"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.

"Et tu, Brute?" A Retrospective on the Unimaginable Defense of Black Schools

When I made the choice to attend a historically Black school for college, I always knew I'd have to defend my choice...but not to other Blacks.

Since I made that decision – arguably the best decision I ever made in my life – I've been on a constant battlefield, defending my choice. I've faced disbelief, bigotry, ignorance, elitism. I've been looked down upon, questioned, smirked at, ignored, discounted. Interestingly (sadly, painfully) enough, the majority of the time, these things have come from my own people. Black people. Nine of out ten times, if I'm having a discussion with someone about my choice in school, and they are questioning, invalidating, or otherwise demeaning my experience, it is not a white person (or Other) doing the talking. Possibly Black people feel more comfortable giving their "honest" (read: negative) opinions to me, a fellow Black person, than someone who is not Black would feel. But even still, it is disheartening to know that so many of the derogatory comments and dismissive thoughts come from those with whom I identify the most.

I have heard some of the most absurd things from Black people about my choice in schooling. "Going to a Black school will prevent you from being able to cope in the real world; the real world isn't all Black." (The "real world" isn't all white either, which many schools effectively are, and colleges are microcosms of society, protected bubbles which harbor students from the "real world" for 4 years anyway.) "I grew up around all Black people, so why would I want to go to school with all Black folks?" (Because #1, all Black people are the same and #2, all of the people you grew up with went to college. Think on that.) "You're a sellout." (What? Why am I even listening to your ign'ant a$@?) And my personal favorite: "The education you get at a Black school is inferior to that at white schools." (Because all white schools are Harvard. Even West Bloomdale County State University, Springfield Campus, whose average combined SAT score is 550 and hasn't had full accreditation since 1972. No wait, it's because money is the sole indicator of institutional effectiveness. Oh, my fault, the REAL reason is because with all those Negroes being in the same place, there's no way educational standards can be high enough to compete. That's it.) These are all real comments I've heard from people, MANY times over. And the overwhelming majority of the time, they were Black.

Most recently I heard it said that Black people at HBCUs believe that Black students at PWIs aren't Black enough, that they don't fully understand what it means to be Black because they attended a white school. Are there people who feel this way? Undoubtedly. Are there a lot of people, or is there enough of a critical mass for it to matter? Emphatically, no. I cannot believe that this is true because it is so far from the experience I know, the people I know (and quite frankly, we of the HBCU brand spend so much time defending our experiences that we don't have time to dismiss another's!). I definitely know that there are stereotypes and perceptions that each group has about the other (PWI and HBCU students). But I also believe that destroying these stereotypes is largely the responsibility of students at PWIs. Why? Because PWIs often have environments which are unwelcoming in many respects for Black students (in general, let alone for Black students who don’t even attend that school). Are these environments created by the Black students at the schools? No. But these students are a part of the environment, whether they like it or not, and are therefore part of the perpetuation of it by association. It’s a hard fact to understand, let alone assume, but true nonetheless. And as a result, there is a potential transference of perceived belief that occurs, where you (the PWI Black student) are now seen as condescending or demeaning or unwelcoming. Now think about the students on both sides who want to bridge the gap, or have a strong desire to interact with their fellow Black students on the other campus. What happens to these two groups is likely very different. Black students at PWI want to kick it at the local HBCU. They go over to campus and walk around. They blend in (insomuch as their skin color and general appearance is Black). They are welcomed, or at worst left alone, seen by others as students who go to the school but “maybe I don’t know them yet.” Now take the Black student at an HBCU, who wants to kick it at the local PWI. They go over to campus and walk around. By the way, the campus is approximately 6% Black, so merely by stepping onto the campus, these random students have now gained the school an extra percentage point. They are looked at as anomalies. They are stopped by the campus police to ask if they would furnish their student IDs, “because that’s standard practice.” Or they see a flier for the “Tennis Pros & Rap Hoes” party that Delta Lambda is throwing that weekend. You tell me, which group of Black students are going to have the easiest time reaching out to the other? Now, of course I recognize that my example was very generalized, and there are multiple other factors that would play into any given situation, such as school size and location, the individual personalities of the students, etc. But even still, I think the point is easy to see and accept.

What angers me the most about having to defend my choice in schools is that almost without fail (and I say "almost" as a kindness; I would be much more comfortable omitting that word completely), the Black people who have said these things HAVE NEVER ATTENDED A BLACK SCHOOL. EVER. Not even for a semester. Not even a week-long study abroad at Tuskegee or Fisk. Add to this the fact that if someone attended an HBCU for undergrad, and then pursued an advanced degree, he or she more than likely next attended a predominantly white institution. Conversely, someone who went to a PWI for undergrad and then sought a graduate degree is highly unlikely to choose a Black school. (Admittedly, I have no data to back this up...but I'd stake near any amount of money that this is true.) The result: these Black people who are so adamantly against Black school educations likely have no real, first-hand experience with the schools they so easily dismiss. They base their opinion (which they see as fact) on things they read, or the handful of people they know who attended a Black school, or the 4 days, 6 hours, and 32 minutes total they’ve spent on an HBCU campus. And this is the epitome of ignorance. True, we all do it to some extent (believe something false about others based on limited knowledge); but this hurts so much more when it comes from your own people.

