#16 - Can slur words ever be reclaimed?
Deconstructing this much-contested topic.
⚠️ TW: Discussions on homophobia, racism and racist slurs.
Most of us would have immediately associated this discussion with the N-word. That word will be discussed, but before we go any further, I’d like to highlight two principles:
Discussions regarding slurs must be led by the communities impacted by them. Everyone else is an observer and should take direction from these communities.
Communities are not monoliths. How can we expect millions (billions in some instances) of people worldwide to share the same opinion just because they share a facet of their identity, such as their race, ethnicity, or sexual orientation? There will be differing opinions within communities; we must be okay with that.
This issue will focus on three slurs in particular; the' N-word', the term 'Queer', which was historically a homophobic slur and on a more personal note, 'P*ki', a racial insult directed at those of South Asian descent.
To help me deconstruct these terms, I have the support of two guest editors I’m incredibly indebted to. Discussing topics like this takes a toll, so please be mindful of this as you read their personal stories.
Introducing Sharon Hurley Hall
Sharon Hurley Hall, is an equality advocate, writer and author of I'm Tired of Racism: True Stories of Existing while Black. She also writes one of my most important monthly reads, The Anti-Racism Newsletter. Sharon is a constant source of inspiration, someone who’s unequivocal in their stance and quest for equality. Sharon will be sharing her perspective on the N-word.
The N-word: An Etymological exploration
Before Sharon provides her thoughts, here’s a brief overview of the term.
Put simply, this word is a highly offensive slur directed specifically at Black people.
The term is thought to derive from the Latin adjective for the colour 'black' and was originally a relatively neutral term but took on highly derogatory connotations between the 16th and 18th centuries during the wide-scale enslavement of African people by European nations. By the 19th century, it had evolved into an overt and violent slur.
Some authors continued to use the word until the 1980s when it became increasingly controversial regardless of its context or the author's intent. Since then, we have relied on the euphemism "N-word" for discussions such as this.
The Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary describes the term as "perhaps the most offensive and inflammatory racial slur in English". Despite this, when Elon Musk bought X (formerly known as Twitter) in 2022, and proclaimed himself “a free-speech absolutist”, the use of racial slurs soared as users set about testing him on his word.
X and Musk aside, today, the most common and open use of the term is in intra-group settings, most notably in the hip-hop community. This use is widely seen as an attempt to neutralise the word's impact on the Black community and as a sign of solidarity.
Although this is a common occurrence, it’s use is widely contested within the Black community. One common concern, shared by the NAACP, is that frequent exposure will dilute the negative perception that the majority of non-Black English speakers who currently view its use as unacceptable and taboo.
“The word I will NEVER reclaim!”
Language Matters: Sharon, what's your relationship with this word?
Sharon: The first time the N-word was used as a slur against me, I was six or seven. I was living in Trinidad, and I was at my father's workplace, which had a cafeteria area. I went to get a drink, which I was entitled to do, and as I recall, the white barman called me that slur and refused to serve me. The situation was resolved once it became clear that my dad worked there, but I have never forgotten it, and I've hated the word from that time to this.
Of course, that wasn't the last time I heard the word. In fact, I have the dubious honour of having been subjected to that word in several languages. I particularly remember the French guy who used it and that my white friend was mystified about why I'd rather sleep in the car than spend a single second more under the roof of someone who'd use that word. In her defence, her French wasn't good, so she probably didn't catch the nuance.
I can never hear the word without experiencing a visceral reaction, and it's not a word I ever use. I have also stopped using some colloquial expressions I grew up with that include the N-word. You will not hear it cross my lips, and I have asked people to refrain from using it around me. Of course, that doesn't always work, but at least it cuts down on the number of times I have to hear it.
LM: In your opinion, can a word (which we rightly do not even express in full) ever be reclaimed widely by the Black community?
Sharon: As a former language scholar, I know that language is always evolving, though the use of the N-word in the Black community is one evolution I don't agree with.
Some Black people do use the word among themselves. And some make the distinction between the N-word with a hard R at the end, and the N-word with an A at the end. For me, that's a semantic difference that doesn't do anything to defuse the pain that word carries for me. So my personal answer is no - why would I ever want to "reclaim" a term that has been used to oppress us and is fraught with multi-generational pain and trauma?
LM: Do you think the passage of time plays a role in reappropriating slurs? Does that mean can time can eventually heal?
Sharon: Our languages are full of words that have changed meaning and weight over time, so in theory, it's possible that this could happen with the N-word. On the other hand, it's been a few centuries, and the pain of being attacked by the N-word hasn't yet abated for Black people. I just don't see it happening. I hope that one day, nobody will use it at all, and it will merely be a historical linguistic footnote filed under "What were they thinking?"
LM: How do you feel about white people questioning their right to use this word?
