Antiracist Killjoy
It’s difficult not to see the things that you have consciously reconditioned yourself to notice. Picture this. You’re in the car with your white friend while they sing along to their favorite rap song by an artist whose roots they couldn’t care less about. Still, they casually mimic the language of their tyrannical predecessors, boldly repeating that word — the one that cuts and stings like a whip breaking supple, melanated skin.
“But it’s not that serious!”, they will say, “I didn’t use it like that.” I wonder, though, if they would feel different if they’d been with me that day in my hometown when a white woman rolled down her car window and called my mom a n***er for cutting her off. I wonder if their ideas would change if their existence was treated like a punishable offence, the way Black skin is. I wonder if they would feel differently if they knew the weight that words bear, or the ways in which that word has become a weapon for the cause of white supremacy. But I know that these things do not matter to them.
As the word slips out of a white mouth, an alarm goes off in my head and my stomach drops. Should I say something? I don’t want to be THAT person but I’m inclined to push back because I know better than to let these things slide. I don’t want to come off as abrasive. I don’t want to be the bitter bitch that they already think I am. But I can feel it in the pit of my stomach, that discomfort that permeates so many of the problematic social interactions that I am forced to engage in. There is nothing like that feeling — sweaty palms, a racing heart, the rush of blood in my cheeks that makes my face hot. Maybe it’s because words like that are incendiary by nature. Maybe it’s because they’re meant to ignite something in those of us who understand and internalize the power of language and the realities that come along with it.
Even when used with the best of intentions, that word casts a bright, burning light on the Elephant in the room. But it would be inappropriate — it would be inflammatory for me to call it what it is. Will I really have to be the one to address it? Unfortunately, for me, the answer will always be yes.
