The N-Word Pass
The notoriously known and prevalent middle school phenomenon: the N-word pass.
What is the N-word pass? For those unfamiliar with the term, the N-word pass is an imaginary permission slip that grants whoever is requesting it the privilege to use the N-word. It is often a non-Black person asking a Black person for this “pass.” This N-word pass supposedly allows the non-Black individual to use the slur freely, regardless of context.
As ridiculous as this phenomenon sounds, it is a common experience for Black students to be asked for this pass countless times. From my own observations and experiences, it seems most prevalent among middle schoolers (grades 6-8). When I was in middle school, 3-4 times a week, some kid would approach me during lunch, surrounded by a group of friends laughing behind him, asking for the N-word pass.
There is so much behind this request that none of us at that age could fully grasp. There is the obvious ignorance regarding the weight and meaning of the N-word, a profound disrespect in asking someone from a minority group for permission to use a racial slur, and perhaps the biggest question: why would any non-Black child want to use this word at all?
As the Black kid on the receiving end of these requests, I often felt embarrassed and belittled. Although I developed a strong sense of self from a young age, allowing me to tell these kids to “kick rocks,” many others did not share that same confidence. I watched as many Black kids, especially Black boys, granted this N-word pass to their supposed friends. I felt confusion and disbelief. Why would anyone give a white person the right to call them a slur? The right to call all of us a slur?
I observed these interactions carefully, trying to make sense of it. Often, when first confronted, the same eager boy and his laughing posse would pressure a Black student into submission. The Black boy would give an awkward laugh, eyes darting around like a cry for help. I would attempt to meet their gaze, silently offering support—“You don’t have to say yes; we can talk.” Then came the pestering: “Please, come on man, don’t be lame!” or “Yeah, bro, don’t be a wuss about it; it’s just a word.” The boys would close in like a pack of hyenas, and before long, the words would slip out: “Okay, you can have the pass.” I’d sigh and shake my head.
Then came the excitement, the chanting, as the group walked away, either leaving the Black kid alone—having taken a piece of him with them—or worse, losing him in their mosh pit of laughter. I watched as these Black kids lost a part of themselves in this ridiculous game, this make-believe trading of something so profound. Same as always, a few days later I'd be stopped again and asked for the pass, but this time I'd be met with even more resistance: “But the Black guy in your class didn’t care; he gave it to my friend yesterday.” In the corner of my eye I could spot the Black boy, this time he met my tired gaze, his head hung, as if to say “I’m sorry”.
This cycle continued. As a group of Black youth, with all different backgrounds and levels of self-assurance, we had varied reactions to this common experience, yet each of our responses, each pass granted, affected all of us. I used to believe some Black kids really didn’t care about the word being used by their white peers. From the way they ran around, belting the word like it was a trophy, or selling pieces of paper stamped “N-word pass” in bold letters after school, it seemed they were oblivious to the history of the word and how much they were giving away. All of this was true in a sense, but I realize now that for many, it was an act of survival. These were often their closest friends begging for these passes. Allowing this behavior was their only way to keep their friendships. What an incredibly unfair and painful experience.
Since then, I’ve discussed this phenomenon with many people in the Black community. When it comes up in conversation, there’s the usual eye-roll and the acknowledgment: “Oh, of course, I know about the N-word pass; who doesn’t?” Though we can laugh about the ignorance and childish behavior now, at the time it was incredibly divisive within the Black community. One boy granting the pass could “allow” his Black friend to be called the N-word the next day. I have an abundance of empathy for the guilt these children must have felt. We didn’t have each other’s backs; we put each other in harm's way. And yet, we were just 11, 12, and 13 years old— we were babies.
Other non-Black students of color, like Indigenous and Hispanic kids, were also asked for the pass. That was the level of ignorance. Any brown person could grant the pass to use this anti-Black racial slur. I do not blame these kids for their behavior; we were on the brink of learning. However, I do blame the systems that allowed it to continue. Teachers were informed about these situations time and time again, but they often brushed them off as playground talk or “boys being boys.” Begging brown kids for the right to use such a derogatory term is not playground talk; it is the seed of racist ideology.
