The Heritage: Black Athletes, A Divided America, and the Politics of
Patriotism
By Howard Bryant
(2018)
Beacon Press, 238
pages +index, etc.
Once upon a time, black athletes were acutely aware of the
"Heritage." That is, they recognized that sports were inseparable
from the quest for racial equality and social justice. ESPN analyst Howard
Bryant sees Paul Robeson as the "original conscience and soul" of the
Heritage, and Jackie Robinson as "its godfather" (39). Bryant
capitalizes Heritage throughout his book to call attention to how black
athletes after Robinson saw themselves as his (metaphorical) sons and daughters.
Earlier figures such as Jesse Owens and Joe Louis certainly
brought pride to the black community, but they were also co-opted. Owens
exploded the myth of Aryan superiority with his feet and Louis with his fists, but
both were used as symbols of the "Good American" (33) in the war
against fascism. Never mind that American society was nearly as racially closed
as Hitler's Germany.
Robinson was different. He (re) integrated* Major League
Baseball in 1947, but at a great personal cost. The title of his autobiography
says it all: I Never Had it Made.
Singularity is a heavier burden than honor; everywhere he went Robinson faced
bigotry, discrimination, and hatred. When he signed with Brooklyn Dodgers,
General Manager Branch Rickey advised Robinson to have the courage "not to
fight back." Or so hagiographies report. Robinson was a proud man who
eventually earned the right to strike
back. That too was a burden. New York
Post sportswriter Jimmy Cannon once dubbed Robinson, "the loneliest
man I've ever seen."
Activism was a key component of the Heritage—as was the fallout
that came with it. Robinson died at just 53, but he looked decades older.
Nonetheless, by the 1960s numerous black sports heroes embraced the Heritage
and paid the tab: Bill Russell, Muhammad Ali, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Jim Brown,
Curt Flood, Bob Gibson, John Carlos, Tommie Smith…. Some did well despite their
activism; others (Flood, Carlos, Smith) did not. Each left a lot of money on
the table because they refused to ignore race prejudice and felt it their duty
to uphold the Heritage.
So how did we get to the point where quarterback Colin
Kaepernick can't get a job in the National Football League because he knelt
during the National Anthem? How did he
become the household name, not those for whom he kneeled—Michael Brown, Eric
Garner, Freddie Gray, Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Alton Sterling…? Why does the
NFL uphold the rants of racist owners such as Jerry Jones and threaten to make
another Kaepernick of future kneelers? Bryant bluntly asserts that it's because
black bodies only matter on the playing field.
He doesn't stop there. In passages certain to ruffle
feathers, Bryant also blames money and the militarization of American society.
His cast of villains will surprise: O.J. Simpson, Michael Jordan, and Tiger
Woods. Although he understands the allure of big money, he sees those three as
having undermined the Heritage. Whereas Owens and Louis became (literal)
posters for the Good American, Simpson, Jordan, and Woods became corporate
shills. Bryant doesn't invoke this example, but those who've seen Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing (1989) will recall a
scene in which Pino (John Turturro), an Italian American, launches N-bombs in
front of his erstwhile black friend Mookie (Lee). An incredulous Mookie asks
him how he can do that when his favorite player, Michael Jordan, is black. Pino
responds that he doesn't see Jordan as a [expletive]. Exactly! That's the
problem, as Bryant sees it. Jordan was part of a generation of black athletes
who made millions by not being black.
The Good American gave way to a green-washed myth of a post-racial society. Woods
went so far as to call himself a multiethnic "Cablinasian" (39-41).
Would that it were true. Bryant is (mildly) sympathetic to
how hard it would be for any young black athlete to turn away from the millions
that come their way by setting aside politics. He's crystal clear, though, of what
that entails: repudiating the Heritage. But Bryant isn't letting anyone off the
hook. It would be comforting for white society to construct a narrative in
which black people sold out their own. Whites have been doing that for years to
absolve any responsibility for black poverty, drug-infested neighborhoods, or
the existence of gangs.
If you think The
Heritage is just another sports book, think again. Howard Bryant is also a
keen observer of American history and sociology. What happened to the Heritage
is only partly explained by greenbacks. Bryant places the decline of the
Heritage within a broader context of what happened to protest across American
society. It has been on the wane since Ronald Reagan's beat-down of labor
unions and feminism. What began in the 1980s went into hyper drive after 9/11.
Look at what happened to the Dixie Chicks in 2003, when singer Natalie Maines
expressed displeasure with George W. Bush. To dissent in a nation founded by
revolutionaries has become, paradoxically, un-American.
Bryant calls attention to the "collision" (ix)
that occurred between sports and the military—one that wrestles over the
question of "who's the patriot" (203)? If you think all the military
pageantry you see in sports venues is heartfelt and spontaneous, you are naïve;
it's as orchestrated as a symphony and as fake as a World Wrestling Federation
match. Don't be fooled by the Roger Goodells of the sports world. Every time
you see a flyover, a vet singing "God Bless America," or some tearful
reunion between veterans and their families, the U.S. Armed Forces paid for these to be staged. You read
that right; owners of pro sports teams cash Department of Defense checks funded
by your tax dollars for scripted melodrama. The military sees these things as
recruitment tools for an all-volunteer military that's having trouble filling
out its ranks. Jerry Jones' outrage isn't that of the wounded patriot; it's the
complaint of a man whose cash cow is in the slaughter line.
In many ways, Howard Bryant's book is the sports version of
what Noam Chomsky and Edward S. Herman called "manufacturing
consent." His remarks will anger sunshine patriots, but their outrage
would be better directed at the hokum, not kneeling players.
You'd better get used to the latter. Not all sports are on
board with NFL-style authoritarianism. The National Basketball League has begun
to embrace black activism—as well a sport in which 75 percent of the players
are black should. LeBron James is part of a new generation that wants to
reclaim the Heritage, and he's taking his activism to the big stage of Los
Angeles. Or did you think he went to the Lakers because he was dying to have
Lonzo Ball as a teammate?
Of the Heritage, Bryant writes, "It is a responsibility
the black player will carry until America values the black brain over the black
body, and the black people, like all others, rise through education and not
touchdowns. Then sports for black people can finally be reduced to what it
should have always been in the first place—just a game" (238).
Rob Weir
*Jackie Robinson was not the first black player in the Major Leagues. The American Association,
then a professional league on par with the National League, had black players
until 1887. It was pressured to ban them by the National League.
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