Join me on Pinterest

Hi! Jonathan has been using Pinterest, a place to discover, collect, and share inspiration, and wants you to join and start pinning. Accept Invite Check out Jonathan's pins: ©2013 Pinterest, Inc. | All Rights Reserved Privacy Policy | Terms and Conditions

Life, death, and Black maleness

Black boys are dying. Black men are dying. Yes, death is a reality for us all, however, a string of events within the last year involving the death of Black boys and men, particularly the manner in which they have died, (either at the hands of a racist or by suicide) has caused me to more acutely consider my own existential mortality as a Black man. Though normally inclined to introspection, I'd rather not visit the idea of finiteness within the context of being Black, as it is a matter extremely taxing on the psyche. As much as I would have preferred my mind to not be encumbered with that particular subject matter, this past summer found me yet again picking at those thoughts, especially in light of the Trayvon Martin trial and subsequent verdict. At the request of my friend, I wrote a reflection piece for her blog about the verdict. In that post I articulate my thoughts and feelings on the verdict, but also grapple with being both Black and male and the implications that may or may not have for life or death in 21st Century America. The post is provided for you below. Though long, I encourage you to read.

-WAC III-

Saturday, July 13, 2013 10:15pm-Georgetown, DC

Bumbling around Georgetown, my good friend and I find a restaurant still open and willing to seat us at this late hour. Intent on showing my boy a good time in my city, I was glad to make good on our desired goal, seafood. After a few ultra-pleasant exchanges between us and the restaurant staff, Calvin and I wait in the lobby until we’re summoned to be seated. Heading to the bathroom my eye catches the t.v.; it’s on CNN. “Oh yeh”, I think, “the Trayvon verdict is supposed to come out this evening.” I pause. I watch. Silent, lips move, images flicker, and words trek across the bottom of the screen. Not guilty. “Hmph”, I shrug, “I’m not surprised.” Acting against my normal impulse, that moment found me not wanting to wrestle with the implications or pontificate about race. I just wanted to eat. For that moment, that hour or so of good fellowship, I didn’t want my world disrupted. I wanted to enjoy good food, good service, and the company of my good friend. He was oblivious to the ruling at that time and quite honestly, I didn’t want it to influence the tenor of our conversation. Tucking it away and content with not bringing it up again until I’d thoroughly mulled it over,  I went on about my evening.

Not guilty. Not surprised.

Saturday, July 13, 11:45pm-U Street Corridor, DC

A ten minute cab ride uptown finds us at U street. There’s a palpable energy brooding in the atmosphere. It’s almost electric. I sense it when I step out of the cab. Not sure if it’s due to the exaggerated number of folks in town for the Delta convention or if it’s because it’s just another Saturday night in the city, however, there is a something in the air that I can’t identify which keeps my eyes glancing around in expectancy. Just then, a group of protestors bustle down the street. “No justice”, “No peace” they chant. Signs about justice, Trayvon, and the difference in value of Black and White life make their appearance among the crew. Still not surprised at what I’m witnessing (it makes sense to me that people would protest after an unfavorable verdict), I look at my boy and he’s  obviously shocked by the news, yet he’s also ecstatic that he’s watching something like this unfold. A lady who works for some radio station comes up to us holding a tape recorder and asks us for our thoughts on the verdict. Immediately, Calvin starts on a diatribe about the law being unfair, I hear him say “Black”, and then he kind of fades out as I start thinking about what I’m going to say when she asks me. My turn. With my “not surprised and my answer represents all of Black America” disposition fully intact, I respond as honest as I possibly could at the moment and say that I’m not surprised. Feeling like the words I was speaking were ringing hollow, I remarked how I at least hope this will start the conversation about race and the law in the United States.  I say something about calling for a critical examination of race and the law, especially as the United States is becoming more racially and ethnically diverse. The conversation ends, she thanks me for my time, and now I began processing all that has taken place within the last three hours. The term “second-class citizen” comes to mind and it sticks. Later on, I tried to explain to my boys this feeling of second-class citizenship and how situations like this serve to exacerbate and perpetuate that notion. I talked to them about that strange place that we as Black folks still occupy. That place where as a Black person, you hope the law will protect and provide justice, giving credence to your human existence, yet you also contend with the historical narrative and constant feeling that the law doesn’t fully protect your interest as a person.

Not guilty. Not surprised.

