Ya Can't Censor History

If you missed the latest censorship nonsense out there, here's a taste:
(excerpted from a brilliant piece by Michiko Kakutani, for the New York Times, linked here. )

"A new effort to sanitize “Huckleberry Finn” comes from Alan Gribben, a professor of English at Auburn University, at Montgomery, Ala., who has produced a new edition of Twain’s novel that replaces the word “nigger” with “slave.” Nigger, which appears in the book more than 200 times, was a common racial epithet in the antebellum South, used by Twain as part of his characters’ vernacular speech and as a reflection of mid-19th-century social attitudes along the Mississippi River."

Why would a professor of English Literature want to convince the general public that omitting the work "nigger" from Huckleberry Finn is a good idea? To avoid offending the reader? To protect our children? Really?  Check the embedded link "slave", in the excerpt above, for an explanation from the hopeful censor.


The blogosphere is full of clever explanations and reactions to this latest bit of Uncle Tom-foolery. Check out mixedraceamerica.blogspot.com and The Colbert Report for starters.


Here's my take.
Every time I type the word “nigger” I hurt. It’s a horrible, ugly word swollen with hideous imagery of brutality, hatred, and victimization. I resist saying it, and sometimes opt for “n-word” because “nigger” burns my mouth and lingers like bile. It hurts the ears too. Reminds us of an ugly past that most Americans (but not all) are ashamed to recall. But the power of words must be honored!  Writers of the caliber of Mark Twain choose/chose their words carefully. Ya can't go around changing the written word as it suits ya, Blanche! Ya can't!  

I have been called a lot of things. Nigger makes the list. Only once, when I was ten. 

I understood the mentality of the white girl who said it, and the superiority of her tone, because I understood the history of the usage of the word. She was not a stranger, nor did she ever pretend to like or respect me. She tolerated me. We hung out in the playground together with a bunch of other kids - all white - on a regular basis. She and I had a disagreement, a conflict, and she wanted to overpower me. She did it with words. My response was loud and profane, and then I ran home. Finished with that group, none of whom spoke up on my behalf.

It was the first time I felt the ugliness of racism firsthand. 
My mother urged me to appreciate that moment for what it was. The girl revealed her true self, and released me from that bogus social club.  My youthful interpretation of our country's racist history helped me appreciate the promise of brighter days. 


More rants about race labels to come.