Sharon: No, just... no! There is no world in which a white person can say the N-word without being immediately associated with the oppression and harm the word causes and without causing harm to any Black people in the room. The N-word is not value-free or history-free. Don't say it, don't sing it (even if it is part of a song - just bleep it out), don't think it. Ok, we can't stop people from thinking what they want, but definitely, if you're white, don't say it. Even if some Black people choose to use it within their group (which will never be me), that doesn't give a white person the right to do so. My question to any white person wanting to use the word is, why? Why do you want to use a word that's harmful and oppressive? I'd urge anyone who feels put out about being advised to avoid the N-word to look within and sit with why that is.
Introducing Jamie Luke Scoular
Jamie Luke Scoular is a freelance photographer and visual artist based in London, working across performance, portrait and place. His work has been featured at Christie's in London and, more recently, at the Accessible Art Fair. He is also the author of three self-published photo books that have explored the themes of recovery and identity. Jamie will be exploring the term ‘Queer’.
Queer: An etymological exploration
Today, queer is used as an umbrella term for those who are not heterosexual or cisgender. The word originally meant 'strange'. 'odd' or 'peculiar'. The Northern English expression 'There's nowt so queer as folk," meaning 'There is nothing as strange as other people' employs that meaning.
By the late 19th century, the term started to be used pejoratively against those from the LGBTQIA+ community and to denote sexual deviancy.
By the early 20th century, queer was one of several distinct social categories within gay male subcultures, and people would self-identify as ‘queer’ or ‘gay’ among other identities. This categorisation started to evolve after World War II when young men who preferred to identify as gay began criticising the older generation, whom self–identified as ‘queer’ as presenting a one-dimensional and inherently "effeminate' expression of what it meant to be gay.
By the late 1980s, the label had begun to be reclaimed from its derogatory status and used as a neutral or positive identifier by those within the LGBTQIA+ community. If we fast forward to today, it's used to describe a broad spectrum of identities and as a descriptor for culture associated with these communities, e.g. Queer art, queer literature or queer politics.
This adoption is also contested within the LGBTQIA+ community, again demonstrating the diversity of opinion that exists within all groups, specifically traditionally underrepresented ones.
“It’s impossible for the term ‘Queer’ to contain and reflect the opinions of everyone that it seeks to encompass, and that’s ok”.
Language Matters: Jamie, what's your relationship with the term 'queer'?
Jamie: Over the years, my relationship with the word has changed quite frequently, and the word itself has taken on a multitude of meanings. For as long as the word queer has been around with the intent to weaponise, the pursuit of reclamation has not been far behind it. So, with that, I felt closer to the word when I was younger and certainly identified with it more than I do now.
Anyone like myself, and there are a lot of us who grew up gay in the nineties, in the middle of nowhere under Section 28, probably first experienced the word through being bullied. So when I discovered that the word could take on a new, more positive meaning, I began healing from those really terrible experiences at school.
Whether it was due to seeking refuge from the terrible time at school or the fact that I’ve always gravitated towards more subversive people and ideas, I quickly found myself in the company of individuals where gender, identity and sexuality didn’t matter. Upon reflection, I realised that making that discovery in the early 2000s was fabulous! It was these people and our shared experiences that demonstrated that what I’d been told for so many years at school - being queer was wrong and bad wasn’t true, but also, it no longer held any power over me.
Growing up gay in a straight world, you’re sold an idea of what ‘gay’ is from straight people. Then you come out, and you’re sold an idea of what ‘gay’ is from your ‘community’. When I was growing up, to be gay and desirable meant there were specific criteria you had to meet, which started with having a six-pack and being masculine. As I said, I’ve always leaned more towards the subversive, so I never really agonised about not having these characteristics. Through the identification of queerness, I was able to gravitate towards others who didn’t care either.
Twenty-plus years later, and thankfully the world is a different place (in some ways), and now my relationship with the word queer is informed by the world around me. What felt like a more isolated and personal experience back then has now become entirely communal through the advent of social media. That’s positive on some levels, but it’s also become quite reductive, almost like a campaign or advertisement. It doesn’t feel rounded and reflective of the reality of being gay in a straight world.
I was talking to someone recently about queerness in the mainstream, and I joked about how punks must have felt in the 1970s. They had continually challenged the status quo and rejected societal norms; then, their aesthetic became mainstream. Their look became a marketing campaign to sell clothes that overrides the anti-capitalist message they were starting with. For me, there are similarities when I see corporate organisations churning out the same performative pride year after year.
Perhaps I am just getting older, and I have the privilege of not needing to identify with things so much because I feel safe to be myself. Maybe I’m being ignorant and dismissive of a society where queerness is vastly more accepted than it was 20 years ago, which is so vital given there are still many countries where it’s illegal to be LGBT+ (some of which the punishment is death). Whatever is truly behind it at this moment, it is undeniable that through some of the most challenging times in my life, it has provided comfort, healing, and a channel to people like myself, which I never knew existed at one point.
