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Dave Zirin

Dave Zirin

Where sports and politics collide.

The Cleveland Browns’ Andrew Hawkins, #BlackLivesMatter and the Accidental Activist

Andrew Hawkins

Cleveland Browns wide receiver Andrew Hawkins wears a shirt calling attention to two black Ohioans killed during encounters with law enforcement before an NFL football game. (AP Photo/Tony Dejak)

One common thread that binds all social movements is the rise of the “accidental activist.” These are people who preface what they say with statements like, “I’m not an activist, in any way, shape or form.” And then they proceed to unleash statements of profound impact or find the courage to lead movements, discovering within themselves the capacity to inspire. We are seeing this in cities around the country in the #blacklivesmatter movements as a new generation of leaders is fighting for the space to actually lead.

We also saw it this week in a six-minute speech, delivered without notes, by Cleveland Browns wide receiver Andrew Hawkins. Hawkins was under pressure from the Cleveland police union to apologize for wearing a shirt in pregame saying “Justice for Tamir Rice and John Crawford”.Tamir Rice was killed by Cleveland police and John Crawford nearby Beavercreek, Ohio this year. Tamir Rice was just 12 years old. Tamir had a BB gun. Crawford had picked up a pellet rifle for sale in a Walmart. Neither was brandishing his weapon. Both were gunned down within seconds of being approached by police. Andrew Hawkins, seeing the I Can’t Breathe shirts worn by athletes in pregame preparations around the country, decided to make it very personal and very local. He was morally compelled to whack the hornets’ nest that is the Cleveland police union, knowing he would get stung.

Sure enough, the union’s president, who hasn’t said a word condemning the killings of Tamir and Crawford, called Hawkins “pathetic” and ignorant and demanded an apology. On Monday, Hawkins refused to apologize. On Tuesday, he appeared before the press and spoke. Yes, he said, “I’m not an activist, in any way, shape or form.” It reminds of the young Muhammad Ali who early in his boxing career said, “I don’t join marches and I won’t hold a sign” and then said one whole hell of a lot more.

As you will see, Andrew Hawkins also said, “Ninety-nine times out of a hundred I keep my opinions to myself on most matters.” For all our sake, we should be grateful that this was the hundredth time. Thank you Andrew Hawkins. Thank you for standing up to the police union’s bullying tactics. Thank you for getting over your admitted fear of speaking out. Thank you for speaking about your son Austin, saying, “The number-one reason for me wearing the T-shirt was the thought of what happened to Tamir Rice happening to my little Austin scares the living hell out of me. And my heart was broken for the parents of Tamir and John Crawford knowing they had to live that nightmare of a reality.” Thank you. You made Tamir Rice and John Crawford visible for many fans who have chosen not to see the tragedy of their deaths and the enraging horror of how they died.

And lastly, thank you Tony Grossi of ESPN Cleveland for transcribing the below. Please read all of his words. When people find their voice, they tend to say things that far outstrip those who haven’t stopped talking for years.

“I was taught that justice is a right that every American should have. Also justice should be the goal of every American. I think that’s what makes this country. To me, justice means the innocent should be found innocent. It means that those who do wrong should get their due punishment. Ultimately, it means fair treatment. So a call for justice shouldn’t offend or disrespect anybody. A call for justice shouldn’t warrant an apology.

“To clarify, I utterly respect and appreciate every police officer that protects and serves all of us with honesty, integrity and the right way. And I don’t think those kind of officers should be offended by what I did. My mom taught me my entire life to respect law enforcement. I have family, close friends that are incredible police officers and I tell them all the time how they are much braver than me for it. So my wearing a T-shirt wasn’t a stance against every police officer or every police department. My wearing the T-shirt was a stance against wrong individuals doing the wrong thing for the wrong reasons to innocent people.

“Unfortunately, my mom also taught me just as there are good police officers, there are some not-so-good police officers that would assume the worst of me without knowing anything about me for reasons I can’t control. She taught me to be careful and be on the lookout for those not-so-good police officers because they could potentially do me harm and most times without consequences. Those are the police officers that should be offended.

