We are not our labels.

So, I am white. I am middle class. I am a mother. There are a lot of words that can be used to describe things that I am—labels.

Language is important. It’s how we interact at a level more sophisticated than body movements, or primal grunts. It’s one of the things that separate us from other species. It helps us build deep relationships and connections with those we care about, but language can also divide us from each other.

I love language. I love words. I like the way they can be strung together in ways that new people, places, and stories can be told. I like when they turn into songs, poetry, and funny jokes. I like their strength, their occasional subtlety, and I like their vulnerability.

Words can be victimized by their users. They can be turned into things they were never intended to be. As Michael Hutchence of INXS wrote: “Words are weapons, sharper than knives. Makes you wonder how the other half dies.”

I think people who have found themselves deeply hurting at one time or another have a relationship with language and words that is different from the relationship most people have. We often feel we have to craft our thoughts so carefully when we share them, that they cannot do us more harm, and they cannot be dismantled.

I had an amazing thought yesterday when I was driving. I don’t have a lot of self-confidence. I often doubt my abilities, and my capacity. The thought I had was magical. It was like my inner voice wanted to share a secret with me.

“You are who you are, and you are so good within that space that you never need to worry about being better or more for someone else. There is nothing incomplete, wrong, or inadequate.”

I don’t know where it came from, but it felt amazing. The words had nothing to do with any labels I normally wear. It doesn’t mean that I woke up today feeling like a brand new person. I didn’t. But I still have that to carry.

Most of today, I continued to be white, middle class, and a mother. I fit under those labels and categories—among others.

Not everyone is so lucky to have the kind of labels that fit me. And that is where language and labels come in. The labels that most people use to define me are like soft, warm blankets. Most of the time, I am treated with respect, dignity, and kindness. Only my four-year-old doesn’t seem to understand my labels.

There are other words—other labels—that aren’t as lucky. Black. Mexican. Trans. Immigrant. Illegal. Muslim.

Nobody questions my humanity. My labels don’t erase my species, my DNA, my physical makeup. They don’t turn me into something else.

Today, I saw a post on social media about a woman who had a cake made to honor the deaths of 77 transgendered women of color who were killed because of hate. One of the first comments was by a man declaring that “blacks” kill other blacks, and anything else that moves. For the last couple of years, our country has been divided over what should happen to people who come here illegally, or as refugees. “Illegals” need to do things the legal way. “Illegals” need to stay in their own countries and work to make them better instead of coming here. “Refugees” need to stay behind and fight for themselves. “Refugees” aren’t our problem.

From the side of a building in Dublin.

We use other language and labels, too. We need to help our “own people” first. We need to take care of our “vets.” People on welfare are “lazy.” They should get jobs, and work like the rest of us. She was dressed like “a slut,” no wonder she got raped. We conquered the “savages,” and built a great nation. The “blacks” are better off here than if we’d left them in Africa—never mind that not all blacks actually came here from Africa. That’s another way we dehumanize people—by refusing to learn or know anything about them.

Words are weapons. We use language and words to dehumanize people, and that dehumanization makes anything we do to them all right. We use language to justify our personal greed, and to find someone to blame for our feelings of disenfranchisement. We use language and labels to take what we want from people who have less than we will ever have, and from people who have already been robbed.

Right now, there are around 2,000 children in cages, because their “illegal” parents came here in search of safety, security, and to escape violence and oppression. There are a fair number of people who think this is okay, because “illegals” need to do the right thing. They need to come here legally like the rest of us.

We have a history of taking words, language, and labels and twisting them to our own advantage. Maybe that’s human nature. I don’t know. But I do know this. I take the label of “mother” very seriously. I take the label of “child” seriously. There is no such thing as an “illegal mother,” or an “illegal child.” There is no such thing as an “illegal” human.

This is our work—our blackness, greed, sadistic, and inhumane nature. If we can look this thing in the eyes, and give it a label that makes it all right, we earn whatever hellish words others will use to describe us.

Words and language are my drug of choice. They’re what I use to sift through all the scattered clutter, and disarray that lives within me. They’re what I use to figure myself out, and where I fit in the wider world. I don’t care about my labels—what words people use to describe me. I know who I am, and even with all of my flaws, foibles, and failings, I can look at myself and know that I am no more human than anyone living across an imaginary line, or possessing a different level of melanin. I am no more human than someone who wears a hijab, or who wears a cross around their neck.

I am no more human than anyone else. And being able to recognize that feels like truth, faith, love, and all of the things that are hard to claim. Any one of the kids in those chain link fences could be my child. Any one of the young black trans women who have been murdered before the age of 35 could be a friend of mine. Any one of the mothers holding their children in fear of what they left behind, and in fear of what lies ahead could be me.

Knowing all of that is what earns us one label—one honor—humanity. That’s the only label we should be striving for.

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