Chapter 2
Athlete Activism Matters
Now that they occupy a position where they can be more than symbols of black achievement, where they can actually serve their communities in vital and tangible ways, while also addressing the power imbalance within their own industry from a position of greater strength, they seem most at a loss, lacking purpose and drive . . . [C]ontemporary black athletes have abdicated their responsibility to the community with treasonous vigor.
—William C. Rhoden, Forty Million Dollar Slaves
In his book, Mr. Rhoden takes the readers on a captivating journey with the Black athlete, from the plantation to nineteenth-century boxing rings, from Tom Molineux, “who represented the beginning of the African American athlete’s march across time,” when he literally won his freedom from slavery with his fists, to Jack Johnson and Andrew “Rube” Foster, the founder of the Negro League. Rhoden talks about the athlete-activist foreparents like Jesse Owens, Althea Gibson, and Willie Mays. I think his book should be required reading for every athlete at nearly every academic level. It touches on the unfortunate paths and states of mind that have overtaken the realities of some Black athletes of today. It could serve as an example for so many athletes of what not to become. That said, I respectfully disagree with the overall notion that the Black athlete today is simply “lost,” as Mr. Rhoden labels us in his book.
Painting the entire, illustrious roster of current Black athletes with this broad brush is just wrong. If he would have said “some” Black athletes of today are lost, I wouldn’t have had an objection. But to say “the contemporary tribe,” as he calls us, “with access to unprecedented wealth, is lost,” is completely inaccurate.
The book’s subtitle, “The Rise, Fall, and Redemption of the Black Athlete,” indicates that Rhoden is convinced that the Black athlete’s willingness to advocate for social and economic justice has diminished since the sixties—and perhaps disappeared—and that there currently exists a “vacuum in leadership” that has led to Black athletes becoming a “lost tribe.”
Enter the Trayvon Martin shooting . . .
When a national tragedy such as this occurs, it affects everyone who has kids. This is a parent’s worst nightmare. It is an unfortunate reality that the stereotypes that exist in society can have deadly consequences. Martin was nothing more than a young man wearing athletic shoes, jeans, and a hoodie. He posed no immediate threat and committed no crime, yet was viewed as a criminal, and the only thing that went through George Zimmerman’s mind as heard in the released police reports was that something had to be done to eliminate this threat.
As I mentioned earlier, my first thoughts after this tragedy were of my son Malcolm, who was six years old at the time. I was devastated. Couldn’t sleep. Hugged him close. Many Black parents had the very same reaction. “How can we protect our sons?” became a question in Black communities and households across the country. Even President Barack Obama said in a national address that the killing of Trayvon Martin requires a national “soul-searching.” “If I had a son, he’d look like Trayvon,” the president added.
Mainstream America simply did not feel this same sense of terror and horror upon hearing this news. So many Americans don’t have the same fear for their children’s lives, which is understandable because their experiences with the police are completely different than those of the Black community.
Philando Castile did everything by the book. He followed all of the instructions and commands, but was still deemed a threat and killed by the police. What Bill O’Reilly and many others in mainstream America can’t understand is that when your face or your skin is the threat, that will lead to a much different experience, one they cannot relate to. It doesn’t matter what your economic status is, if you are an athlete, whether you have graduated college or earned advance degrees, etc. That could have been anyone’s son.
This tragedy did not fail to hit home for many athletes. For some reason, people seem to think that the problems and issues of society don’t have the same effect on athletes. People seem to think that there is an imaginary bubble that we all live in that protects us from any harm—but that simply is not the case. As expressed by countless athletes, entertainers, professionals, activists, authors, journalists, Trayvon could have been anybody’s son.
Commentator Geraldo Rivera said on Fox & Friends that the hoodie Martin wore when he was killed was as much responsible for his death as the man who shot him, and mainstream America seemed to agree with his assertion.
This prompted athletes from all over to join in the protest.
Dwyane Wade and LeBron James, arguably two of the top players in the NBA, but more importantly also fathers, decided it was time for them to speak out, as did many others around the league.
In a show of solidarity, LeBron James posted a picture of all the Miami Heat wearing the team hoodies with their heads bowed and their hands stuffed in their pockets. Among the hashtags James linked to the team photo: #WeWantJustice.
James told the media “It was very emotional, an emotional day for all of us, taking that picture. We’re happy that we’re able to shed light on the situation that we feel is unjust.”
Dwyane Wade also posted a picture of himself.
In an interview with the Associated Press hours before the Heat played the Detroit Pistons, with this tragedy weighing heavily on him, Wade explained, “This situation hit home for me because last Christmas, all my oldest son wanted as a gift was hoodies. So when I heard about this a week ago, I thought of my sons. I’m speaking up because I feel it’s necessary that we get past the stereotype of young Black men and especially with our youth.”
In a further demonstration of support, several Heat players, including Wade and James, took the floor that Friday night with messages such as RIP Trayvon Martin and We Want Justice scrawled on their sneakers.
Other players around the NBA were also affected by this tragedy and aimed to show support. Carmelo Anthony tweeted a photo of himself in a gray hoodie, with the words I Am Trayvon Martin!!!!! over the image.
The National Basketball Players Association issued the following statement:
The National Basketball Players Association (NBPA) offers its condolences to the family and loved ones of Trayvon Martin in their time of need. The NBPA is saddened and horrified by the tragic murder of Mr. Martin and joins in the chorus of calls from across the nation for the prompt arrest of George Zimmerman.
The reported facts surrounding Mr. Zimmerman’s actions indicate a callous disregard for Mr. Martin’s young life and necessitate that he stand trial . . . The NBPA seeks to ensure that Trayvon Martin’s murder not go unpunished and the elimination of the injustices suffered by the innocent.