“Being a police officer takes bravery. And I understand that they’re put in difficult positions and have to make those snap decisions. As a football player, I know a little bit about snap decisions, obviously on an extremely lesser and non-comparative scale, because when a police officer makes a snap decision, it’s literally a matter of life and death. That’s hard a situation to be in. But if the wrong decision is made, based on preconceived notions or the wrong motives, I believe there should be consequence. Because without consequence, naturally the magnitude of the snap decisions is lessened, whether consciously or unconsciously.

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“I’m not an activist, in any way, shape or form. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred I keep my opinions to myself on most matters. I worked extremely hard to build and keep my reputation especially here in Ohio, and by most accounts I’ve done a solid job of decently building a good name. Before I made the decision to wear the T-shirt, I understood I was putting that reputation in jeopardy to some of those people who wouldn’t necessarily agree with my perspective. I understood there was going to be backlash, and that scared me, honestly. But deep down I felt like it was the right thing to do. If I was to run away from what I felt in my soul was the right thing to do, that would make me a coward, and I can’t live with that. God wouldn’t be able to put me where I am today, as far as I’ve come in life, if I was a coward.

“As you well know, and it’s well documented, I have a 2-year-old little boy. The same 2-year-old little boy that everyone said was cute when I jokingly threw him out of the house earlier this year. That little boy is my entire world. And the number-one reason for me wearing the T-shirt was the thought of what happened to Tamir Rice happening to my little Austin scares the living hell out of me. And my heart was broken for the parents of Tamir and John Crawford knowing they had to live that nightmare of a reality.

“So, like I said, I made the conscious decision to wear the T-shirt. I felt like my heart was in the right place. I’m at peace with it and those that disagree with me, this is America, everyone has the right to their first amendment rights. Those who support me, I appreciate your support. But at the same time, support the causes and the people and the injustices that you feel strongly about. Stand up for them. Speak up for them. No matter what it is because that’s what America’s about and that’s what this country was founded on.”


Read Next: “In the Spirit of Wyomia Tyus, Women Say #BlackLivesMatter”

In the Spirit of Wyomia Tyus, Women Athletes Say #BlackLivesMatter

Before discussing the importance of seeing women’s basketball players at Notre Dame and Cal-Berkley join the on-court #BlackLivesMatter movement, let’s remember the story of the legendary Wyomia Tyus.

Wyomia Tyus was the first person in history to win the 100-meter gold in consecutive Olympics, accomplishing this feat in 1964 and 1968. Tyus also showed a remarkable bravery in the tumultuous, dramatic Mexico City Olympics of 1968, when Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised their fists on the medal stand. After anchoring the women’s gold-medal winning 4x100 relay team to victory, Ms. Tyus said, “I’d like to say that we dedicate our relay win to John Carlos and Tommie Smith.” She did this at tremendous personal risk, and despite the fact that the “revolt of the black athlete,” as it was known, made no outreach to those black athletes who happened to be women. Tyus commented years later, “It appalled me that the men simply took us for granted. They assumed we had no minds of our own and that we’d do whatever we were told.” She was one of several black women who were supportive of the athletic revolution in the 1960s, but denied a seat at the table.

As we find ourselves at the start of new black freedom struggle that’s ricocheting into the world of sports, the voices of athletic women had before this weekend largely been silent. This despite the fact that the first athlete to speak out on the field of play wasn’t Derrick Rose or LeBron James. It was Ariyana Smith at Knox College, who on November 29 lay down on the court for four and a half minutes before the start of a game to symbolize the four and a half hours Michael Brown was left in the street after being killed by Officer Darren Wilson in Ferguson. This despite the fact that there would be no #BlackLivesMatter moment without the fearless leadership of black women. If you only know of this struggle from snippets on the news, please know that Al Sharpton is not leading this struggle. It is young black women in Ferguson on the front lines. It is young black women at Howard and young black women leading groups like #ThinkMoor sitting in at Union Station and blocking freeways in DC. It is young black women who led the organizing at Saturday’s march in New York City. It is young black women taking the mic in DC from Sharpton and demanding to be heard.

