Archives of Our Lives

Preface: I know this won’t be a funny post, and for that I’m truly sorry.  Sometimes there’s just not enough humour in my life, and I have to delve into the serious.  These are, after all, the Archives of Our Lives, and I do try to archive all issues important to me—not only the funny ones.  Blame my older sister for nagging me.

Image from here.

I am exactly halfway through To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.  It is my first time reading the book.  How, you ask, did I complete my education from the United States public school system without ever reading the book?  It was never assigned.  My sister has been nagging almost incessantly for the past four years to remedy the oversight in my tutelage, but there was always something—the title, perhaps, which made no sense to me—that pushed me away from reading it.  I’ve tried to start it once or twice, got a page into it, and quit.

Image from here.

This time, however, I determined that I couldn’t give up until at least the second chapter, and surprise! I’ve quite enjoyed it.  Last night when I couldn’t sleep, I figured it was because I’d stopped reading right as Scout was waiting for her brother Jem to fetch his pants from the neighbor’s fence, where they’d gotten entangled during some late-night cavorting; I had to know what happened.  So I got up, left Poor Kyle all alone in bed, and read for another three hours on the red flowered living room sofa.  I’m still not finished, but I’ve enjoyed it thus far.

This is not a book review, however.  I want to talk about racism.  Or, more specifically, “The ‘N’ Word,” in reference to black people.  To Kill a Mockingbird is set during the Great Depression, when segregation was full-fledged and the “N” word was a commonly-used household term.  I’m not at all offended that Harper Lee used the word so frequently [because to avoid it would make the novel completely void of historical accuracy], but I can’t help the fact that I cringe every time I come across it.

It is my least favourite word in the English language. I absolutely, one hundred percent, do not tolerate that word; I lose a little bit of respect for people in this era who do.

Atticus Finch didn’t.  I haven’t quite reached this part of the story yet, but I’m anxious to finish this post so I can get back to it.  Image from here.

On occasion, Poor Kyle dares to play the devil’s advocate and point out that many black people refer to themselves using the word.  So it is true, and I’ve never asked why this is, but I’m quite sure it means something different to them than it does to me.  For example, when somebody in my general acquaintance says it, it’s with all the derogatory passion he can muster.  However, when a black person refers to himself as a N*, I am quite sure he doesn’t actually long to become enslaved again, or to be thought of as the lowest caste of the country.  That doesn’t mean I think it’s okay to say: I cannot stop people from using the word, whether in reference to themselves or another human being…

…but I can still hate the word [and in this instance, I literally mean “hate”].

My parents taught me this way.  At family gatherings, if jokes were told and the N word was mentioned, my mom instructed us not to laugh—it’s not funny to use that word, she’d tell us.  My father, too, taught by example; I have never, in my life, heard him use that word, or any other mean-spirited name.  I’ve never even heard him cuss. I can’t even imagine him doing so.  My dad is a good, good man.  I was raised by stalwart parents.

I was one of very few caucasian kids at my predominantly Mexican-immigrant populated elementary school, but it never—ever—occurred to me that I should only play with the white kids, because we were better than the kids with dark hair.  In my mind, that would have been like saying, “Well, today there’s a breeze, so I’d better not floss my teeth.”  Utter nonsense.

Side note: Rosa Parks died in 2005, at which time I was at ASU writing a term paper on Brown vs. Board of education and the Civil Rights Movement.  We spent all day in my English 102 class discussing her life.  I’ll never forget it.  Image from here.

I cannot fathom how this country went so long embracing segregation—the thought that somebody would, by law, be forced to give up her seat in a public place for me, because of my skin colour…it is unthinkable.  Quite the same sort of unthinkable as Adolf Hitler’s rise to power, or any genocide throughout history.

Racism: whether literally killing a person [i.e. Hitler], or taking away a person’s human freedoms [i.e. slavery and segregation], or simply degrading a person’s pride with a simple word [i.e. “N.”], because of colour (skin colour, hair colour, eye colour), is—to me—the very essence of ignorance.

There aren’t many words I haven’t said in my life.  I enjoy a good curse along with the best of sailors {although I’m trying to quit for Poor Kyle, who wishes he’d married more of a lady}.  But I have never said, nor will I ever say, the “N” word.  I’d rather drop an effer ten times a day for the rest of my life than say the “N” word.

“Don’t say n*, Scout.  That’s common.”  Image from here.

It got me thinking last night, as I cringed at each sight of the word, of how many ignorant people might still be using it today, many perhaps in reference to President Elect Obama.  Disagree with the man’s politics, dislike his style of parenting, argue his motives for governing the country, but please…don’t use that word.  “It’s common,” as Atticus Finch taught his daughter [which struck me as such a profoundly simple way to guide a child toward goodness].

If we must judge, let us at least judge based on something that matters, like a person’s moral character or political crusades; not ethnic background or colours.