Words, Fraught with Meaning Not Found in Any Dictionary
You can’t know another person’s heart from a single tweet or a passing comment
About a decade ago, I made a comment on a Black writer’s article and used the word “articulate” — not realizing that this word is fraught with implications I never intended. In fact, had I been on the receiving end, as a white writer with a university degree in English, I’d have taken it as a compliment meaning that I had “articulated my points clearly.” But admittedly, no one has ever assumed, as a default, that I couldn’t. Unfortunately, this writer and a number of commenters took the word “articulate,” from a white stranger, to be condescending, implying a white reader’s surprise that the author, who had written a powerful and insightful piece, could write clearly.
On reflection, and after reading others’ thoughts on the subject, I could see their point. I could have done without the barrage of hate; I could have done without being labeled a racist on the strength of this one interaction. But I could see their point. And I know Black people are judged, daily, on the strength of no interactions at all. I could hardly cry, “That’s not fair!” But it helped to speed that process of understanding, when one commenter took the time to explain to me why the writer took offense. As Ming Qian does, here:
I think maybe we’ve lost some of our words along the way. We bandy about terms like “racism” and “offense” when really, the feelings are more nuanced and not universally shared. We seem to have lost the words, “You hurt my feelings.” Feelings and vulnerability have been weaponized by bullies and Internet trolls. We used to say “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” So much for that old adage. Words can hurt. Words can wound. Words can kill.
The trolls find that little crack in your suit of armor, and they dig, dig, dig at it. “Awww, hurt your widdle fee-fees, did I?” and you pretend not to have any, instead of saying, “Yes, you did. Did it make you feel better about yourself to knock another human being down a peg?” Eventually, instead of an array of feelings, you have only “offense” and a sense of righteous outrage.
We know that not everyone follows the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. But if we give everyone benefit of the doubt — until they, as individuals, show their true selves — the world might move towards greater kindness and understanding. One interaction isn’t enough. Who shows you their heart in a single tweet, or a brief comment? Have you never tried to work through a set of complex thoughts, ideas, and emotions in a blog post, and been judged wrongly for it because you did not communicate as clearly as you’d hoped?
In Ming Qian’s case, I think perhaps that person took time to look at his bio, his face, not “skin color” but facial features that distinguish him as “more likely Asian than European” — still, race. I’m a little baffled as to why their first choice was Mandarin and not Bahasa Malay, if they were going to choose something other than English, based on his being in Singapore. I thought, most likely, simply wanted to “show off” a bit, that they could greet him in Mandarin. I could understand that: My 22 weeks of Mandarin taught me one thing: to keep my damned mouth shut, lest I start WWIII with the wrong “tone” of voice and call your mother a horse. Mandarin is hard. And many of my former colleagues encouraged and appreciated my feeble efforts to say “hello” or “thank you” in Mandarin. They were kind; none laughed or punched me in the face.
I would have given the commenter’s words that interpretation. That would have been my “default” — to give it the most positive spin, first. This, I realize, comes for a lifetime of “privilege” — of not facing nearly insurmountable, racial discrimination as the norm, rather than an aberration. For this, I am thankful for the feminists of my mother’s and grandmother’s generation, who laid the groundwork for change that is still ongoing, but no longer seems “insurmountable.”
I read Salam Khan’s Story, too, this morning:
I can empathize with this, as well.
I remember how hurt I felt, as a teen in Paris, after studying French for eight years and thinking I would finally get a chance to practice with native speakers — I was shot down in flames by a woman in a flower shop, when I asked, “Ou est l’Arc de Triomphe?” To be fair, her expression — which clearly implied, “You’re a freaking idiot” — might have been due to the fact that we were very close to the Arc de Triomphe, and once you find it, you cannot lose the damned thing. All roads lead back to it. But when she answered me in English, I read her tone to mean, “Stop desperately trying to mangle my sacred mother tongue. I speak yours better. Idiot.”
She probably didn’t mean any of that, but I crumbled. I could not speak another word of French the whole trip, and shied away from French people — except for one kind Black man (who also had encountered that kind of prejudice on moving to Paris from New York, and who tried to encourage me) and one understanding Algerian who, on asking me a question and seeing my stricken, deer-in-the-headlights expression, slowed down and told me to try — because he could see I’d understood every word he’d said. Kindness matters.
When Ming first showed me the article about Sarah Tiong, my feeling was one of weariness. Must every little human interaction be picked apart, analyzed, and found lacking? But then I understood her position better, after talking through Ming’s feelings about the comment on his Story. It is presumptuous, absent any other indication but your face, your name, your location… It’s like, when someone calls me “Dear,” or “Hun,” or “Sweetheart” and I have an urge to bite them for assuming such familiarity would be welcomed or is appropriate. If I say, “Please don’t do that,” it’s usually met with defensiveness, if not anger.
True, it’s not your job to “educate” anyone on how their actions or words might be hurtful, offensive, or racially charged — but it helps when you do. We don’t all interpret things the same way. We don’t all mean them the same way. We may even be employing the Golden Rule. Most people who call me “Dear” mean it as an endearment, or use the term as a form of address that they think is less “ageist” than “Ma’am”; I hear it as a condescending familiarity that didn’t invite, welcome, or permit, unless we’re immediate family or really close friends with a longstanding relationship. People need a structure on which to build empathy — just as we write a “hook” in our stories, so, too, should we build up to that point where the reader, the other person in the conversation, gets that “Aha!” moment, that flash of insight that feels like walking a mile in your shoes.
