Loaded Words
Loaded Words
by Greta Christina
Note: This is a weird one. Except for a couple of movie reviews, it's the
only piece I ever published whose conclusion I now disagree with almost
100%. I still think the topic is interesting and worthwhile, and I like
some of the places I got to along the way; but since I originally wrote it, I've done a fair amount of reading on linguistics and neuropsychology and how
language works in the mind, and I now believe strongly that my conclusion -- namely, that the language and definitions you use to talk about a thing shape and control how you think about that thing -- was completely and utterly wrong. So in the interest of honesty and full disclosure (or perhaps in the interest of sheer perversity and cussedness), I'm including it here. Enjoy.
I have an ongoing argument with my best friend about the word "bisexual." She claims, quite vehemently, that words are useless unless they have a specific meaning that is generally understood by everyone using them, and that therefore we need to agree on a single definition of bisexual and stick to it. (Not surprisingly, she feels that her definition is the one
we all should use.) I claim, equally vehemently, that everyone has a
right to define and name her or himself, and if that means that there are
four hundred million bisexuals with four hundred million definitions of
the word, then we'll just have to live with that. (Naturally, I still
think my definition is the one that makes the most sense.) I think I
understand what she's getting at, and I think she understands what I'm
getting at, too. But we have yet to come to an agreement.
This piece isn't about bisexuality, though. "Bisexual" is only one of the
words that provokes this sort of conflict -- the inability to agree on
terminology, the angry, defensive vehemence that the arguments over the
terminology stir up. Other words leap to mind as well: racist, sexist,
feminist; Christian, family, community; pornography, censorship; gay,
lesbian, transsexual, transgender; dyke, faggot, queer, whore, slut,
pervert, nigger (Christ, I can barely even bring myself to write that
last one, much less say it). Forget about deciding whether or not we like
the words, or whether we like the ideas and/or people they represent. We
don't even know what they mean. And yet we use these words, and we use
them the same way we use the rest of the language -- as if we knew what the hell we were talking about.
So why is it so hard to come up with language that everyone agrees on?
Why can't we agree that the definition of, say, "bisexual," will be
such-and-such, and if there are people and ideas left out by that
definition, simply agree to use a different word to describe those people
and ideas? Nobody gets their knickers in a twist about what we mean by
the word "blue." Nobody writes angry letters to the editor because the
word "laundry" doesn't include bookshelves -- or does include bedsheets.
And the only people who have heated debates about the definition of the
word "fish" are linguists and ichthyologists and people who are really
stoned. (I have, in fact, had long weird discussions about what exactly
constitutes a "salad," but these discussions certainly didn't have the
life-or-death quality that the bi-debates have had.)
But some words are loaded. And because they're loaded, coming up with
definitions for them doesn't have the quasi-random quality that other
words have; that sense that we call it this but could easily have called
it something else, that it doesn't really matter as long as we all call
it the same thing, and if we find another thing that doesn't have a name,
we'll just give it one. In the words that they'll probably carve on my
gravestone -- it's not that simple.
Loaded words are... well, they're loaded. They come with value and
judgement attached; sometimes positive, sometimes negative, and very
frequently a muddled and weird combination of the two. And at least some
of the heated quality that these words have has to do with the value
attached to the words. Pro-porn and anti-porn feminists attack one
another by saying, "They're not really feminists;" progressive and
fundamentalist Christians condemn one another by saying, "They're not
truly Christian." Heavy players in the S/M community put down lighter
players by saying, "Oh, she's just into bondage -- she's not really a
sadomasochist," and progressive gay activists dismiss conservative or
apolitical people in the community by saying, "He may be homosexual, but
I wouldn't call him gay." People place a high positive value on these
words; when they hear them used to describe people they ridicule or
despise, the word itself seems devalued.
Of course, a negative judgement can also contribute to making a word
loaded. When a woman who sleeps with both women and men says she isn't
bisexual because bisexuals are flaky and confused and don't care about
anything but sex, her decision to call herself a lesbian instead is
clearly influenced by -- as well as contributing to -- the negative weight
carried by the word bisexual. If the word bisexual weren't so loaded, if
it were a more neutral word like Midwesterner or coffee-drinker or
brunette, she might be more likely to use it -- and she might be more
comfortable with her own behavior. For the record, I think she has the
right to call herself a lesbian if she wants -- like Miss Manners, I
believe it is polite to address people in the way they wish to be
addressed. But I suspect her choice of words is, at least partly,
motivated by biphobia, by her belief that the word bisexual means "a bad
person to be scorned and feared."
And even more complicated and heavily loaded are the words that carry
both positive and negative weight. There are derogatory words, words like
queer and slut and whore and the notorious N-word, that some people want
to reclaim, even wear as a badge of honor, a Purple Heart for survivors
of intolerance. There are words like Christian or lesbian, that carry a
different value judgement depending on who is speaking and on who is
listening. And there are words like sex and power and anger and pride,
that carry mixed judgements in themselves, almost regardless of who says
or hears them.
But the debates around these loaded words aren't just about whether or
not we value the particular idea or type of person the words represent. I
would argue that, when we fight about the definitions of these words,
what we're often fighting about is the hidden and unexamined concepts
that underly the language.
For example. When people debate the definition of the word bisexual, I
believe that they are really debating other questions, questions that are
complicated and messy and difficult to think about directly. Questions
like: Which is more important, who you have sex with or who you don't
have sex with? Is sex more important than romance? Is sexual activity
more important than sexual attraction? (Or the more universal version of
that question: Is identity defined by feeling or behavior?) Is fantasy
the same as desire? Is desire the same as intention? Is gender born, or
learned, or both?
