No, I’m not talking about a three-letter “s” word, the one selling us toothpaste and anti-cellulite creams when it’s not pre-occupied corrupting the youth and causing unplanned pregnancies. And I’m not, for that matter, talking about the four-letter one either. The “s” word I’m referring to is nine-letters long and goes like this:

S-O-C-I-A-L-I-S-M

Now, as a part-time Canadian citizen, I was born free of the stigmas attached to “s” word. Without getting too political, I’d probably even identify with the party were it not for the very real risk of 21st century black-listing. I realize now that for many Americans, the situation is somewhat different.

In class a few months back, I overheard a fellow grad student say, “You know, I’d like President Obama a whole lot more if he wasn’t such a—“

“A what?” I chimed in.

“Well you know. All this free health care and taxes and everything.”

“You mean a socialist,” I supplied the dreaded label.

“Well I mean,” my classmate fidgeted, “I wouldn’t go that far.” A perceptible discomfort now pervaded the conversation. I retreated a pariah, I’m sure.

“What’s so bad about being a socialist?” I wondered to myself, “Why the stigma?” It wasn’t ’til weeks later that I finally understood.

To provide a bit of necessary background information, I am a current resident in a teacher education program based in Tennessee. I teach high school English at a predominantly black, urban school, and I love every minute of it.

About a week ago, I was typing up an assignment at my desk during study hall when one of my students looked at me angrily. “Ms. v. Did you hear what she said?” she asked.

“Pardon?” I replied. To be honest, I hadn’t.

“Did you hear what your girl just said?” she demanded.

She was referring to Sarah (names have been changed to protect the identity of students involved), one of the few white girls in our school, and the only one currently represented in the room.

“No I didn’t,” I confessed, “What did she say?”

“She said she didn’t want to go on the field trip because that’s our history, not hers.”

My stomach dropped. The field trip, scheduled for mid-march, was a tour of an old plantation. Students would spend the day learning about the evils of slavery, the shameful history of the south.

“Ok, Sarah. Let’s step outside,” I sighed, preparing myself for a one-sided talk on the importance of Black History Month.

In the hallway, however, Sarah’s eyes immediately began to well up. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone, Ms. van Milligen. I just—“ she sputtered. “I just can’t go on that field trip. I don’t want to be the white girl at the slave museum. I don’t want to be responsible for—“ she sniffed, “For all that.”

Suddenly, everything became clear to me.

Why does America hate the “s” word?

Because socialism accepts that not everyone was dealt the same hand.

Because socialism understands that some people have been afforded certain advantages based on the amount of melanin in their skin or their twenty-third chromosome or the sexual orientation.

Because socialism rejects the American notion that no matter their circumstance, anyone is able to Gatsby his way to the top.

Because socialism recognizes that there are forces in this world beyond our control.

Most importantly, America hates the “s” word because once you accept these things, you’re really only a small and logical step away from accepting that an equally ugly, six letter “r” word continues to oppress millions of Americans:

R-A-C-I-S-M

And if you think for one second that I’m just blowing smoke up your three-letter letter “a” word, then, and to be perfectly frank, you're full of the aforementioned four-letter “s” word.

Americans hate the “s” word because of the implications and responsibilities that go along with owning a messy, sordid history, one in which entire groups of people have been and continue to be put at a disadvantage based situations they have little to no power over.

So if believing in affirmative action, subsidized housing, gender equality and universal health care makes me a socialist, well so be it. Slap a scarlet “s” on me. I have bigger things to feel ashamed about.