The N-word pass is not an ancient phenomenon. Just last week, CREAN spoke to a middle school principal and staff who had been struggling with the prevalence of the N-word pass. It breaks my heart to imagine kids in the same position we were, grappling with questions of allowing this behaviour to keep friends, to not be perceived as “lame” or “sensitive” or do I stand up for myself despite the consequences. This is not a decision a child should have to make; it is simply not right. Thankfully, the school we met facilitated a discussion surrounding the history of the word and declared that asking for the “N-word pass” is completely unacceptable. I was relieved to know that at least something has changed since my middle school days. At least the adults are now protecting their Black students, and in doing so, they are safeguarding the entire student body by instilling the message that racist behavior is intolerable and harmful.
I’ve been asked many times in conversations about this topic, “Why do you think the white kids want to use the pass? Why is it something they’d even think to ask for?” To be honest, I am not completely sure. For many, it is not malicious intent or rooted in racist ideals. I think it ties into the phenomenon where telling a kid “no” only makes them want to do it more. The N-word is forbidden; for many kids, that’s all they know about it, which is an issue in itself. Because of its forbidden nature, many kids feel curiosity about it. I want to make it clear that this curiosity is completely normal. Curiosity should be met with information. If kids are interested about the N-word, starting at ages 11 or younger, then let’s talk about it.
What is the history of the N-word?
It was the first documented arrival of slaves in the US, and the Africans were referred to using the Spanish and Portuguese words for black - which is where the word comes from. It was used by Slave owners towards their black slaves that they claimed as property. The term was used while beating, rapping, and killing slaves. "It's really tied into the idea that African people aren't really human beings," says Kehinde Andrews, professor of black studies at Birmingham City University." They were more like an animal than a human being, a beast of burden, could be bought and sold, could be thrown overboard ships and literally had no rights. "So when the N-word is used that's essentially what it's used for. So I would hope most people would understand why that is deeply offensive and problematic because it still is used in that context now."
Many people believe that kids and pre-teens shouldn’t be exposed to such mature conversations about racism, but there is a way to educate young people about these realities. Avoiding conversations about racism or the N-word only fosters ignorance, and ignorant racism still causes harm.
On my first day of 12th grade at a new school, I stood wide-eyed as a white boy looked up at a 6’4” Black boy and called him the N-word. I watched the Black boy squirm in discomfort, displaying the same awkward laugh I had seen so many times before. The white boys laughing posse eagerly awaiting a response. But what was different this time was the look on the white boy's face. There was no curiosity, no childish laughter—just a sly smile, a deep stare, and a firmness in his tone that I had not seen before. I could tell this was not the first time this boy had used this word. It was only the tip of an iceberg of a deeply ingrained racist belief system.
He looked down and laughed it off, saying “shut up” as the bell rang and he walked with them to class. My heart dropped. The cycle never ends. This is what happens when no one intervenes, when nobody stops the little white boy who thinks he’s just playing a game and says, “Hey, no, that will never be okay.” When nobody leans over to the little Black boy, left alone by his only group of friends, and softly says, “Those aren’t your friends; real friends wouldn’t want to call you those names.”
The Black boy is now a young man at the age of 18, but in those moments, he is still that 11-year-old boy standing on the playground, embarrassed and ashamed, desperate not to be unliked. As the year progressed, I grew a friendly relationship with this Black boy from my first day. I watched as he played along, maneuvering many situations similar to his experience on my first day. He always laughed, always made fun of himself and his race before anyone else could. He stereotyped himself, threw around the N-word, and egged on racist jokes.
This was the only Black boy in our grade. This was him surviving.
One night, at a grad party, I asked him in a hushed voice, “What is it like? Why do you laugh off all these horrible things?” He looked me in the eye and told me how impossible it is. These are his only friends, but what he admitted, which those middle school boys couldn’t at the time, was how hurt he truly was. How deeply painful his experience has been. He didn’t have to say much. We spoke in the space where our eyes met, like I had always done. It’s a space black kids know all too well, between one another, a space of safety, of freedom to say “No, this does not feel good.”
The N-word pass is a term everyone should be aware of—teachers, parents, friends, students—so that we can advocate for, raise awareness about, and empower all Black students. The cycle needs to end when children are young, curious, and malleable, before any harmful ideals are set in stone. Black students should be taught ways to confront these conversations, all students should be aware of the history of this violent word. With love and understanding there is a way to inform and educate our young people on the N-word pass and the hurt it creates.