The morning of August 11, 2006 started off like any other. Just a warm and humid summer day in the old Commonwealth of Virginia, with no foreshadowing of the world-changing event that was to come shortly afterward.
S.R. Sidarth, with camera in hand, was following incumbent Virginia Senator George Allen around the commonwealth, diligently shooting video of his campaign speeches. Allen was a star. He enjoyed a 70% approval rating, and was the odds-on favorite to win the nomination for the White House.
The campaigning generally proceeded without incident - just your predictable pump-up-the-base (or jam) rhetoric, discussing why Republicans represent your needs, while the evil Democrats would sell out to the hammer and sickle if given the opportunity. And the one in Breaks, VA started off no differently.
But a funny thing happened.
For reasons inexplicable, Allen began to become increasingly conscious of Sidarth's mohawked presence - much like a bus patron growing annoyed at the guy checking his ringtones, after successfully tuning him out for the last hour. When engaging Sidarth, a trisyllabic word issued forth from Allen's lips, changing the course of human history forever.
Like Luke Skywalker not knowing the power he possessed, Sidarth didn't know what to think at first. As destiny would have it, it was later discovered that "macaca" was a Francophonic racial slur describing those of darker skin.
Well it turned out that Sidarth has darker skin. And it turned out that Allen's mother is a Francophone.
It was at this point that Sidarth had a choice. Was he going to let it go and move on, or was he going to keep it real?
Well, for the betterment of humanity, he chose to keep it real. Very real. Within hours, video evidence of the epithet was disseminated across the galaxy. Within days, Allen had to backpedal and deny he knew the meaning of the word. Within weeks, allegations of Allen's use of other racial slurs began to surface, pulling down his approval rating. And within months, Allen's campaign was finished, and with it, his fantasy of claiming the White House. The mission was complete. The Death Star had been destroyed.
And that wasn't even the best part.
The most socially-important cataclysm that ensued was that our own word was born. Macaca. For us, by us. We may now use it to address one another, as in "What up, my macaca." It can now be used in our rap lyrics: "Macacas got me strapped; I keep my hand on my gun 'cause they got me on the run." Or as a rebuke: "Macaca, please." The possibilities are truly unlimited.
A scholar also reminded me that this word is to be used only by us. If one of any other race attempts to use it, we must alert them that this is not acceptable. "Oh hell no, man. That's ours. 100 years, man. 100 years." Now that is power.
So thank you, S.R. Sidarth. For everything. You are the realest macaca alive, and macacas everywhere got love for you.