Yet other than Ariyana Smith and a tweet from Serena Williams, women athletes had not been heard. This changed in dramatic fashion on Saturday, first when the women at Notre Dame took the court wearing the now iconic “I Can’t Breathe” shirts. This was organized by forward Taya Reimer, who said that the team felt pushed to act after a die-in took place on their South Bend, Indiana, campus.

“A few of us talked about it and we thought wearing these shirts for the game would be a cool way to show our support and give our condolences to families that have lost someone,” she said.

Notre Dame’s renowned coach Muffet McGraw then spoke out in support, using words that should be put on a poster.

“I was really proud of our team, especially Taya, to publicly stand for something you believe in. I think one of the things I try to teach them is you’ve got to fight. You’ve got to fight for playing time. You’ve got to fight to win a national championship. You have to be willing to stand up and fight and you have to be accountable…. I want to have strong, confident women who are not afraid to use their voice and take a stand.”

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McGraw and her staff wore all-black in a show of solidarity with their players.

Then there were the women basketball players at Cal-Berkeley. After a full week of intense protests in Berkeley, complete with tear gas and undercover police brandishing guns amidst demonstrators, the players felt compelled to act.

As forward Brittany Boyd tweeted, “Planned to wear shirts at home next wk.After today’s events in Berkeley,entire team came 2my hotel room&said we need to act 2day.”

They also had full support from their coach Lindsay Gottleib, who tweeted, “Proud to coach a group with a social & moral consciousness.They proactively seek ways to find their voice and use their platform.”

The Cal players did not wear “I Can’t Breathe” shirts. Instead, they did something both deeply affecting and more in the old DIY activist traditions of their school. On the front of their T-shirts, they put silver duct tape and wrote the name of a black person killed by either police or by lynching. On the back, they wrote “Black lives matter” and “We are Cal WBB.”

After the game, a loss to Long Beach State, Coach Gottleib released a statement that read:

I’m a basketball coach, and I’m competitive and winning is important. Our standards at Cal are high, and of course losing this game is disappointing. That said, however, I’m not sure I’ve ever been more proud of these players or our whole team and staff. As student-athletes at Cal, our young women have a voice and a platform, and they chose to use it today. They want to be part of a solution, and they took the steps that were in their power today.

The proud push by women athletes to project #BlackLivesMatter should be a cause to recognize the indispensable leadership role of black women in this movement. It should also push us to remember all the sports women in history who sought a place in the struggle only to be disrespected and dismissed. Wyomia Tyus arguably ran the best anchor leg of any sprinter in US Olympic history. Finally, after forty-six years, she gets to pass the baton.

Read Next: “The Power of Political Athletes to Puncture Privilege”

The Power of Political Athletes to Puncture Privilege

Lebron James

LeBron James (AP Photo/Kathy Willens)

I have a second cousin by marriage, let’s call him Frank. He’s a white guy who lives in a middle-class exurban enclave and thinks about politics about as often as he thinks about particle physics—never. He’s not rich and he’s not poor. Like a lot of folks in this country, he works as an independent contractor in a job so boring I can’t even describe it without getting drowsy. He’s a great dad and he plays fantasy football and that’s about it. When the Ferguson protests began after the killing of Michael Brown, he didn’t talk about it, post about it, and when I would talk to him, it was clear that he was not thinking about it. It was like asking him for his opinion about life on Mars, something completely beyond anything that he saw as relevant. This is in and of itself a form of both class and race privilege. Frank does not have to worry about how he or his son has to act around a police officer. He does not have to consider how the country where he lives, pays taxes, and votes sees black lives as disposable. Even the death of Eric Garner, in all its video horror, was something that he did not notice. Then athletes started to raise their hands on the football field in a “hands up don’t shoot” gesture. Then his son and daughter’s heroes, people like LeBron James, Kobe Bryant and many more, wore T-shirts with Eric Garner’s last words, “I can’t breathe.” Then the sports radio shows that he listens to when driving—he is in his car about four hours a day—started debating whether or not it was “appropriate” for these kinds of political gestures to take place on the court.