When are we going to learn, as Black people, that there are so many things already working to divide us, that we cannot create division among ourselves? When will we refuse to subscribe to these Willie Lynch-esque ideologies (who, according to much scholarship, wasn't even a real person)? These crab-in-a-bucket mentalities continue to hold us back as a people, and it kills me a little each day. But I digress. Let me refocus on the more narrow idea I’ve addressed in this post. I’m tired. I’m tired of having to constantly defend my educational choice, to a people who should be the first to accept and praise my decision. More than anything, though, I’m hurt. Sad. I expect more from my own kind. One of the greatest lessons I learned at my undergraduate institution, my alma mater and Home by the Sea, Hampton University, was that there is a richness and a fullness to Blackness of which I was previously unaware. This understanding, which many of my peers at HBCUs across the nation share, leads me to accept Black people everywhere, from all different manner of backgrounds and experiences, as Black, part of the multifaceted whole that is Blackness. So when I hear my fellow Black people dismissing or diminishing my experience at a Black school, my heart drops and I want to scream, “Wake up!!” You don’t have to have gone to a Black school. They aren’t for everyone, there are countless great institutions around the country that you can attend, and have a fulfilling educational experience, both Black and white (and otherwise). But don’t…DON’T…discount my choice.

-JMC-

A Question of Preference

Of late, I have often found myself discussing the idea of dating outside of one’s race. Certainly this is an idea that deserves attention in present times. If you look around, whether on the streets around you or in the media, you can see that it is an increasing phenomenon to see mixed-race couples. There are a plethora of reasons for this, none of them any less valid than another. The world is shrinking, mostly due to social media and the ability to connect with anyone at any place around the world via the internet. Minority populations in the U.S. are steadily becoming the majority, and there is an ever-growing international presence within our borders as well. While there are irrefutably still very segregated places throughout America, there are many cities and neighborhoods where there is a good mixture of people from different backgrounds and cultures; as a result, some of the children from these areas are growing up with diversity and difference being the norm. It follows that as they grow older, they may not view dating outside of their race as out of the ordinary. Whatever the real reason (or reasons), more and more mixed-race couples are popping up, and as a result more and more people are considering this as an option.

As I contemplate this idea myself, I find myself in an interesting position, one riddled with internal conflict, particularly in light of my choice of job in multicultural affairs. I believe that people should be free to date whomever they choose, and be free to do so without persecution. But even within this belief, I know that I have levels and limits, particularly for myself. As a person of color, in particular a Black man, I believe I would be ok dating outside of my race…as long as it was another person of color. I cannot see myself dating a white woman – even to the point of saying that will not date a white woman. I classify (or justify?) it as a preference, based largely on mutual interest, understanding, and experiences – and I can’t ignore the phenotypical aspects as well. I’ll explain both. To the first point (mutual interest, understanding, and experiences): another person of color is much more likely to understand my experiences as a Black man, and have congruent ideas and interests because of this understanding. A white woman is far less likely to align with me along these issues, as her status in American society affords her the opportunity to not have to deal with the same struggles as a person of color. It is important to note that racial/ethnic identity is not an absolute indicator that a person will understand or even sympathize with the experience of minorities in America – but it does significantly increase that individual’s chances. If I had to choose between a socially-conscious white woman and a Black woman who in essence didn’t know she was Black or tried to separate herself as much as possible with her Blackness, I’d pick the white girl. To the second point (phenotype): depending on what ethnicity you’re talking about, women of color are much more likely to have the physical attributes I find attractive: curves, melanin-rich skin, curly hair, etc. Again, being a person of color is no guarantee that you will have these things, but the likelihood is most definitely increased.

As I have explored my ideas about the aforementioned, both through conversation with others and as an internal process, I have seen weakness in pieces of my philosophy. The greatest problem I see is of continuity: if I say I believe people should be able to date whomever they wish, but limit myself in my dating choices, do I truly believe what I say? Is it possible to believe one thing for others but not for yourself? In some ways I think this contradiction could be perceived as hypocritical, and maybe it is. I’m not entirely sure, but it is high on my list of things to contemplate and sort out.

