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In defense of the N-word . . .

Let me begin this post with a disclaimer:

My title—In defense of the N-word—is not a defense for those that use the word as a pejorative—a racial and ethnic slur, an epithet that equals and perhaps surpasses the impact of a southerner being called a son of a bitch—oops, forgive me, I meant to say “a son of a B-word.” When I volunteered—wisely—for military service and was accepted at the tender age of sixteen, I learned that every person in my service was a son of a B-word, and would be labeled incessantly with that sobriquet by virtually every other person. I quickly learned that I could not whup everyone that applied the term to me, and I learned that the term could reflect another person’s attitude in many ways other than a reference to one’s parentage, specifically to one’s mother. The term gave voice to emotions including surprise, incredulity, admiration and even brotherly love, as in I love this son-of-a B-word” or He is one hard-working son of a B-word” or “He is a really bright son of a B-word,” ad infinitum.

This posting draws heavily on my posting dated June 22, 2010. My purpose in this post is to elaborate on our use—or non-use—of the N-word. I have in effect plagiarized my own work and may be forced to sue myself, but my intent then was to discuss ten-cent hamburgers loaded with all the trimmings. Since my intent in this posting is to discuss in more detail my feelings about the use of the N-word, a situation that has limited conversation to a great extent in some segments of our society, versus my intent to laud the ten cent burgers in the earlier posting, I will not seek remuneration for myself from my work having been plagiarized. However, one may be assured that I will not extend that courtesy to plagiarism by others. Click here to read the earlier posting.

In summary, this post is not in defense of the use of the N-word. It is simply used as an attention-getter and is an attempt to explain, at least to some degree, that its use is not always intended to be pejorative, and its renunciation by our society has reduced our language to the point that we are often restricted from “saying what we mean and meaning what we say” by the need to be politically correct in our conversations.

In my boyhood days, those glorious preteen and early teen days when my world was pure and untainted and gave no hint of the vicissitudes, vagaries and vicious shoals lurking in my future, the Varsity movie theater was, and perhaps may still be, located on the North side near the intersection of Main and Fourth Street in Columbus, Mississippi, a city of some 20,000 souls at the time, located in the east central part of the state near the Alabama state line.

Main Street was the dividing line between north and south in Columbus, the county seat of Lowndes County, Mississippi. The first block of Fourth Street South was called Catfish Alley, a block that was comprised mostly of businesses—grocery stores, beer joints, rooming houses, eating places, clothing stores and other businesses—some were owned and operated by blacks.

Fourth Street in Columbus is near a bluff overlooking the Tombigbee River, a stream that in those days teemed with fresh-water catfish, a choice item in the diet of southerners regardless of their race—fried catfish was a staple. Local fishermen kept the cafes and fish stands along Catfish Alley well supplied, and people came from near and far to buy fresh catfish for home cooking and consumption, hence the name Catfish Alley. The block was the prime gathering place for blacks, a mecca for those living inside and outside the city from the countryside and from neighboring towns and cities. Shoppers and diners and gatherings included entire families during the daytime, but the block took on a different tone and attracted a different crowd after dark—rumors had it that more than one house of ill repute existed among the businesses in Catfish Alley, usually on the second floor of the two-story buildings. Click here to read about today’s Catfish Alley.

Note that I use the term black rather than African-American. In those days there was no such term as African-American, at least not in the circles in which I moved. There were numerous terms used in those days to describe black people, used openly without fear of ridicule or persecution. The term most used was the same one used by black rappers today, a word rappers are allowed to use but one that is never used by anyone other than rappers, particularly not by non-African-Americans, but is referred to as the N-word. At this point I will say without hesitation, without rancor, without one ounce of racialism in my body and soul, an absence that was created many years ago through education, understanding and just plain living, that if one is going to say the N-word one may as well use the real word. And in support of that choice I will quote the bard from Romeo and Juliet, followed by a well-known and oft-used religious homily:

That which we call a rose, by any other name will smell as sweet.

The thought is as bad as the deed.

I would add a third saying but this one is a no-no—it suggests that we should call a spade a spade, a phrase that has been around for more than 500 years. It means that we should speak honestly and directly about topics that others may avoid speaking about due to their sensitivity or embarrassing nature. According to Wikipedia, the phrase that says the thought is as bad as the deed predates the use of the word spade as an ethnic slur against African-Americans, a euphemism that was not recorded until 1928. However, in contemporary U.S. society that time-honored idiom, to call a spade a spade, is often avoided due to potential confusion with the slur. Click here to read more about the history of the phrase, call a spade a spade.