A tragedy such as this doesn’t escape any Black parent.
As this stance by the Miami Heat proves, contemporary Black athletes are capable of carrying on the tradition of their brave brothers and sisters before them who led the way in challenging racial injustice in the world outside the athletic arena (all while potentially facing the petty and insipid criticism of reactionary media).
Now, back to Forty Million Dollar Slaves.
There is a common myth that Black athletes today are disconnected from the Black community, and that the retaliation athletes face from the reactionary side of the sports media has fractured the “common cause” that once united all Black athletes standing for social justice. Many contemporary sports writers, analysts, and commentators agree with Mr. Rhoden’s assertion that after decades of Black athletes who faced the most dire consequences—loss of livelihood and death threats—we have now entered a period where an unspoken code encourages contemporary athletes to avoid “rocking the boat,” lest they risk losing their lucrative sponsorships and opportunities to compete professionally.
Furthermore, for Black professional athletes who do remain connected to their communities in significant ways, Rhoden focuses on the harsh reprisals that they are likely to face at the hands of the largely white sports media.
Yet, as seen with Dwyane Wade, LeBron James, and the rest of the Miami Heat, this dynamic did not prove true. They didn’t receive any ridicule or censure from the team for injecting themselves into a national tragedy and using the company logo to do so. Instead, they drew praise and support from the entire organization, including Heat coach Erik Spoelstra.
The decision made by Wade, James, their Heat teammates, and other athletes to take a stand after the tragedy of Trayvon Martin should not be dismissed as singular and nominal. These are not the actions of a group that is, to quote Rhoden, “isolated and alienated from their native networks” or that possesses an “ignorance of the issues impacting a vast majority of African Americans across the country.”
Bill Rhoden and those of his ilk should apply the same vigor and thorough analysis to uncovering the positive efforts of contemporary Black athletes to improve their communities and stand up for what they believe in that they do in generating criticism.
I wanted to ask someone who I have a great deal of respect for about this topic—Michael Eric Dyson. He is a sociology professor at Georgetown University, a New York Times opinion writer, and a contributing editor for the New Republic and ESPN’s The Undefeated. He has authored or edited at least eighteen books to date dealing with subjects such as Malcolm X, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Marvin Gaye, Hurricane Katrina, Nas’s debut Illmatic album, and Tupac Shakur. He is also a season ticket holder for the Washington Wizards and an avid NBA fan. I have introduced him to guys from my AAU team when we’ve run into him at Wizards games, and I have given them assignments to read some of his work.
Interview with Michael Eric Dyson
Etan: What are your thoughts about the rise of athlete activism?
Dr. Michael Eric Dyson: Well, I think that’s happening more in your sport than in others. I think that basketball is a more liberal, open-minded enterprise, not only from the players but some of the owners. Not all of them. We know about Donald Sterling and his retrogressive views . . . But still, I think that the leadership of the NBA has been far more willing to engage in the exploration of social issues and the elevation of social conscience . . . whether LeBron and the Miami Heat tweeting out a picture of themselves in a hoodie or the I Can’t Breathe T-shirts . . . One of the reasons that Kaepernick’s gesture was so widely denounced within football circles is because despite the fact that, what, 69 percent of the players are Black, it’s still an overwhelmingly white sport in terms of the front office, in terms of many of the culturally conservative and politically conservative ideas that are spouted in those general manager offices and often by the largely lily-white ownership.
What you see is the reproduction within the NFL of the same conservative ideology that is taken up often by players. Now you have the Bennett brothers stepping up and being honest and open-minded. Martellus basically said, “Look, I’m not going to the White House and I’m not going because Donald Trump doesn’t represent an open-minded approach and a tolerant disposition toward varieties of minorities, and I’m not gonna pretend that I second that kind of belief.” And Michael Bennett essentially said, “Look, the reason Kaepernick doesn’t have a job now is because he led a one-man protest.”
Etan: Well, we do have a lot of examples of NFL players who have spoken out.
Dyson: Yes, but I do think that overall the NFL definitely . . . in one sense discourages the kind of outspoken expression that some of the players have adopted. Of course, they have their independence—you mentioned [Richard] Sherman, and [Eric] Reid . . . but in one sense, if you named them then they’re the exceptions . . . By and large, that league does not encourage the kind of independent thought and assessment of social issues that athletes might be encouraged to adopt, and then by adopting to engage in a kind of a serious form of social resistance . . . I do believe that the NBA may in fact be a bit more tolerant and I was beginning to say part of it has to do with who watches it.
But number two, there’s no question that there have been tremendous expressions of social conscience, but let’s be honest . . . there has been a transition from the sixties and seventies, when players like Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Jim Brown and Muhammad Ali took stands in bold fashion for vulnerable populations of which they were a part. Ali against the war in Vietnam, Jim Brown with Kareem supporting him but also speaking out about racial injustice . . . So, there was a different temperature in the culture where it was easier for athletes to speak up in more unexpected ways because they were true representatives of their communities and there were fewer athletes who were Black breaking into these sports.
Think about it—Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball, and baseball as a result had a far greater amount of Black players. But now, those numbers have dwindled, whereas Latino players are 23 percent of Major League Baseball. Now, many of the Latino players are immigrants who are grateful to be in this country and feel no need to point to its flaws and are perceived to be more compliant with the wishes of ownership and general management than Black players, who rightfully believe that as American citizens they have rights and should be treated like men as well . . .
Etan: Interesting point.
