“The man who lives by evil thoughts
Escapes the judgment of the courts
Thinking things is not a crime
Punishable by human law
But every evil thought in time
Will flower into a thousand warts…”
From The Warnings of Bachchoo
I don’t suppose that using the word in an Indian newspaper column will earn a fatwa of any sort. This column has readers in the UK, which may plausibly result in an argument or two but not in social ostracism.
I am not alluding to insulting some Prophet or pronouncing a taste for a cut of some holy animal — I have no such death wish! I refer to what politically correct circles pronounce “the N-word”.
There are now several of these alphabet “words” — an invasion whose immigrant presence in the English language is as accepted as chicken tikka masala in the cuisine of the nation.
There is the F-word, the C-word, the B-word, though this last is less used, as its originals haven’t yet been entirely banished — and then there is, in the same category as the N-word, the P-word, as used by racists to mean “of Asian origin”.
Among all these, the N-word and possibly the P-word have become absolute taboos. The C-word, widely disapproved of, can still be heard used in anger. A notorious editor of a popular daily is addicted to the term and at his daily news conferences expresses his disapproval of this or that journalist, sub-editor or public character by using the epithet — so much so that the sessions are referred to by his staff as “the vagina monologues”.
The F-word, in its original avatar has become a bold literary presence and some pretentious writers throw it about as a mark of defiance. The only individuals allowed to use the N-word even to refer to each other are black American males.
Even though West Indian males in Britain attempt to imitate their US contemporaries, the usage is rare and would meet with instant disapproval — even if used by rappers in their diatribes.
No wonder then that a Tory MP no less, one Anne Marie Morris, speaking at a “Brexit” meeting at the East India Club in London was suspended from the party for unwittingly using the word in her address from the speaker’s platform. Ms Morris didn’t aim the epithet at anyone. She appeared on the platform with other Tory MPs and Labour MP Chuka Umunna, who is of African origin.
In her speech about the consequences of Brexit, she used the phrase “the nigger in the woodpile”! She used it as unthinkingly and with no racial intent as one would use a phrase such as, say, “the elephant in the room”.
The other Tory MPs didn’t bat an eyelid, not registering the socio-linguistic transgression, but Mr Umunna immediately took to the Twitter.
The press picked up the outrage, and so did 10 Downing Street. Theresa May ordered the immediate suspension of Ms Morris from the Party.
Ms Morris proceeded to express her extreme regret for any pain she might have caused black people and the outrage she had stimulated in the politically cautious brigade. She went on to say that she had grown up with the phrase being in common usage though she did realise that it was now unacceptable and had just slipped out without her thinking of its denigratory connotations. The Whip was withdrawn though some would have it laid on.
Ms May can, with her struggling minority in Parliament, ill-afford to lose another MP, so her suspension of Ms Morris demonstrates the seriousness of this PR offence. Not that Ms Morris, judging from her political stance, will turn into a Tory rebel, so Ms May made a calculated sacrifice knowing the slaughtered lamb would live on.
I wonder then which of my gentle readers, those of my generation and after, can remember a nursery rhyme which begins with “Eeny Meeny Miny Moe” and proceeds with a recommendation to behave in an outrageous way towards a non-white person now described by the N-word. I certainly repeated the rhyme in my childhood and pictured in my mind’s eye the action it prescribes. It didn’t occur to me, I regretfully confess, to question or reflect on the absurdity and racist crudity of the verse.
It took the surrounding social context of living in multi-cultural Britain to breed in me the outlawing inhibition.
Obviously, no force of social context invaded Ms Morris’s existence till the fateful day when the phrase slipped out.
There are equivalent words in India and, in contrast to my total neutrality towards the Eeny-Meeny rhyme, I realised and insisted from a very early age that the word which characterised dalits in my history books and in common discourse was, as was the caste practice it described, abominable.
I was aware, as were my friends, that Gandhiji had coined the word Harijans, which we used till it was rejected as patronising by dalits. The U-word (to coin a phrase) has justly gone to hell, but other words are in constant use to describe people of one religion or another or our fellow Indians from different parts. I have never heard a Parsi object to being called a “bawa”. Calling Native Americans “chief” is now patronising and questionable. The Indian equivalent is calling Sikhs “sardar”, but that’s seen as respectful deference. Muslims uninhibitedly refer to themselves as “miahs”. Gujaratis don’t vociferously object (yet?) to being called “Gujjus”, but I have heard the word “Harrys” for Biharis being strongly slapped down.
Of course, there are nasty words to describe several fellow Indians, from south to north and northeast, and it’s now evident that there is a growing tide of resistance to very many of them, most strongly from the linguistic militants of the characterised group or region.
I don’t suppose the English euphemism will transfer to India, so Maharashtrians may never be tagged with the “Gh-word” or people from Kerala with the “M-word”. Indian ingenuity will, I am sure, find some other alternative — subtler in its insults.