Sunday, July 14 and Monday, July 15, 2013

Rhetoric. Noise. Outcry. Numb. Debated with myself if I racialized the issue too much.

Monday finds the door to my office closed the entire day. I try to do work but it is to little avail, as I grapple with existential questions concerning my identity as a Black man. 

Not guilty. Not surprised.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

As I try to make sense of this thing, thoughts come to me and I jot them down. My day is invaded with random pieces of phrases and thoughts regarding the case. Here’s an excerpt from an email I sent to my mentor that day:

As I write this email I'm poignantly reminded about the importance of our work, that if even incrementally, stereotypes, perceptions, misunderstandings and knowledge concerning Black people must be challenged and reshaped. May this be the passion that both informs and guides our writing.

As my parent’s only son, I wanted to reach out and hug them, letting them know that I love them and that I care, let them know that I was still here. That day I wanted more to reach out to and check up on the young Black boys and men in my life. I wanted to let them know that they’re special and that I care because that day it hit me. Trayvon could have easily been one of my students. He could have been a young Black boy, fresh faced and wide-eyed, on his way to George Washington University to sit in my classroom for the semester. He could’ve sat in my office as we discussed what it means to be a young Black man at a highly-selective PWI (Predominantly White Institution) and I would’ve told him that he is capable, he belongs, and that I am excited about his success.  I would've helped him navigate the institution. I would've dapped him up. I would've told him I was proud. But now that’s not possible. Reflecting on this, I was reminded about the space that Black men in America occupy: at once both feared and hated, oft misunderstood, recipients of undue scrutiny, always thought to be suspect. A space of being othered instead of embraced. This is the reality of Black men. Earlier that day I wrote this:

Frustration. The angst, I feel it now. It makes sense to me why I should feel mad. On the bus to work today I see Black men. Some are wearing caps and sneakers, others suits and dress shoes. They span the spectrum and the common denominator is that they're both Black and male. And as such, subject to be misperceived. Kanye's Poplar Trees is blaring in my ear. A scowl invades my face. I write.  I get it. I'm upset because others still view us, yes us, as a monolith and as a result of this monolithic thinking, Trayvon could've been my o…

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

So what’s my resolve? It’s more so preventative in that I fervently hope my thoughts, actions, interactions, work, and research challenge and reshape stereotypes, perceptions, misunderstandings and knowledge concerning Black people, so another Trayvon Martin will not be killed. 

"The process is what makes the results..." (Cox, 2014). 

"...educational opportunity that is limited only by individual desire, ability, and need -is the most valuable service that society can provide for its members" (Adler and Van Doren, 1940). 

Just Go...

I was chatting a moment ago with my fellow Scholar, and our blog came up. We talked about how we haven't posted in (cough) years, and speculated as to why not. We used to write so much, and fairly often. We wondered if our minds were simply too taxed in other areas - work, schools, etc. - to give us the bandwidth to blog like we used to do. I dismissed this idea quickly; when we started the blog, school and work were just as prominent in our lives as they are now (although we have since reversed roles: I the student; he the worker). Then a thought occurred to me: maybe we needed to go back to the beginning, to when we first started the blog. Originally, we created the blog to give ourselves space simply to write and share what we thought, about any and everything. We had no grand plans for it. We just wrote what was in our heads or on our hearts. Most of the first few posts were a few sentences long. Wisps of thought. Looking back, I believe these unfiltered snippets were like literary kindling, catching fire quickly, growing into blazing flames. We got hot. We got used to going off at a moment's notice, putting pen to paper (or more aptly, finger to key) and leaving the contents of our minds flashing brilliantly across the page in full forest fire fashion. But the desire to produce consistently at such a level became more of a burden than bliss, and our fire slowly burned down, until almost nothing remained. But as a phoenix rises from its own ashes, embers can be coaxed back to life...

I realized we needed to get back to the basics. To simply write, however and whenever the urge hits. To resist the pressure to "go off," and to simply "go..." Sometimes, you can get so caught up in trying to produce at such a high level that you get stalled, worrying more about the results as opposed to the process. The process is what makes the results, not the other way around. Sometimes, you need to stop worrying about doing great things, and just do...something.

This is the rebirth. The beginning. We'll stop trying to go off...and just go. Where will we end up? Well, that's the fun part...

