I’ll try to be brief… ish.
“Me with my n***a @LenaDunham of @HBOGirls – I love this beyotch!!”
So, you get it.
This tweet caught like wildfire on the internet machine. Some were up in arms, some were coming to Lisa’s defense, others felt like Lena Dunham was to blame because she’d said nothing for days — kind of the “silence-is-acceptance” theory. My friends ranged from offended to mildly annoyed.
I, on the other hand, couldn’t make myself give a piece of a d**n about it. I couldn’t make myself care. I’m so exhausted by the debate over whether the word’s use always implies hate and vitriol, or if it’s a colloquial term of endearment that’s harmless. I’m tired of discussion around whether or not its history still has implications today versus the idea that its power has been taken back. I just. Don’t. Care.
I remember the first time I felt this way was back a few years ago: a group of black leaders hosted a funeral for the word in a ceremony led by the NAACP. The idea was to bury the word, thereby (seemingly) ending its use. Profound.
Somehow, it seems the word’s burial wasn’t for long. Raised from the dead, the word seems to live on, thrive even. I don’t know if the world didn’t get the memo or what, but it seems the idea that we could no longer use this word didn’t get out.
This gets on my nerves, in the most nonchalant of ways. I just don’t care.
We give so much power to the word “n***a.” The response is almost beginning to start to feel disingenuous. I’m starting to feel like we get upset because we are told we should be, feel like we’re supposed to, or something somewhere in between.
To be clear, when I say “we,” I don’t mean black people, exclusively. I do mean to include black people, but also white people, all other ethnicities, the media, and everyone that doesn’t fit under my demographic umbrella.
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