LM: Do you think the passage of time has played a role in reappropriating this term, thereby inferring that time can heal?
Jamie: Yes and no. I recently read that being gay was only declassified by the World Health Organisation as a mental illness in 1992. That means many generations were raised with the belief that they were mentally ill because of their sexuality. I cannot begin to fathom what that does to someone, particularly in their formative years. Not to mention going back to the time when it was illegal and the consequences of that.
My point is that as a community, everyone is at different places and whilst time being a healer is often not so simple. For example - I didn’t grow up being gay when it was illegal, but I was severely bullied; however, as a cis white male earning well over the national average salary, I have access and privilege to tools that have helped me to heal. Many do not.
Community empowerment can happen through a movement, collective conversation, and lifting each other—but this isn’t a utopia. Both inside and outside the community, we’re all just trying our best and ambling through life, often traumatised from our own experiences of simply trying to exist. Time is a barrier between the past and present, but ultimately, only healing can happen individually rather than collectively.
LM: How do you feel about people outside the community using this term?
Jamie: Queer is now such an umbrella term; I believe it will continue to evolve, so who am I to say who is inside and outside of the community?
There’ve been times when someone has looked a certain way and expressed their identification with the word queer, and I’ve met it with judgment and resentment. I’ve often thought, ‘But did you get beat up and called ‘queer’ every day for five years at school?’ or I’ve made the assumption that they are merely attempting not to want to be boring. Again, these are judgments on my part that are informed by the sensitivity of my experience. Therefore, they highlight my previous point of needing to meet people where they are at.
It has been a very long time since I have heard the word queer as an insult which is fantastic when I think about it. However, that's not to say that it’s not still being used in a derogatory way. The continuation of my journey with the word queer is acceptance and that it holds different meanings for different people. For me, the reclamation of queer has been about refuge, bringing together the people who were othered or felt or were told they didn’t belong, and so ultimately, despite my often fickle view of the word, there is room for everyone.
The final term that we'll be deconstructing is one that I have been on the receiving end of, and as a consequence, I’ve not been relishing this exercise.
P*ki: An etymological exploration
The first recorded use of P*ki, seemingly a shorthand for 'Pakistani' but used by racists to describe anyone of South Asian heritage, was in 1964. At the time, the UK was experiencing a period of increased immigration of South Asians from former British colonies. The slur was used by white Britains to express their frustration at this great influx as they saw it and to denigrate these newcomers.
Much like the Windrush generation, who paved the way for them, South Asians faced horrific racism on their arrival. One extreme expression of this was what became known as ‘P*kibashing’ - where violent gangs opposed to immigration took part in attacks on South Asians and newly established businesses owned by them.
The prevailing stereotype of South Asians at the time was that we were passive and weak and that we would not fight back. On the whole, the community tried to establish positive race relations versus retaliating directly to the violence, but groups such as the Pakistani Workers Association (PWU), working in conjunction with the British Black Panthers and Communist Workers League of Britain to provide communities with the means to fight back and defend themselves.
North Americans are generally unfamiliar with the term, which has led to some public figures and officials having to apologise for using it. Most notably, in January 2002, former US President George W Bush said, "We are working hard to convince both the Indians and the P*kis that there's a way to deal with their problems without going to war". A Pakistani-American journalist complained, resulting in a White House spokesman issuing a statement emphasising the USA's support and respect for Pakistan.
Prince Harry, being British, had less of an excuse when he was caught on camera calling one of his fellow Army recruits "our little P*ki friend". He was widely criticised and apologised, but I was disappointed that when he wrote about the incident in his 2023 memoir Spare, he used the word it full versus using an asterisk, which is what most media outlets do and is the approach I’ve taken here.
In more recent years, some younger British Pakistanis and other British South Asians have attempted to reclaim the word, drawing parallels with the reclaiming of the term 'queer' by the LGBTQIA community and equating it with 'Aussie' and Kiwi' as it denotes a nationality versus a race.
“For a generation of British Asians, the P-word carries a lot of hurt and pain”.
What's your personal relationship with the term 'p*ki'?
Growing up in the 1980s, I heard the P-word a lot, so much so that I can't remember the first time I heard it. At the time, it wasn’t unheard of to hear it on mainstream TV but this frequency did not diminish its impact on myself or many others.
It's always been an angry and violent word and one that I’ll admit I'm fearful of to this day. Many people of colour recall instances of racist language being used by their peers, but I weirdly associate it more with those in positions of power.
One particularly hurtful memory is a Headmistress telling my parents at a parent’s evening, "They had to protect my spirit from the p*ki-bashers that I would invariably encounter in life”. We found the use of a slur in what was intended to be a compliment completely discombobulating, but at the time, we felt powerless to say anything and just stared at her while she beamed back at us.
