Last week, as the much-publicized Geert Wilders film Fitna buffered on my computer screen, I remembered a Saturday evening spent sparring about prejudice. The location: my gay cousin’s loft in Wimbledon, London, and my opponent his straight flat mate, a Dutchie whom I’ll call W for anonymity’s sake. I was trying to remember the name of a candy I had come to love in my four months living in Denmark earlier that year. As I described the bulbous chocolate coated sweetie to him, a spark of recognition flashed across his face, “Oh yeah I know that. We call it Negerkuss (Negro kiss).” “You don’t think that’s a bit umm, politically incorrect?” I asked. He frowned like it was the first time anyone had asked him that. And it was. After a short while he retorted, “Sainsbury in London sells Indian tonic water.” Somehow I don’t think it’s the same.
Most people don’t believe they’re prejudiced and it shocks them to realise that the shoe might actually fit. W quickly googled something and proclaimed that the name of the candy had recently been changed to the more neutral Chocolate Kiss. But it doesn’t matter, just like most people still call Myanmar Burma and I call Mumbai Bombay, the old names tend to hang on. In India, many pejorative terms used to describe Muslim minorities are still whispered behind closed doors. In remote villages you and I will never visit, people from our backward classes still have “untouchable” slurred at them.
The same with Allochtoon. Recently I had a promising article read to me from the newspaper Spits which talked about outlawing the use of the word in Holland (http://www.spitsnet.nl/nieuws.php/1/12104/online/Schaf_woord_allochtoon_af.html). I’m afraid that despite these measures, it simply won’t go away. Mr Wilders won’t let it. If prohibited by law, it will just make the transition to street slang. What is more disheartening is that films like Fitna are actually helping to add to the body of labels that already exists.
I’m aware that Holland is a champion of free speech, “He has a right to his opinion,” said W. But I’m afraid this beautiful country is attracting a label of its own—racist. It’s sad that so many have to endure this name calling because of a few right wingers. But just like in kindergarten, it’s catching on surprisingly fast.
We all need a good bout of de-wording to unlearn phrases and adjectives we have come to use without fully realizing their potential to offend. While this sounds like a brilliant plan I have no idea how it might be accomplished. Especially since W let it slip that he had a bag of Negro Kisses stashed in his room. He later looked a bit sheepish. But it made me realise again that labels stick longer than laws.