All of a sudden, against his will, Frank—sitting in his car—had to mentally engage with why a group of wealthy athletes (some who make more than Frank will see in a lifetime) would stick their necks out and stand with the families of Eric Garner and Michael Brown. He had to reckon with why it was so personal to them. Frank went home and actually watched the video of Eric Garner being killed. To put it mildly, it messed with his head. Now he is angry. He is angry at the police and he is angry at a system that polices black communities with a level of violence he has never had to see or experience. In other words, Frank is waking the fuck up.

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This is a deeply underdiscussed aspect of the importance and power of athletes speaking out against police violence, wearing the “I Can’t Breathe” shirts and raising their hands high in front of the cameras. It forces people—white people to be specific—who are not on Twitter, who don’t engage with politics, and who in our deeply segregated society only actually “see” and acknowledge black and brown people on television, to confront a distinctly different set of life experiences. It also speaks to why black and brown athletes have historically always been policed by the media and sports owners for their political statements. It’s not the power of their words as much as the power of their reach.

The great Indian writer Arundhati Roy once said, “…in the midst of putative peace, you could, like me, be unfortunate enough to stumble on a silent war. The trouble is that once you see it, you can’t unsee it. And once you’ve seen it, keeping quiet, saying nothing, becomes as political an act as speaking out. There’s no innocence. Either way, you’re accountable.” Frank, in his 30s, has lost his innocence and is starting to feel accountable for the state of this world and the kind of existence he is prepared to hand over to his children. He has asked me what he can do, where he can give money and how, as a white person, he can offer the kind of solidarity that would actually make a difference. I tell this story so people who may already be part of the movement can see the power of bringing this movement into athletic spaces. We need to keep offering support and solidarity to any athlete who stands with this struggle and says, in the words of Rams wide receiver Kenny Britt, “My kids’ lives matter.” We also need to keep marching and doing die-ins in front of basketball arenas on NBA game day, as has happened in DC, Brooklyn and Portland, among other places. Bring this movement to fans. Force people to reckon with worlds that they do not inhabit. We won’t reach everyone. Some will respond with the ugliest possible reaction for daring to invade on their sacred sporting space. But some will also actually “hear” for the first time in their lives. By breaching the walls of the sports world, we can puncture the ultimate privilege in our society: the privilege of blissful ignorance.


Read Next: “The Enduring Importance of the Activist Athlete”

The Enduring Importance of the Activist Athlete


Los Angeles Lakers, from right, Jeremy Lin, Wayne Ellington, Carlos Boozer, Jordan Clarkson and Nick Young wear “I Can’t Breathe” shirts in support of the family of Eric Garner. (AP Photo/Jae C. Hong)

“Do we really need a Muhammad Ali if we have a Barack Obama?” This question was posed to me several years ago on ESPN’s Outside the Lines. I was debating a prominent African-American sports columnist who was arguing that we were past the time when there was a crying need to have athletes, particularly black athletes, take political stands. He said that since we now have, as a result of the struggles of the past, a black president, we had to stop pining for activist athletes to pick up the torch from Muhammad Ali, Bill Russell, John Carlos, Tommie Smith and many others who used the platform of sports to speak out for social justice.

Now as thousands across the country stand with the families of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Tamir Rice and other unarmed black men killed by police, we are seeing this movement reflect powerfully on the field of play. Pro athletes in the NFL and NBA, from Cleveland’s LeBron James and Kyrie Irving to Detroit Lions running back Reggie Bush to members of the St. Louis Rams, who play just a short drive from Ferguson, Missouri, are taking the field with the slogans and gestures of the movement. They are wearing shirts that show Eric Garner’s last words as he was being choked by a Staten Island police officer, “I can’t breathe.” They have “My Kids’ Lives Matter” written on their uniforms. They are putting their hands up into the air. They are puncturing the bubble that surrounds sports and forcing fans to acknowledge this cry for change.

