I’ve Dealt With Racism All My Life. Political Correctness is Not the Answer.

Growing up in the 1950’s Midwest, the most common way people identified others was through their tribe and religion. In my neighborhood, you were identified as a greaseball, spic, polack, nigger, jappo, heeb, daggo, cracker and grey boy. You name it, the insult was there, and people would say it openly to you.

I’m of Mexican and American Indian descent, and as a child being referred to as a dirty spic or wetback by adults and other children was a daily occurrence. I could not go into a small neighborhood store without the owners referring to me as a “good one” because I was light- skinned.

You would think somebody from my background would fully support political correctness. Instead, I detest it. Let me explain why: political correctness is essentially an excuse to put a tag of offense on that which makes us uncomfortable.

Let’s take the word spic; that’s offensive to me, right, as a person of Mexican descent? If somebody today calls me a spic, I feel the intent of it. If it’s a good friend saying it and I feel the intent is good humor, I do not get offended. I feel the intent. If the word is mentioned in a historical sense, I do not get offended. Now, if someone who is a stranger or merely an acquaintance calls me a spic, it is more than likely they’re doing it…