way). It seemed they were using their general status as a minority to grant them permission, which didn’t sit right with me. But I digress (slightly).

Before I continue with the specific reasons I decided to curb my utilization of nigga, I must address a particularly salient argument for the term: the suffix differentiation of -er versus -a. Almost everybody will agree that there is generally a considerable difference in connotation between nigger and nigga. The former is the original iteration of the latter, and is inextricably connected with slavery and racism; it was a word thrust upon us (Black people) as a mechanism of dehumanization. Many people now see the alternative nigga as a symbol of empowerment, a reclamation of what was initially meant to oppress. I do see the value in this; you take something that people are going to call you whether you like it or not, and embrace it in such a way that it can no longer hurt you. If embracing nigga was indeed meant to serve this purpose, then I have no problem with it. My concern is that as nigga currently stands, people using the word have strayed so far away from this original reclamation, this empowerment, that they’ve turned the word into something much cheaper and less meaningful. It has become so widespread and pervasive that people who aren’t even Black are using it, and do so ignorant of the historical implications.

So, what caused my “ah ha” moment? A few things. The first I mentioned already: people I perceive as non-Black (and some I know are non-Black) were/are using the word. The second thing is that as I considered my own usage (and that of others around me), I realized that I (and they) were using nigga to describe people who are not Black. (Example: “Yo, have you heard that new Justin Timberlake song? That nigga went off.”) If you are an ardent user of nigga, you have done this before. For me, this didn’t make any sense. Even if I accept the best of arguments for the validation of nigga, why am I using it to describe individuals who are not Black? That seems somewhat contradictory.

The last straw for me was a combination and application of the last two points. If I was using nigga so universally, ascribing people who weren’t even niggas themselves that moniker, and simultaneously giving passive consent to non-Black individuals’ usage of nigga (e.g., not saying, “Hey, you ain’t a nigga, so stop saying nigga.”), how then could I expect that non-Blacks would not say the word? Yes, some vernacular is assigned to a specific group, and if you are not a member you implicitly understand that you should not use said argot – but that is a somewhat unrealistic expectation, in my book. As read in the quote at the beginning of this post, I really like the idea Wale put forth in his song “The Kramer” (although he used it as an argument for continued utilization of the word). Nigga has become so pervasive, so widely-used in social media, that it seems foolish to expect that people would not repeat those things they hear so often, particularly through such medium as music. When singing your favorite song, you typically say all the words through pure rote memory. Sure, if you have an edited version of a record, you might become accustomed to omitting certain words because you always hear the song with blanks already there – but how many people really buy the edited versions of music (excluding 12 year olds whose musical collection is monitored by mom and dad)? If you have the explicit version, you’ll typically repeat those word-for-word. Even if you are conscious enough to omit certain words when you sing, you are saying those words silently in your head as you omit them aloud. At some point, the suppressed text is bound to take flight off your tongue. To me, it is foolish to believe or expect that non-Blacks aren’t using the word nigga, even if the only time they do is when singing a particular song. And that perceivably small instance is more than enough for me to be upset.

I live in the world of reality (at least I try to on a daily basis). Idealism has its place, but not at the expense of me being naïve. In saying that, I am most certainly not naïve enough to believe that everyone will all of a sudden stop saying nigga, or that a ‘No More Nigga’ movement will ensue. I just think that people should be more aware of what they say, and the implications of those words. Don’t run around saying “nigga nigga nigga” all the time and expect that people who are non-Black will never say it themselves.

I must end by admitting that I am not completely free of my usage of nigga; I said I came to the conclusion about a year ago that I was going to stop using the word, but I didn’t say I succeeded. I have reduced my output by about 96% (conservatively), but every now and again a nigga will slip out. Even as I continue to monitor my usage, I am ok with this occasional utterance. As my fellow polished scholar often says (to which I co-sign), I may be well put together, intelligent, and an overall nice guy, “…but I’m still a real nigga*. Don’t get it twisted.”

-JMC-

*Note: By “real nigga,” I mean an individual who is very much in touch with his African American roots, community, and identity, and, while often very agreeable and pleasant, is not so passive as to allow anyone to run all over him. I am confident that (although they would likely not use this exact language) my parents, both highly intelligent, upwardly mobile people, are individuals who would assert this opinion as well.


Post Script: Definitely check out this song by Wale. It has a lot of underlying messages concerning the use of the word nigga. It is unedited and contains strong language, so please keep that in mind if you decide to play it.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Summounded to the court

Talking with a friend yesterday really put some things into perspective for me. He and I often revisit the subject of past loves and ex girl-friends. This conversation started off in a familiar tone and seemed to run the route of our normal conversations concerning the matter. We dialogued about getting back with our exes and if so, what that would look like. We discussed being aware of cues, hints, and other signs that denoted a level of interest on their part. The question of ‘had we missed the cues’ was centric to our discussion. Did we not pick up on the bread crumbs? Did our pride somehow get in the way? We talked about many possibilities but were oblivious to an obvious error. However, in medias res of the conversation, my dude said something that just sunk in me. Using the analogy of sports, we began to unpack the idea of needing just one alley-oop, one wink, one sign, one no look pass, and we'd take the ball and slam dunk it. That’s right. Take the ball and dunk it. How zealous, right? A swift move to the basket without even thinking twice about whether we were supposed to be on the 'court' or not. That frame of thought always overlooks an underlying entitlement attitude which never considers whether or not I have a right to be on the court.

So begs the question: Why am I expecting someone to 'throw me the ball' if I'm not even in their 'game'?

Aside: I use the word game to reference a sphere of activity where two people in a relationship are engaged in the dynamics of said relationship. In the context of this post, we can examine and relate certain concepts in this frame.  

He said instead of waiting for the alley-oop of a "So let's have a conversation..." or the no look pass of a "I miss you let's talk...", he won't be on the court, or even the bench for that matter. He'll be outside until he's summoned. I think he's right. Very right. I often reserve spaces for myself on people's teams, lives, etc. without them even knowing. Thereby bringing with me my expectations of what I think should be happening and how I think I should be treated when I'm not even on the team in the first place.

My boy's statement sunk in me because every guy wants to think that he's the star just waiting on the chance to vindicate his fall from grace on the courts of life. To make right the wrongs of the past that he laments over and labors to rectify. To do those things that he said and thought he'd do if he 'had one more chance'. But more often than not, it doesn't work that way. Our ego and pride presupposes fact and warps reality. Sometimes our zeal for what we want overshadows reason and what is. It is with humility that we must accept any summons or invitation to join the team. And if she wants you back, it's not a matter of being on the court waiting or expecting, but rather it's about being sure. Being sure that if she wants you, she'll make it known; she'll call.

This all goes back to lessons my mom and dad taught me. Dad has always maintained that a gentleman never imposes. Mom always said to never invite yourself.

Reflecting on the conversation, I'm further convinced that entitlement breeds misplaced or at worse, unrealistic expectations. My friend’s statement cut me because it was a knife to my ego. It was precise and cut at the issue of living in between spaces. I realize that it does take a certain depth of character to remain outside when you know how great of a team it is that you want to be on. It is by no means easy because you have to respect her and above all else you have to be humble enough to know that as it stands, you're not her star player. It doesn't mean that you're any less talented, just not the star on that team.

-WAC, III-