The events of the last several weeks demonstrate exactly why we need activist athletes. They have the power to then influence the “silent majority” of the American public and reach people who are completely alienated from politics.

But that’s not all. One of the fruits of the civil rights movement was that the ceiling rose dramatically for black Americans. Avenues to the middle class and greater wealth were cracked open as a result of persistent struggle. Yet while the ceiling rose, the floor lowered. We can debate the causes. Blame it on a holdover of systemic institutionalized racism. Blame it on the drug war. Blame it on the expansion of the for-profit prison system. Blame it on the growth of a neoliberal economic consensus that lowered living standards for all American workers. However the floor lowered, the results have been the same: the immiseration of poor black communities who live a distinctly different reality than the rest of country. Entire neighborhoods, in the words of sportswriter Howard Bryant, are “under a state of occupation,” with highly militarized police forces on constant patrol. These are not just the neighborhoods rising up against police brutality. They are also more often than not the neighborhoods that have produced the heroes of sports. Poverty has always been the soil that grows pro athletes and it is this world these jocks for justice are trying to get fans to acknowledge. As former NBA MVP Derrick Rose, a product of Chicago’s West Side, said after wearing his “I Can’t Breathe” T-shirt:

My biggest concern is the kids. I know what they’re thinking right now. I was one of those kids. When you live in an area like that and you’ve got no hope, and police aren’t treating you any way… I’m not saying all police are treating kids bad, but when you live in an area like that, it gives you another reason to be bad.

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This sentiment was also articulated, somewhat surprisingly, by NBA legend Magic Johnson. Magic, not exactly outspoken in his day, praised these new activist athletes:

They have to get involved socially. They have to because it affects them, too. And it affects their families. They grew up in these situations; they must not forget that. They [were] once poor, they went to inner-city schools that didn’t have technology or computers, they didn’t have good books. See, I went through that whole situation. They went through that as well. A lot of their cousins are still going through that, so they must not forget that. I hope that they would do [even] more.

These athletes, as sure as the viral video of the police killing Eric Garner, are now acting as a transmission belt from the communities of their birth to a white majority that often does not acknowledge the existence of this other America. In fact, one could argue they are the most effective transmission belt in pushing people to see a truth in how communities of color are forced to live. The next step would be for white athletes to now take the ball and wear a shirt of their own, maybe reading “My Teammates’ Lives Matter” to further impress upon fans that this is not a “black issue” but a national call for all of us to claim some semblance of humanity. (The first non-black athlete did wear an “I Can’t Breathe” shirt Tuesday night, Taiwanese-American Lakers guard Jeremy Lin.) Given how multi-racial the demonstrations have been around the country, it is past time to see them act in the tradition of 1968 Olympian Peter Norman, who stood at attention wearing a solidarity button while Tommie Smith and John Carlos raised their fists in Mexico City, and show a solidarity that would not only be welcome but needed.

The times in which we live, as protests ricochet from outside the arena to inside, have answered the question: “Do we need a Muhammad Ali if we have Barack Obama?” Hell yes we do. In fact, maybe because there is a Barack Obama, we need athlete activists now more than ever. We need them to keep saying, “If I matter to you with a ball in my hand, then respect me enough to think about where I’m coming from.”

Read Next: “#BlackLivesMatter Takes the Field: A Weekend of Athletes Speaking Out”

#BlackLivesMatter Takes the Field: A Weekend of Athletes Speaking Out

Reggie Bush

Reggie Bush during pre-game warmups (AP Photo/Rick Osentoski)

The marches in the streets are not done. The die-ins disrupting traffic are not done. Any kind of closure for the families of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Akai Gurley and so many others is far from done. So why should anyone be surprised that the St. Louis Rams were not done? A week after five players raised their arms in the now iconic protest pose of “hands up, don’t shoot,” wide receiver Kenny Britt took the field with the names “Michael Brown” and “Trayvon Martin” written on his cleats. His teammate Jared Cook had the words “I can’t breathe,” the last gasp of Staten Island’s Eric Garner as a police officer cut off his oxygen with a chokehold, written on his wristband. Teammate Davin Joseph had the same phrase written on his cleats.

