An e-mailer goes after Andrew for, like most writers, being unwilling to write n-i-g-g-e-r:
...we have to use the word, not the various dodges: The N-Word, n------, whatever. In Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, it's "nigger Jim," not "African-American Jim" or "n-word Jim" or "n------ Jim" or "ni**er Jim." While in-group/out-group sensitivity should always apply in any serious discussion of prejudice and America (I would never use the word in casual conversation), we cannot stoop to such typographical dodges. It's an ugly word, but when its ugliness is the point, why dance around it with asterisks?
A parallel: you believe in showing photos of the actual carnage war causes, dead men, women and children. This word is the linguistic equivalent of that, and when the psychological carnage caused by slurs like "faggot" and "nigger" are the very subject of your discourse, use the word.
Before I move on, I want to state--as I have before--that "nigger" is not an ugly word. I don't want to get sidetracked, but I think black people make beautiful--if ironic--use of it. ( I am particularly partial to the iconic, "Nigger, what?") Anyway, here's Andrew's response:
This is indeed almost my only act of squeamishness on this page. The reason? The word is bound up with this country's history of slavery. It is very hard to use it directly without giving some small breath of life to that evil. This is not a matter of proper use, just a very gut feeling on my part. And yes, I give it more weight than "faggot." We were tormented and destroyed from our souls outward for centuries; but we weren't as a class actually enslaved (although, of course, many slaves were also gay).
I respect this, and generally respect the motivations of white people who don't say the word. But I think, at some point, this really should end. I also think that point is now. Let me be honest--like many African-Americans, I recoil a bit whenever I hear a white person say "nigger" in any situation, and any setting. It's the hurt of an ancient wound. But I actually recoil more at all the profound, escapist variations--n**ger or "n-word" or whatever. The old hurt is still there--I know what they're referring to--but it's compounded by a sense that I am, evidently, someone who lacks the rudiments of critical thinking.
A significant part of understanding language, is understanding the context it's used in. The chair of a meeting, is not the same as the chair in your living room. Moreover, "You motherfucker!" is not "You're a motherfucker," is not "He called you a motherfucker," is not "That's my motherfucker, right there." The last is collegial and complementary, and works, at least in part, by irony. The same is true when black people use nigger, as a positive descriptive. It works because of a kind of intra-group irony.
I would not lobby for white people using such irony, anymore than I'd lobby for my right to positively describe a gay man as a faggot, or compliment a woman by calling her a bitch. I can't justify that by pointing out that gay men and women use those words, anymore than I can justify calling some a woman on the street "honey" because her husband calls her that. Words depend on relationships. My departed grandmother used to call my father "Billy." I would sooner call the coroner than call my Pops "Billy."
But that's about how words are used, and not a total ban. At some point we have to start accepting that black people have the critical faculties to distinguish between someone trying to insult us ("Niggers go home!") and someone trying to describe something to us ("The sign said "Niggers go home!") I actually believe that a lot of black people are already there.
I pulled this out because I've noticed commenters using "the N-word" or "N***r." I don't want to speak for other black folks, but I find it grating. I think, like so much in life, common sense will light the way.
Hillary Clinton’s realistic attitude is the only thing that can effect change in today’s political climate.
Bernie Sanders and Ted Cruz have something in common. Both have an electoral strategy predicated on the ability of a purist candidate to revolutionize the electorate—bringing droves of chronic non-voters to the polls because at last they have a choice, not an echo—and along the way transforming the political system. Sanders can point to his large crowds and impressive, even astonishing, success at tapping into a small-donor base that exceeds, in breadth and depth, the remarkable one built in 2008 by Barack Obama. Cruz points to his extraordinarily sophisticated voter-identification operation, one that certainly seemed to do the trick in Iowa.
But is there any real evidence that there is a hidden “sleeper cell” of potential voters who are waiting for the signal to emerge and transform the electorate? No. Small-donor contributions are meaningful and a sign of underlying enthusiasm among a slice of the electorate, but they represent a tiny sliver even of that slice; Ron Paul’s success at fundraising (and his big crowds at rallies) misled many analysts into believing that he would make a strong showing in Republican primaries when he ran for president. He flopped.
If passion is a job requirement, says the writer Miya Tokumitsu, employees have little room to complain about mistreatment at work.
It’s been said in many places and by many luminaries: Do what you love.
But what does this phrase actually mean?
Miya Tokumitsu, a contributing editor at Jacobin magazine and author of the new book Do What You Love And Other Lies About Success and Happiness, criticizes the pervasiveness of this idea in American work culture. She argues that “doing what you love” has been co-opted by corporate interests, giving employers more power to exploit their workers.
I recently spoke with Tokumitsu about work myths and why we should pay attention to them. The following transcript of our conversation has been edited for clarity.
Bourree Lam: Your book started as an essay, “In the Name of Love,” (which was later republished by Slate) that really touched a nerve with people. What were you talking about in that essay and why are people so drawn to it?
Thenew Daily Show host, Trevor Noah, is smooth and charming, but he hasn’t found his edge.
