I remember what we used to call "wokeness".

When did the Golden Rule become a bad thing?

(James Carville, image credit: Colin Young-Wolff/Invision/AP)

This week, storied political consultant James Carville apparently decided that it would be a great messaging strategy for the Democratic Party to hop on the so-called “anti-woke” bandwagon. In an interview with Sean Illing of Vox, he stated:

Wokeness is a problem and everyone knows it. It’s hard to talk to anybody today — and I talk to lots of people in the Democratic Party — who doesn’t say this. But they don’t want to say it out loud.

Before I continue, I want to stop here real quick and gently point out that the term “woke” (and its variants), as with so many colloquialisms that have gone mainstream, comes out of the Black community, from what is often referred to as AAVE (African-American Vernacular English — read this primer by PhD linguistics candidate Kimberley Baxter and Prof. Reneé Blake for Mental Floss).

I am not the least bit qualified to talk about the nuances of “woke” in that context, so check out this essay for NPR by Sam Sanders, who says, in part:

Words that begin with a very specific meaning, used by a very specific group of people, over time become shorthand for our politics, and eventually move from shorthand to linguistic weapon. Or in the case of woke, a linguistic eye-roll.

I point this out because even in discussing the term “woke” in a larger context, I may run the risk as a white person of obliquely appropriating the term. I only stopped using it several years ago after seeing a Black colleague helpfully write about the harm that’s done when white people, even unintentionally, appropriate terms that originate in the Black community.

This also shouldn’t be taken as me lecturing other people reading this. I make mistakes, and I’m sure you do, too. It’s good that we can help each other.

That is all to say that since Carville and many others have attached this specific term to a larger discussion on respect, we have to briefly unpack the term and offer folks helpful context.

Anyway, back to Carville, who also said in that interview:

You ever get the sense that people in faculty lounges in fancy colleges use a different language than ordinary people? They come up with a word like “Latinx” that no one else uses. Or they use a phrase like “communities of color.” I don’t know anyone who speaks like that. I don’t know anyone who lives in a “community of color.” I know lots of white and Black and brown people and they all live in ... neighborhoods.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with these phrases. But this is not how people talk. This is not how voters talk. And doing it anyway is a signal that you’re talking one language and the people you want to vote for you are speaking another language. This stuff is harmless in one sense, but in another sense it’s not.

First of all, Carville is wrong here. The terms he highlights are used by some within those communities, even if many folks do not use them. Trans and non-binary people who are Latinx especially appreciate the term for its gender-neutral freedom.

Second, Carville is really just fleshing out his annoyance with “political correctness” in our increasingly hyper-partisan national discourse and couching it in the go-to and rather “safe” route of criticizing academia (a familiar punching bag of social conservatives and anyone else annoyed with discourse on how to respect others).

As my good friend Tim Berry pointed, Carville also misses the point that this represents a long overdue shift of political power toward marginalized folks who have historically been the backbone of the Democratic Party but kept on the margins.

Now, he really may believe that “political correctness” diminishes the effectiveness of the Democratic Party’s national campaign strategy (I wholeheartedly disagree), but I think this has a lot more to do with his personal frustration with the world changing around him and the effort he perceives it takes to keep up with those changes.

He’s not alone in that. Many folks his age (especially of his race and gender) feel the same way. As someone on the older end of the Millennial spectrum, I have witnessed similar frustration with folks older than me with cultural competency that simultaneously seemed obvious to most folks my age.

And yet, I have also been frustrated myself at times with aspects of cultural evolution that didn’t come so easily to me.

I think frustration is a perfectly human response in the learning process, but—if I may be a tad preachy here—that doesn’t absolve us of our responsibility to make the effort to unlearn harmful practices and replace them with helpful ones.

Carville absolutely knows that. Whatever disagreements you may have with him, he’s a smart man who understands broader changes. In his lifetime, he has definitely seen the evolution of how marginalized communities are perceived and described in broader society.

For example, Carville can surely recall a time when many men his age openly used terms like “faggot” or “fairy” or whatever-the-hell long ago when homophobia was more widely accepted in our national culture. Times change and people often change. Most folks make mistakes, unlearn, educate themselves, and do better.

These days, it’s universally understood to be a no-no. There’s no excuse for it now, and I am certain Carville understands and accepts that.

A common thing among many young men 20 years ago was using the word “gay” to describe things they didn’t like (ex: “That class is gay”).

That was a thing in the late ‘90s and early ‘00s, and it was widely accepted. If I learned now that one of my cis, hetero friends did that back then, it wouldn’t really bother me because I know they’ve unlearned that. But if they surprised me by doing it now, then, yeah, I’d be pissed because broader understanding has evolved, and they should know better in our current environment.

Here’s another example: the way race and ethnicity are described have changed substantially over time. There are terms for races and ethnicities that were used professionally half a century ago—even by folks in those communities back then—that are now universally understood as pejorative terms.

This great article by NYT journalist John Eligon describes the history and ongoing debate among many in the Black community in the United States on how it should be broadly described: “Black” or “African-American”? “Black” with a capitalized “B” or “black” with the lowercase “b”?

When I was growing up in Central Texas in the ‘90s and early ‘00s, I was taught that “African-American” is correct and to never, under any circumstances, use the n-word. Pretty simple to get right.

As I grew up, I found that there are some Black folks who find “African-American” to be inaccurate and offensive, and yet, some folks prefer “African-American” and feel “Black” doesn’t accurately describe their identity.

Up until several years ago, I used “black” with a lowercase “b” just as I would with “white” because that’s what I thought was correct until a Black friend of mine gently asked me to capitalize the “B” and kindly offered the labor of explaining the context for it. So, I started doing that. I am well aware that some Black folks feel that’s ridiculous, while others feel it’s quite important.