They were not alone. Detroit Lions running back Reggie Bush, who was attacked by Abe Foxman and the Anti-Defamation League for comparing the late Michael Brown’s hometown of Ferguson to Gaza on Instagram, was not cowed into silence and wore a shirt that read “I can’t breathe” during warm-ups. He said, “Honestly, I’ve always been the quiet kid. I’ve always been the one who’s reserved, to kind of sit back and not really get into politics and things like that. But I don’t know why I just felt some kind of … I guess the situation just touched me.”

Bush’s mom has also been a police officer for twenty years, and yes, I wish I could be a fly on the wall at the Bush house this Christmas.

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Browns cornerback Johnson Bademosi also wore an “I can’t breathe” shirt before game time, as did San Diego Chargers linebacker Melvin Ingram. Then there was Brandian Ross of the Raiders, who came out during player introductions without a helmet and with his hands up high, and Washington defensive lineman Chris Baker, who raised his hands up after a sack. Although, in Baker’s case, the gesture of anti-racism while wearing a Redskins uniform probably won’t make it onto a protest poster anytime soon.

These actions by NFL players come the day after NBA star Derrick Rose wore an “I can’t breathe” shirt during warm-ups, which prompted the NBA’s number-one icon, LeBron James,to say, “I thought it was great. I’m looking for one.”

Then there is All-Star guard Damian Lillard who posted this gut-punch of a political cartoonby Rik Sansone to his Instagram account, causing the image to go viral among sports fans and protesters alike.

Two members of the Oregon Ducks basketball team also raised their hands up during the pledge of allegiance the week after Knox College basketball player Ariyana Smith, playing near Ferguson in Claremont, Missouri, lay on the floor of the court and would not move for four and a half minutes, to represent the four and a half hours that Michael Brown was left in the street after dying at the hands of Darren Wilson.

Each of these actions has the effect of amplifying the impact of a new struggle for human dignity in the face of racism. It has has found expression in all fifty states and in solidarity actions in cities around the world all with the message that black lives matter. Seeing the movement impinge upon the highly sanitized, deeply authoritarian world of sports is not only a reflection of just how widespread the outpouring of anger has been. These athletic protests also shape the movement, giving more people the confidence to get in the streets and puncturing the self-imposed bubbles of those who want to pretend that all is well in the world. It is politicizing sports fans and educating those who think that sports in general—and athletes in particular—have nothing to offer the struggle for a better world.

Yes, it is also provoking a great deal of ugliness among a segment of fans on social media, not to mention snide smirks from some sports writers who once a year find time to praise people like Muhammad Ali, Bill Russell, Arthur Ashe and others tucked away in the past. They should listen to Lions coach Jim Caldwell, one of only four African-American head coaches in the NFL. When asked about his players getting political the normally taciturn Caldwell said:

I grew up in the 60s, where everybody was socially conscious. I believe in it. I’d be a hypocrite if I stood up here and told you any differently, because more than likely, some of those protests that Dr (Martin Luther) King and some of the others that took a part in non-violent protests, is the reason why I’m standing here in front of you today.

This is a similar moment. Except this movement is not only explicitly about the right to live a life with more opportunity, but the right to simply live. As Howard Zinn said, “You can’t be neutral on a moving train.” The train is leaving the station, even in the world of sports.


