Words are heavy. Every letter of every phrase carries a weight that we as speakers tend to overlook. Diction is an influential tool, made powerful not by the mouths that voice it but rather by the ears that receive it. No matter what, somebody is always listening.
The word "retard" plagues the airwaves of our university. It's in the classrooms and on the fields, evident in everyday conversations among peers and even with distinguished adults. It's astonishing to hear its incorrect use, a casual expression that can be form-fitted to every distress, coming from some of the most prominent mouths on campus.
It's not an elastic word, and it certainly shouldn't be used as slander. "Retard" --- an abbreviation stemming from retardation --- is a medical classification, and it's important for us to stop and understand the full context of this classification and how this everyday social interpretation is undoubtedly ignorant.
There are over 14.3 million individuals who bear a disability in the U.S. Whether it's cognitive, emotional or physical, 6 percent of all Americans are restricted in some way. With such a high density of disabilities in this great nation, it's surprising how our rhetoric has seemingly slipped through the cracks. A retarded person is someone who is handicapped, not someone who goofs up when hanging out with a group of friends.
When the euphemistic interpretation of the word "retard" is used in everyday conversation, an entire population is besieged. Millions of blameless people --- people who breath the same air and feel the same love as anyone else --- are automatically presumed inferior. Some of the purest hearts and minds arise from those with disabilities, and to reduce their abilities to just one poorly adapted word is thoughtless.
Let it be understood that this is not an argument for "political correctness," nor is it a reprimand of those who use the world frequently.
Simply put, this is a plea for us all to show more respect, to use an empathetic looking glass. It is empathy that's required in order to truly understand the weight of the word "retarded." Anyone who has ever spent time with a learning-disabled person knows the true power of the word and the demeaning effect of its casual adaptation.
What you might take as a simple joke or light-hearted pass between friends may very well be a demoralizing comment to those around you who are disabled in some way or know and love someone who is. Your words matter; they may not matter to you, but once they're out in the air, they can injure those around you. And you can't just brush that kind of pain off with a halfhearted apology. Any playful intentions don't matter. What translates is your word, your actions.
Of course, there is nothing wrong with joking between friends over stupidity or futility: But it's long since time we come up with another word that doesn't needlessly cause others pain.
Now, I realize many of you will simply brush this piece off as overly sensitive nonsense and carry on using "retard" without worry. Recognize, then, the point at which you are placing more value in being stubborn and uncompromising than in how you might very well be causing others pain. Is that the kind of personality you strive for? Ego over empathy?
In order to truly grasp the fault in using the word "retard" carelessly, consider volunteering an hour of your time to an organization dedicated to special needs. Take note of the smiles and the pure joy you'll encounter, and remember that when choosing your words in the future.
Max Chesnes is an Alligator staff photographer.