-JMC-

Directly to the Point

It occurred to me recently (as in, ten minutes ago) that people very often describe themselves as “direct,” but in reality…they are not. Alas, I have found myself in that category on many an occasion. But, I posit, this happens most often not because I do not want to be a direct person, but because social norms and individual situations dictate that I must not be a direct person. By ‘social norms’ I mean that it is typically considered rude or insensitive when you are too direct (of course varying based on context and culture), and by ‘individual situations’ I mean situations with individuals, where most of the people I interact with do not want me to be direct (e.g., they will take it too personally). Therefore, as a rough estimation I would say that 98% of the time I am not direct because I believe I can’t be, and 11% of the time I am not direct because I am at heart a nice guy who doesn’t want to hurt people’s feelings. (Yes, that is more than 100%, but I’m allowing for some overlap of the two reasons. I can count, thank you.) But this is outside the purview of my point.

Back to those who describe themselves as “direct,” but who are not. Yes, I believe there are others who might describe their own indirectness in the same fashion I did my own, but this is largely irrelevant. I am speaking specifically about those who engage in interaction with an explicit ‘other,’ and describe themselves as “direct,” possibly with a sentence such as “I am a very direct person: I prefer to just tell it like it is, and I’d rather you do the same with me. There’s no reason to ever beat around the bush, just be straight up.” Many people who engage in this sort of self-imposed attribution are probably not aware that they are lying. (Ok, that might be a bit too direct and harsh: they are not telling the truth.) What they are really saying is, “I prefer to be mostly direct with you, most of the time. But you should be completely direct with me. Mostly.” Very different statement. And the reason I say people who really feel this way are not “direct” is because if you are not completely direct, then by definition you are indirect, which is NOT DIRECT.

I’ll make my case in a couple quick ways. If you think about “directness” on a moving scale, then at the far right you have “Direct” and the far left you have “Indirect.” “But wait,” you say. “There are degrees of directness – I can be somewhat direct or very direct.” False. You cannot. There are varying degrees of indirectness only. Look at the definition for the word “direct,” in its adverb form in which we use it in this context: “proceeding in a straight line or by the shortest course; straight; undeviating; not oblique;”¹ “stemming immediately from a source;” ² “having no compromising or impairing element.” ² You will see there is no room for being less than direct. Therefore, anything less than or not completely direct is some varying degree of indirect. To put it another way, using a spatial analogy, if you said you were going to go directly to the store, you only went directly there if you did not go or stop anywhere else on the way. For those naysayers who would attempt to debunk this example by saying that one could go directly to the store using a circuitous route (i.e. take a longer route, but not make any stops), I say again that this is indirect, as it stands in direct opposition to the definition of direct. Direct is “by the shortest course,” or it is not direct. Sorry.

I posit that those who claim they are “direct” people but make relational “stops” or use “circuitous routes” with those to whom they assert their directness are in actuality being some degree of “indirect.” Possibly a low level, but still indirect at base. And therefore, not direct. Now, this isn’t a judgmental thrashing of those to whom this applies. More of a call to thought: possibly you should consider what you are really saying, what you want to say, and how you should classify/express yourself to others (particularly those who, like me, would expect someone who told us they were going to be direct to actually be direct).

I believe “directness” gets a bad rap. Most people tend to see being “direct” as being somehow insensitive, or thoughtless. I postulate that it can be the exact opposite (although admittedly, not always; it depends on the individual’s personality). Being direct typically requires some level of forethought – how else would you know what the most direct route was? I think indirect communication can sometimes be one of the greatest flaws of human interaction. How can we expect others to know exactly what we mean or think if we won’t tell them explicitly? Many a relationship (platonic, romantic, familial, whatever) has probably been ruined, or in the least greatly strained, unnecessarily, because people won’t talk to others with direction and purpose. Don’t get me wrong, indirectness certainly has its place, but I think we should use it like salt or alcohol – in moderation.

-JMC-

Developing the Whole Self

I recently had a conversation with a good friend that was difficult, but in the end, very enlightening and uplifting. He spoke about discontentment with his life: with his romantic endeavors, his current intellectual pursuits, the direction of his life, everything. He described how the other day, he participated in an activity I personally know for him has been one of his greatest joys for years, yet he experienced not one ounce of enjoyment on this occasion. He also said something that I believe was key: that when he put his life in perspective, he could not think of one reason why he should be discontent – by most standards, he is doing incredibly well, and many people would probably give almost anything to be in his shoes (literally and figuratively) – but he still felt unhappy. He could not put his finger on the source of his dissatisfaction with his life, but he felt it acutely all the same.

