Why Are Black Folks So Mad At Don Imus?

I tried my best to avoid the frenzy resulting from the racist and sexist comments made by former shock radio host Don Imus. Truthfully, I wasn’t interested. I skimmed over some articles published in the press and briefly looked at a few of the news specials that were on television in the past week. But I had no real investment in the situation. To put it bluntly, it was old news.

But unwittingly I’ve been sucked into the vortex of blather resulting from these three inflammatory words “Nappy Headed Hoes”. Everywhere I go people are talking and arguing about it, venting their rage and discussing appropriate next steps. In short, black folks are really mad at Don Imus. But why?

To some degree I understand, and share the popular sentiments of anger and frustration displayed by so many. After all words are weapons that carry with them the power to leave indelible bruises on the psyche. But another part of me was deeply disturbed by the fervor over Imus’ use of these words. In the grand scheme of things, how much harm did they really do?

Before I started my own personal boycott, I would hear and see far worse invective hurled at women of color by men of color on Black Entertainment Television. We’ve all seen the popular images of opulent black men engulfed in a sea of gyrating flesh. We’ve all heard them denigrate their mothers, daughters and sisters with words like Ho, B*tch, P*ssy, N*gga, Chickenhead and Slut. These words roll off their tongues and into the minds of our children everyday, all day. And what’s worse, people who look like we look, who talk like we talk and who live where we live mete out this abuse.

We put these words and images out into the world and are surprised when they come back and sting our tender underbellies. Why should Imus, a man who is clearly a racist and a bigot apologize? We give him permission everyday to disrespect our women. We all know racism still exists don’t we? In fact, this quazi-neo-liberal-globalized-racial-dichotomy in which we now live is more dangerous than it ever was. At least before we knew where we stood. Now we’re just confused.

Any time a whiff of that rancid festering sore that is racism disturbs our daily preoccupations our first impulse is to fan it away or cover it up with some sweet smelling bullsh*t. Meanwhile we continue to be devoured by it from the inside out. In this regard our misdirected reactionism actually serves to reinforce the racist status quo. To those sitting atop the power structure we are collectively saying:

“We will continue to attend inferior schools.”
“We will continue to fill subhuman prisons.”
“We will continue to die from drug and alcohol abuse.”
“We will continue to be ravaged by AIDS.”
“We will continue to be murdered and beaten by police.”
“We will continue to live in abject poverty.”
“But please don’t say anything that hurts our feelings.”

When Seinfeld star Michael Richards had his racist outburst caught on tape, the media called it a “meltdown”. And for once they got it right. The term suggested that Richards had been harboring these venomous feelings for quite some time, plausibly repressing his disdain for black people so as to remain a marketable figure. But when a black heckler pushed the wrong button, Richards could no longer control his mouth. His steam valve burst open and he erupted, spewing vitriol all over an unsuspecting audience. The urgency and emotion that accompanied his invocation of lynching made the whole ordeal look cathartic; as if the price of holding it in for a second longer would have been a slow and painful death. Kanye West was right, but George Dubya ain’t the only one who doesn’t like black people.

If I were to meet Don Imus I would thank him for keeping it real. I would tell him to keep up the good work, hoping against hope that his expression of racism and patriarchy would cause black folks to start thinking about how we are accomplices to the system that exploits us. But how naive of me? If Iraq didn’t wake us up, if Katrina didn’t wake us up, if Sean Bell, Luis Guzman, and Trent Benefield didn’t wake us up, how the hell is some lowly old white man’s slip of the tongue going to spark a new intergenerational black movement? That responsibility is ours and ours alone.

We must begin by healing ourselves and by healing our relationships with those we love. If Hip-Hop truly is a culture then through it we ought to pass down those values which reflect who we truly are; community, love, knowledge, strength, power. We must be able to stand up and say that our souls are not for sale. We must make it our responsibility to hold one another accountable for what we do and say. We must tell our own stories. We must organize to demand justice. And when we do that, Don Imus, Michael Richards and George Dubya will keep that poison bottled up until it eats them alive.

Orisanmi Burton is an educator and writer in New York City.