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As the nation contemplates the terrifying violence at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, and impending threats leading up to the January 20 inauguration, we should examine the language that is commonplace in politics. Similarly, we should assess the ways in which some in the media have permitted and perpetuated harmful rhetoric.
For instance, President Trump came into office verbally attacking everyone who was non-white, everyone who threatened him, and everyone who refused to bow down and worship him. His language was treated as colorful and entertaining, and many dismissed the impact he could have. Others gave him a platform to spew hateful rhetoric because it was good for ratings; higher ratings led to increased ad revenue. There are others still who saw the damage he was doing but lacked the courage to hold him accountable.
Many knew Trump could be ruthless with words. He mercilessly derided his opponents, and defied common standards of decency in the process. He reduced career politicians to cruel caricatures. He understood the human desire to be liked and exploited it.
Most shocking, President Trump positioned himself as strong while simultaneously criminalizing weakness. His projection of strength was important to his base, which likely felt they were losing ground. As progressives proudly proclaimed changing demographics, where minorities would soon become the majority, a segment of white America must have felt they were losing “their” country.
While many looked the other way, Black people and people of color knew the danger of language. The trauma in our genes testified to its harms. We knew and understood that language could spur policies that would impact us first and worst.
When Professor John J. Dilulio Jr. of Princeton University introduced the notion of a coming generation of super-predators, the results were disastrous for Black youth. Among other things, it resulted in children being charged as adults and the expansion of zero tolerance policies.
In another example, President Richard Nixon’s ‘War on Drugs,’ and its precursor, which was launched in the 1930s by former drug czar Harry Anslinger, helped criminalize generations of Black and brown people. Those campaigns began with language. Peddling in fear and manipulation, these officials launched publicity campaigns to scare the nation into believing the proliferation of drugs and the deterioration of communities required swift and unrelenting government intervention.
Fast forward to today, and Black journalists are coming forward acknowledging the ways in which they were silenced or prevented from reporting accurately on racism and white nationalism within Trump’s base. On January 9, beloved author and noted journalist Farai Chideya set Twitter ablaze as she wrote of her experience at FiveThirtyEight and with its founder Nate Silver. She noted that Silver resisted her and other’s efforts to report on white nationalism or on racism in a truthful way. In November 2020, activist and educator Britney Packnett Cunningham also critiqued Silver for seeming to downplay the impact of voter suppression.
And while the allegations against Silver are damning, he is one player in a broader system that seems intent on excluding Black people and people of color, erasing our contributions, and silencing our perspective. Even the Kerner Commission report in the late 1960s spoke to the lack of diversity in the media, and the racial bias that has come to accompany media coverage of non-white people.
Yet it is not just Black journalists and activists speaking up. James Murdoch’s rebuke of the U.S. media’s enabling Trump must have caught many by surprise. It is not lost on me that his father, Rupert Murdoch, is chief among those who should be held to account. It is also not lost on me that Trump’s own attack on journalists endangered their lives.
My point in all of this is that as dangerous as Trump’s rhetoric has been, there are countless others who are complicit.
It is not just dangerous rhetoric that must be challenged. It is also tepid characterizations of racism. It is not just refusing to report on the breadth of racism that is the problem. It is humanizing those who have caused grave harm. Every time a journalist sits down with a member of the mob who stormed the U.S. Capitol for an interview, I wonder why there is a need to let insurrections explain their failed coup.
These things have led us to the position we find ourselves today. Many have acknowledged this. It is time we all did.
Until white supremacy is abandoned, persons favoring justice will always be on the defense. Until newsrooms and media boardrooms reflect America, we will always struggle to advance truthful narratives. But until we consider language to be a predecessor for action, we will always be behind the curve.
It is clear to me that many are complicit, even if few are ultimately held accountable.
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Jennifer R. Farmer is a writer, trainer and activist communicator. She is the author of 'First and Only: A Black Woman’s Guide to Thriving at Work and in Life'. Follow her on Twitter/IG at @pr_whisperer or on Facebook at @prwhisperer.