Read Next: “Jameis Winston’s Peculiar Kind of Privilege”

Jameis Winston’s Peculiar Kind of Privilege

Jameis Winston

Jameis Winston (AP Photo/John Raoux)

There are only two conclusions one can draw about Florida State football star quarterback Jameis Winston. Either he is a remarkable athlete who has little comprehension of the world beyond the huddle and hired the most callous attorneys on the planet to beat a sexual assault charge. Or he is a remarkable athlete who carries a deeply embittered streak of misogyny. Jameis Winston is currently facing a Florida State code of conduct hearing over charges of sexual assault. These same allegations were deemed to be without merit by the state’s attorney, although the initial investigation by Tallahassee police was so shady it was worthy of its own New York Times exposé.

Yet whether Winston is guilty or innocent, nothing excuses the testimony—published in USA Today—that the quarterback submitted to the code of conduct hearing this week. In his own defense, the Heisman winner writes, “The only thing as vicious as rape is falsely accusing someone of rape.” Read Daniel Roberts for a searing statistical breakdown for how gobsmackingly ridiculous such a statement actually is. The chances of being falsely accused of rape are about as likely as being struck by lightning: one in 2 million. Meanwhile, 25 percent of women on campus say they have survived a sexual assault. Also, as Roberts writes, many high-profile athletes have survived and even thrived after sexual assault accusations and convictions. Meanwhile, actual survivors of sexual assault are often treated like they deserve any pain that lingers.

The statement also repeatedly, over and over again, names the alleged survivor of the assault. Her name is redacted in USA Today because naming accusers of sexual violence is a way of humiliating and “slut-shaming” them into silence, although, thanks to Winston and his attorneys, it is now just a Google search away. And speaking of “slut-shaming”: Winston’s statement is also a calculatingly explicit indictment of a young woman who was a willing partner in a variety of sexual adventures and then—for reasons Winston chalks up to anger over the way his door kept swinging open to his peeping friends—decided to upturn her life and make these accusations.

It is impossible to write about this story and not reflect on the national wave of protests taking place against the police terror inflicted primarily on young black men. As stories of unequal and deadly treatment by cops flood into social media, here is Jameis Winston actually being protected by the Tallahassee police, his college small-town-god status giving him benefits that the late Eric Garner, Michael Brown or Tamir Rice could not imagine. But while Winston might be sheltered and protected, do not think for a moment that it springs from the post-racial hearts of the powers-that-be in Tallahassee. What you see in Florida’s state capital is the “gutter economy” that secretly runs NCAA sports.

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Jameis Winston and his 25-0 record as a Florida State quarterback is not a human being to the cops and administrators and coaching staff of Florida State. If he is any species of mammal at all to them, it is that of the cash cow. He feeds his coach Jimbo Fisher, who got a new $4.1 million annual salary, making him the highest-paid public employee in the state. He feeds the local Chamber of Commerce, pumping $10 million into the local economy for each high-profile home game. He feeds the hotel and restaurant owners to the kids selling bottles of water on the side of the road for tailgaters. He feeds the ten-figure trough of television money that is going into the inaugural college football playoffs. He even feeds the Tallahassee police who are paid directly by an organization called Seminole Boosters to provide security on Game Day. In fact, according to The Boston Globe, three of the officers in the Winston investigation were seeking work with the Seminole Boosters. Of course, Jameis Winston does not see a dime. He is paid in protection and privilege, guilty or innocent. His humanity morphs and he becomes a new creature: something near-mythological best described as half god/half chattel. That’s the gutter economy at work. The relationship has disturbing similarities to the ones outlined by William Rhoden in his book Forty Million Dollar Slaves, about the ways that the enslaved stars of plantation sports were given tastes of luxury that others in bondage could not imagine. No, I am not arguing that college athletes are slaves. But as civil rights historian Taylor Branch has written, the business certainly does have “more than a whiff of the plantation.” In other words, the power relationships that defined 350 years of black existence in this country can certainly change. But especially when profits loom, they can also mutate like a virus, adapting and taking different forms to meet a new set of masters.

