Nigger: The Strange Career Of A Troublesome Word (17 page)

This book has been fortunate in receiving publicity that brought it to the attention of a broad audience. Prior to its release, David Kirkpatrick of the
New York Times
alerted the public to the unusual consternation and excitement that roiled the editorial and marketing departments of the book's publisher. After its release, Andy Rooney praised the book on
60 Minutes
and David E. Kelley featured it prominently in an episode of his prime-time television series
Boston Public.
The book has been widely reviewed in newspapers and magazines and attained bestseller status on a variety of lists. I feared that bookstores might hide or even refuse to carry the book because of its title. But that apprehension turned out to be largely misplaced. Although a few bookstores declined to carry it, most dealt with
Nigger
much as they do other books
of serious nonfiction that sizable numbers of customers wish to purchase.

Popular interest in the book enabled me to travel around the United States to talk about it in libraries, bookstores, churches, colleges, and on radio and television stations. On one occasion, my host on a radio show told me right before going live on air that the station (WCHB-AM in Detroit) strictly forbade any mention of the word
nigger.
She informed me that I, too, would be expected to abide by that restriction. I thought for a moment of withdrawing; after all, under the station's rule I would be unable to state straightforwardly my book's title. But I decided to proceed. I am glad that I did, for my hour on Mildred Gaddis's “Inside Detroit” was thoroughly enjoyable. Despite the restriction, we discussed every major issue analyzed in the book. While I stayed within the station's rule by spelling out n-i-g-g-e-r or using the euphemism
N-word
, I also criticized the station's policy, noting that my self-conscious screening on air only stoked my desire to say the word out loud. Gaddis disagreed with much of what I had to say but did so with respect, grace, and intelligence, thereby making possible an intense but convivial and productive discussion.

In other places, too, I was delightfully hosted by harsh critics. At Howard University, the sponsors of my reading introduced the proceedings by making clear their objections to what I had written. Yet they noted what they perceived as certain virtues in the book, and declared that, in any event, whatever people ultimately concluded, the discussion should be conducted in a disciplined fashion. Again I was happy to be a
participant. Criticisms were posed sharply and with fervor. People got agitated. But there was also laughter and give-and-take. I learned much and felt (and continue to feel) gratified that something I had written had served as the predicate for such a rich, instructive, and invigorating conversation.

In some quarters, however, my book and I received more than criticism. We received denunciation from those who portray my text as a deliberate act of racial betrayal. On radio programs I consistently encountered a few callers who, without reading the book themselves, urged listeners to burn it. During question-and-answer sessions after lectures, there were often a couple of people who would ask condemnatory questions—“Doesn't a Harvard Law professor have something better to do than write a book like this?”—and then turn their backs ostentatiously and depart as I tried to respond. A number of writers have penned tendentious attacks, castigating me as a “disingenuous,” “idiotic,” and obsequious Negro who merely tells white people what they want to hear.

The two features of the book that have attracted the most vociferous denunciations are first the title itself and second what some see as an egregious toleration for the intolerable.

As for the matter of the title, I must begin by noting that it is mine. I stress this fact because some journalists have reported that the title was concocted by the publisher. The lectures from which the book is derived, however, demonstrate my consistency on this point: all contain
nigger
in their titles. (See for example “Who Can Say Nigger?… and Other Related Questions” [The Tanner Lectures at Stanford, April
1999
] noted on page
173
.)

I put
nigger
in the title for several reasons. Doing so certainly apprises a reader of the subject of the volume; no one can accuse me of having failed to inform (warn?) readers up front about the topic of the enterprise. I also devised the title in the hope of spurring publicity and snagging the attention of potential readers. I thought that my provocative title might enable me to break through the layers of distraction that surround us all and win for my book at least a brief moment during which curiosity, perversion, or anger might prompt passersby to peek inside the covers of my slim volume. Although some detractors insinuate that there is something dirtying about that ambition, I do not consider it to be such. I suppose that I could have entitled my book “A Disquisition on the Etymology of a Word That Is Often Used as Racial Slur” or perhaps, more snappily, “A Study of the N-word,” but those titles would certainly have been less memorable and eyecatching than the one I chose. At bottom, my defense is rather simple: I write books to be read. I therefore spend a considerable amount of time and energy figuring out ways to attract, keep, and persuade readers—a task that begins with the title.

Contrary to what some detractors suggest,
nigger
does not appear on the cover of my book absent a context for its presentation. The book's subtitle (a nod to C. Vann Woodward's
The Strange Career of Jim Crow)
immediately signals an intention to highlight the problematic status of the term—an intention that is advanced by over
100
pages of text, most of which focuses on the reprehensible ways in which Euro-Americans have deployed language to stigmatize African Americans. I
show, as you have seen, that
nigger
-as-insult is not an inert linguistic fossil but remains alive today.