Most recently, other topics of debate are whether to capitalize the word “white” or the differences between “people of color” and “BIPOC”. These debates are ongoing, and like others, I’m still learning.

On a personal note, I’m a proud trans woman. There is a small fraction of the trans community who are perfectly at peace with the term “tranny” while most of the broader community considers it to be highly offensive in all contexts and some consider it offensive only when used outside of the community. (If you’re cis, my strong advice is to never say that word.)

Last year, I was caught off guard and captivated by an impromptu conversation on NPR over the word “queer”.

Two LGBTQ folks being interviewed on the program used the word to describe the broader community, as is now common practice. The host—a cisgender, straight man—gently inquired if that term is still offensive. Like the two queer folks on that program, I was briefly confused by his question until I quickly remembered: Oh yeah, that used to be highly offensive back in the day to most LGBTQ people when used outside the community. I remember those days. He’s being empathetic by inquiring.

Indeed, I still encounter some older LGBTQ folks who still refuse to say “queer” and find it offensive. If I know this, I avoid using the term around them.

Another example: I’m a disabled person, but it wasn’t until five or six years ago that I started removing words like “crazy” and “idiot” and “moron” from my vocabulary because many disabled folks find those terms offensive. I still occasionally slip-up, quickly correct myself, and move on.

Biggest lesson here: no community is a monolith, and despite what you may have heard or hoped, there is no universal handbook to avoid offense, just general guidance that usually works but may not work universally.

I still make mistakes. You will more than likely make mistakes, too, even with the best of intentions.

So, what to do?

I simply stick with terminology that I perceive to be in the broadest use for a community to which I do not belong. If I’m unsure of what language to use, I go to Google, which I am told is still a subscription-free service. I simply do the quick labor of educating myself.

If I’m in the moment and offend someone or make them uncomfortable, I seek to correct what terms I use in their presence moving forward.

For example, if I were to use the word “Black” in the presence of someone in that community who indicates they prefer “African-American”, I would apologize, make a note to use that term when I’m in their presence, and go about my day.

I can already tell many people from a variety of backgrounds who are reading will be exasperated at this point because they feel it’s annoying as hell and laborious to have to alter your language on a case-by-case basis.

But look, in my experience, this doesn’t happen often, and even if it did, what is it really costing me to make that effort? Nothing. It costs me nothing. It’s not really laborious. Honestly. It just may feel that way because you’re uncomfortable.

Most of us spend a lot time committing to memory things that are unnecessary but of interest to us that are far more complex, and yet, we don’t bat an eye at that labor because it’s something we want to do.

As a trans woman and someone who is disabled—speaking only for myself here and not these broader communities—my response to offensive language always hinges on the intent.

If I know someone has made a mistake in good faith, I can work with that. Many folks are still unaware of trans-inclusive language, so I offer a lot of space for others to make mistakes, to which I respond with gentle correction. This almost always works out fine for all parties.

But if I know someone is trying to hurt me? I have no problem finding the time to ensure they understand there need to be consequences for that harm.

And yet, sometimes, in rare instances, it may get more complicated because pain can be a complicated thing, even when provoked by the best of intentions.

Occasionally, I’ve had a bad day and someone misgendered me, and it really pissed me off, especially when I felt there was little excuse for them to do so, even in good faith. I try my best to engage with kindness, but pain is pain.

I try to remember this when I mess up in good faith, and someone in pain responds from that place of pain.

Wouldn’t it be great, in these instances, if the person outside a marginalized community placed heavy emphasis on considering pain and the person inside a marginalized community placed heavy emphasis on considering intent?

Yeah, that’d be great, but we’re all human and I guarantee that’s like asking how the average person deals with, say, a traffic jam. Depending on the situation, some can remain calm and quickly put it it context and keep their cool. Some get readily pissed off because they’re tired and wanna get to their destination. I imagine most of us are a mix of these two.

Or how about stubbing your toe? Those first few seconds are just a world of pain, and it’s hard to even think rationally. Sometimes, the pain of offensive language can feel that way.

I want to emphasize here that this is the best I know how to navigate these issues in this particular part of my journey. There are folks who I’m sure can offer a much different perspective that is just as valid, if not moreso.

I’d like to think most of us are trying, and yet, it’s still hard, both when you’re the person trying to avoid harming and the person trying to avoid being harmed.

Regardless, one of the great tragedies of this era has been watching what used to be known as the Golden Rule--treating others as you would want to be treated--reduced to a weaponization of the term “wokeness” by people who would have you believe that true objectivity is centered in white male pundits.

On a related note, “cancel culture” is a remarkably weird and childish framing by the same adults for “accountability for the irresponsible and harmful decisions an adult makes” but here we are.

Imagine how powerful it would be for someone as influential as James Carville to actively seek out nuance and acknowledge the pain of experiences very different from his own instead of hiding behind the idea that the trauma of marginalized communities is a necessary sacrifice for the non-guarantee of electoral wins, especially when the only reason the Democratic Party has any success is because of the broad support of marginalized communities, not particular older white men who prioritize their annoyance over respect for others.

Instead, he's chosen to buy into this bizarre myth that asking adults to be empathetic and responsible and demonstrate a modicum of informed effort for others is so-called "wokeness".

Again, I don’t feel comfortable preaching broadly on this because like everyone, I certainly make mistakes, but when there’s so little effort being made by someone, I feel a little preaching is warranted.

If you’re that tired, take a nap, Mr. Carville.

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Hi, I’m Charlotte Clymer, and this is my Substack. It’s completely free to access and read, but if you feel so moved to support my writing, please consider upgrading to a paid subscription: just $7/month or save money with the $70/annual sub. You can also go way above and beyond by becoming a Founding Member at $210.

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