A playground featuring a row of swing sets, with one adaptive swing in the foreground designed for children with disabilities. The swing is green with a yellow harness, contrasting with the standard black swings in the background. The scene includes a climbing structure, benches, and a large tree providing shade. A brick school building is visible in the background, and the area is surrounded by a chain-link fence. The muted lighting suggests an overcast or hazy day.
Yesterday I wrote about how reclaiming slurs like “cripple” or “spaz” has been a method for me of retaking control — words that once pierced can become emblems of resistance and empowerment. But today, I’m thinking about an uglier side of language: when those very words are intentionally used as weapons.
What we’re experiencing is a revival of slurs like the R-word not as ignorant throwbacks to a bygone era, but as instruments of malice. This is not the relaxed slip of someone who doesn’t know; this is on purpose. Public figures like Elon Musk have tossed the R-word into online exchanges as if it were nothing, fully aware of the reaction it inspires. It is part of a broader trend in which words are wielded to demean and dehumanize, particularly in digital spaces. As Miles Klee writes for Rolling Stone, "Today’s trolls use it because it crosses a contested boundary, as a deliberate (if uninspired) provocation." Trolls don’t use these words because they don’t know what harm they might do — they use them because of what threat they pose.
Here’s the thing: Intent and context matter. I reclaim a word within trusted circles, where it is understood as a shared joke, a way to turn pain into power. But when one person throws the R-word at another person, it’s intended as a hurtful attack. It’s not reclaiming; it’s entrenching ableist stereotypes, used mainly against oppressed classes to shut them up and push them aside. The contrast couldn’t be sharper.
This goes beyond words. It’s about the degradation of empathy. When words like the R-word are used, they don’t just hurt people in the moment — they remind people with disabilities that society still considers them “less than.” That isolation can become a far deeper wound.
But this is where we can change the narrative. Reclaiming words is one way to resist, but it’s not the only way. When we see hate speech, we need to call it out; we need to hold the platforms accountable; and we need to create environments where we can all feel safe to participate. This isn’t about being politically correct — it’s about human decency.
I still believe in the power of words to connect and to heal. I’ve witnessed it in my own journey, reframing constructive criticism into something enlightening. But I’ve also seen the destruction they can cause when they are used maliciously. So how do we know where the line is? How do we take back language while resisting weaponization of language? I’d really like to hear what you think. Have you felt the sting of hurtful words? Or how they managed to turn them into something meaningful? Let's continue the conversation.
The R-Word’s Comeback Is a Grim Sign of Our Political Moment