Dyson: But the transition from the sixties and seventies to now is one of . . . social conscience to social service. Let me tell you what I mean. The NBA, the NFL, maybe even Major League Baseball, they do a great deal of investment into the communities in terms of rebuilding homes, visiting people in hospitals, children, especially those who are sick. Make-A-Wish Foundation. That’s social service, but it’s not social conscience or social protest in the sense of the sixties and seventies . . . In one sense, it is more acceptable for athletes to be involved in a project of charity to the community than it is to point to fundamental forms of injustice in that particular community.
Martin Luther King Jr. believed that charity is a poor substitute for justice. So, there’s no doubt that the athletes of this generation continue a noteworthy tradition of social conscience and social protest to a certain degree. LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Chris Paul, Carmelo Anthony. And, let’s be honest, even they were far outstripped by the women in the WNBA. They are usually overlooked because they are subordinate to the men in terms of gender awareness, because of the persistent sexism in this culture. But when you think of a woman like Swin Cash and what they did to rally their forces to speak out against police brutality and injustice and how Black people and brown people were being mistreated, you definitely can’t claim that the current athlete doesn’t engage in political social activism.
Etan: I agree.
Dyson: However, there is a legitimate point to be made that what the league did to absorb some of the social protest and redirect it, and some would say deflect it, is to offer programs of social outreach and social upliftment as opposed to social protest.
Muhammad Ali suffered for the stance he took. It cost him money. One of the few players that it costs money now, it seems, is Colin Kaepernick, in terms of the sacrifice made and the economic benefit that was denied to him. Very few athletes in this day and age are being denied a living and an economic opportunity because of their social conscience. So they have to be more savvy because, let’s be honest, there’s a lot more at stake . . . The leagues have grown. The economic interests have deepened . . . Therefore, when a LeBron James or a Carmelo speaks out, it’s even more noteworthy for the courage it takes to sacrifice a potential payday . . . But I’ll still say this: the transition from social protest and social conscience to social service has lessened the need of the leagues to be held accountable, politically.
Etan: That’s true, but you can’t say that it doesn’t exist altogether, right? In William C. Rhoden’s book Forty Million Dollar Slaves, he writes that “black athletes have abdicated their responsibility to the community with treasonous vigor.” The evidence simply does not support that claim in any way or fashion. Come on, Dr. Dyson, “treasonous vigor”?
Dyson: I think what Bill Rhoden is acknowledging is partly what I’m trying to explain in terms of that transition from social conscience and social protest to social service. On the one hand, I think that you’re absolutely right. Many athletes continue to speak up and speak out, but partly, I think, this has a correlation with so many of the young athletes who may not necessarily be encouraged to speak out during their careers—in fact, who are discouraged from speaking out. “Look, you’re going to lose your contract, keep your mouth shut. Keep your nose to the grind.” Now, this has been said to every athlete of every color. But especially to Black and Latino athletes who have more at stake because their peoples and communities are subjected to some of the horrible consequences of injustice in this culture . . . So you’re feeling that generational tension and the assault upon younger people and not understanding that if you’ve been on Twitter and use social media . . . and you’re promoting Black identities and ideas, that is a different expression, but one that may be equally valuable.
For instance, when LeBron James gets the agents and companies to hire his young men from his neighborhood, and then he gives them an opportunity to be taught by the best; and then, when they are ready, puts them in positions of authority, gets rid of the white infrastructure, and then puts in place his own African American colleagues and peers, who he’s lifted by virtue of his fame, to positions of authority . . . now that’s a tremendous racially transformative practice. It’s not often acknowledged, but that’s every bit as important, at the end of the day, to do as LeBron speaking out in public against certain forms of racial injustice toward the vulnerable.
Etan: Good point. We have to examine the long-term solutions. Not just episodes and tirades, but how do you create systemic change and long-term progress?
Dyson: Now, let’s be honest, many younger athletes have not been groomed in the same way as their predecessors. Meaning, earlier athletes who went to college, had the opportunity to interact with other colleagues and people from the NAACP and the Urban League, from social protest organizations or civil rights organizations at an earlier stage in their lives—resulting in an acute awareness they possessed because they were more part of a broader community. And because of the isolation of some of the athletes, who may not be as intimately familiar with the political strategies being deployed by the civil rights organization, or have been taught to be hostile to them by white money interests that have an investment in keeping them apart. White agents are not going to encourage their athletes to be socially focused. I’m sorry, they’re not. And they’re going to warn them about the consequences of it . . . It makes sense that there would be a diminishment of social conscience among these athletes and a greater sensitivity toward the economic consequences of their protests and a discouraging of them from engaging in social protest.
Etan: That’s also a good point. Let me ask you this: do you think that sometimes there’s a certain romanticizing of the sixties? Most of the athletes were not like Ali and Bill Russell and Kareem.
Dyson: (Laughing) Oh, there’s no doubt about that. I write about this, especially in my book Race Rules, where I discuss this very topic. There’s not only a romanticization of athletes from the civil rights era, but all the leaders and Black figures from the civil rights era. Most Black people were not involved in the civil rights movement. Most athletes were not actively engaged. There’s always a small remnant, a redemptive remnant, of people who change the stakes of the conversation and the parameters of progress for all of us . . . So we end up looking back through the haze of nostalgia that creates a false impression, that most of the time in the sixties they were involved in protests, movements, and marches. The March on Washington was an aberration in the sense of that great a gathering, that big of a commitment expressed by people across the board. Most of these marches were much smaller, and most of the time they weren’t marching but strategizing, thinking, critically engaging their communities. Trying to encourage conversation, change, and protests.
So, yeah, there’s a huge nostalgia piece about this . . . Let’s be honest, there was a greater likelihood, when you have limited opportunities and when segregation prevailed, for Black athletes to protest social barriers, because they were denied. And the denial to those Black athletes of things that they knew they should’ve had access to was a metaphor for how other Black people were being denied. Lawyers, doctors, painters, engineers. So, athletes and entertainers were the front line of social protest in the forties, fifties, and sixties because they had opportunities that most other people didn’t have. And as a result of that, they bore a burden . . .
