Rethinking the N Word

 


This column is sure to offend many of you -- at least that's what I'm hoping. Because it involves the use of a word we should universally find offensive, but don't: The N word.

The media and social experts have been pondering whether we're about to enter a new era in race relations as a result of the recent presidential elections. I, for one, hope so. Race relations is rivaled only by education as a crucial issue that can determine the course of our society. If we're to make progress, then battling the N word, which has become acceptable to too many people when used within a certain context, must surely be on the agenda.

Some in the media have commented recently about the ease with which the word is used in some circles, implying that it is a problem that exists mainly within the black community. But it isn't. People of all races and ethnic backgrounds at times find the word to be perfectly acceptable. I know because as an adolescent I was one of those people.

I'm not proud to admit this, but, yes, I used to use the N word, though never as a racial slur. How is it possible for a white person to use that word and not intend it as a racial epithet? The same way it's possible for a black person to do so -- by using it as part of a cultural lexicon.

I grew up in a racially mixed neighborhood in Miami, where white kids and black kids played on the same streets, attended the same classes and spoke the same slang. In the '70s and '80s, that lingo often included the N word. Many kids didn't greet each other with ''Hello,'' but with, ''Yo, N, what's up?'' The word was not a reference to race; it represented the everyman, like fella or dude. It was cool, so it was the way a lot of kids spoke -- including the white kids, though rarely in front of black friends.

Eventually we would move to the heavily Cuban community of Hialeah, which had its own street slang. But by then another cultural phenomenon was taking hold. And his name was Eddie Murphy. The comedian's funny portrayals of life made us laugh, so we bought his albums, attended his concerts and memorized his routines, many of which used the N word.

As I got older and struggled with right and wrong, I developed rules to live by. Among them was to give careful thought before saying or doing anything that I wasn't willing to say or do openly before the whole world. If I wasn't willing to use the N word openly, among both black and white friends, then was it appropriate for me to use it at all? Did I need to change? Or did the rest of the world need to change? After all, I reasoned, the word, used within a certain context, had taken on a whole new meaning to a new generation.

The answer came to me one day as I reached to scratch the back of my head and was reminded of another childhood experience. As a kid I was prone to fainting spells and during one such episode my head cracked against the concrete floor, necessitating that it be bound by stitches. Eventually, the stitches were removed and the wound healed. But even today, more than 25 years later, when I touch the area just so, I feel a sensitive sting -- even though rational thought tells me I shouldn't. Some wounds run too deep to be reasoned away.

There are those who use the word casually because they have rationalized its use, claiming they do so innocently and without malice. Yet each time it is used, a wound is pressed upon. The sad irony is that there is a lesson to be learned from those who do use the word as a racial epithet, with hate in their hearts and malice in their intent. As despicable as that is, at least they are not kidding themselves. They know what we all should know: You can no more use the N word innocently than you can drop an atom bomb gently.

When I decided many years ago to completely strike the word from my vocabulary, I knew that our adolescent slang had a way of staying with us forever. Sooner or later, it was going to come out. So I looked for a new substitute word to represent the everyman. Fella? ''Yo, Fella, what's up?'' Nah; it lacked a certain cool factor. Baby? Baby could be hip. Baby could represent the everyman. Baby it was.

Next time you see me, you might be tempted to greet me with, ''Yo, Baby, what's up?'' But, please, call me Baby only if you're a woman or an old friend. Outside of those circles, I might find it offensive.


Jacqueline Bueno Sousa is a former writer with The Wall Street Journal and was editor of the Business Monday section of The Miami Herald. She is a co-founder of Coral Living magazine and CoralLiving.com in Miami.