I say this conversation was difficult for two reasons. First, it was hard hearing a friend for whom I care deeply describing the pain and struggle he was experiencing. Second, I completely understand how he feels, because I have felt this way before myself. I am an excessive worrier by nature, and have been prone to (and struggled with) depression as long as I can remember. I’ve been in the place where I was completely unhappy with my life, despite not being able to specify the origin of my discontent and all outward signs being antithetical to me “needing” to feel that way. I literally felt my friend’s pain, and that was difficult. But the conversation was also enlightening and uplifting, because of the resultant discussion, and I believe it was so for both my friend and me.

As we were talking, what stuck out to me was his comment about not being able to pinpoint the source of his discontentment. Everything on the outside was technically good, maybe even great, by most standards, which to me pointed to something internal that wasn’t in place. I talked to my friend about a few things I’ve noticed. He has always been an intellectual, and makes sure he keeps his mind sharp by consuming information, whether it’s technical knowledge for his job or schooling, current events and politics, sports, or personal interests. He has an enviable social life, consistently making time for friends, fellowship, and fun. He also exercises regularly, and is conscientious about eating a healthy diet. He takes care of himself well, mentally, socially, and physically…but there was a piece I saw missing, which for me directly correlates with the internal self which for him was out of alignment: spirituality.

So often we as humans seem to forget that we are beings made up of multiple parts, and that in order to be whole, we need to maintain all of those parts. I believe that essentially, there are four aspects to our wellbeing: physical, mental, social, and spiritual. These can be further broken down into smaller divisions, which many theories do, but in a gross sense, these cover everything. As humans we have a physical body, and we have to take care of it. Almost everything we do is executed through physical movement or processes. In fact, if these physical processes ever stop working, you’re typically dead (for instance breathing – if your lungs cease to work, you will either need a machine to do it for you, or you will die). In the same way, we have to take care of our mental functions. If you don’t keep your mind sharp by learning new things, or staying engaged in those things you know, you will become stagnant and unproductive, and your life will be that much harder. We humans are also social creatures; we exist in relation to others. Yes, there are varying degrees to which people desire or need contact with other people, but fundamentally we are built to work, play, live, be with others, to be social. But there is also an internal aspect to our nature: spirituality. People may call it different things, but the essence remains the same – there is something within each of us that makes us unique and different, that gives us life, often referred to as a soul or spirit. And it needs to be maintained as well. So many people do things to work on one or two aspects of their lives to the neglect of other areas, and often the area that gets the least attention is the one that, arguably, needs the most – the spirit. It’s when you neglect the spirit, the internal, that everything on the outside can be going perfectly yet you still feel unfulfilled.

For me, my spirituality manifests itself through my faith in God, so that’s what I spoke to my friend about. I told him about how, when I was experiencing a similar phase in my life (I should say phases, because it’s happened more than once), while it was extremely helpful to have strong support from my family and friends, what really brought me through was my faith in God, that He was in control of my life and I could trust Him completely. There’s a verse in the Bible that addresses worry and anxiety, Philippians 4:6, which says that we should not worry about anything, but instead, through prayer (and with thanks), present everything to God. What I shared with my friend specifically though was the verse that follows that, verse 7, which states: “and the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your heart and mind.” For me, that verse is applicable to more than just worry. My friend described a feeling that he could not specifically pinpoint that was causing him to be discontent – a feeling that he could not understand. In a situation like that, you need a peace that transcends all understanding, and God promises that if you bring things to Him through prayer, He will give you that peace. I suggested that my friend actively work on that part of his life, his spiritual wellbeing, with the same intentionality that I witness him pursuing the other aspects of his life. And the same should be true for everybody else, myself included.

As I said previously, this was an enlightening and uplifting conversation, for me as well. I say that for two reasons. One, I believe God orchestrated this discussion in part to give me an occasion to share my faith in a way in which I was comfortable. I am not shy about my beliefs, but unless someone asks me about them I rarely go out of my way to share, because I never want to be seen as a “pushy” Christian, or someone who is trying to thrust his beliefs upon another – but I do recognize that as a Christian, I am called to tell others about Christ. God knows me better than I know myself, and that I’ve been thinking about this issue a lot, so he gave me the perfect chance to speak up without feeling pushy. Second, this conversation gave me another reminder to keep my own spiritual wellbeing in the forefront of my mind. I often fall into the (unintentional) trap of working on one aspect of my life to the neglect of others, and constant reminders help me stay fresh in my commitment to my own development.