Now, a lot of people did what they could. They couldn’t take off their jobs, they couldn’t afford to—they were poor so they did what they could. They cooked food for the movement. They were sacrificial. So I’m not dissing them, but I am saying that, through the haze of nostalgia, we pretend that every athlete over fifty was profoundly involved in the social movement . . . We didn’t know what they were doing and some of them were outright like O.J. Simpson, saying, “I ain’t no Negro and what are you talking about? And I’ve got it made and I don’t want to be involved in that racial protest myth.”
Etan: Exactly.
Dyson: So it is unfair, and I think illegitimate, to demand that of young athletes—these kids are basically trying to find out who they are. Exploring their opportunities in a culture that often didn’t support them, just like with hip-hop in the eighties. You know, think about hip-hop’s emergence in the seventies and eighties . . . “Look, y’all are ridiculous. I don’t even want to support y’all.” Now that they’ve become famous, they’re rich, all of a sudden you want them to support your community and to be outspoken. You haven’t engaged them. You haven’t trained them. You haven’t loved them. Allen Iverson was demonized by a great deal of people in American culture and some in Black communities. “You’re wrong, you got the wrong dress, you got the wrong tattoos,” and so on. Now everybody’s got a tattoo . . . So things change. They transform. We get nostalgic and romantic and we deny that each generation has to find its voice, its outlook, its way, its means of expression.
Etan: So, not a “lost generation.”
Dyson: Definitely not. There’s probably as many athletes today who are involved in social protest and social conscience as there were earlier, but there were fewer athletes in the fifties and sixties than there are now. But the progress of those men and women has indeed made possible the expansion of opportunity for some of these younger people. And therefore, there is an expectation that they would engage in socially redemptive kinds of practices. But let’s be honest, it’s always against the grain. It was against the grain in the sixties and seventies and it’s against the grain now.
Etan: A lot of young people took a knee. Does seeing these young people engaged the way they are give you a bright hope for the future?
Dyson: It’s absolutely tremendous. In one sense, they’re learning from their elders, social media, greater exposure on cable channels. Think about it: in the forties, fifties, sixties, and seventies, television is in its infancy, then it comes into its own. We ain’t got no cable TV. When Ali is doing what he’s doing, the eyes of the world are on him because there were fewer options . . .
Now it’s even more remarkable that these young people do what they do, because there’s a proliferation of options. There are options galore. How many channels you got on cable now? Six, seven hundred? Ain’t nobody had a Facebook.
There’s been a tremendous transformation. A proliferation of outlets, which is both good and bad. Good in the sense that now, young people have many more ways to consume information and absorb knowledge. And, in turn, to express themselves. If Russell Westbrook or LeBron or Swin Cash and other people are tweeting and posting on social media, they have immediate access to a nation of followers and listeners. Many of these people have fifteen, sixteen million people following them, and they’re getting their message directly to the people.
It’s heartening because many of them are then educating themselves . . . Young activists are encouraging younger people to become involved. So there’s a beautiful consequence of transmitting that tradition from one generation to another. Hopefully, each generation digs deeper. I know a lot of people say, “Well, they have historical amnesia because they weren’t there,” but they learn like any other people learn . . . We have to acknowledge that there are varieties, means, and ways for young people to get educated. But we shouldn’t dismiss them. We shouldn’t denigrate them or demonize them. We should elevate them and celebrate them . . . So yeah, it’s refreshing and rewarding to see young people educating themselves about a myriad of social issues, and then doing whatever they can to make sure that things are changed.
I was glad to be able to sit down with Dwyane Wade, who I have grown to know personally. We both had fatherhood books come out around the same time. His book, A Father First: How My Life Became Bigger Than Basketball, is a very good read. We’ve appeared on panels together, including the one at the Congressional Black Caucus and during NBA All-Star Weekend in Houston. Which is why it was no surprise for me to hear how the Trayvon Martin tragedy affected him personally.
Etan: Talk about the decision to wear those hoodies as a team.
Dwyane Wade: It really hit home for a lot of guys on the team. Obviously, being African Americans, we have to go home and talk to our kids about this situation and answer their questions and concerns and calm their fears. It was a very difficult conversation to have because it’s something that could happen to us. Being in Florida at the time and knowing that he was a big Miami Heat fan, we felt we had to make a statement and shed more light on the situation and figure out what we could do. We didn’t want this to be another incident that goes unseen and unnoticed and unheard. We wanted to really broadcast this to the entire country and the world, because we know in the NBA and being who we are that we have this massive global platform at our disposal, so we utilized it to broadcast this message. And it hit home with a lot of other people, especially when they saw us talking about how much it hit home with us.
Etan: I remember seeing you talk about your sons and how much they loved hoodies, because at the same time I was talking about my son Malcolm about how much he loved hoodies.
Wade: That’s definitely what it was. African American kid, tall like all our kids . . . Whatever the situation may be, we all wear hoodies. And for that to be the reason given as a justification—and why this child Trayvon Martin won’t be able to experience the fruits of this life and won’t be able to experience life, graduate, get married, have kids, just live—is really sad. He was taken off the face of the earth, and for what? Because of his hoodie? Because he didn’t have the right to be walking in the neighborhood he was walking in? For a lot of us, it was a talking point for us to have to sit our kids down and discuss how there are things that we don’t think about and you take for granted and how it can easily end in tragedy. I remember having the conversations with my boys, and they didn’t really understand everything exactly, but it was important to let them know and answer all of their questions and talk with them about everything that was going on.
