The F-word, second person pronoun in tow, burst forth like a thunderclap.
It ripped through the sober air of a lecture hall at a Christian university in the United States some years ago. My friend, swearing (sorry, saying) that he was one of the students in the room, told me so.
What a way to begin a class!
Of course, a collective gasp sucked almost all the air out of the room, the consequent exhalation morphing into a holy murmur that partnered all manner of unimpressed looks at the offending lecturer – yes, lecturer. Some students, I suppose, were racking their brains for the number of the nearest Jenkins (Mental/Psychiatric Hospital).
The flouting (iconoclastic?) tutor waited out the revulsion with an almost lunatic calm.
Finally, Mister Man again imposed himself on the proceedings.
“Millions of children are dying from hunger, many are oppressed,” he shouted, “and you show no concern. But I utter an obscenity and you are filled with outrage.” Or something to that effect.
For some reason, my friend did not tell me what that more acceptably delivered attack evoked in the flabbergasted trainee preachers and such. Or whether the professor’s outside-the-boundaries effort to confront what he perceived as double standards and to teach sensitivity to suffering landed him in manure – sh… sh… shortened tenure, I mean. I can’t even ask him now. He has passed on.
So, now you think I am going to deal with the issue of a silky lawyer (QC) who, in the presence of a judge, bent over, not to say “M’lud”, but to put on a show that has people saying, “My Lord! He do dat?!”
For what it is worth . . .
One man with noble intentions crafted an object lesson. Another man, in a fit of “frustration” (his word, not mine) . . . .
Look, I know this old man – I believe he’s in his late 80s – who, about five years ago, nearly met his death because of a criminal’s actions. In his yard he spied a man in one of his mango/coconut/ackee (I can’t remember) trees. He let loose a tirade at the trespasser, who in due course descended. As this elderly owner spat his outrage, the thief rushed at him, swinging a cutlass. The result: injuries, including the near-loss of a finger.
Another result: the case has not been heard yet. The old man has gone to court about seven times so far. Has had to handle the medical costs, the unappeased ire, and the fear that the common thief might decide to do him in.
He has no plans to curse a magistrate or the police or pull down his pants and show anybody where the sun don’ shine and disgrace himself and the memory of his long-deceased mother who doted on him.
If he did, he would probably be dragged off to the Psychiatric Hospital. And no apology would suffice.
I know he is frustrated. The last time we talked about it, there were tears in his eyes. An 80-something-year-old man crying for justice.
And there are not a few others living in frustration, in fear – in despair even – their lives thrown off kilter, their prospects jeopardized because of this slow, inefficient court system of ours.
But yuh know what? Actions like skinning yuh backside simply draw the contempt and swords of an offended society – not at the touted aggrieving cause of the action, but at you. They have little, if any, potential for influencing change.
Do you know that when, preceding Rosa Parks’ action by nine months, 15-year-old Claudette Colvin refused to give up her seat in a bus, black community leaders and the NAACP did not publicize her justice-craving effort and refused to use her to further that important cause? Because (some say) while still 15 she became pregnant – for a married man. Phillip Hoose says it was ageism.
The reality is that even people who would otherwise be on your side will focus on what offends them.
And if black people cannot show their backsides in peace to other black people, the society cannot accept white/red people doing it to black people – given our history.
You can’t (in frustration or not) do one of the two lowest things in Bajan society – the other one is telling somebody something negative about their mother – and expect people to take their minds off of it. You bin living on Mars? You don’t understand people? How are you going to get change if you don’t even understand people?
We gotta stop being so dumb and study influence. I tell wunna so a few weeks ago. Change is a son of a . . . !
Now they coming after me – for that last sentence. See?
The lecturer and the lawyer have a lot to learn. But me? I am under no illusions.
• Sherwyn Walters is a writer who became a teacher, a song analyst, a broadcaster and an editor.