[QUOTE=Indistinguishable]
Just random, arbitrary quirks of language with no deeper, hidden implications to be afraid of.
[/QUOTE]
As with nearly everything, it depends heavily on context and intent.
For example: I just read Thinking in Pictures by Temple Grandin, who is one of the best-known and most successful Americans with autism. (More here. Note that while some more famous and wealthy individuals exhibit symptoms of autism, some strongly, they cannot be characterized as fully autistic: e.g., Bill Gates.)
Throughout Grandin’s memoir, she uses several phrases to describe people with the syndrome. Most commonly, she says, “autistic person” or “autistic individual” or some other construction connecting the adjective with a noun. Almost as frequently, she says “person with autism” or another similar phrase linking two nouns, the first describing an individual human being, the second the syndrome. Very, very occasionally, she will reduce the individual to the syndrome itself, as in, “The autistic prefers a consistent routine” or “Many autistics suffer from over-sensitive hearing” or some such.
In addition to this, I learned from a woman who works in special-needs education that, professionally speaking, one generally avoids using the third construction given above. The idea is that language guides thought; if one consistently refers to one’s students as “autistics,” one will, conceptually, reduce them to their condition, and perhaps subconsciously stop thinking of them as people and start thinking of them as vessels containing the syndrome and only the syndrome. This is dangerous, because the characteristics and symptoms of autism range across an extremely wide spectrum. Reductionism is not just emotionally icky; it is quite literally impractical and potentially harmful when considering options for care and education.
But Grandin, herself an autistic individual, refers to people in her situation as “autistics.” So it must be okay to use that phraseology. Yes?
Not exactly. Not if one uses the term exclusively. Note that she balances the various usages; she establishes a benchmark, and then accepts variations. But the foundational concept is the reminder that these are people with a condition, and that they should not be reduced simply to the condition.
Beyond that, there’s a false equivalence to a group label such as “blacks” and a group label like “Australians.” The latter does not have a complicated history fraught with oppression and judgment; the former does. A better comparison, since we’re Down Under, would be the term “abo,” as in short for “aborigine,” which is, in anthropological parlance, itself short for “aboriginal people.” Working backward, each successive term is merely a shortened form of the preceding. So “abo” is just fine. Right?
Wrong, of course, because “abo” is dismissive, and reductionist, and has been used as a term of denigration for a long, long time. The word itself cannot be separated from the history of its usage, which, obviously, will have cultural variation. For example, to refer to someone as “a black” means something very different in the United States than it does in, say, South Africa.
And, further, the specific context in which a term is applied matters: Are you talking about an individual, or using the term collectively? And how are you collectivizing the group? It’s extremely offensive to say something like, “Blacks like fried chicken and watermelon,” but it’s no improvement to change it to, “Black people like fried chicken and watermelon.” Both are generalizations, and both are invalid statements on that level, regardless of the descriptive term one chooses to employ. On one hand, lowbrass is incorrect to make a blanket assertion that one form is always wrong, and the other form is always preferred; but he is absolutely correct to observe that careless usage is frequently a hallmark of careless thinking.
The point is, one must be meticulous with one’s language, because it’s the only way we have to judge one’s intent. You may have no biases; you may mean no harm; you may be entirely pure of soul and mind. But we can’t read your mind. When you express your thoughts, all we have is your words: so choose them wisely. Educate yourself about the history of your language, and tread lightly in regions of great conflict. It’s not your fault if decades of adversarial relations have left the terrain littered with land mines; but you do have a responsibility to walk carefully among them. It’s not really fair, but then, what is?
If that makes one feel defensive, and put-upon, well, to some extent, that’s true. There are legions of nattering, finger-pointing fuckheads in every corner of the ideological landscape, just waiting for an opportunity to take offense at the smallest perceived slight. (From “don’t call us fat” to “you don’t support the troops,” they’re everywhere; the impulse is exclusive to nobody.) It sucks, but it’s reality.
So turn the tables, and don’t give them ammunition to dismiss you. You can meet them halfway on the language issue, and employ their terms, and thus make your points. Or, well, attempt to, anyway. No amount of terminological insulation will make “African Americans enjoy fried chicken and watermelon” a good argument, for example. But if you do have a valid point, stripping away the distractions means it can be seen for what it is, and the chattering offenderati won’t have an excuse for changing the subject.
My, look at that. I did go on, didn’t I? I guess that means I must be loud.
I laughed and laughed and then I started thinkin’