Etan: There is this misconception that the management or the organization would tell you not to speak out on issues like this because it could be bad for business. Or that the owner of the team would come down on you hard as far as fines or suspension or even being traded if you do something like this, on what turned out to be a very divisive, controversial case. But that didn’t seem to be what happened here with the Miami Heat organization at all. Also, it seemed to me that even if the organization was against it, by you all collectively doing this, you kind of forced their hand to go along with it.
Wade: I think it’s just a different day. With social media being as powerful as it is, you become in essence a reporter. So it’s hard for someone to tell you not to do things or say things that you want to do on your social media platform. If the only outlet was the local media, then maybe teams would have more control over what goes out and what doesn’t, but with social media, you pretty much say what you want to say. But with us, the Heat were always supportive and never tried to deter us from getting involved. The coaches were the ones who took the pictures for us.
Etan: The coaches?
Wade: Yeah, they were supportive because they knew that we were passionate about it . . . I’ve honestly never been in a situation where the organization didn’t support what the players collectively wanted to say or wanted to do.
Etan: Now take me to the Excellence in Sports Yearly Awards (ESPYs) and you and Carmelo and Chris Paul are all standing there making your statements, calling for community involvement and activism from players while addressing the systemic debasement of Black and brown people in America. What brought you all to collectively make that statement and use that particular platform of the ESPYs?
Wade: Well, you can’t be in the position that LeBron is in, that Melo is in, myself and CP, and really care about criticism and what people say about you. As you know, we all have to deal with critics, all athletes have been for our entire athletic careers. Fifty percent of people are going to praise you and the other 50 percent are going to criticize you no matter what you do, and the flack that we’ve even taken just for being friends . . . that’s just the nature of the beast. So you just have to be true to yourself and who you are and you have to do things because you want to do them. Because it makes you happy, and makes you satisfied, not because it’s going to please other people. For us, this was a moment that was bigger than us; it was bigger than basketball. This was a moment that we could come together and use our power and speak on something that we all felt was important, and really lead the charge and challenge other athletes . . . using the platform of the ESPYs to do it.
Etan: Many times, people almost purposely misconstrue and twist the message.
Wade: For us, everyone had their own message that they wanted to bring to present and focus on. We wanted to talk about the killings by the police. We wanted to talk about police brutality in particular. And at the same time, we understand. CP said on stage that his uncle and grandfather are police officers, so he is definitely not antipolice. But he also acknowledged the police brutality and murders and he listed them: Trayvon Martin, Mike Brown, Freddie Gray, Alton Sterling, Philando Castile. So we asked ourselves the question: what message did we want to come across, taking into consideration that while we are the brotherhood, we all go about things in our own particular ways? So we all sat down and we all wrote the particular message that we wanted to present to the world. And if you listen to everyone’s speeches, everyone said something that was near and dear to their hearts, to their communities and their families. My overall point was that enough is enough and I’m tired of seeing all the murders, always picking up the newspaper or turning on the news and seeing that another person has been killed by the police.
Etan: What is it going to take to change what’s going on? There are so many young people who have developed a distrust for the police as a result of everything they keep seeing. The murders, the brutality, the beatings, the videos on social media. What do you say to them?
Wade: I definitely understand it. And I have had conversations with young people and I have had conversations with police officers. And one of my messages to the police officers was, “Listen, you guys understand that there is a distrust of police officers, and me myself, if I see a police car behind me, it’s a very uncomfortable situation. Even me being an athlete and I know that I haven’t done anything wrong.” And I told the police officers, “Listen, if you really want to begin to change this, you have to work toward bridging the gap.” We are having all of these town hall meetings and panel discussions, let’s sit down as a community—police officers, the community leaders, and the youth leaders—and let’s have these conversations and allow everyone’s voices to be heard. You need to know what the people in the community are feeling and how they view you and why they view you that way. It’s not like they don’t have legitimate reasons or they just don’t like you because they just don’t like you. They have reasons. Experiences. Things they’ve seen. That their family and friends and loved ones have seen and experienced. And vice versa.
The community needs to hear from the policemen. Hear the things they’ve experienced and seen and heard. As in any relationship, the best way to really understand someone’s perspective and where they are coming from is to first listen to them. Not listen to disagree with, but actually listen to understand their perspective. And both sides need to hear verbalized what the other side expects. Right now we are dealing with two sides that don’t understand each other at all. And that doesn’t lend itself to a successful or productive relationship. That was my message to the different police departments in different cities as I was meeting and talking with them.
Interview with Carmelo Anthony
As a Syracuse graduate, I have to admit that I do have a little bit of a bias for Carmelo Anthony. I am proud of what he has accomplished on the court, but even more proud of who he is off the court.
So, I’m waiting after the Knicks played the Wizards to interview him. Knicks president (at that time) Phil Jackson had just floated something in the newspapers that maybe Carmelo would be better playing somewhere else. All of the media were waiting to talk to him, and then Carmelo emerges from the training room. He looked at me and smiled and gave me a hug. We briefly talked about Syracuse, and then I told him about this book and what I was doing, but in the middle of my explanation, he stopped me to say that I didn’t have to sell it, that he would be more than happy to talk because it’s something that needs to be covered.
Etan: You were in Baltimore marching with the people after Freddie Gray was murdered by the police, and in Brazil you went to a favela, a slum. Talk about how you haven’t been afraid to speak out—and even more than just speaking out, really being among the people, almost like Muhammad Ali.
Carmelo Anthony: I was always a part of that growing up. I was always on the other side of the fence, with the people. Everything that we have ever done growing up in my neighborhood in Baltimore, I was taught that you had to be about the people. The community. And the Freddie Gray situation really hit home for me personally because that happened in my backyard. To turn on the TV and see people that I know going through that . . . I felt the same pain that they were feeling. I felt the same heartache that they were feeling. It was really a horrific situation . . . Seeing that image of how they were carrying his body to the police van, over and over and over, it was just really terrible.