As children, we were regularly reminded that 'Pak' means 'pure and spiritually clean' in Urdu and Persian and that when detractors sought to insult us, they were, unbeknownst to them, actually complimenting us. This was the ultimate trump card for my parents, but as we very quickly learnt, it didn't make a difference.
The other mantra my father drummed into me was to respond to any racism with the line, "You seem to be under the mistaken impression that someone like myself would care what someone like you would think".
I don't think I had the confidence to use those words until I was well into my 20s. Looking back, I wish I’d put more trust in my parent's teachings, although I’ll be eternally grateful for the love and softness they showed us at home, which we were able to carry into a world that didn’t always show us the same.
I grew up in north London, which was very multicultural even back in the 1980s, so although I experienced racism, it wasn’t necessarily name-calling. It was more nuanced than that - how we were treated in shops or people’s reaction to my parent’s heavily accented English. I’ve buried away a lot of these experiences, but they came to the fore back in 2021 when the English cricketer Azeem Rafiq was testifying in front of a Parliamentary Committee about the racism he’d endured at Yorkshire County Cricket Club. These were fairly recent experiences (2008-2018) versus the 1980s, and it demonstrated that all these years later, the racism endured by South (and more recently, East Asians) is still so easily explained away. The stereotype of us being passive and just ‘taking it’ appears alive and well, and it’s so disheartening how little has changed.
Do you think the passing of time can contribute to reappropriating this term, thereby inferring that time can heal?
In this particular case and with this particular word - not yet. Having canvassed my younger family and friends, it's still considered a slur although thankfully it’s more of a taboo than it was when I was growing up.
Reappropriating the term results in taking power back and away from detractors, and although I don’t think we're there yet, I’d love to see a generation of young South Asians, specifically British Pakistanis, experience the literal purity of the word versus the hatred.
From my perspective, I can't see myself ever using the term to describe myself. Although I'm a grown adult, it still feels too raw and recent. I couldn’t even allow myself to type it out fully in this newsletter.
Q. How do you feel about people outside the community using this term?
This is a big fat no. Context is everything. When someone uses the word 'P*ki,' they aren't being nice and commenting on how friendly we are like the 'Aussies’ or ‘Kiwis'; it's simply not used in that way. Perhaps we can revisit this question in time, but it’s none of your business right now. Move on.
If that felt like a lot, yes, it was.
Having discussed these terms with Sharon and Jamie, the only phrase that feels like it’s gone through a process of amelioration is ‘queer’.
Although that’s one word out of the three we’ve focussed on, I don’t view that as a defeat or lack of progress.
Language is constantly evolving, and although I believe communities impacted by these terms have the right to reclaim and make them their own - they also have the right to continue to reject and condemn them. Some things are just too deep-rooted for that to change. To reiterate my opening point, the people who guide us in these discussions will be those who are impacted by these terms, and we must take the lead from them.
May recommendations:
📖 READ This beautiful essay called "I'm sorry for your loss...' by Nova Reid. In this piece, dedicated to Teneisha, a much-loved friend who died in 2019, Reid explores the phrase "I am so sorry for your loss' and why she came to loath how empty it is. This is a sentence I’ve trotted out so many times, and sure, it felt a little trite and rote, but it felt adequate. Reading Reid's essay, I realised how it really is not fit for purpose and is far from adequate to describe the ending of someone's life - their light. It's a touching and sensitive read.
📱 WATCH this excellent TikTok that unpacks why so many people fail to understand the concept of "privilege" and how it's translated as their own life's journey versus the system that we all operate with.
📻 LISTEN to this exploration of Rosa Parks’ life on the ‘You’re Wrong About’ podcast. I’ve recommended this podcast before so forgive me for not being original. We’ve all heard stories about Ms Rosa Parks and primarily think of her as an elderly woman, best known for her role in the Montgomery bus boycott. Yes, this was a pivotal moment in her life but I really enjoyed hearing more about her life via the discussion between the social commentator Princess Weekes and host, Sarah Marshall.
Okay friends, that’s it for now. If you want to follow me on @_languagematters, that would be lovely. And if you have anything to say or ask please drop me a note in the comments below.
As always, thank you for taking the time to read this post. I’m so glad you’re here. If you like what you’re reading, please consider sharing this newsletter. And if you have the time to like it, that would mean a lot to me as it’ll help it be seen by more people.
Until next month, take care,
Thank you so much (you and your contributors) for a great article that felt very personal and heartfelt.
Another thought-provoking and well-written article. Thanks to you, Sharon, and Jamie for sharing your personal experiences. Very interesting concept of canvassing younger people in your life regarding their insights with the P- word to get a pulse on current thoughts. Lastly, I greatly appreciate your father’s powerful mantra and message for self-confidence.