The following remarks were delivered at an assembly at my school last week which dealt with the word "bitch" and what place it has, if any, in common discourse.
Though I’ve been known to use such terms for pedagogical
purposes – usually to try and capture another person’s point of view – I can’t
recall ever calling anyone a bitch. (I call my two dogs bitches all the time,
but I don’t think they mind.) It’s an ugly word, almost always used for ugly
purposes. But I instinctively resist explicit attempts to limit such terms, in
part because trying to silence them sometimes only adds to their totemic power.
This is why I dislike the euphemism “n-word,” for example.
I also resist attempts to limit profane language because in
some cases, the call comes from people in positions of relative privilege who
may not understand its visceral appeal for those who experience themselves as
disempowered. Lacking other resources, language – more specifically, the
language to offend people who set, if not dictate, standards of appropriate
behavior – is one of the ways working-class communities define themselves and
establish their own boundaries. I believe anyone familiar with the history of
hip-hop knows what I mean.
That doesn’t mean you or I should celebrate those
boundaries or observe them in our own lives. But it might mean we should have a
sense of humility about how much dignity we demand, and an understanding that
outrage, while sometimes a necessity on behalf of others, can also be a luxury
for ourselves. I realize that as a middle-aged white man, this is a little too
easy for me to say. And I wouldn’t be saying it all if I didn’t believe that a
robust critique of the word “bitch” was underway in this assembly. But if I’m
more than simply a collection of demographic categories, perhaps there’s merit
in the notion that we can tolerate some bitchiness here at Fieldston. Sticks
and stones may break our bones; names really can hurt us. But maybe sometimes we’re strong enough to neither
give, nor take, offense.
