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The Excruciating Case of the Germans and the N-Word
I had been invited to a friend’s house in Oaxaca for dinner. It was like an unofficial UN meeting or a Z-grade Eurovision without the singing, with me who’s British/Irish, a German couple, a Slovenian, a Bulgarian, and my friend Axel, who is a black, French national from the small island of Mayotte.
After dinner, a couple of bottles of wine, and bountiful shots of mezcal, the conversation inevitably turned to politics, specifically the USA, which at the time was a racial hotbed, being stoked and torn apart by Trump.
Axel and I started discussing institutionalized racism and the Black Lives Matter movement, and during the conversation, the “N-word” was mentioned.
“Was ist das N-wort?” The German woman piped up.
Axel and I glanced at each other in confusion, because, surely she wasn’t being serious.
“You know, the N-word,” I replied, emphasizing the N for maximum effect.
“Was is dat? Was ist das N-wort?” The German asked again, genuinely perplexed.
I shot a look at Axel, as I certainly wasn’t going to say it, and as the only black person around the table, I felt she was the one best equipped to enlighten the German, not least the only person who had the right to actually say the word.
