We recently reconnected on Facebook, and this weekend I saw the pictures he posted of the 50th birthday party of his sister. She wore a blue formal gown with a sparkly tiara perched on her head. Another sister wore a gold lame’ blouse, the 80-something mother a bright pink suit with shoulder pads, sharp and church-ready! I love it when people dress in such a joyful, lively manner. That older sister was the queen of the ball, the princess of the prom, and I resolved right then to do the same when I turn 50 in three years.
Being the nosy Facebook creeper I am, I enjoyed reading the comments from family and friends, wishing the sister birthday happiness and remarking on the combined beauty of these women. Then I came to one comment from a male that said “wut up, nigga!” and I froze. Who was he talking to? The sister in the photo or the photographer-brother who posted it? Huh? How dare someone cast a cloud on this lovely family occasion!
I know my black friends call each other this and mean it like a slangy substitute for “friend.” But, is this really the right time and place? I can’t stand either version, the original “nigger,” or its stoopid cousin “nigga.” Even typing it makes me feel disgusting.
However, this is not my business, my sister, my photo, my Facebook page. But, I did wonder how my friend would view this. I seem to remember him grinning in embarrassment in the distant past, shoving a stoopid friend behind his body, like you would shove your daffy great-uncle in the broom closet before company arrives. Yeah, we all have friends like that, you know.
The comment was removed less than an hour after its appearance, as if it never happened.
Well, now I have to research it, study it, understand it. I do believe in the power of co-opting words, claiming an evil word or concept as your own and giving it a new meaning on your terms. But, where are we now in 2011? It’s still a stoopid word created by stoopid racists who were too ignorant to properly pronounce Niger. And now it is still being used by stoopid people living in the past.
The past I speak of is circa 1970s. Richard Pryor was a tortured soul and a comedic genius. He is the man I credit with the brilliant move of taking this powerful, evil word and draining it of its juice. Every last drop of hate. Laughter can do that, strip a situation of its pain and frustration, like a beautiful healing balm. Pryor was an amazing person when you begin to analyze what laughter can change AND what people laughing together can change. He was a great human being.
But. After he traveled to Africa as a tourist, he never used the word “nigga” again in his routines. I wonder if he felt, at that time, that the word’s time was over and now its widespread use might hold black Americans back in their collective psyche of how they regard themselves. I wonder if he was a little sad at his part in society holding onto a word that should have been buried with no funeral, or a little happy at his part in moving us all down the healing path to a better tomorrow. I’m sure it was both.
I don’t regard black people as “niggas,” and I am impatient with those who still do. I am impatient for a new world, the future.
The best Internet discussion I found of this situation was on the site of black political pundit and Columbia University professor Marc Lamont Hill. Dr. Hill, a pleasant and charming liberal, wrote a very funny piece on this topic. “We’re conflicted!” he asserts. I smiled throughout the article.
http://www.marclamonthill.com/is-it-ok-to-call-niggas-nigga-1511
He asks for a little more time and understanding as black America wrestles with this weed in its front yard. Okay, Marc. Take all the time you need, my friends, but please hurry. Because we need black America and ALL-ALL-ALL of its energy, intelligence, forbearance, vibrance, and creativity, and I am anxious to see it in my lifetime.
Join me in making this a better place before we, too, have to leave.
Richard Pryor, RIP
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