Ethnic Slurs and
College Life: A Personal Essay
[I read this aloud in my English 11 class this morning. It's a first-year writing class focused on literature related to immigration. Alongside conventional analytical essays I have given students the option on occasion to do personal essays that connect the readings in class to their own families' experiences of immigration. This morning I decided to present my own version of one such paper.]
As you all undoubtedly have heard, the African American oriented
dorm on campus, Umoja House, was vandalized Wednesday morning with eggs and the
N-word spray painted nearby. As of this writing (Thursday 11/7) we don’t know anything
about who did it. Still, that event and the conversations that have emerged from
it on campus made me realize it was time for me to do my own version of the personal
essays I've been encouraging you to write on occasion in this class.
Today, then, I want to talk a little about my own experience
with ethnic slurs. As you know I am a Sikh, with family from India. I wear a
turban and full beard as part of the custom for Sikh men. All of the adult men
in my family have worn turbans, going back many generations. Given what
has happened on campus this week, I want to talk a little about the damage
that can come from ethnic slurs – but also about the strange and sometimes
paradoxical thinking that leads them to be uttered in the first place. I will use
some personal experiences I have had as examples, but my goal is to use those
examples in connection with some general ideas about ethnic and racial slurs on
a college campus. This is a personal essay, yes, but it's not really about me.
In the books we have read in this class, slurs have sometimes
entered into the story somewhat ambiguously. In T.C. Boyle’s The Tortilla Curtain, slurs for Mexicans
are used but in one instance at least Candido Rincon doesn't read enough
English to understand what's being said -- though he certainly understands the message since the vandals who
spray-painted the words “Beaners Die” on a rock near his makeshift camp also
destroyed his personal property. With Henry Park and Chang Rae-Lee’s Native Speaker, we had some discussion
about the slur "gook," that American soldiers coined with reference
to the North Koreans they were fighting in the Korean War in the early 1950s.
(As we discussed, "gook" would also be applied to other Southeast
Asian people, especially the Vietnamese.)
The example of the term "gook" should instructive. It
was a term coined by soldiers who had been trained to see things in white and
black: the Koreans were the enemy. They weren't to be thought of as
human beings with families or individuality. Turning people into a faceless
other was at that time part of war (and perhaps it still is: in the recent wars
in Iraq and Afghanistan, American soldiers have developed new slurs for the
enemy).
But obviously, immigrant minorities and African Americans living
in the United States are not the enemy and should not be treated that way. Yet that's
what ethnic slurs do: they turn a group of other Americans, our neighbors and
our children's playmates, into a faceless other. Especially if you are already
struggling to fit in and to find your place in American society, having that
done to you by the people you hoped would be your friends hurts.
In Native Speaker, Lee’s
protagonist, Henry Park, did mention at one point that as a child he actually
preferred to be called gook rather than other derogatory terms used for Asians:
“I thought, I know I’m not a chink or a jap, which they would wrongly call me
all the time, so maybe I’m a gook. The
logic of a wounded eight-year old.” On reading that passage, some students in
the class seemed to understand Henry to be saying he liked being called “gook” – no. Pay close attention to the final
sentence there: “The logic of a wounded eight year old.” What he is expressing is
a response to being wounded. But the truth at the bottom of it is that he
wanted to be recognized by his peers—if
not sympathetically and respectfully, at least accurately. The hope for accurate
recognition is something that I think all ethnic and racial minorities share –
and not just minorities. As a mature adult, Henry looks back at his eight year
old self and sees just how twisted his thinking was.
In my own experience in college at Cornell University I myself had ethnic slurs directed my way more than once. Cornell has a tradition
called Slope Day, towards the end of the semester, when it's finally warm
enough to be outside for a little while. I only went to it once, my freshman year. I hadn't had much
experience with alcohol at the time and indeed I didn't drink that day. But as I was
exploring the scene with friends from my dorm an obviously drunk student approached
me and out of the blue called me a "raghead." I had never heard that
term before and didn't even know it was a slur for someone like me until that
moment.