I truly believe that it is important for everybody to find some spiritual grounding, whatever that means for them individually. That can be through some organized religion, or many other outlets. If for you that is a religious affiliation, are you reading your Bible, Quran, or whatever holy text you follow? Are you meeting regularly with others who share your beliefs? Are you praying, or maybe just sitting quietly and meditating? It’s crucial that you find whatever that thing is for you, and you actively develop it, for your own wellbeing. If you work on this foundational aspect of your life, you will likely find that everything else seems to fall into place much more easily…and in turn, you will probably be much more content.

-JMC-

Beyond face value

I guess I’m at the point in my life where as a man I want to wanted, liked, and appreciated for being more than attractive. Yes. The subject of this post is fairly obvious and there are several ways you can come at the subject. So, for the sake of clarity and brevity I’ll frame how I’m thinking about it and what led me to such thinking.

Earlier this week I was out at a party having a good time among friends. People were enjoying themselves, drinks were had, attractive women smiled. A scene I’m all too familiar with. Later on in the evening I was complimented by a young lady. By young I mean 21 young. It was flattering and cute but it didn’t hold much weight. I kindly thanked her and was pretty sure I didn’t want to continue a conversation with her. I was naïve in knowing that this compliment was her way of making a move. Granted, this too is a scenario I’m familiar with but somehow in my mind I see it playing out differently. Nonetheless, a pseudo-conversation ensued wherein I smiled thanking her for her compliments and such all while alluding to the fact that I wasn’t interested. The reason I wasn’t interested is because I didn’t get from her that she wanted to know me beyond me being attractive. I also perceived based on our conversation that she wouldn’t know what to do with me and would therefore become disenchanted.  What I mean here is that there is a lot to me and not everyone can appreciate that “a lot”. That “a lot” entails my love of reading, my fascination with thinking, and a host of other interests that come along with being me. Those are parts of me that make up me.

Another part of me is me being attractive or what some may find physically attractive. I get that. That is part of me as well but I don’t want that to be all a woman finds attractive about me because it’s the most superficial and fleeting of one’s qualities.  I want the fact that the library is one of my favorite places to be as equally appealing and satiating as my appearance. Or better, that she finds my character to enhance my looks. Before I get too far along, this post isn’t a backwards way of self-aggrandizement. What’s at the heart of it is that I’m growing. Beauty is not enough for me. I’ve said that before in reference to women but this time I mean it in regards to me. No longer can I relegate myself to just coasting on being physically attractive. There’s more. I want the “Oh he reads” or the “Oh he’s really thoughtful” to be said with as much delight and conviction as the “Oh he’s cute”.

Though the pseudo-conversation from this week spurred me to write, it was actually a proxy for the many times it’s happened where I was content to just be found attractive. I do know now that I do like to be appreciated for what I have to offer by way of intellect. I think too, that my sensitivity about this subject stems from me trying to battle the stereotypes of Black men; two of which being that we’re hypersexualized and non-intelligent. Being aware of the many stereotypes, (some of which I fall prey to) I conscientiously navigate my interactions with women so as not to lean too heavily on my looks; because ultimately, I don’t want to be labeled as an ASN (Ain’t Sh*t N*gga).

This post is also to say that women finding me attractive in terms of me being “smart”, “intellectual”, or in some way interesting beyond my looks is still new to me. I do know how I feel when the opposite sex recognizes and appreciates those qualities and it’s a great feeling. And I also think they feel the same way when somehow upon our first meeting we find ourselves in fervent discussion about our latest reads as opposed to something superficial. Perhaps then introducing a “both and” concept would help to rectify my issue. I think being both physically attractive and ________ (insert quality) are not mutually exclusive. How they are reconciled may look different based on the person. How it looks for me is something I’m actively trying to figure out while yet hoping to be understood and perceived in a more balanced way.  

-WAC, III-

The Polished Scholars go to Harvard

Hello ladies and gentlemen. It's been quite awhile (much too long, truth be told) since our last post, but we're back. For this post, we decided to do something different. Check out our short video, in which we discuss our recent presentation at Harvard University's Graduate Student Research Conference - Changing Progress: The Science of Education Revolution. Entitled "The New Negro: Developing the Whole Self as a Mechanism for Success," our round-table discussion addressed the beginning stages of our newest research project surrounding Black male achievement in higher education. Enjoy!

"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.