While reading these thoughts about my dating preferences, many people will undoubtedly have seen another potential weakness inherent in my thinking. When it comes to racial preferences via classification, where do you draw the line? By that I mean where does one race end and another begin? It’s all very convoluted. For instance, when I say “white women,” I am thinking more specifically about Americans. But what about Europeans, for example? Certainly many (if not all) of them are considered white, but is there not a difference between the people in Italy and an Ireland? Spain and Germany? You can come much closer to home and ask these same questions. What about some Latinos, from the Dominican Republic or Puerto Rico, or other places? Some are blond-haired and blue-eyed, thus outwardly would appearing “white” (and arguably are white, as white is a racial indicator and not an ethnic identity, but that’s another conversation). I once dated a beautiful Israeli woman – in my mind, she was a person of color, but for all intents and purposes when she was walking down the street most people would look at her and think “white.” It gets so convoluted that it makes my head spin, and arguments for what is or isn’t go in and out of the window. What it ends up boiling down to is a question of what makes a person a “person of color.” Skin color? Experiences? Or both? I’ve already addressed this in part – I know that simply being a certain color does not guarantee that one will have certain beliefs or experiences…but it can and does increase the likelihood for this being the case.

Another issue I have with my own thoughts is a question of whether or not my thinking is right. Should I think these things at all? By having “preferences” am I really just practicing discrimination? How would I feel if a white person said the same things I am saying, but in reverse? White man: “I think people should date who they want, but I won’t date a Black woman because she probably won’t have the same experiences as me or understand me as well as another white woman could.” It makes me both laugh and cringe, and I’m not sure whether or not I think it’s inherently wrong, although initially I think it’s not (but is this me unconsciously wishing to validate my own thoughts?). As someone concerned with social justice and equality, I know that we as a society need to move further towards acceptance and appreciation of difference; we are far too segregated now. But I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary to date outside of your race to achieve this goal, though I’m sure some would argue that it is (though I recognize that it certainly helps). Engrained within my desire to date within-race or, if not within, at least a person of color, is a deep-seated reason which I cannot seem to shake. As mentioned, all of the things I love are wrapped up in women of color – the look, the experiences, and the understanding. But outside of that, I willingly admit that I feel social pressure to date a Black woman, both from external and internal sources. Externally, it is no secret that most Black people shun those who date outside of the race, particularly those who date white people (and given the racial history of this country, it’s not hard to understand why). Internally, I believe I have a certain obligation to marry a Black woman. As I work in higher education, I know the statistics regarding Black men and level of education, which more often than not translates to level of success attained in life. As a Black woman moves up the educational and social ladder, she finds fewer and fewer Black men on the same level. At the risk of sounding arrogant or at the least overly-confident and self-centered, I know what I represent. I’m one of the few Black men (sadly) who is high-achieving, highly-educated, and successful. If I were to date outside of my race, I would be removing myself from an already insufficiently-filled pool for educated Black women who want to date Black men. To me, to date a white woman in particular, equates to a slap in the face of Black women, me saying, “I know that there are much less of us than you, but oh well, I’ll make it one less.” Is this way of thinking right or wrong? I am not sure.

As I get older and wiser, and think more critically about my beliefs, I see them adapting and changing. To this argument, this question of interracial dating: I know I should be open to it, and I am open to it…on some levels. At this point in my life, I try not to stand in the way of my own blessings, which is to say I try not to dictate as much what I think my life should or should not be, but step out of the way to let God bless me as He sees fit. So in that sense, I allow for the possibility that I could meet and fall in love with someone who is altogether different from whom I believe my ideal or desired woman to be now – she could be Black, Latina, Asian…or white. I pray that God continues to keep me open to things that are best for me and are according to His plan for my life. BUT…I have made it exceedingly clear to God that if He chooses for me a white woman, knowing full and well how much I love Black women and women of color, me and Him are going to have some words. WORDS, I tell you. Of course I’m joking…(no I’m not).

-JMC-

A Woman's Perspective

I was having a conversation today (via Google Chat) about this blog. Albeit short, it was a good conversation, in which my friend made some poignant observations. One of the comments she made was that although the blog had “interesting points,” she thought it needed woman’s voice. She noted that she does not often see herself “in conversations from men relating to men.” I pointed out that the blog is not specific to men, or even about men, but I did take her observation to heart, and have been considering it since.

I will agree: within this blog, the voices of women are not present – but I am not a woman. Nor is my fellow Polished Scholar. As such, we cannot give voice to women, nor would we be so arrogant or foolish as to try. I write from my perspective, with my voice. I explore and detail my own thoughts about a myriad of topics, adding to the existing discourse. I can no more speak from the experience of a woman than I can from a white person, a war veteran, a Republican, or a giraffe. That is not my point of reference. I merely provide my piece of the puzzle, my narrative. And with that narrative, I shed light on one more section of the entire puzzle, the entire tapestry that is human existence. Yes, everyone should have a voice, and the subjects which are explored in this blog should be weighed in on by a female perspective. But I should not be the one writing that. My suggestion? Women, speak up! Write! Blog about your experiences and your thoughts, from your unique point of view. How richer the lives of all would be if everyone explored their ideas and desires and lives, and put it out for the world to see! There certainly are women who are doing this (see Bella's Blog), and I applaud them. For the rest of you – men and women, young and old, Black and white – share your stories, and we will all grow and learn together, quilting together the fullness that is humanity.

-JMC-