by Ummer AliAs I walk off the train I’m confronted by the thing that every New Yorker hates: slow walkers. There is an army crowding the staircase, they offer no space to walk around, and to make it worse I forgot my headphones. Since I can’t tune out the world with an early morning symphony of Childish Gambino & Freddie Gibbs, I begin to hear snippets of conversations; a young boy complaining about the weather, an older man speaking very loudly in Chinese on the phone. To some this is just noise to be tuned out; to others it is the chorus of the city. I waited and walked and walked, and then I was hit by a second thing New York commuters hate; high school students. I try not to pay attention to them, I remember when I used to be like them; loud, obnoxious and ready to take on the world. In the midst of reminiscing over my adolescence, the word “nigga” catches my ear. This word can be horribly offensive, and at times it can be a term of endearment, or just an everyday adjective. Language is powerful; different versions of the word fuck can be either a part of attack speech, or just a way of talking to a friend (personally I’m guilty of talking to my friends like that). Nigga is a word that has been used in many different contexts, and by many different people; but this piece will focus on two very different people, and what the word nigga means for them. DG is first and foremost, a black man living in the USA. We have worked closely together for the past few months, and I think of him as a friend. DG used to say the N word all the time but recently he has made an effort to stop saying it, and the fact that he’s a teacher has made that all the more difficult for him. DG: Best way I can describe the N word from a black person’s perspective is that when I say it, I don’t get upset… I remember me and my best friend and my cousin were driving with my uncle, and I guess we were using it so much because he was getting upset and threatening us to stop. I remember thinking to myself that I don’t even hear it anymore; you know it’s so simple even in my thoughts. If I’m referring to another male it becomes; look at this nigga over here.... ...But if I hear a white person or someone who isn’t in my culture saying it, I can’t pretend I don’t get upset. It’s literally like knives in my ear. This feeling in the pit of my stomach; it’s a primal feeling like this is wrong, this is not right you’re taking it way past it being okay. DG then went on to an interaction he had on the bus in Jamaica Queens one time. He remembered it very well, and I could tell from the way he was telling the story that it had still stuck with him all this time. He was waiting at a crowded bus stop. Alongside him there was a man who was on the phone, and he kept using the word nigga. DG: At first I was tired, and said let it go, but I knew if I did I would be thinking about it all day. I made sure to stand right next to him [when we got on the bus], and he said it one more time, but this time he said it to me, and he was referring to the bus driver. I don’t know what he said, but I remember I said bro, ever since we got on this bus all I heard you say was nigga this, nigga that, and it’s starting to piss me off. And he apologized and said oh I'm sorry my fault. If his reply would’ve been anything other than sorry, than we would’ve fought and I knew that. Is it important for people to use the N word? Does it even really matter? DG: I think it is. If we use this word so loosely, that’s how you get other groups using it. I remember I used to have an Asian roommate and he said it all the time. One time he said it in front of one of his friends, while I was there, and his friend punched him in the arm like hey hey hey. And I didn’t even notice [that he said it] UA: So let me ask you this, I have a Cambodian friend who grew up out in California. He describes himself as hood born in bred. He grew up really rough in the projects in Oakland, his father was in gangs, his uncles were in gangs and he’s in a gang now. He uses nigga all the time, and he thinks that he can say it, he doesn’t think twice about it because he grew up so rough. Is it okay if he says it? What would be your response if you didn’t know him hearing that? DG: I need him to stop saying that. UA: What if you did know him? DG: I need him to stop saying that shit. You’re justification for saying the N word is that you grew up rough, which to me means that niggas grow up rough. So just because you grew up rough you consider yourself to be a nigga. UA: Do you battle saying it? DG: Every single day. ...Even when I go to insult people; I’d be quick to call someone a faggot, but now I’m more conscious of how hurtful that is, so I can’t expect people to be conscience of the N word if I’m loosely calling people faggots. If you want someone else to stop, then you have to stop, I can’t point the finger at everyone and say that I’m a great person, that I’m clean, [because] I’m not. Nas is my daily morning pump up. I bump his music first thing in the morning; I get hyped rapping along in my head; getting ready to take on the world. I rap every lyric from some songs flawlessly and without hesitation. The word nigga comes up a lot, and I never think twice to rap it. It also comes up in my conversations; I use it all the time. “Love committing sins, and my friends sell crack This nigga raps with a razor keep it under my tongue The school dropout, never like the shit from day one ‘Cause life ain’t shit from but stress, fake niggas, and crab stunts" Language is weird. I’ve never considered why I use it. I just use it. If I’m not allowed to use it then who is? Why are they allowed to use it? Who makes the rules? Who can say nigga, and what does it mean? There is a stereotype that exists; those who say nigga are “ghetto”. They’re the ones who listen to hip hop, who join gangs, who get into fights. They are the ones who live in bad neighborhoods. They’re the kids who you saw in school who never went to class; they’re the rough ones. They’re black or brown. But they aren’t the only ones, I have seen this word used by white kids from the suburbs, I’ve seen it used by Asian kids playing basketball, and I’ve heard it from my own mouth. I can’t speak for the others, but I never think twice about saying the word nigga. It’s a word so engrained into my vocabulary, that it just comes up constantly. Since I’ve started this piece, I’ve been asked to contemplate why this is. Honestly, I don’t have an answer for you. I grew up around this word, it was never derogatory. It was just a word you called someone, it meant different things in different situations, but it was just there. Maybe its habit, maybe it’s me attempting to fit into the hip hop stereotype, or maybe I’m just trying to be edgy. This is an issue that I will have to contemplate on, much as many other people do. I don’t think it’ll leave my vocabulary, but after writing this it might be scaled back. I’ve seen what that word means to a close friend in DG; and I wonder how many of my other friends feel that way? Words can build bonds, or they can destroy friendships. They are the foundations on which good relationships are built; think about it, you don’t hang out with anyone who can’t hold a conversation with you. Everyone admires a great story teller, and I’ve grown up with some of the best storytellers in my own personal life. A friend of mine who constantly said the word nigga in his life once told me a beautiful analogy. He told me that a storm is the devil’s blade. Storms are violent, they are powerful, they destroy and they cause chaos. Storms are a reminder that at the end of the day Mother Nature doesn’t play any games; and we are but a mere speck of dust in the vast jungle of Earth. If Mother Nature so chose, we would be dead tomorrow. Such a realization should make us forget about the hate we have for each other. About the animosity; it should make us forget what the mean kid said to you in the 5th grade. Wasn’t that beautifully put? This is from a guy who listens to that Nas verse up there all the time. If the previous paragraph brought out any emotion in you, then you realize the power of language. If it didn’t, then maybe your emotions are brought out by other forms of language. Whether it’s a song, a conversation, a poem, or the word nigga, Language is a part of our daily lives. It’s time we acknowledge its strength and its power. It’s time we start to be aware of what we say, and maybe for some, begin to change that language.