This point brings me to the second basis on which some have attempted to pillory me—the claim that I offer refuge to racists by defending black entertainers who use the N-word and, even worse (from their point of view), defending whites who use the term. There is some validity to this claim. By insisting that
nigger
does not signify only one thing—a term of racial abuse—and should not be forced to mean only that one thing, I necessarily open the door to uses of
nigger
about which people will disagree—a situation of ambiguity that some racists will probably exploit. But what is the alternative? An eradicationist response might decree the removal of all literature, without exception, from a school's curriculum that contains the term
nigger.
Such an action might well result in denying a literary refuge to bigots. But what about the book that you are reading at this very moment? Or what about the many classics of American culture that contain the word
nigger
, including Ralph Ellison's
Invisible Man
, Martin Luther King Jr.'s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” or Richard Pry or's “That Nigger's Crazy.” Under the decree, you would lose the option of reading or listening to those works (at least while at school).

At a discussion in Louisville, Kentucky, (at the wonderful Hawley-Cooke Book Store), someone challenged my contention that
nigger
is an ambiguous term that can have a wide variety of meanings. She maintained that what I portray as complex is really rather simple. After all, she declared, everyone
knows the meaning of
nigger
just like everyone knows the meaning
of bad.
Her example could not have been more apt— though it defeats rather than supports her point. In some contexts,
bad
—though typically meant to signify something negative—is used to signify something positive. When people refer to the incomparable singer James Brown as
bad
they are typically praising not condemning him. That is because many people (following a convention popularized by blacks) flip the meaning of
bad
in certain contexts, such that
bad
is intended to mean
good.
A similar process of flipping has occurred with
nigger.

I deplore racist uses of any word. I believe that it is a good thing that
nigger
is widely seen as a presumptively objectionable term. I think that people who use
nigger
in their speech should bear the risk that listeners overhearing them will misunderstand their intentions. I am glad that many people who interview me about this book express discomfort with pronouncing the N-word (though I get the distinct impression that some of these protestations of innocence and discomfort are merely formulaic).
Nigger
has long been used as a weapon of abuse and continues to be so used today; we ought to be keenly attentive to that fact. The problem is that insofar as
nigger
is deployed for other, socially useful purposes—satire, comedy, social criticism—we should also be careful to make distinctions between various usages. Unwillingness to make distinctions—the upshot of the eradicationist approach— generates all too many pathetic episodes like the one that involved Ken Hardy, the (white) teacher who was fired from his job as an instructor at a public community college because
he mentioned
nigger
in a class about (of all things!) tabooed expression.

One purpose of this book has been to urge caution before attributing the worst meaning and motives to any word or symbol since all can be put to a variety of purposes, good as well as bad. The swastika evokes memories of evils that are among the worst in all of world history. Yet artists (for example, Art Spiegelman and Steven Spielberg) have movingly used the swastika in a variety of useful ways, including comedic lampoons designed to satirize Hitler's colossal failure. Another purpose of my book has been to counsel likely targets of racist abuse to respond in ways that are self-empowering. All too often, they are told that they should become emotionally overwrought upon encountering racist taunts. They are taught that they ought to feel deeply wounded and that authorities should therefore protect them from this potentially crippling harm by prohibiting
nigger
and other such words and punishing transgressions severely. In my view, such a lesson cedes too much power to bigots who seek to draw psychological blood from their quarry. A better lesson to convey is that targets of abuse can themselves play significant roles in shaping the terrain of conflict and thus lessen their vulnerability through creative, intelligent, and supple reactions.

In the course of talking with readers of this book I have benefited from listening to people describe reactions to
nigger-as-
insult. One of my favorite anecdotes involves the distinguished black physician, Dr. Thaddeus Bell of Charleston, South Carolina, who recalls that several years ago at a hospital in the Deep South he found himself leading an all-white group of
interns on rounds. Right in the middle of one of the interns’ presentations, a white patient whom the group had thought was asleep suddenly bolted upright in his bed, looked directly at Dr. Bell, and declared loudly “I don't want no nigger doctor touching me.” The room went still; one could hear the proverbial pin drop. Some physicians in Dr. Bell's shoes would have berated the patient or stormed out of the room. Dr. Bell, however, refused to permit the patient's outburst to throw him off-stride. He quickly and firmly ordered the man to lie down; announced (while winking at the interns) that he wouldn't let “a nigger doctor” near the patient, and proceeded to instruct the interns about the proper way to continue with the man's medical care.

The next day the patient begged Dr. Bell's pardon.

Finally, I would like to respond to the many readers who have asked me to explain the identity of The Board, the group to whom I dedicated this book. The Board consists of cousins who stay in close touch with one another and gather together periodically to mark signal moments in the history of their families. Although some members of The Board disagree with my conclusions, all have supported my efforts, a gift for which I am most grateful.