Another time, I was walking near the main college drag in Ithaca
with a friend I’ll call M. M. wore her hair short cropped and had recently bought
a black leather jacket. Later in her life she would come out as a
lesbian, but at the time she identified as straight. A man who looked like he
had come out of the bar on College Ave. approached us. He pointed at me and
said "fucking towelhead." He pointed at her, and said "fucking
dyke." We just swallowed our feelings and walked on – but we were both jolted. I
was amazed at how quickly the words came out of the student’s mouth; he didn’t
even have to think – he just pointed and rattled them off, like he was ordering
fast food from a drive-thru. I was also stunned to see that my friend could be subject to an
insult that was totally different from the one that was directed at me – but that
it could do the same kind of damage.
These experiences were not the only ones. I
did not dwell on them all that much at the time, though in part because of them
I developed a strong mistrust of the fraternity culture at Cornell and must
admit that I continue to have a mistrust of fraternity and sorority culture in
general. I also have a mistrust of situations where there are lots of men around
who have been drinking. I don’t like big sporting events; I’m paranoid and find
it hard to enjoy myself and root for my team. I now stay completely out of sight on St. Patrick’s
Day, and Halloween is strictly for Trick or Treating in the suburbs.
(I can say that as a faculty member at Lehigh I am almost never
on campus in the evenings, so I don't have to deal with that aspect of life
here. I should also say that I have always been treated with respect and consideration
by the staff and students of this university.)
For a while after college I didn't hear much in terms of ethnic
slurs. I lived in Boston and then Durham, North Carolina and had mostly
positive experiences there (I do have some stories about Boston, but I’ll spare
you.)
Not all that surprisingly, after 9/11 the ethnic slurs erupted
with a vengeance. Though I am not a Muslim and have never supported any of the
beliefs held by religious extremists (of any
religion), my superficial resemblance to certain leaders of the Taliban and
Al Qaeda made me an easy target for casual slurs for months, even years, after
that event transpired.
Young men on the street (in both Philadelphia and New York) would casually, and with a sneer, say
things as they passed me: "Hey, look it’s Bin Laden!" "What's
up, Osama?" I'm not going to dwell on specific incidents, because there
were so many that I stopped counting them. I had a few situations that seemed
like they could get nasty. In one case I had some friends with me who were not
Sikhs who stood up for me and faced down people who were making these types of comments.
In another instance I was tailgated by an insane truck driver on route I-78 in
New Jersey for miles and miles.
But perhaps the most representative experience was a woman who
started screaming at me from her car at a traffic light. I actually couldn't
understand what she was saying; I just saw the anger in her voice and on her
face. I tried to laugh about it when I told a colleague about it a little later: whatever she wanted to call me I
didn't hear it so I guess she failed. Right?
But actually that encounter has stayed in my head, and now I think of it as a quintessential example of what a racial slur does and how it works. In fact, whenever
people addressed me by these names they were always getting it wrong. And this
is not just me: the people are being “named” when ethnic slurs are invoked do
not in fact resemble the images those names would seem to suggest.
The people who wrote the N-word on the sidewalk outside the
U-House at Lehigh, or who called me raghead or towelhead in college didn't know
their victims. Whatever their negative perception is of African American
people, the students in that dorm do not reflect that. They did not get to
Lehigh as gangsters or thugs; they got here by earning the right to be here
academically, just like everybody else. In part we know that we are not what
they call us -- and that surely ought to be the best way to resist the damage
that can be done by ethnic slurs. But sometimes it’s not so easy: it’s in the
uncertainty that sometimes arises that the potential for damage arises: am I that thing? Are they naming me correctly?
As I mentioned, immigrants and other minorities are often
struggling for recognition. We are struggling with who we are – and what we
call ourselves and how others address us is a big part of that struggle. I am
not immune to this -- I am not always sure whether I want to be known by my slightly
more difficult Indian name or by a nickname that others will find easier to
say. (Many of my students have told me about similar kinds of dilemmas over the years; college is where a lot of this stuff gets worked out.)