But who knows, this is all just words anyway right?
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by Ummer AliDear World, You condemn my people on the basis of our religion. You search us at the airports on the basis of us having beards, or looking “too Muslim”. What does that even mean? Your definition of Islam is skewed by the media's manipulation, and by fear-mongering politicians who seek to profit from our misfortune. This letter was originally written in the immediate aftermath of the bombings which occurred in Chelsea on September 17th. That’s the original introduction you just read; it was a letter filled with rage and emotion, about how the United States government, in an effort to reduce terrorism, is effectively perpetuating Islamophobia and xenophobia. After letting the issue digest, and speaking about it to several different people, I decided to rewrite my letter, but in an effort to not lose emotion. As I did so I experienced a struggle. A struggle to be blunt but not to be depicted as the “angry Muslim,” because we know what kind of stereotypes come with that specific characterization. My father grew up in the countryside of Pakistan, and his mother still resides there. His father, my grandfather is buried there, and while I do not know of the man he was, I have heard stories that exemplify his kind nature. This area, much like a lot of Pakistan, is without clean running water or indoor plumbing, and is without electricity for up to 20 hours of the day. The livelihood of these people is built on grazing cattle, cutting grain and sugarcane, and driving trucks. Many people struggle to survive, and some die in worse poverty than anyone in the States has ever known. Beggars litter the city streets, store owners press people to buy their goods, chickens are locked up in cages waiting to be slaughtered and eaten, (but only as a luxury--meat is not a meal the rural Pakistani eats every day.) People are happy, but they dream. They dream of a better life, and one of the places that better life might happen is the United States. A lucky few, like my family, have been able to migrate here. For those lucky enough to reach the U.S., recent actions by a select few individuals, claiming to speak for Islam, have instilled a fear within my people, my fellow Pakistani immigrants. Taxi drivers are scared to stop in the wrong places, families are afraid to speak Arabic and Punjabi in public, fear being kicked off airplanes as terrorists. Children in school named Mohammed are shortening their names to Moe, while Ahmeds are asking to be called by their last names. I have personally witnessed co-workers of mine refusing to show up for work out of fear of a backlash over the recent attacks. They did not want to be targeted. Justice is dead in the United States, replaced by a regime of injustice and repression. Bullshit. I’m tired of Islam being terrorized. I’m tired of mosques advocating for their members “to be vigilant, to be careful.” An uncle of mine often says that we Muslims are the windows through which the rest of the U.S. views Islam He says that if we show them we are good, they will see us as good. I’m tired of that not working, I’m tired of the window always being clouded by the rain of extremism, by the clouds of a select few individuals. I hurt from all the pain, my mind and soul ache from all the turmoil, genocide, and atrocities occurring in Palestine, in Syria, in Pakistan, in Colombia, in South America, everywhere there is struggle. My heart aches and cries out for resolution. As I walk on the train carrying my gym bag, I see a sign that says “If you see something, say something.” I wonder if people “see” anything when they see me? The fear grips me, and sends me into panic. What if I’m racially profiled? What if they claim I’m a terrorist? I wear my beard proudly, but it identifies me along with my general appearance, for a beard on a Muslim is something that elevates some people’s heart rate. I fear for my sisters in the hijab. Many of you wear this proudly, but hate crimes are rising. My appearance is not wholly defined--maybe someone will think I’m Indian--but you can’t mistake a hijab. I fear for the sexism, and Islamophobia that all this brings on to you, and I am amazed by your strength and it drives me through my pain every day. You are my inspiration, and you, you my sisters are warriors. The faith of many is tested in this context. If there really is a God, how is he letting this happen to his people? God is testing us, but God--I was never good in school--so please help. How can you just watch your people’s lives be ruined, and do nothing? Why don’t you step down and help us? Why can’t you make yourself known? What happened to you, oh great one? Step down here with your people and make a stand! It feels as if we are insects trying to fistfight God into action, and God stamps our pleas with a mighty slam of his foot. But we still breathe. We still act, we still fight for change, we try to pull the curtain back, to say look! Look! See what they’re doing? We can change this but we need help. This is not about me vs. you, about Christianity vs. Islam, about Black vs. White, but instead it’s about hate and selfishness vs. freedom and the right to live. I’m just so tired. I am full of emotion, and just pain. I am overwhelmed by grief and heartache. I reflected on the original article, and thought that maybe, just maybe I would feel differently after a while. My heart is still heavy with emotion, and my mind is a maze with no solution. People stop believing in monsters after a while but that’s because they find monsters around them. The media, and the United States are creating monsters that are hiding in the closets of your mind. And yet, the “monsters” fear you. |
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