It’s a psychic law of the American workplace: By the time you give your notice, you’ve already left. You’ve checked out, and for the days or weeks that remain, a kind of placeholder-you, a you-cipher, will be doing your job. It’s a law that applies equally to dog walkers, accountants, and spoof TV anchormen. Jon Stewart announced that he was quitting The Daily Show in February 2015, but he stuck around until early August, and those last months had a restless, frazzled, long-lingering feel. A smell of ashes was in the air. The host himself suddenly looked quite old: beaky, pique-y, hollow-cheeky. For 16 years he had shaken his bells, jumped and jangled in his little host’s chair, the only man on TV who could caper while sitting behind a desk. Flash back to his first episode as the Daily Show host, succeeding Craig Kilborn: January 11, 1999, Stewart with floppy, luscious black hair, twitching in a new suit (“I feel like this is my bar mitzvah … I have a rash like you wouldn’t believe.”) while he interviews Michael J. Fox.
The championship game descends on a city failing to deal with questions of affordability and inclusion.
SAN FRANCISCO—The protest kicked off just a few feet from Super Bowl City, the commercial playground behind security fences on the Embarcadero, where football fans were milling about drinking beer, noshing on $18 bacon cheeseburgers, and lining up for a ride on a zip line down Market Street.
The protesters held up big green camping tents painted with slogans such as “End the Class War” and “Stop Stealing Our Homes,” and chanted phrases blaming San Francisco Mayor Ed Lee for a whole range of problems, including the catchy “Hey Hey, Mayor Lee, No Penalty for Poverty.” They blocked the sidewalk, battling with tourists, joggers, and city workers, some of whom were trying to wheel their bikes through the crowd to get to the ferries that would take them home.
A growing field of research is examining how life satisfaction may affect cellular functioning and DNA.
“What is the truest form of human happiness?” Steven Cole asks.
It’s a question he’s been considering for most of his career—but Cole is a genomics researcher, not a philosopher. To him, this question isn’t rhetoric or a thought experiment. It’s science—measureable and finite.
Cole, a professor of medicine and psychiatry at the University of California, Los Angeles, has spent several decades investigating the connection between our emotional and biological selves. “The old thinking was that our bodies were stable biological entities, fundamentally separate from the external world,” he writes in an email. “But at the molecular level, our bodies turn out to be much more fluid and permeable to external influence than we realize.”*
I coined the term—now I’ve come back to fix what I started.
O reader, hear my plea: I am the victim of semantic drift.
Four months ago, I coined the term “Berniebro” to describe a phenomenon I saw on Facebook: Men, mostly my age, mostly of my background, mostly with my political beliefs, were hectoring their friends about how great Bernie was even when their friends wanted to do something else, like talk about the NBA.
In the post, I tried to gently suggest that maybe there were other ways to advance Sanders’s beliefs, many of which I share. I hinted, too, that I was not talking about every Sanders supporter. I did this subtly, by writing: “The Berniebro is not every Sanders supporter.”
Then, 28,000 people shared the story on Facebook. The Berniebro was alive! Immediately, I started getting emails: Why did I hate progressivism? Why did I joke about politics? And how dare I generalize about every Bernie Sanders supporter?
U.S. presidential candidates are steering the country toward a terror trap.
For close to a decade, the trauma of the Iraq War left Americans wary of launching new wars in the Middle East. That caution is largely gone. Most of the leading presidential candidates demand that the United States escalate its air war in Iraq and Syria, send additional Special Forces, or enforce a buffer zone, which the head of Central Command, General Lloyd Austin, has said would require deploying U.S. ground troops. Most Americans now favor doing just that.
The primary justification for this new hawkishness is stopping the Islamic State, or isis, from striking the United States. Which is ironic, because at least in the short term, America’s intervention will likely spark more terrorism against the United States, thus fueling demands for yet greater military action. After a period of relative restraint, the United States is heading back into the terror trap.
Immediately, the pings from fellow journalists (and media-adjacent folk) came pouring in, all saying something along the lines of, “Can you actually let me know what you find out? I’m addicted to that stuff.”
They mean “addicted” in the jokey, dark-chocolate-and-Netflix-streaming way, but the habit can border on pathological. For me, rock bottom was a recent, obscenely long workday during which an entire 12-pack of coconut La Croix somehow made it down my throat, can by shining can.
The Islamic State is no mere collection of psychopaths. It is a religious group with carefully considered beliefs, among them that it is a key agent of the coming apocalypse. Here’s what that means for its strategy—and for how to stop it.
What is the Islamic State?
Where did it come from, and what are its intentions? The simplicity of these questions can be deceiving, and few Western leaders seem to know the answers. In December, The New York Times published confidential comments by Major General Michael K. Nagata, the Special Operations commander for the United States in the Middle East, admitting that he had hardly begun figuring out the Islamic State’s appeal. “We have not defeated the idea,” he said. “We do not even understand the idea.” In the past year, President Obama has referred to the Islamic State, variously, as “not Islamic” and as al-Qaeda’s “jayvee team,” statements that reflected confusion about the group, and may have contributed to significant strategic errors.
Humans have been altering their bodies permanently for thousands of years. Tattoos, piercings, and scarification have been practiced to demonstrate tribal allegiances, to show a life history, to say a constant prayer, to give a warning, or simply to act as an amazing work of art.
Humans have been altering their bodies permanently for thousands of years. Tattoos, piercings, and scarification have been practiced to demonstrate tribal allegiances, to show a life history, to say a constant prayer, to give a warning, or simply to act as an amazing work of art. Collected below are recent images of skin art, implants, and piercings, and a few glimpses into the owners of these modified bodies.