Time to Peel Off the Bumper Sticker?

The only parameter for this blog post, as set by my English teacher, is that it must in some way be related to the continent of Africa. While there are a plethora of news stories coming out of the continent every hour, and the focus in both my English and Social Studies classes have been largely on Africa lately, I've decided to focus on something that piqued my attention as I was cleaning out my inbox this evening. Right around 18 months ago, the famous (maybe infamous now?) Kony 2012 campaign was launched by the nonprofit organization Invisible Children. I'll assume, based on millions upon millions of views the video received that the premise is well known, and admit that I was one of the millions drawn in by their clever marketing campaign and signed myself up for their periodic newsletter. I did not think that I'd still be getting email updates from the organization over a year and half later, and the fact that every time I do get an email from them now it goes straight to the trash is probably an indication that their campaign wasn't exactly the smash hit they had hoped for.

The criticism and skepticism of the organization that followed the release of the campaign's first video are almost as well known as the campaign itself. Long story short, a few millenials (people roughly between the ages of 15 and 30, aka my generation) got too excited by faux-activism and social media, and we all learned the hard way that not everything you see on the internet can be fully trusted, and Africa can't be saved by the click of a button. Old news. But, a year and a half later, have we learned anything? About six months ago, prompted by the one year anniversary of campaign's first video and subsequent failure, Invisible Children released this follow up video, which attempts to restore hope amongst their target audience and rejuvenate support for the campaign. In the video, around the 1:25 mark, the campaign's enthusiastic director Jason Russell, in what appears to be an inspirational speech to supporters of the campaign, tells the audience gathered before him that they'll be able to claim they "showed up" to the Kony 2012 campaign. As if that's what the organization is all about, "showing up."

What does "showing up" even entail? Buying a nice little activism kit online, putting a bumper sticker on your (most likely hybrid) car, and then showing all of your friends the evidence that you care about Africa? Granted, this is an unnecessarily cynical look at a campaign that really meant no harm, but the underlying message still appears to be, we don't actually care enough about Africa (or the plight of child soldiers, or the instability of the DRC, or the turmoil that currently plagues Sudan) to really make any sort of difference. The one goal of the Kony 2012 campaign was to capture a notoriously brutal war criminal; no matter how lightly we'd like to put it, that goal was not achieved. Around the same time I subscribed to the Invisible Children newsletter, I also subscribed to the newsletter of another organization that seeks to promote awareness of crimes against humanity, known as the Enough Project. I still take the time to read most of their letters, as they're often more substantive, but even the most recent email I got from them presents facts about the ongoing Sudanese revolts more as a Buzzfeed compilation than a serious piece of journalism.

It seems like our current perception of Africa is just one more thing to read about when we're avoiding that thing we have to do, one more internet diversion that serves our procrastination more than our activism. If we continue to see Africa only as a place of unpreventable conflict and inspiration for catchy pop songs, we can never expect to seriously make contributions to the betterment of the continent. The most logical first step to activism should appear to be education, not blind bandwagon jumping and swift credit card transactions to prove you care about the children, or something. So as you peal that bumper sticker on your car, consider what drove you to make that mistake in the first place. If in fact the plight of Africans living in constant fear of a tyrannical warlord is still interesting to you, by all means educate yourself on the topic, and proceed with caution and intention from there. But if not, don't feel bad, a wise man by the name of Mr. Whipple offers his genuine consolations, as "activism isn't for everyone." Find another way to contribute to this world and you'll be all set. Just please, no more 30 minute viral videos.

You Can't Say That!... Can You?

I mentioned in my first post that I love music; this is true. I pride myself on listening to a wide variety of music, so I'll probably be referencing that a lot throughout this blog. Recently I've been listening to a lot of rap music, and I've noticed that rap lyrics are often more colorful than other genres. And our everyday speech, for that matter. The word "nigger," for example, pops up all the time in rap songs, which seems a little strange given its history as a word used to propagate racial discrimination, and the fact that the rap/hip-hop community is largely black. Maybe rappers have an excuse because they use offensive language in an artistic way; whenever I casually drop "nigger" in conversation I can almost always count on receiving a dirty look, or at the very least some hesitancy. The same goes for words like "faggot" or "bitch," whether or not I use them in their historically offensive ways, I always get somewhat of a cold response.

So should I eliminate words like these from my vernacular? Well, they were at one point (if they aren't still today) used to promote racism, sexism, or some other form of discrimination, giving them an inherently negative and disrespectful connotation. On the other hand, many words like this have been embraced as terms of endearment now, and when they're used in conversation or as song lyrics, they're used for a reason; although sometimes they might be hurtful or shock-inducing, that's kind of the point.
A Tribe Called Quest, a rap group from the '90s known for their socially and racially conscious lyricism, offered an interestingly progressive opinion on the use of "nigger," on a song off of one of their platinum selling albums, appropriately titled "Sucka Nigga." Rapper Q-Tip tells us, "It means that we will never grow, you know the word dummy. Other niggas in the community think it's crummy. But I don't, neither does the youth cause we em-Brace adversity it goes right with the race. And being that we use it as a term of endearment. Niggas start to bug, to the dome is where the fear went. Now the little shorties say it all of the time." 
Obviously the word can be flipped into something positive, even among a demographic of people that were at one point subjected to its negativity. It's still a word condemned by many as largely disrespectful, including the NAACP.  Used in the right context though, what is barring these words from being deemed okay? Another, more contemporary rapper, Tyler, The Creator weighed in with his views on the context of language after being accused of penning potentially homophobic lyrics, "I just think f*ggot hits and hurts people. It hits. And, gay just means stupid. I don't know, we don't think about it, we're just kids. We don't think about that shit. But, I don't hate gay people. I don't want anyone to think I'm homophobic."
So, is language that might be offensive to some people off limits? Absolutely not. The onus of being offended falls on the audience, the speaker's only job is to convey their message as accurately as possible. Is it possible that you'll be offending someone being not thinking twice before throwing out a "nigger" or "faggot" or "bitch" in your conversation? Yes, but that may very well be because you're trying to be offensive, making it all the more appropriate. The number one priority is for a speaker to make their message clear and intended. Considering the array of meanings these words have accumulated in 21st century conversation, and their expressive, colorful nature, there should be no reason why we can't accept their places in our vernacular.