Etan: Were you afraid of any backlash that may have come your way?
Anthony: No, none at all. I have always kind of stayed away from politics and everything, but this was a situation where I could not be quiet. I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror if I didn’t say something, so I decided to put my all into this . . . I wanted this family to receive justice for what had happened. I wanted there to be peace. I didn’t like seeing my city burning. I understand the anger and the frustration, but we have already suffered so much as a community, and the destruction was just painful to see taking place. We did a peaceful march. If people want to still criticize a peaceful march, then they’re gonna criticize anything we do and we can’t be worried about them. I was there for the community, my community.
Etan: What was the reaction from the people when you were out there marching with them, rallying with them?
Anthony: It was unbelievable. They felt like there was hope. They had somebody there who was fighting with them and fighting for them who was already out of that situation but hadn’t forgotten about them . . . They felt like there was some hope for justice. Because you have to remember, at that time, a long time had gone by and nobody had provided any answers whatsoever about Freddie Gray’s spinal injuries sustained while in police custody. They wanted answers and for somebody to be held accountable for what had happened. And they weren’t getting any answers. So for me to come there fighting for justice, it meant a lot to the people to know that I was just as frustrated as they were . . . They had every right to demand answers and to be upset. We just gotta go about it the right way.
Etan: I’ve seen you wearing Muhammad Ali shirts, I saw you on the ESPN cover wearing the Black Panther–esque beret. Were you influenced by Muhammad Ali and the Black Panthers?
Anthony: I was always educated about that. I read Muhammad Ali and Malcolm X and the Panthers, and really examined the things they were saying. I didn’t just read it and glance over it, I really examined it, you know? And, my dad was on the Puerto Rican side, part of the Young Lords Organization, so that’s in my genes. To go out and get the information, stand up for what you believe in, fight for what you believe in, and not to just talk, but to do action. Anybody can talk, but the Malcolms, the Alis, the Young Lords, the Panthers, they were about action. Putting together programs that would help the community, help the youth, empower and educate the youth. That’s how you really create change and make a difference . . .
The system is broken. That’s something I keep repeating over and over. And it’s like, they don’t want to teach us what we need to know to survive, so we have to educate ourselves and educate our youth. You can’t know how to deal with the police if you were never educated on how to deal with them, and at the same time, the police have to be educated on how to deal with people, and neither one is happening . . . When I was growing up, we knew all the police by their first name, we even gave them nicknames, that’s how familiar we were with them. And when the white police came into our neighborhood, the Black police said, “Yo, we got this.” That doesn’t happen anymore.
You gotta know the community that you are policing. That’s like me playing on a team but I don’t know any of the players. How is that gonna work? You got these police that know absolutely nothing about the places they are supposed to protect and serve. That doesn’t even make sense.
If you had community policing, I don’t believe Terence Crutcher would have been executed the way he was.
Etan: Your platform as an athlete, it’s like a blessing, but can it also be a burden?
Anthony: It only becomes a burden when you say something and you don’t follow through . . . But when you say what you’re gonna do and you follow up, there is no burden because it’s a part of who you are as a human being.
Etan: Tell me about what you did in Los Angeles. You got the men’s USA Olympic basketball team and the women’s team all together right before y’all went over to Brazil to play in the Olympics, and y’all had a town hall meeting in South Central Los Angeles. It was called “Leadership Together: A Conversation with Our Sons and Daughters.” Sounds like it was really powerful.
Anthony: So I put together this town hall, and I knew that I had all the best basketball players in the world together in one place, so in LA I wanted to get in front of the youth, the police chiefs, the commissioners, the mayors, and bring them into one place and have a dialogue. I wanted the police to hear from the youth and I wanted the youth to hear from the police. And one of the main things that came out of that discussion was that there is a lack of trust. We don’t trust the police . . . because when we see police, we run, automatically, they get scared, they get defensive, they think something bad is about to happen to them. And the police needed to hear them say that and express that fear that they feel.
Then, I also wanted the youth to hear the police’s story, because they never get an opportunity to be exposed to their side or their perspective and their fear. The difference is, they’re scared but they have guns, you know? We’re scared, and we have nothing. And everyone needed to hear everyone’s perspectives. And also, the youth needed to hear the police officers say out of their mouths that they didn’t agree with everything that was going on and that they weren’t in support of some of the murders that were happening around the country. It was good for them to see that not all police officers were bad . . . It was really touching.
Etan: So what was the response from the youth after this forum?
Anthony: You had some of the youth that were relieved to be able to get that out and talk about that because they don’t have any platform to be heard. And they want to be heard. People gotta understand, when they take away all of your resources, you become hopeless, and voiceless. Kids need to have a voice, they need to have someone who will listen to their concerns just to know that somebody cares, but all that is happening is that they’re taking away their resources and opportunities and showing them that their lives just aren’t important to them. When I was coming up, we had rec centers, parks, after-school programs, basketball courts, football fields—you had all these different things that you could go do. But now, and this is in communities across the country, it’s like they are taking all that away. Closing parks, closing rec centers.
Etan: And did you see a change in the police?
Anthony: Yeah. A lot of them came up to me afterward and said, “Hey, we need more of this because honestly, we don’t know what they’re thinking. We’re just out there trying to protect and serve and we don’t know what their fears are and what their mind-sets are, and we don’t hear these conversations.” They really wanted to get across that all police are not bad. But it was really good for everybody all around
Etan: D Wade and I talked about the ESPYs and how everyone had their own specific messages that they wanted to convey. Talk about what your specific message was.