But when someone calls me “raghead” or “towelhead” or “Bin Laden,” that can be a form of naming from without. This is why it’s not enough to say, “oh, it’s just words, you can shake them off.” Actually, you can’t shake them off so easily, any more than you can shake off the primal association you have with your own first name. As with ethnic slurs, the names we are given by our parents are not chosen by us. And yet we accept them as helping to define who we are. Do slurs that are wielded against me also then define me?
But when someone calls me “raghead” or “towelhead” or “Bin Laden,” that can be a form of naming from without. This is why it’s not enough to say, “oh, it’s just words, you can shake them off.” Actually, you can’t shake them off so easily, any more than you can shake off the primal association you have with your own first name. As with ethnic slurs, the names we are given by our parents are not chosen by us. And yet we accept them as helping to define who we are. Do slurs that are wielded against me also then define me?
I do have a strong belief that in the United States you don't
have to choose between who your family was before migrating and the
dominant/mainstream culture of American society. You can continue being Irish
American or Polish American or Indian American two generations, three
generations, or four generations down the line. You can be proud of that
heritage, celebrate it, and continue to feel connected to your family's
pre-immigration culture. But the use of ethnic slurs makes that a little
harder. It suggests a dominant culture that is intolerant of any difference
from the mainstream, including the kinds of differences (ethnic and racial)
that you can't do anything about. The possibility of slurs and dehumanization
makes many young people want to do whatever they can to try and fit in – downplaying
any signs of difference. That’s how Nikhil (in The Namesake) becomes Nick, and how Kalpen Modi becomes Kal Penn.
A quick comment for the students in the class who don't feel
ethnically marked -- who identify as effectively just "white" [note:
we had talked about this in an earlier class]. Sometimes students in your
position feel kind of helpless in these discussions: this doesn't apply to me. I’ve never used that term and I don’t think
it’s likely anyone will ever use that kind of derogatory language about me.
In fact, in some of the worst situations I ever found myself in
I was helped by allies who were white. In college, I had a friend named David
who was ready to physically fight one guy who insulted me -- I had to hold him
back. And there are many other ways of being an ally. I know at least some students at
Lehigh have been seeing the recent events as overhyped or blown out of
proportion – what’s the big deal?
One way of being an ally is to intervene in those conversations,
not from the position of some kind of civil rights expert or advocate, but simply
to say: well, actually racial slurs do
matter and this is not something to joke about. The complaint minority
students are making in response to these racial slurs is legitimate and real.
That small act of taking someone else’s complaint seriously can go a long way
towards building a community that feels inclusive and concerned, rather than merely a place you have to suffer through.
6 comments:
Deep,
What a touching and brave essay. You are right in so many respects with the points you make. I would like to hear about your students' responses to it.
Deep, What a brave and touching essay. As I was reading it, of course I was having flashbacks to some of my own experiences - some of which I have written about in other places. Thank you so much for sharing it on your blog. How did your students respond to it?
Certain antisocial elements might have tried to hurt this young teacher with thoughtless provocations, but they failed. As a 74 year old Indian-American I was many times ridiculed for my accent, and once almost beaten up during Iranian hostage crisis for they mistook me for an Iranian. I remember those incidences. But I must not forget a southern-white gas station manager rescued me from those wild young men. I hope that this gentleman's inherent humanity inspires me.e '
Hi Priya, my students were very supportive and had great questions.
It helped that I presented this after two of them had read their own personal essays.
I hope all is well with you. (Still out in California?)
I think it is a secondary matter that you were insulted for being a member of the group to which you do not in fact belong.
The primary problem is that people feel entitled, or even compelled, to insult others because they belong to this or that particular group.
Hi Paul,
Part of what I was trying to do in this essay is suggest that since we can't always control how people decide what to call us, resistance comes from knowing how these slurs work.
In some cases it is true that I in particular have been insulted as a member of a group to which I do not belong. (And I can't help but think of the Asians who are also frequently misrecognized, or the Puerto Ricans who are mistaken for Mexican etc).
But what about "raghead" ? What group does that name?
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