A Hidden Code: The Subtle Language of Racism One of the most well-known, yet least discussed facets of racism is its submersion into the modern English language. For years Black activists have attempted to dissect the negative connotations inferred by words that upheld racist ideas about people of African descent without being obviously offensive. Most apparent is the use of the word black itself in reference to human beings, described by Malcolm X as an adjective; as in a black chair, or table, or man, then transformed into a noun; a word intended to name, as in Black people. This caused a whole race to be viewed as objects, or things, all alike. The use of the word black as an adjective has become forever imbued with less than favourable associations within the English language. The Collins English Dictionary describes black as ‘without hope or alleviation; gloomy: the future looked black.’ Blackmail, blackball, black bile, black book, Black Death, blackguard, blackleg, blacklist, black money, and a host of other negative uses of the word can be found in the English language. Many of these words can be said to be archaic. Relegated to times gone by, when some were less aware, or concerned about the racial implications. A few remain, spoken without much thought by anyone of any culture. Yet race awareness has grown to the point that many of us are conscious that black, as my Collins dictionary points out, can be ‘sometimes derogatory.’ We are careful with our words, as we have been taught to be over many years of immigration and subsequent multiculturalism. What’s changed with this careful application of language is a more nuanced understanding of how words might infer mostly negative racial stereotypes. It might be said this is a direct result of a more nuanced understanding of race itself. There is little doubt that neo-racism is alive and well. There is also plenty of evidence to suggest that it has shifted somewhat; become less overt, almost more friendly or approachable; subtle to the point where it can hardly be described as racism at all. Nowhere can this be seen more than in the furore that has taken place over artist Brett Bailey’s Exhibit B exhibition, due to open at the Barbican in a matter of days. Bailey’s work recreates the Human Zoos of a colonial era, where African subjects where caged and peered at by European onlookers, who often used their viewing to justify white supremacist ideologies supposedly backed up by ‘science’. This modern work uses real life African performers, in some cases actual Asylum seekers, in imagined scenarios of bondage as part of a series of art installations. It is to be noted that although the show won Bailey plaudits and condemnation in the 12 cities it has been staged, from his home of South Africa, to Berlin, and Edinburgh, it is in London that the protests have been most vocal, and the arguments ‘for’ have raised their voices ever louder to compete. A petition against the show was composed by the journalist Sara Myers, which at the date of a hand in to the Barbican had 18,000 signatures. For the purposes of full disclosure, I signed that petition. My reasons are too numerous to go into here, and irrelevant to my point. What I have found striking, is the attempt by those against the petitioners to brand us into one homogeneous lump, despite the obvious problems and hypocrisy in doing so, and despite the fact that we are quite obviously 18, 00 individuals. What’s even more troubling is the language being used to justify such blatant stereotyping. Articles ‘for’ the show have described the petitioners as everything from ‘the Brits’, as in, ‘it’s rather rich coming from the Brits that a petition to prevent South African playwright and artist Brett Bailey’s controversial installation Exhibit B from coming to London has been doing the rounds.’ The writer expresses their shock that a nation which spawned Damien Hurst and Tracy Emin have taken offence at Bailey’s work. To state the obvious, this doesn’t take into account the many signatories, myself and Sara Myers included, who are of African heritage and don’t share a colonial past with the indigenous population of Great Britain; a fact left out of the article for convenience’s sake, it can be supposed. The use of language here is interesting as much as for what’s not described and detailed, as what is. The writer goes on to say there probably is an element of exploitation in the work, but excuses this because ‘they consented to being part of the show, and are being paid for it. Other articles are more overt in their condemnation of the petitioners and even their descriptions of the African performers themselves, ranging from the vitriolic ‘the ideologically blinkered, press-to-send herd’ [my italics], to the misinformed; ‘It’s the first Edinburgh rehearsal of Exhibit B and there’s mutiny in the air.’ An article allowing Bailey to defend his work describes the petitioners as ‘baying’ for a banning, which, although dramatic, precludes the idea of there being any sane, rational reason for any offence taken, and immediately shuts down the real dialogue such a show is meant to promote. In the same article, Bailey himself says the comments speak to him of ‘mob hysteria’. This a very poor choice of words for an artist who claims to be sensitive to the needs and histories of African people across the diaspora, and should be challenged, although it is my personal fear that it will not be. Bailey’s language and those of other commentators ‘for’ betray a fascinating colonial rhetoric beneath their liberal veneer which is deeply troubling. The reinterpretation of racist discourse can not only be seen in the actual exhibition itself, but also in the language used by those who speak on Bailey’s behalf against people exercising their freedom of expression to voice dissatisfaction. There is a controversial history of white artists speaking on behalf of Africans on many subjects, including race. Brett Bailey is the latest of a long line, and there is no doubt there will be more. Many petitioners welcome their inclusion in this very important dialogue, which as Lemn Sissay says ‘must be told by all and remembered by all.’ That is without dispute. Brett Bailey’s contribution has always been questioned as an individual, not a white man. Yet two things are more important; one, the absence of discussion on the points raised by those who condemn the work (some of whom, like Selina Thompson, who contrary to popular opinion have seen it); the second is the absence of an African narrative on this subject in prestigious venues such as the Barbican, but others nationwide (which amounts to an unspoken, acceptable censorship in the UK that has lasted decades). Such thinking and the resulting actions thereof, are as lazy as the language being used to describe the petitioners themselves. Both must be rectified in order to bring about the change everyone wishes to see. By Courttia Newland If you cannot make tomorrow and want to still help out then you can donate here: http://www.gofundme.com/dtsgkc