September 26, 2014 - 17:12
How can someone so small stand in the face of a mountain of slurs, taunts, and hostility? In Eli Claire’s memoir Exile and Pride, his answer is reclamation. Whenever I’ve heard the term thrown around, it was always used as reclaiming slurs—victims turning hurtful, oppressive language into symbols of pride. Clare sticks to this concept steadfastly, saying that “words of violence and hatred can be neutralized or even turned into words of pride” (Clare 109). Based on this, it can be garnered that reclamation is used to uphold pride in an individual and in a community. Just as nature can reclaim lands believe to be uninhabitable, so can people reclaim an ugly word and turn it into something beautiful.
Clare uses reclamation as a means to nurture empathy and sympathy within marginalized groups. Each oppressed group has language twisted and used against them. Reclamation is a shield against mockery brought about by hollered slurs. As a shield, it promotes solidarity. Clare gives an example of this, recounting reclamation of disability as “crip culture, crip jokes . . . crip humor” (Clare 82). The slurs become part of an “insider language,” he continues, which in turn fosters solidarity among those with disabilities. The shared experience of slurs garners empathy and camaraderie among the victimized group. Reclaiming words as a community can strengthen bonds by uniting together against a common enemy, creating a form of empathy. It also takes the sting out of the word, numbing it down until it has no power left. Clare writes that “to stare down the bully calling cripple [and queer], to say ‘Yeah, you’re right. I’m queer, I’m a crip. So what?’ undercuts the power of those who want us dead” (Clare 109). As a shield, reclamation nullifies a word—and, for some people, it begins to strip the word of its negative connotations.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, reclamation comes from the Middle French réclamation, signifying an “action of claiming or demanding; an action of opposing.” Going further back to classical Latin, it tells of a “shout of disapproval or protest”. This origin puts more bite into the word, transforming the meaning of reclamation as not only a shield, but as a sword. In the memoir, Clare recounts Nancy Mairs: “Perhaps I want [the nondisabled world] to wince” (Clare 82). He goes on later to demonstrate this origin of opposition and protest as done in freak shows, stories “of disabled people who earned their livings by flaunting their disabilities . . . an in-your-face resistance similar to ‘We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it’” (Clare 103).
But what of those who choose—for all reasons are legitimate—not to take on this lexicon? I, for example, have taken the word queer to identify myself, much the same as Clare. However, like his reluctance to accept freak into his vocabulary of pride, I have never been able to acknowledge bitch, whore, slut, or other gendered slurs as terms of endearment or pride. On the other hand, I do accept and respect it when other women reclaim the word as their own. In certain circles, though, this disagreement over reclaimed words creates a disconnection. I know of friends who use queer in everyday conversations, yet others who fervently despise the usage of the word in the mainstream LGBT+ community. Clare attributes the disconnect due to words that “nearly burst with hurt and bitterness . . . [words that] carry too much grief” (Clare 85). He goes on to say that they “come highly charged with emotional and social history,” contexts that aren’t so easily separated from the slur. In this sense, I have had less experience with queer as an insult; that word conjures up thoughts of warm community, whereas bitch rings harsh and socially charged.
This, then, should divide a community. In a way, however, this disparity can strengthen its bonds, if handled the right way. It encourages sympathy among those who learn to respect the wishes of others when they would rather not use the reclaimed slur to describe themselves. Conversely, it encourages understanding among those who learn to respect when others do use the word to describe themselves, either for empowerment or any otherwise positive usage. If this is not done, then the community will be torn. In the disabled world, Clare mentions, “Disability pride is hard to come by. It is soaked in shame, dressed in silence, rooted in isolation . . . collective resistance to oppression becomes nearly impossible” (Clare 107). When those of an oppressed group can come together and rise above the issues regarding reclamation, and turn it into a point of pride and acceptance, the community as a whole becomes closer. They can overcome the silence and isolation begot by taunts.
When the mountain looms, you climb it together.