Anthony: My message was, first of all, how four athletes at the top of the game could come together and give you one message, four different ways. And we just said, “Why don’t we just go out there and just say it? We don’t have to do too much scripting and planning. Let’s all go out and say exactly what’s on our hearts.” And we had all of the best athletes from around the world in one place at that time, and for them to hear that, it was just really powerful. It also put the pressure on a lot of people to step up to the challenge too . . . I wanted to put the pressure on the other athletes to step up and do what they can in their own networks and their own communities.
The problems and issues are not new. If we talk to our parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles, they’ll tell us they’ve been fighting this fight for a long time . . . But urgency for change is at an all-time high, and we ain’t got no time to be worried about no criticism, or endorsements, or what this or that person is gonna think. People’s lives are at risk, so we all have to do what we can.
Bill Russell is a pioneer. He is on the Mount Rushmore of athlete-activists. I remember learning about him at a young age. His eleven championship rings during his thirteen-year career are the most of any NBA player to date, but what I marvel at is his courage and what he stood for, at a time when Boston wasn’t exactly shy about its racism.
I remember reading his memoir Go Up for Glory, and being enthralled by every word. From dealing with racism as a child growing up, how his parents were victims of racial abuse, how during games at the University of San Francisco he and his Black teammates were verbally attacked with the most disgusting and vile epithets you can imagine. When a hotel owner denied him and other NBA all-stars rooms in a very segregated North Carolina. While with the Celtics, he and his Black teammates were refused service at a Lexington, Kentucky, restaurant, and he and the other Black teammates refused to play. He was active in the Black Power movement and supported Muhammad Ali as soon as the champion refused to be drafted into the army. It was an absolute honor to interview Bill Russell for this book.
Etan: After the Cavs won the championship in 2016, in the midst of their celebration, the camera caught you speaking to LeBron and him listening very intensely. What wisdom were you passing on to him and how did he receive it?
Bill Russell: Well, the first thing I told him was congratulations . . . Then I spoke with him about the responsibility of being great and that he had to be willing to accept that responsibility. I told him that no leader can be great without his teammates. No matter how great he is. And LeBron was very receptive to what I was saying, he thanked me, told me how much he appreciated my advice, and how much he respected me. He is going to go far because he is always willing to learn and doesn’t think he knows everything, even though he is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, player on the planet.
Etan: One of the things that a lot of guys reference when speaking about you is the situation that happened while you were playing for the Boston Celtics before an exhibition game in the 1961–1962 season in Lexington, Kentucky. So you and your teammate were denied service in a restaurant because it was whites-only. And you said (and of course, I am paraphrasing here), “Oh, okay, this is a whites-only restaurant? Our Black money is no good here? Well, fine.” And you and the rest of the team flew back home without playing in the exhibition game. I can’t imagine the amount of courage it took to do that, and the level of scrutiny you must have received upon returning to Boston, a city that isn’t known for being a very welcoming and warm place for Black people.
Russell: (Laughing) Well, that’s one way to put it. It was simple. I said, “If we can’t eat here, we can’t play here.” We made the point clear that we were human beings and had to be treated with the dignity of human beings the same way you treat everybody else . . . So it was simple . . . And I’m not going to name names, but at least half a dozen very high-profile white players came to me and said to me privately, “You guys did the right thing, and we have a lot of respect for you. Now, don’t expect us to say any of this publicly (laughing), because if this all blows up, you’re on your own.” When we returned to Boston, the reaction from the press and a lot of the so-called fans was exactly what you would think it would be. Boston was not exactly a liberal oasis. In fact, a couple of writers said that the league should’ve suspended every single one of the Black players who refused to play, for insubordination, not fulfilling the obligations of their contracts . . . They said that the NBA should banish us because we—and get this—we hurt the feelings of some of the white players.
Etan: Hmmm.
Russell: Yeah, that’s exactly what I said: Hmmm.
Etan: But you stood strong with it . . .
Russell: I didn’t care what none of them said. I didn’t care one bit. I didn’t need their approval or their pat on the back . . . Let me tell you about where I come from in Louisiana. Louisiana at that time was all about the separation of the races. It was just a different time. And my mother would tell me to be careful, because if you were doing something wrong it would reflect negatively on all of us, and if you were doing something right, it would reflect positively on all of us, and if you went along with something that was wrong, it would affect all of us. So that’s all I was focused on, doing what was right.
Etan: That’s some great wisdom that was passed down to you. How was it to win championships for Boston, and then to come home and find out that people have broken into your home, ransacked everything, and actually defecated in your bed? These same fans that cheer you when you are winning championship after championship. I honestly couldn’t imagine having that happen to me.
Russell: Well, one thing you have to always remember is that the majority of the country are decent folks. The majority of white people are decent folks. And I was always very careful not to stereotype people based on the actions of a few, or of a little more than a few, as was the case in Boston (laughing) . . . A lot of the stuff that went on, in my mind, I knew that they were individual acts and not a reflection of everybody in Boston, because I would see and still see today what many people really think and believe—that Black folks are responsible for all of the actions of other Black folks, and that’s just ridiculous . . . And it’s just as crazy for me to think that all white people were responsible for the ones that treated me and my family so poorly, broke into my house, destroyed my property for no reason at all.
When I was with the Celtics, I was still very much connected to Louisiana. So one time in the off-season, I went down to see my friends and family. Now, this guy who was my barber’s former boss sent for me. And I said okay. So I go to his house to ring his doorbell and the lady that answered the door said, “You have to go around to the back. You can’t come in here through the front door.” And she said it like I was ridiculous for even thinking that I could come through the front door like white folks. So I turned around and went home. And he called my father and told on me like I did something wrong.
