At their July 2007 annual convention, The NAACP buried the N-word in a mock funeral held in Detroit. Two Percheron stallions pulled a caisson atop which rested a pine box draped with a bouquet of fake black roses. “Today,” announced Detroit’s mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick, “we’re not just burying the N-word; we’re taking it out of our spirit. We gather burying all the things that go with the N-word. We have to bury the ‘pimps’ and the ‘ho’s’ that go with it. Die N-word, and we don’t want to see you ‘round here no more.”17 Added NAACP chairman, Julian Bond, “While we are happy to have sent a certain radio cowboy back to his ranch (Radio Shock Jock Don Imus, after his “nappy-headed ho’s” comment), we ought to hold ourselves to the same standard. If he (Imus) can’t refer to our women as ‘Hos’, then we shouldn’t either. And it is not a violation of the First Amendment not to use the ‘N’ word.”18
Unfortunately these efforts will be a tough sell for some, like Samuel L. Jackson, who are still addicted to the n-word. “We grew up saying it and it’s what I say all the time,” said one young African American woman. “It’s (the New York City Resolution) not going to stop anybody from saying it. Damon Wayans of the sitcom “My Wife and Kids” once tried to patent the N-word for a line of clothing. The effort failed. Can you imagine your five-year-old running around the house with n——- stitched prominently across his chest? Or on his back side? Are our minds, as the saying goes, so open that our brains have fallen out?
Apparently a rapper called Nas happily spilled his brains on the sidewalk outside the 2008 Grammys. He showed up with N- printed across the front of his shirt. That’s okay, because (1) he was probably just trying to promote his new album, N-, and (2) he’s black—a card-carrying member of that club that has exclusive proprietary rights to the word.
In the end, we have a Harvard prof who thinks we can satirize racists by using the N-word. The Fighting Whites experiment seems to have blunted that notion, however. Several experts have weighed in on the subject: journalists from The Atlanta Constitution as well as The Washington Post, and entertainer Bill Cosby. Michael Richards showed us all how awful N— sounds when it’s spoken by a white person, and that was confirmed by the case of the two reporters working for CNN. One black comedienne wants the word to be spoken in its purest form, lest we dilute its true meaning, while at least one school district has banned Twain’s Huck Finn for its use of the word. Two other entertainers, Samuel L. Jackson and Snoop Dogg, have reaffirmed their devotion to using N—, while the NAACP buried the word, once and for all, in a mock funeral held in Detroit. And don’t forget the one teacher (that would be me) who found out what can happen when he makes reference of the word in his classroom.
Confusion, confusion and still more confusion. Certainly more confusion than clarity.
And reason #28 as to why were now a minute closer to midnight.
The Double Standard
“It is forbidden to kill; therefore, all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.” Voltaire
27 Minutes to Midnight…
Disclosure, penned by the late Michael Crichton, was one of his best efforts, and I consider Barry Levinson’s movie adaptation, starring Michael Douglas and Demi Moore, to be an accurate and even stylish version of the popular novel. Briefly, the book deals with the issue of sexual harassment in the work place—specifically, a fictional computer company called DigiCom. But there’s a twist. Much to the disdain of feminists everywhere, it’s the woman who is harassing the man, not the other way around. Tom Sanders (Douglas) shows up for work one morning expecting to get the VP promotion. Instead, it goes to sexy Meredith Johnson (Moore). Now installed as Sanders’ superior, Johnson starts in on the harassment. After all, she holds all the cards. She has the power.
As I’m describing the plot to my students, most of the boys in the class of juniors are sporting curious looks on their faces, looks that almost suggest, She’s harassing him? Okay. That’s cool. Wait a minute. You don’t understand what it’s like to be harassed, I tell them. It’s anything but pleasant. Do you really think the woman who ends up harassing you is going to resemble anything close to Demi Moore? And even if she did look like Moore, do you really think her looks and curves would mollify harassment’s sting? The boys are clearly unsure of what to say.
I tell them my story from many years ago. I was getting my belongings, one morning, from the faculty room when I felt this hand patting my behind. “Morning, Tommy,” the voice behind me said. At this point, my students’ ears have perked up and they seem mildly amused by the whole episode, especially the boys. That all ends when I tell them what I saw when I swung around. The woman touching me was about five feet tall and must have weighed close to two-hundred pounds. A good twenty-five years my senior, she looked every bit the female version of Winston Churchill—with a little more hair, of course. Their faces, their expressions torque and twist into frowns of disgust. Exactly, I tell them. Perhaps now we understand why women often describe their tormentors as disgusting pigs. I chide the guys for living in La-La land. Many of them actually think being harassed by a woman is a walk in the park. Somehow they’re convinced their harasser will be some hot babe, who merely wishes to caress them and whisper sweet nothings in their ears. It might get a little annoying after a while, but she’s just a chick. How bad can things get?
How about real bad.
After Sanders finds out he’s been passed over, he has a meeting with his staff. A female engineer at the conference table comments that Sanders can now sleep his way up the corporate ladder. One of the men across from her takes mild exception to that and snickers. Why the cynical reaction, she asks him? Tom’s attractive. What’s the difference? He responds immediately: Because men aren’t the ones who are supposed to be sleeping their way to the top.
The double standard.
Apparently only women would roll around in the sack for a better job. Men earn their positions the right way—with skill and hard work. So, by the end of the movie Sanders’ attorney asks Meredith Johnson how many times she heard Tom Sanders say ‘no’ during their hot and steamy encounter (at which time Sanders abruptly broke away from their embrace, suddenly remembering his wife and kids). The attorney asks, “Don’t we tell women that they can stop at any time?” Isn’t it true that a man must immediately honor a woman’s wishes, even if she suddenly changes her mind about a romantic tryst or encounter, the attorney wonders out loud? What if a man decides he wants to suddenly put the skids on a romantic romp? Doesn’t he also have that right? Do men deserve less consideration on that score? Of course, the prevailing male-think may be that no reasonable man would want to stop such an encounter in the heat of the moment. Women might, but not men. No real man would, at any rate. This would explain the nasty email messages that hit Tom Sanders’ inbox after word gets out that a hot babe wanted him and he said ‘no thanks.’ Guys like you give men a bad name you [expletive]. Sanders pauses, then moves on to the next message. Why don’t you just admit you are gay?1
ABC’s Diane Sawyer interviewed Crichton, back in 1994, when Disclosure was in its first printing. I’ve shown this tape many times to my juniors. I tell them that, yes, Crichton was a little quirky. Most brilliant men are. He had a rather curious laugh, coming at odd times during the interview. He calls lots