Loathing and Abhorring One Word  by Anissa New-Walker*

There is a lot of agitation surrounding the usage of one word in the African- American community – nigger. I suspect the question of whether this word is truly a term of endearment, or a damaging slur associated with hate and hate crimes, is because my people may not have a sense of the history of it’s context. For those who do, they quite possibly have confused self-love with self-hate. I also question whether one would have had to experience the violence that is married to the word to comprehend and appreciate its’ evil and hateful connotation. As for me, I choose to remember and honor the way in which my ancestors died, and the hate I suffered as a child by acknowledging the word nigger has no place in my life, or in the lives of my children.

I hate the “N word”. I refuse to say the word out loud, and sometimes I find it difficult to write. Anytime I hear that word, I am instantly taken back to my childhood. It feels as though I was called it every school day. When this derogatory word rang in my ears it was always accompanied by violence. Either a schoolmate yelled the offensive slur as they chased me throughout the playground, or it was said to bar me from the bathroom – ‘Ni**ers not allowed’. This act was considerably more violent than chasing me because I never got caught.  However, being barred from the bathroom inevitably meant I would go home wetting my pants. The shame was too much for me to handle at such a young age. After the school day came to an end, I was taunted by my dreams at night. Little children in my dreams circled around me and burned me alive as they called me ni**er. Through out the story of our nation, the “N word” was called out as white Americans simultaneously committed violent acts against my people. African – Americans were lynched by mobs; they were burned-alive; and chased down; run out of town; homes and property burned to the ground hearing that word. This is why I nearly cry every time I hear it. I suffered so. My ancestors suffered so. There is pain so indescribable that fills my heart and stings my eyes – hearing that word. Witnessing unspeakable acts associated with that the “N word”, parents of yester year did exactly what my parents did in the early 1970’s – they worked hard to rebuild their children’s self-esteem.

Today I pause when I hear a young person calling their friend a Nigga. No matter how many arguments my people use to try to convince me that to take possession of this word transforms it into a term of endearment – I shudder. And if I shudder, think of the ancestors looking down from the heavens. They must be declaring – I died for this – for my black people to casually call themselves a name I was strung up to a tree to? Did my pain and suffering mean nothing? They give high fives to this word – our ancestors burned alive to this word. I am assaulted by this contemptuous word in music and song; in speech; on clothing – all because some feel ni**er is a wonderful, and even beautiful, way to express love and admiration for one another. Could that be because they have an unhealthy view of what love for self is?

            I believe for those who choose to use this slur are actually suffering from a horrible disease – deep-rooted self-loathing. It is quite possible that this word is used so freely by African -Americans because they see themselves with the same eyes as white America view them. White America and other non-blacks in our country are hasty in judgment of fellow Americans who happen to have darker skin. They are quick to put us in jail; put us in categories with labels; they follow us around in stores with much spirit – “may I help you ma’am”; and make haste to cross the street to avoid being on the same sidewalk as us. Is it any wonder why we have generations of African- Americans who hate themselves when everyone else in the good ole U.S. seems to? Americans see black baby boys and they quickly declare – ‘you must have the next great football or basketball star on your hands’ – as if that is the only profession our little boys can dream of having. Just as quick, my response back is always ‘Never – he has his own dreams.’ I imagine in my mind these folks are saying to themselves – be my good little ni**er - shuffle and jive for me – that’s what you were born to do. They say black people are lazy and can’t work hard; nevertheless, this country was built off the sweat on our backs. Our white history books don’t tell of the famous inventors, writers, doctors and scientists because white America can never divulge all that black America has been and meant to the building or our great nation. Consciously and subconsciously, we’ve been listening to their tune of who we are, and what we are for so long that unfortunately many of us believe it and live t. So, should it surprise me when my people answer to the name we’ve been called by those who hate us? Do we do any more than we are expected to do? So when white America treats us as ni**ers, we agree with them by calling ourselves by that name.

            I was brought up by parents who refused to let white America define who I was, and would grow up to be. I hate the “N word” because I love myself, and because I have learned to disregard, throw away, and spit out everything white America says about me and my kind. I follow in my parent’s footsteps - as they did in theirs - I refuse to let my children digest anything about what society says about them for fear they will contract the disease of self-loathing. So crazed am I by the onslaught of negativity our society feeds black people, that I took it upon myself to give my children superhero names. Of course I call them by their birth names, but from time to time I call by their superhero names. In fact, I first state their superhero name, and then state all of their magical powers -. the special talents and qualities that make them unique. With Man of Nyack – my son, Elliot, his special powers are: his love for math; his peacemaker persona; his concern for all human-kind; his smile that melts hearts; and his love for nature and animals. Princess Adina – my daughter Isabella’s powers are: her wonderful flair for storytelling; her artistry; her love for reading; her fondness for eating food and preparing it; and her embodiment of spitfire and sass! Elliot and Isabella are very little, so they love to hear that they are superheroes. I wonder if young people who go around calling their ‘boyz’ or ‘peeps’ Nigga’ had parents who told them all that they were? Or did they go around saying ‘hey my little nigga?’

I have always hoped that in speaking out against this deeply disparaging word that I may help other African –Americans have a sense of pride and a sense of of our responsibility to our ancestors. However, sometimes I think I am fighting a disease that may never be cured. When a bully – in this case America - bullies a group of people now and throughout history, the one being bullied, will believe whatever is being said about them. My brothers and sisters believe they are niggers and this is why they call themselves by that name. I will continue to despise the word and everything it stands for, by never letting anyone tell my children who they are and what they can be. That will be for Elliot and Isabella – Man of Nyack and Princess Adina – to discover on their very own. And when they grow into tween and teenage years and if I hear them – after all the hard work of building them up – utter the one word that tears our race down, they will regret it. I will sit Elliot and Isabella down, and they will be subject to a long discourse – much of which is put forth here - of my loathing and abhorring of one word.

*This essay was written to express the power of name - calling. Creative Response to Conflict posts this essay with the understanding that Anissa New-Walker’s beliefs do not necessarily reflect the opinion of CRC. Our hope in presenting this thought –provoking essay by Anissa, who is our Outreach and Communication Coordinator, is to encourage our readers to engage in a spirited and healthy discussion on this important topic with family and friends using their critical thinking skills.

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