Sometimes there are stories behind a story. The Sterling case is one of those times.
The story to be discussed here is about one thing—the most important thing. It’s about the historic inability of Americans to get our collective arms around a never-ending saga: Race.
Courtesy: SI.com
It’s a story about intolerance, lack of acceptance, and (in some quarters) flat-out hate. We might call transgressors, like Sterling, “ignorant” or we could call them “stupid.” But neither label helps much. The matter is fundamentally about this: What does it mean to live in America?
One answer: there’s a historic gap between the way things should be (and need to be) and the way things are (and have been). Sure we’ve made progress. As a kid I experienced two epochal events: The March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom and the passage of the Civil Rights Act. But as a society we’re eons away from where we need to be. The Sterling incident is a painful reminder.
The way the incident was handled tells us where we stand. Everybody speculated about what Commissioner Silver would do … as if the matter facing him was utterly complex. It wasn’t. If any of us (in our jobs) mouthed what Sterling said about people of color—that we didn’t want “them” in our store, in our bank, or in our organization—we’d be done for, finished. That’s exactly how Silver ruled. He became a hero as a result: an executive hailed for having zero tolerance for behavior that categorically demeans and excludes people. That response should be par for the course, business as usual. That’s not the way it always is, though, especially when the matter involves speaking truth to power.
That’s the shock value of the Sterling episode: hate speech came from within the NBA—from a white owner no less, a member of the elite and powerful few. His vitriolic language targeted an NBA icon, Magic Johnson, a black man in a league with majority black players. Double foul.
Courtesy: Washington Post
That juxtaposition—Sterling (white) and Johnson (black)—isn’t the only color contrast associated with the NBA. The contrast is stark and fundamental. The league has very rich owners (mostly white) and very talented players (mostly black). The (mostly black) players play before paying customers (mostly white) in arenas located near some of the country’s worst neighborhoods (mostly black). Black men (on the court) wow us with athletic artistry. They live lives of privilege, too. Other black men (in the hood) live in environments imbued with poverty, saturated with despair—hopelessness an ever-present reality. Some die young and violently. Chicago is the poster child.
These disparate experiences are connected. For many black players the NBA is a pathway out of poverty, a way to migrate from the hood life to the good life. But the journey can’t be taken—by these players and countless others in this country—without experiencing intolerance. Sterling isn’t alone in transgressing. Paula Deen, Cliven Bundy, and some Bruin hockey fans after a loss to The Habs … the public list goes on. These elite and everyday people share a common fate—the inability to deal with race—what some call “America’s original sin.” It isn’t only about accepting African Americans as equals; it’s about struggling with diversity writ large.
Courtesy: Political Cartoons.com
Some of us thought President Obama’s election would help, but in some ways it hasn’t. It has provoked racial discomfort in some people, threatened (as they seem to be) by a black man with enormous stage presence and incredible power.
Is it possible to improve this disquieting storyline about race in America? One answer is “yes,” essayist Timothy Egan asserted recently. He believes a primary vehicle is—of all things—sport (see “Sports, the Most Progressive Force in America,” The New York Times, 5/1/14). “If you want to find racial progress in America,” Egan writes, “look to the games we play.”
He’s right. Consider the socio-political contributions made by the likes of Arthur Ashe, Billie Jean King, Muhammad Ali, and (perhaps most notably) Jackie Robinson. Each was a catalyst, an enabler, a social game-changer. Contrast those contributions, Egan continues, to the way Fox News recently embraced (later to reject) Cliven Bundy or how the Catholic Church has handled abusive priests. Despite continuing challenges in sport (e.g., gays in the locker room) Egan believes “there is more progress on the hardwood courts, between the chalk lines, and on the base paths of our games than in the halls of power.”
Courtesy: JackieRobinso.ymca.org
Why? Sport engages more of us, and in more ways, than probably any other public pursuit. We play the games. We watch the games. We affiliate with teams. We identify with players. There’s an emotional connection and it’s social engagement, too: we play, watch, and root with others. What happens—psychologically and socio-culturally—is important, sometimes subtly so. Egan gives an example: “Because of sports many of us had our first prolonged exposure to other races or hung a poster on a bedroom wall of someone who didn’t look like the family.”
Despite its many shortcomings—the Sterling anathema is a reminder—sport serves a vital socio-cultural function in our country. While sport alone won’t get us to where we need to be, it gives us a fighting chance to succeed.
ENDNOTE: This column is dedicated to Paulette Granberry Russell and the important work she does as Senior Advisor to the President for Diversity and Director, Office of Inclusion and Intercultural Initiatives, Michigan State University.