The N-word is a substitute for the word Negro and in many instances, perhaps most, it is used as a pejorative, a racial and ethnic slur intended to show the speaker’s disdain and even hatred for persons of that race. However, I submit that there are people that use the word non-pejoratively, specifically in its use by southerners that have a predilection to pronounce words ending in an O, or with the sound of an O, by replacing the O sound with the ER sound. For example window becomes winder, pillow becomes piller, tallow becomes taller, shallow becomes shaller, fellow becomes feller, hollow becomes holler, ad infinitum.

So given that predilection, I’ll give you three guesses as to how such persons pronounce Negro, and the first two guesses don’t count. Yep, many southerners inadvertently use the N-word and in most instances that pronunciation is not tainted with racialism—it is simply a descriptive term, just as other persons are described as white. The N-word ends with an O, so the O is dropped and an er is added. And I’ll grant you that others use the word in all its pejorative sense, expressing contempt, disapproval and hatred with all the pent-up passion and racism that has in the past plunged our nation into civil war and which still exists, and such use of the word is not limited to southerners. Our nation has come a long way, especially since 1964 and the civil rights movement, but we still have a long way to go.

Check out this sentence: That N-word feller that lives across the holler in that house with no winders has to wade across a shaller creek to get to the store to buy a new piller and some animal taller to make candles.

Now please be honest—to thine own self be true, so to speak—do you understand how and why some southerners pronounce words ending in O as er, and do you understand how and why the word Negro rolls off the palate of a son of the south—a southerner—with the sound of what is considered to be one of the most pejorative and hateful words in our English language? The phrase N-word is converted by the listener’s brain to a word that retains the N and replaces the hyphen with an I, a couple of Gs, an E and an R, forming a word that resounds in the listener’s brain with far more resonance than N-word to the ears.

With full knowledge that I have convinced nobody—not even one person—with my explanation of the N-word as used by southerners I will make no apology, neither for myself nor for fellow southerners for past or present use of the N-word. My only point is that the real word is sometimes used without any thought of hatred or disliking, without a trace of racialism in the speaker’s mind or heart. I abhor its use when it involves prejudice, hatred, contempt, disdain, disgust or any other contemptible emotion on the part of the speaker.

I am privileged to be the only remaining brother-in-law of a southern lady, the last one of a host of brothers-in-law. That lady is a native of south Georgia now residing in North Carolina. She recently zipped past her ninetieth birthday, still mobile, still vocal and still pronouncing words that end in O as ending in ER—words such as window, pillow, hollow and yes, the word Negro. She is well aware that our society prefers—nay, demands the term African-American, but she sometimes inadvertently reverts to a lifetime of retaining the N, dropping the O and adding igger, with no more thought of hatred, malice or resentment than when she pronounces hollow as holler, or pillow as piller. I have no doubt—nay, it is my firm belief—that when her time comes she will be welcomed  into heaven by the sound of thunderous applause from all, particularly from the Supreme Applauder.

And one more thought—look at the use of F-word in place of the real word—a listener hears F-word, but can you guess which word forms in the listener’s mind? Yep, that word, the one with the letters U, C and K following the F. The phrase F-word is converted by the listener’s brain to a word that has traditionally been prohibited in all our media including movies, books, newspapers and speech, but its use has now proliferated in every medium, including prime family time on television—and it’s not just the use of the word—the act itself is often portrayed, either suggested by nudity and camera angles or fade-to-black screens. Such acts are ostensibly simulated but sometimes I suspect that the portrayal is real.

Rarely is anyone castigated for their use of the F-word, regardless of when, where, why and who is guilty of its use. Vice President Biden recently used it on television in a whispered aside in President Barack Obama’s ear. He told the president that “This is a big F-word-ing deal,” and it resonated all over the world. That slip of the tongue provoked nothing but mirth—Joe Biden, our potty mouth vice president, remains just one heartbeat away from the presidency. Click here for the story and the video.

Go figure!

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

 

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The Obama Diaries—recommended reading . . .

Recommended reading: The Obama Diaries . . .

Laura Ingraham’s latest book can be found in book stores across the nation and in libraries, properly categorized under Humor. It’s purported to contain excerpts from the private diaries of eighteen people in the present government administration, from Barack Obama on down—and I do mean down, to Robert Gibbs and David Plouffe. It’s chock full of laughs and well worth the read. It’s also filled with facts—the book is not foot-noted, but it’s nicely  supported by a voluminous index. Pick a subject, almost any subject, and you’ll find a reference by page number.

