It looks like Paula Deen’s goose is cooked. TheFood Network is dumping her show after an 11-year run. Plus, just a couple of days ago, one of her biggest sponsors, Smithfield Hams gave Ms. Dean the boot. And rather than cutting Paula some slack, it appears that QVC and K-Mart will cut her loose, too. What’s the cause? There are growing allegations among employees past and present, friends, and associates that Deen has a salty tongue and peppers her conversation with sexist and racial slurs. She has openly admitted that she has used the “N” word regularly. But her initial defense was that all white folks from Georgia her age use that word almost lovingly. She swears the “N” word has nothing at all debasing about it.
Deen even admitted that she thought it was funny to suggest that “they should send President Obama to the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico so he could n—er rig it.” Paula. Paula. Paula. Listen to me. This is a New Era, and the only defense that could feasibly be offered for using the “N” word is that all your celebrated lard, butter, fatback, salt, sugar, and assorted pig parts clog blood flow to the brain.
Sure, Paula (and others I know) you’ve heard African Americans call each other the “N” word, and unfortunately, it’s not been scrubbed clean from so-called “gangsta rap.” I think one needs special heritage or a special password or pass to spew the venomous word in closed, intra-racial conversation. And it’s still disgusting to me—and inexcusable!
The PR firm that allowed your first public excuses for the use of the “N” word that seemed so dumb and defiant should be fired…yesterday. If you’re going to cook up a response to your admitted regular use of racial slurs, at least stir in an acknowledgement that you are wrong, out of touch, and try to apologize as best you can to those you have offended and wounded.
When Duane “Dog the Bounty Hunter” Chapman was caught on tape using the notorious “N” word a record-qualifying six times in 90-seconds as he tried to stop his son from marrying an African American woman, his A&E TV show got the ax immediately. But Dog dropped to his knees and confessed his sin (with almost as much fervor, snot, and tears as Jimmy Swaggart’s famous plea for forgiveness). “I did not mean to add yet another slap to the face of an entire race of people who have brought so many gifts to the world,” Dog said. “I am ashamed of myself.”
He got back on TV. Deen's first public words when you were called out on some racist vulgarities were: “The pain has been tremendous that I have caused to myself and to others.” That’s a full wardrobe and a cosmetic makeover short of sack cloth and ashes, Paula, my dear.
A historical personal family tragedy should haunt you, Paula, and make racial prejudices repugnant. Your thousands of fans may not know the tragic story of your great-great-great grandfather, Judge John A. Batts. The wealthy judge once owned a large plantation and 35 slaves—men, women, and children—down near Smithville, Georgia. The Batts Plantation never recovered from the devastation of the Civil War. Judge Batts lost everything. He could have sold his slaves to satisfy creditors, but instead, he set all his slaves free. And then early one Sunday morning in 1878, the bankrupt Judge Batts committed suicide.
I’m the great-great grandson of a slave, Ned Rounds, born in 1825 Kentucky, sold to a Mississippi plantation, and freed only by the Emancipation Proclamation. I can, however, personally muster up some sympathies for your great-great-great grandfather, when he recognized the evils of slavery and ultimately did something about it, albeit it on his way to meet his maker. But Paula, I can find little sympathy for a woman who has made a fortune off the same soul food recipes and seasonings Judge Batts’ slaves brought over from Africa or discovered in Georgia. And then you have the nerve to call the descendents of those slaves “n—ers.”
My sainted grandma—who lived to be 102—cooked all the stuff in your cookbooks in her kitchen since she was a girl. But she, like the Batts slaves, never saw a Paula Deen recipe book or any other cookbook. And they never saw a need to write anything down. So a lot of us descendents of slave cooks find it astonishing and amusing that cookbooks such as yours make such a fuss over and so much money from recipes involving items like okra; sorghum; yams; licorice; sesame; black-eyed peas; millet; peanuts; and turnip, mustard, and collard greens. All these products came over with Judge Batts’ slaves and all my ancestors from Africa. Surprising? And I’m shocked that the pig parts slave cooks salvaged from the plantation scrap heaps are now showing up neatly packaged in top-line local supermarkets and celebrated in some upscale restaurants as delicacies—as featured in Paula Deen’s cookbooks.
I have a proposition for penance for you, Paula: In memoriam to all of Judge Batts’ slaves, and to all the millions of anonymous slave cooks you’ve plagiarized to make a fortune—please scrub the “N” words from your tongue—and donate a dollar for each of them to the American Diabetes Association.
Commentary by Julius K. Hunter
