225BatonRouge.com

Read Perrin's letter here.

I am in the same hot water as Coach Nick Saban.

He apparently was caught on audiotape holding forth about a “coon-ass” who was angry about his traitorous move to Alabama.

And like Saban, I have been cited by the Cajun police.

I received a terse and lengthy letter from Warren A. Perrin, president of CODOFIL. That’s the Lafayette-based group committed to preserving Louisiana’s francophone heritage.

Perrin learned about a comment someone made in the pages of this magazine. We quoted artist Willie Lamendola describing himself as a “coon-ass.”

Lamendola’s art consists of turning rusty tin, weathered wood and all manner of old chose (that’s Cajun for “stuff”) to create fantastic art.

But his words? Not so fantastic. “The most insulting and derogatory term levied against Acadians,” Perrin writes, “is the term ‘coon-ass.’”

Its first utterance, CODOFIL says, may have been when a French soldier in World War II called an ally from Louisiana a conasse, or a stupid, bungling prostitute. I can only hope our wiley, Cajun soldier responded, “Cou-yon!” (That means dumb person. I know this because my cousins in Bayou Dularge call me that sometimes).

But CODOFIL’s Perrin is all business. “We will not tolerate the use of this racial slur which has pejorative connotations,” Perrin continues. “…To continue to do so would be a violation of applicable federal and state laws and a personal affront to many people in Louisiana.”

Mais, what? A violation of law? I’ll let Mr. Perrin break the news to Willie Lamendola that he’ll get arrested for calling himself a coon-ass. I believe Lamendola’s use of the phrase is no more a violation of federal or state law than writing a five-page letter telling a Cajun how he can or can’t speak is a violation of good sense.

I happen to be Cajun—half Cajun, to be exact. My mother’s ancestors were among those ruthlessly cast out of Nova Scotia. My late grandfather, Albert Mire, was the quintessential Cajun, living off the fat of the land and the bounty of the waters of St. Mary Parish. His lifestyle still puts food on the tables of his descendants to this day. If my good-humored cousins want to call themselves a coon-ass, this city boy isn’t going to stop them.

Teach that the phrase isn’t productive? Go right ahead. Educate people on its history? I’m behind you, brother.

African-American men might drop n-bombs addressing each other in familiar affection, but that otherwise viscous word in their hands has none of the racist force it carries on the tongues of others. Would I be right to walk up to those men and say, “hey, stop using that word, you’re breaking the law?”

Mais, what you think I am, a cou yon?