Nigger

Okay:

The word has never bothered me very much. Even when white people use it. I'm sure that has a lot to do with me not growing up in the hot and racist times of my parents and grandparents. In fact, I grew up in one the most liberal cities in the country. I never got the impression that any of the white people I knew were prejudiced in any way. And if I ever heard the word, it was certainly coming out of the mouth of someone who looked like me.

The first time I ever heard a non-black use the word in a negative way, I was away at reform school. There was this Korean kid who had been adopted by a white family. Other than his very Korean-sounding name and his very Korean-looking face, there was nothing to distinguish him from his white classmates. For whatever reason, there was a sizable Korean student population at the school. But they didn't socialize with him. Sometimes he would interpret for new Korean students or speak briefly in the mess hall. But he was certainly not embraced.

And he was the only one of those motherfuckers who didn't do that karate shit. Which I learned is something like being black and not knowing how to dance.

But none of that seemed to bother him. He was a firecracker. A short, loud, fast-talking, quick-tempered motherfucker. One day we were sneaking a cigarette in his dorm room when he whispered to me, "I hate niggers. Can't stand 'em. But, for some reason, I like you. You're not like the others."

I had no response for him. I just nodded.

If someone said the same thing to me tomorrow, I might do the same thing. How should you respond to something like that?

These days, however, I'm called a nigger more frequently than I ever have been. By my own people. And it's not really meant to be a complement.

"You know what, Claude?" someone might say, "You are a nigga."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means. You got your bourgeois side like everybody else. But most of you is pure nigga."

"Are you trying to insult me?"

"Take it how you want it, nigga."

The sad part is that I seem to be having this conversation at least once a week with different people.

I might say to a friend, "You know, such-and-such called me a nigga last week and I don't think they meant it as a complement."

"Well, you know how you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Aw, nigga, stop pretending. You're, like, the biggest nigga I know."

"Nigga like coon nigga? Like Sambo?"

"Naw. Nigga like you might piss on somebody's elevator nigga."

"Piss on somebody's elevator? I would never do that."

"Well, you certainly got everybody thinking you would. Be honest with yourself and embrace it. You love being a nigga."

There is a part of me that loves being irreverent and contrary. And I suppose that's what they're talking about. But it has me thinking, "If this is what your own people think of you, then what are the others thinking?"

Good question, I think.

And who knows? You'd be hard-pressed to find a white person in this town who's willing to have a candid conversation about race. It's still too controversial and everyone's so goddamn liberal and politically correct. But my imagination tells me that if my own folks think I'm a nigga, then I must be like Ultra Nigga to white people.

Not that it matters.

In the end, I'm not flattered or insulted. I'm not indifferent either. I'm concerned. It's one hell of an indictment. When I'm dead and gone and people are trying to tell my daughter what kind of guy I was when among friends, I don't want them to say, "Sweetheart, your father was a pure nigga."


Thanks for reading.



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Confession: I might be a little bit flattered.