You’ll find excerpts from the private diaries of Barack Obama (Ego maximus), Nancy Pelosi (botox cover girl), Michelle Obama (gardener-in-chief), Rahm Emanuel (master of the expletive), Hillary Rodham Clinton (would-be president), Joe Biden (master of the malapropism) and twelve other prominent members of the Obama administration, all letting it all hang out, caricatured as only Laura Ingraham can do.

The diary entries are hilarious, but you’ll laugh out loud only if you lean to the right in your political preferences. If you lean to the left you’ll still laugh, but you’ll stifle the laughter just in case Big Brother is listening.

I do not recommend this book merely for the diaries, no matter how entertaining they may be—I mention them only to reveal the book’s contents. I recommend it for its content other than the satirical diary entries. Rather than reading between the lines, read between the diary entries.

Read and digest the commentary of the author—therein lies the truth about the direction our nation is moving under the auspices of the current administration. Expressed in biblical terms—Matthew 7:7—“Seek and ye shall find.”

I included the image below in an attempt to show the solidarity and mutual respect that exists, or at least should exist, among those that hold lofty positions in our government, and the three people pictured are at the pinnacle of those positions. It’s a nice shot, albeit probably suggested by the photographer, or perhaps by one of the three thus immortalized in the image—it will always be available whether the viewer is attracted to, or repulsed by, its message for the American public. I have expressed some of my thoughts just below the photo.

Study the photo above carefully, with particular emphasis on facial expressions and the positions of hands and arms. A body language expert would have a field day with this one. I am far from being an expert in that field—in fact, body language is just one of millions of fields in which I am not an expert. My knowledge of non-verbal communication is limited to Bill O’Reilly and Tonya Reiman on Fox News and The Factor.  However—and that’s an important however—I can speculate on several items so bear with me on this.

The First Lady and the Veep appear to have a warm relationship, as demonstrated by her left hand on his shoulder and her right hand clasping his right hand. Or is there tension between the two? Is the Veep pushing her hand away from his body or pulling it towards his body? Is the lady pushing his hand away, or pulling it towards her body? Could both be striving to avoid additional body contact by simultaneously pushing the other’s hand away? Perhaps both are striving to increase body contact by simultaneously pulling the other’s hand. It may be nothing more than a friendly handshake, perhaps suggested by the First Photographer, intended to demonstrate the warm relationship between the two, a bond that an adoring public will appreciate and accept.

The president’s gaze is directed downward—is he focused on the Veep’s face or is he watching the hand actions? His arms folded across his chest would seem to indicate rejection of one or both of the other two people. He appears to be warmly dressed, so the room temperature should not be a factor.

Perhaps the Veep has just dropped the F-bomb into their conversation, or has voiced another of his infamous malapropisms, and the president has reacted to that by folding his arms in rejection and expressing his displeasure at the Veep’s remarks. Then again he may be watching the hand action and his arms are folded to indicate either his displeasure, or his resignation and acceptance of the action.

I readily admit that any conclusion derived from observing people’s body language and describing what they are thinking is purely conjecture, especially if that conclusion is formed merely by analyzing a photo. This image would be a gold mine for comedians in a contest to provide a caption—just imagine the deluge that would pour in from late-night talk-show personalities. And just imagine what Saturday Night Live would do with the photo—that skit would be the highlight of the show, a contender for any award.

Please note that my speculations and comments on the photo are intended to be humorous and no offense should be taken, either by those pictured or by any viewer of this posting. It’s all in fun, and if one cannot laugh at one’s self, then one should adhere to Harry S Truman’s admonition that, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.”

Laura Ingraham’s latest book is available at Costco at an affordable price. No, I have no stock in Costco—all my wealth  is stashed in nylon stockings and buried in my back yard, and it’s earning almost as much interest as it would earn in any bank or credit union—the difference in earnings is negligible and my way is much safer.

I shop at Costco for the bargains and for the various food demonstrations—my wife puts me out to graze when we visit Costco at noon. I believe that our society would be enhanced if the government gave each homeless person a membership in Costco, one that would allow entry but would not allow any purchases. Such a move would provide at least one meal every day, nutritious meals including healthy drinks and low-calorie desserts. Costco could consider such memberships charitable contributions and could therefore use them for tax deduction purposes.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

 
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Posted by on July 16, 2010 in Uncategorized

 

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