for a moratorium on the N-word—even among blacks. In my opinion, these individuals had the moral fortitude (and I don’t often say this about Jesse Jackson) to do what Samuel L. Jackson, Snoop and others like them would not. Mooney has had no qualms about using the N-word in previous foul-mouthed routines. He’s a friend of Richards, but when he heard what came out of the comedian’s mouth he said it “freaked me out and filled me with disgust.”13 Mooney guessed that Richards was trying, at least in part, to imitate what many of us have heard from the mouths of black comedians and black rappers. “He had heard it in rap and all that. I’m part of the problem. I contributed to it, yes.” Mooney added, “I was having a romance with the word, and I was married to it.” And now? “I’m free of it. I won’t be using that word onstage, and I won’t be using the B-word. We’re asking the rappers and all the people on Earth to stop using the word.”14
Hip-Hop mogul Russell Simmons has come forward and asked that the recording and broadcast industry ban three racial and sexist epithets: n-, b—ch and ho. “We recommend (they’re) always out,” said Simmons. “This is the first step. It’s a clear message and a consistency that we want the industry to accept for more corporate social responsibility.”15 Simmons plea, by the way, immediately followed the remarks of radio personality Don Imus when he called the young women playing basketball for Rutgers University “nappy-headed ho’s.”
Several cities and municipalities, across the country, have passed non-binding but eye-opening resolutions to ban the word’s use—New York City being one of the latest. But will these gestures take hold? Hip-hop artist Kurtis Blow Walker wants African Americans to stop using the word so “we can elevate our minds to a better future.” Says City Councilman Albert Vann: “I forgive young people who do not know their history, and I blame myself and my generation for not preparing you. But today we are going to know our history. We are not going to refer to ourselves by anything negative, the way the slave master referred to black people, using the n-word.”16
At their July 2007 annual convention, The NAACP buried the N-word in a mock funeral held in Detroit. Two Percheron stallions pulled a caisson atop which rested a pine box draped with a bouquet of fake black roses. “Today,” announced Detroit’s mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick, “we’re not just burying the N-word; we’re taking it out of our spirit. We gather burying all the things that go with the N-word. We have to bury the ‘pimps’ and the ‘ho’s’ that go with it. Die N-word, and we don’t want to see you ‘round here no more.”17 Added NAACP chairman, Julian Bond, “While we are happy to have sent a certain radio cowboy back to his ranch (Radio Shock Jock Don Imus, after his “nappy-headed ho’s” comment), we ought to hold ourselves to the same standard. If he (Imus) can’t refer to our women as ‘Hos’, then we shouldn’t either. And it is not a violation of the First Amendment not to use the ‘N’ word.”18
Unfortunately these efforts will be a tough sell for some, like Samuel L. Jackson, who are still addicted to the n-word. “We grew up saying it and it’s what I say all the time,” said one young African American woman. “It’s (the New York City Resolution) not going to stop anybody from saying it. Damon Wayans of the sitcom “My Wife and Kids” once tried to patent the N-word for a line of clothing. The effort failed. Can you imagine your five-year-old running around the house with n——- stitched prominently across his chest? Or on his back side? Are our minds, as the saying goes, so open that our brains have fallen out?
Apparently a rapper called Nas happily spilled his brains on the sidewalk outside the 2008 Grammys. He showed up with N- printed across the front of his shirt. That’s okay, because (1) he was probably just trying to promote his new album, N-, and (2) he’s black—a card-carrying member of that club that has exclusive proprietary rights to the word.
In the end, we have a Harvard prof who thinks we can satirize racists by using the N-word. The Fighting Whites experiment seems to have blunted that notion, however. Several experts have weighed in on the subject: journalists from The Atlanta Constitution as well as The Washington Post, and entertainer Bill Cosby. Michael Richards showed us all how awful N— sounds when it’s spoken by a white person, and that was confirmed by the case of the two reporters working for CNN. One black comedienne wants the word to be spoken in its purest form, lest we dilute its true meaning, while at least one school district has banned Twain’s Huck Finn for its use of the word. Two other entertainers, Samuel L. Jackson and Snoop Dogg, have reaffirmed their devotion to using N—, while the NAACP buried the word, once and for all, in a mock funeral held in Detroit. And don’t forget the one teacher (that would be me) who found out what can happen when he makes reference of the word in his classroom.
Confusion, confusion and still more confusion. Certainly more confusion than clarity.
And reason #28 as to why were now a minute closer to midnight.
The Double Standard
“It is forbidden to kill; therefore, all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.” Voltaire
27 Minutes to Midnight…
Disclosure, penned by the late Michael Crichton, was one of his best efforts, and I consider Barry Levinson’s movie adaptation, starring Michael Douglas and Demi Moore, to be an accurate and even stylish version of the popular novel. Briefly, the book deals with the issue of sexual harassment in the work place—specifically, a fictional computer company called DigiCom. But there’s a twist. Much to the disdain of feminists everywhere, it’s the woman who is harassing the man, not the other way around. Tom Sanders (Douglas) shows up for work one morning expecting to get the VP promotion. Instead, it goes to sexy Meredith Johnson (Moore). Now installed as Sanders’ superior, Johnson starts in on the harassment. After all, she holds all the cards. She has the power.
As I’m describing the plot to my students, most of the boys in the class of juniors are sporting curious looks on their faces, looks that almost suggest, She’s harassing him? Okay. That’s cool. Wait a minute. You don’t understand what it’s like to be harassed, I tell them. It’s anything but pleasant. Do you really think the woman who ends up harassing you is going to resemble anything close to Demi Moore? And even if she did look like Moore, do you really think her looks and curves would mollify harassment’s sting? The boys are clearly unsure of what to say.
I tell them my story from many years ago. I was getting my belongings, one morning, from the faculty room when I felt this hand patting my behind. “Morning, Tommy,” the voice behind me said. At this point, my students’ ears have perked up and they seem mildly amused by the whole episode, especially the boys. That all ends when I tell them what I saw when I swung around. The woman touching me was about five feet tall and must have weighed close to two-hundred pounds. A good twenty-five years my senior, she looked every bit the female version of Winston Churchill—with a little more hair, of course. Their faces, their expressions torque and twist into frowns of disgust. Exactly, I tell them. Perhaps now we understand why women often describe their tormentors as disgusting pigs. I chide the guys for living in La-La land. Many of them actually think being harassed by a woman is a walk in the park. Somehow they’re convinced their harasser will be some hot babe, who merely wishes to caress them and whisper sweet nothings in their ears. It might get a little annoying after a while, but she’s just a chick. How bad can things get?
How about real bad.
After Sanders finds out he’s been passed over, he has a meeting with his staff. A female engineer at the conference table comments that Sanders can now sleep his way up the corporate ladder.
