“Squaw” bread may be bad for business. So let's call it “Sweet brown bread formerly known by a derogatory word for women” and get on with our lives.
Well, no ... this requires a bit more serious elaboration.
A few weeks ago, a customer at Riverside's venerable Backstreet Restaurant noticed squaw bread among the breads on offer and made a low-key objection. As owner Keith Holloway explained it, the woman walked up to the counter to order a sandwich and pointed to the name, saying she couldn't say it because it's highly offensive.
“And, of course, as soon as she walked through, I covered it up,” Holloway said. “The last thing I want to do is to offend my customers.”
That was a smart business decision. A local business owner who depends on the goodwill – and good word of mouth – of his customers will not go out of his way to insult them, even unintentionally.
Still, the squaw squabble offers occasion to think about how our language is changing so quickly to accommodate a host of sensibilities – some more fragile than others.
Someday we'll look back on this decade as the Era of Microaggressions, when using the most innocent of words could be elevated to serious offenses. To refrain from insulting your neighbors wantonly is good manners. To obfuscate language for fear of giving offense is stifling. Knowing the difference isn't as easy as one would think.
Holloway said he had no idea “squaw” was a problem until the customer mentioned it. “Apparently it's on the level of the N-word in their culture,” he explained.
No – not exactly. Only one of those words can be printed in a family newspaper.
Squaw is one of hundreds of English loan words derived from American Indian languages. It means “woman” – but the literal meaning doesn't tell the full story.
The entry for “squaw” in Mitford Mathews' 1951 edition of “The Dictionary of Americanisms” runs about a page and a half when you include derivatives such as “squawberry” and “squawbush.”
There's little question “squaw” has been used as a term of opprobrium over the years. Mathews cites a headline from the Jan. 15, 1950 issue of the Omaha World-Herald Magazine announcing “Indian women bitterly resent being called ‘squaws.'” The word also seems to have been a derogatory term for white women as far back as 1642.
I had to smile at what UC Riverside English professor Vorris Nunley told the Press-Enterprise the other day. “Language is changing because society is changing,” he said. “That's not about political correctness. That's about evolving.”
Nice euphemism. But surely the rhetorician knows language evolves – or may be made to evolve – because of political correctness. Or culture. Or any number of things. They needn't be mutually exclusive.
Language can devolve, too. Corporate and political jargon is a pernicious evil that shows no sign of abating. So is the rise of gender-neutral terms, which are an accommodation to political fashion and a defeat for clarity.
Sometimes the words we seek to expunge debase clarity and history. The Legislature at the moment is mulling a bill by Sen. Steve Glazer, D-Orinda, that would ban public schools, parks and other state-owned facilities from using the name of a Confederate leader or high-ranking military official. If passed, it would affect all of two schools – one in Long Beach, another in San Diego – but it's the thought that counts.
It isn't difficult to imagine this Legislature following Glazer's cheap pander with a bill to strip certain Indian names from schools, parks and roads.
And given present trends, a serious effort to strike founding Americans and Californians from the public view wouldn't be far-fetched, either. Last month, the Los Angeles Times published an op-ed comparing California's iconic Bear Flag to the Confederate stars and bars.
I don't wish to overstate the case too much. Words and names come and go, and our dictionaries are filled with anachronisms and curiosities. But as with any enthusiasm, the desire to avoid offense may be taken too far, too quickly.
Change the language, change the culture. Change the culture, change the country.
This piece originally appeared in The Press Enterprise