And this was after Eisenhower had invited a lot of athletes to the White House, and I was one of the guys he invited and all of us went in the front door. Now I am saying to myself, The president of the United States invites me to come to the White House and he didn’t suggest that I go around to the back, but a regular Joe invites me to his house and you expect me to go to the back of the house? You must be crazy (laughing). Just because I said that I don’t put all white people in the same boat doesn’t mean I don’t still recognize that too many white people looked at me as less-than, and no matter what they thought, I wasn’t about to allow them to treat me as less-than.
Etan: That’s great how you made that point. I have been quoting you since I was in high school, especially when you said, “I refuse to allow you to reduce me to a clown used to entertain your circus.”
Russell: Well, at that time, the most prominent Black athletes were the Globetrotters. I refused to play for the Globetrotters although they offered me the most money. I was publicly criticized by Abe Saperstein for refusing. He said I was out of my mind. But I told him and everyone else that I am a basketball player, and not a clown. In fact, I’m the best basketball player there is.
Etan: My grandfather always said that he felt embarrassed as a Black man when he would watch the Globetrotters do their routine.
Russell: Well, your grandfather was a smart man . . . Jackie Robinson had been my ultimate hero because, of course, he was a great baseball player, but more importantly, he didn’t take no mess from nobody. Up until Jackie, no matter how good you were, you had to say that you were lucky to be able to play with these guys. Even in the cases where you were actually better than them . . . And when Jackie came along, he showed that we could walk with our heads up. We didn’t have to be in a demeaning posture in order for you to accept us, or we didn’t have to make you laugh, or entertain you, we could play on your level . . . That’s why I will always admire and respect someone like Jackie Robinson, because that’s what he represented for all of us.
Etan: So who were some of the people who mentored Bill Russell?
Russell: My father, first of all. That’s why we left Louisiana. He said, “We can’t stay here, because I love my children. And if some of this stuff that is happening around here happens to one of my kids, I will kill one of these people. And then, my kids will have to grow up without a father.” One of the things he always stressed to me was to always demand respect. You don’t allow anyone, no matter who they are, to make you feel less-than. You always hold your head up high, and you always walk with pride knowing that you are special. My father also stressed that I had to always conduct myself in order to command respect. And those lessons really carried me all through my entire life. They guided my actions. I have tried to always conduct myself in a way that my mother and my father would never be ashamed of. My mother was a really proud woman. So between my mother and father I had a foundation that prepared me for life.
Etan: Powerful. I wanted to ask you about the summit in Cleveland in June 1967 . . .
Russell: Well, Muhammad Ali and I had a special connection even before all of that. We both won gold medals for the Olympics before we turned professional . . . Now, I came along with the educated athletes. Most of the times, they went to college and got degrees and everyone had their various experiences. And we all respected each other because we all knew what we had to go through in order to rise to the top of your profession. And so we supported each other . . .
Our organizations that we all played and worked for were constantly saying bad things about Ali, and we all heard it, and it bothered all of us the same way. Especially the ones like me who knew him personally or had a personal experience with him . . . And we understood how a large majority of the prominent Black athletes at that time, especially if you stood up for yourself and for your people in any way, were almost immediately given the reputation of being bad guys. There was so much that I respected about Muhammad Ali. I admired his professionalism, of course he was the greatest boxer around, and it took awhile for the nation to recognize that, but he was. I know in my case, and Jim Brown’s case and Kareem’s case, they would have never approved of us supporting Muhammad Ali. And there were some other Black athletes who didn’t support what Muhammad Ali was doing because they didn’t want it to mess up their situation. But as soon as I found out about it, I knew that I had to support my brother. I wasn’t going to have him out there standing by himself.
Etan: So what is your advice to younger athletes now who want to follow in your footsteps and stand up for what they believe in?
Russell: My first piece of advice would be to learn your trade and put into practice what you have learned. And never be afraid to stand up for what you believe. But also, every Black athlete cannot be a Jim Brown or Kareem or Ali—you have to be who you are. But if you choose to stand up, you can’t be worried about the negative press or criticism or the people who will start to attack you on all fronts . . . You have to be strong enough to withstand that, ignore it, and keep your eyes on the prize. If you are not strong enough to do that, you might as well go sit in the corner somewhere and just be quiet . . . Let me also say this . . . when you are a prominent athlete, there is much more to it than playing the game. There is a responsibility that you do have to your community . . . What you say or don’t say can bring about change or no change. You can have an effect on people you don’t even know. You mind if I tell you another story?
Etan: You are Bill Russell, you can tell me as many stories as you wanna tell me (laughing).
Russell: (Laughing) Well, okay. I remember when I was in college, a few of the coaches would send guys into the game for no other reason but to pick a fight with me. They didn’t play much, weren’t really that good, to be honest . . . but their sole purpose for being sent into the game was to pick a fight with me so that I would get thrown out the game . . . And I knew what they were doing and I understand why they were doing it. So I had to develop a way of taking care of them without being thrown out the game and allowing them to achieve their goal. I had to have self-control. And I also developed some of the sharpest elbows in the NBA (laughing), but I didn’t let their plan work.
Etan: I am trying to wrap my mind around the level of self-control you had to have your entire career.
Russell: Self-control is just a part of life. Doesn’t mean you stop doing what you’re doing. It just means that you maintain the self-control not to allow them to sabotage you . . . When I was in the third grade, we moved into the projects. The first time I went out to play, they ran me home . . . My mother said, “You better always stand up for yourself.” And she took me throughout the neighborhood and made me fight every last one of those kids. Now, I was physically afraid of my mother, but I learned so much from her and my father. But the point was always to never let anyone think that they can get away with making you feel less-than, never allow anyone to knock you off your game or keep you away from your purpose.