At what point does a name become a title? At what point does that title become an insult? And how is that insult reclaimed by its victims? From “bitches” to “rednecks” to the detestable “N word,” name reclamation has profoundly reached and impacted a widespread population, stirring up any trouble in its path.
Over the past century, women have made leaps and bounds in the ways of, well, everything but using the bathroom upright. Little girls everywhere hum “Anything you can do, I can do better.” Gone are the days when women went to the offices of their “Mad Men” bosses to refill their vodkas and light their cigarettes all day.
Rather, today yields a very different scene when it comes to positions of women in office. Men, being the symbols of ego historically, have seemingly given labels to the power-hungry, multi-faceted, big-breasted super humans in the running for their jobs.
These women, having taken on many characteristics of men, are not rejecting their insulting stigma. They are owning it, and even running with it. It is not uncommon to hear a group of females in a pub addressed (and claimed) by another peer as her “b—es.”
“Call a dog a cat for so long and he’ll start to meow.” This phrase applies to the reclamation of words. Fifteen years ago, a “b—h” was perhaps the most insulting description for a woman. Now, the term is seemingly empowering to a woman, giving her justification for her actions and the confidence to behave in an “anything but ladylike” manner.
The women on MTV’s “Jersey Shore” not only address one another by “b—h,” but also by far worse names involving their personal levels of promiscuity. But the women of Da Shore do not deny these insults, and in fact give life to the name-calling.
“He bought me drinks all night…of course I slept wit him,” is just one of the shocking quotes J Woww is recorded saying in the second season. It isn’t just women, though; name reclamation stretches from the female sex to the rural areas of the United States.
Behold, a doublewide trailer covered in overgrown weeds, hidden in the mossy cloak of oak trees in the backwoods of Walker, Louisiana. The poorly planned rock driveway employs an old truck, which utilizes a garbage bag for the passenger’s window. The lawn that is dead grass and crushed cans of Tab somehow houses a dog attached to six feet of chain and an empty cereal bowl. Beyond this plot lies a trailer, in all its weather-battered glory, complete with a Rebel flag, older than the structure upon which it haphazardly rests.
Behold, this is God’s country. Within the confines of this trailer does not sleep a southern gentleman, but a redneck.
You might be a redneck if you pictured your grandparents’ home in the previous paragraph or if, before Blue Collar Comedy, you took offense to the term “redneck.” Before the days of Jeff Foxworthy and the gang, country folk lacked a concrete reference to embody themselves. They didn’t see humor in their way of life.
They blissfully saw racism, a flirty relationship with poverty and Billy Rae Cyrus’s video for “Achey Breaky Heart” too many times. With the unveiling of Blue Collar Comedy, suddenly the stigma of being a redneck became in vogue, and people began to celebrate those ideals and traditions for which they had been criticized for so long.
The men of Blue Collar Comedy did a segment on the most recent edition of their tour in which old photographs of their upbringings were projected while they did their comic banter. As the slideshow progressed, one might have inquired, “Is that real? That can’t be real. Those people are in our country?”
This reaction from the American population only loaded more ammo into the gun known as Southern pride, and rednecks everywhere started changing their screen names to include the word.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the most fascinating realm of study, in my opinion. Perhaps my interest in this topic is deeply rooted in my childhood, spent in New Orleans, which remains one of the most invisibly segregated places in America. I grew up in a non-racist home, but sadly I was not naïve when it came to the meaning and impact the “N word” had and still has. My mother always told us never to use the word, no matter what, ever. She said there was never any reason for it and that she wished that it would simply go away. Now at the age of twenty-one, I wish the same.
What happened last week concerning the “N word” was disgusting. How loudly sickening the ignorance, how blatant the hatred screamed across our airwaves. Such disgraceful behavior reinforces the pathetic mentality some white people cling onto for dear life: that the white race is superior to the black race.
In the beginnings of the Civil Rights Movement, one major push was to change the common reference of an African-American person from “negro” to “black,” a neighborhood from “ghetto” to “community.” With the help of symbolic realignment, protestors may actively change the definitions of the movements they are, well, moving.
It seems, however, that after much advancement and progress black people have made, some are now reclaiming the “N word,” just as women claim “b—h” and rural dwellers claim “redneck.” Sadly, I often hear young black classmates of mine greet one another with this word, and even in rare cases, refer to people of their own race as such.
If everyone stopped using this disdainful piece of American diction, it would eventually cease to exist, at least in common conversation. My wish is that we can someday claim this word as a relic solely to be studied in history.
Kingsley Clark is a junior majoring in communications studies and creative writing.