And look at the word "racist." There are huge, heated debates about it:
whether it's possible for people of color to be racist, whether it's
possible for white people not to be racist, whether certain opinions and
beliefs and practices are racist by definition. When you boil them down,
many of these arguments come down to a question of how the opponents
define the word racism; as personal prejudice, or as systematic
oppression.
But to say that a problem centers on a language barrier does not mean the
problem is trivial. The differing definitions of word "racist," for
instance, point up seriously differing ways of looking at the problem of
racism. If you define racism as the systematic (if not always conscious)
economic, political, social, cultural, and spiritual oppression of one
race by another...well, that says something very different about you than
if you define it simply as discrimination on the basis of race. It means
you see the problem differently; it means you have a different sense of
how important the problem is; and it probably means you see different
responses and solutions.
In addition, there is often a circularity, a chicken-and-egg quality, to
the definitions of loaded words. The way you understand racism, for
instance, will certainly affect the way you define the word; but the way
you define the word will also affect how you perceive the concept. If
you've always believed that racism is when one person treats another
badly because of their skin color, you may have trouble even conceiving
of a more widespread, insidious, class-oriented type of racism. But if
you can't conceive of systematic racism, you probably won't see it when
you look around you...and if you don't see any systematic racism around
you, you'll probably keep on defining racism as personal prejudice....and
merrily around the circle we go. Your definition of the word filters the
way you see the world; and the way you see the world, filtered through
your definitions, re-enforces the way you use the word.
This circular nature of loaded language can have some very creepy,
Orwellian effects. A friend of mine was in a primarily
gay/lesbian/bi/trans/queer/whatever-the-hell-you-want-to-call-it AIDS
activism group that got into some very nasty bi wars. When the question
of who got to define the word lesbian arose, one of the bi-phobic lesbian
separatists came up with this solution: "The lesbians will define who is
a lesbian." Now, in a purely semantic sense, this is a meaningless
statement, even an absurd one, the sort of thing you might see in a
lesbian version of Alice in Wonderland. But the sentence is not, in fact,
meaningless. The meaning is crystal clear: "Women who do not and will not
ever have sex with men will decide whether women who do or might have sex with men may be defined as lesbian." Or to put it another way, "The
people who fit the most narrow definition of the word will decide whether
or not the definition is to be expanded."
To me, this says a great deal, not only about how this woman defines the
word lesbian, but about how she perceives the community in general. It is
a substantial dividing point in the gay/lesbian/bi/trans/queer/whatever
community. Is it a public club or a private club? Does it include anyone
who says they want to join (and who pays their dues and brings cookies to
the bake sale); or does it only include people who get recommended by
current members?
These are not trivial, angels-on-the-head-of-a-pin semantic debates. For
one thing, the definition of a word determines who gets to be included in
the activities of people defined by that word. If you're a transsexual
woman attending a women's event, the definition of "woman" becomes much
more than a question of semantics. It determines whether you'll be
accepted and welcomed at the event or kicked in the ass and shown the
door. Words have real-world consequences; it may seem like abstract
quibbling to debate the definition of family, but when you look at
adoption laws, and surrogate mothers, and kids being taken away from
their queer parents, the question of who gets to be called family becomes
very real indeed.
So when I hear the words, "The lesbians will define who is a lesbian,"
the meaning I hear is, "This is a private club. We have to maintain our
high standards, or the place will be overrun by riffraff. Get a
recommendation from two club members in good standing, and we will
consider your request for admission at the next annual meeting." And
that, folks, is not my vision of our community. My vision is that of the
public club. If you say you want to join, if you show up and work and pay
your dues, then you're a member, and you get to vote on the bylaws. That
is my vision -- and that is how I try to use the language.
But when I look at the public vs. private club conflict, I begin to
understand part of the reason these words are so loaded. The words aren't
just about identity, or positive and negative value judgements. The words
are about danger. The words a community uses to describe itself do more
than just define the community; they define the perceived dangers to the
community.
For instance. When anti-porn feminists say, "Susie Bright isn't really a
feminist," or when pro-porn feminists say, "Andrea Dworkin isn't really a
feminist," part of what they're arguing about is what they consider to be
dangerous to women. Both groups might define a feminist as someone who
sees women being injured by a sexist society and who fights to defend
women from those injuries. But there are fierce arguments over what
constitutes danger and threat and injury to women; degrading pornographic
imagery that perpetuates objectification and violence against women, or
fascistic and repressive censorship that silences the free expression of
women's lives (to boil just one of the arguments down to an
oversimplified dogmatic summary). And when we argue over which of these
dangers is most valid and most important and try to determine where and
what we should be fighting, it all too often turns into a quarrel over
who is or is not a feminist. The way the danger is perceived
determines -- at least partly -- the way the word is defined.
And when lesbians argue over the inclusion or exclusion of bisexual
women, the arguments often focus, not on what would be good for the
lesbian community, but on what might be harmful to it. The anti-bi
lesbians fear pollution and betrayal; the pro-bi lesbians fear
intolerance and McCarthyism. And the bisexuals sit around wondering how
the hell we got turned into the Frankenstein monster.
So which do you think is the greater danger? Impurity or elitism?
Infiltration or divisiveness? Confusion or exclusion? The answers you
give, I believe, will affect the way you define your community -- and,
therefore, yourself.
Copyright 1997 Greta Christina. Originally published in Pomosexuals: Challenging Assumptions about Gender and Sexuality,
edited by Carol Queen and Lawrence Schimel, Cleis Press.
|