The Winston case stirs strong emotions because it brings together two of the ugliest strains of Americana: the history of false accusations of rape leveled against black men; and the systematic—and deadly—slandering of women who dare accuse men of sexual assault. The one thing Jameis Winston and his lawyers have true control over is how he presents himself through this process. His failure in this regard is total.


Read Next: “Why San Francisco Should Just Say ‘No’ to the Olympic Games”

Why San Francisco Should Just Say ‘No’ to the Olympic Games

Olympic rings

The remains of a fountain decorated with the Olympic rings at the Olympic village in northern Athens ten years after the games. (AP Photo/Thanassis Stavrakis)

Debt. Displacement. Militarization of public space. Gentrification on steroids. This describes what the Olympic Games leave in their wake in the host cities where they nest. Whether in Athens, Beijing or London, the hangover is the same no matter what national currency has been lifted.

Debt. Displacement. Militarization of public space. Gentrification on steroids. This also sounds a whole hell of a lot like life in the San Francisco Bay area, where rents continue to skyrocket amidst a stunning stratification of wealth.

San Francisco is now a finalist for the US bid to host the 2024 Summer Games, along with Los Angeles; Washington, DC; and Boston. Presentations to the International Olympic Committee will take place on December 16, and whichever city the USOC puts forward will be a front-runner to host the 2024 Olympics. This column is a plea for the people of the Bay to take a cue from Boston and start organizing now to make sure this does not come to pass.

The working people living in—and getting forced out of—San Francisco do not need long memories to call out the fool’s gold of hosting these kinds of mega events.

In 2013 San Francisco hosted the America’s Cup sailing race, the world’s elite yacht regatta. Organizers of the event assured the city it would be a guaranteed money-maker, a jobs-o-rama, a tourism boost, a can’t-miss win-win that would be funded in large part by private donors.

The only problem was that none of this turned out to be true.

In 2010, the city was told it would get a $1.4 billion economic pick-me-up, but in the end America’s Cup only created an impact of $364 million. Boosters promised almost 9,000 jobs but only 3,800 actually materialized. The private donors turned out to be phantoms, only kicking in about a fourth of the promised $32 million. Meanwhile, Larry Ellison, the billionaire CEO of Oracle, who was a driving force in bringing the event to the Bay Area, milked the event like his own private, golden cow. His yacht squad—Oracle Team USA—won the race in dramatic fashion and he attached Oracle’s annual customer trade-show conference like a barnacle onto the event. City taxpayers, on the other hand, lost money, some $5.5 million.

The Olympics are just like this, except for one small difference: three small zeroes. Instead of millions, with the Olympic games we’re talking billions. And instead of getting a billionaire’s fantasy yacht party, you’ll get a cavalcade of global elites who will expect nothing less than you to turn the city over to both their rule and plunder.

Business leaders from all four candidate cities have assured jittery citizens that hosting the Olympics will merely cost between $4 billion and $5 billion. Notorious construction contractors provide more realistic investments. Initial bids, floated in the early stages of the process, are scandalously low, designed to rally public support. But the history of Olympic city bidding is unequivocal: every Olympics since 1960 has run over-budget. In real terms, the average cost overrun was 179 percent, a far higher rate than that of other mega projects. The 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics magnified this inconvenient truth, racking up a $51 billion price tag, more than all previous winter games combined.

The possibility of San Francisco games costing less than $5 billion is about as likely as finding a one-bedroom in Pacific Heights for $400 a month. The San Francisco Chronicle’s Marcus Gilmer got it right when he asserted that the initial price tag anted up by the four candidate cities is “ridiculously low.”

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San Francisco Giants President and CEO Larry Baer is pushing the bid arm-in-arm with San Francisco Mayor Ed Lee and his senior adviser Tony Winnicker. Former Olympic swimmer Anne Cribbs is also on board—as CEO of the San Francisco Bay Area Sports Organizing Committee, she spearheaded San Francisco’s failed bid for the 2012 Olympics. The team also includes venture capitalist Steve Strandberg. The irony of Baer leading the charge is that the SF Giants—three world titles in five years—are one of the few teams to play in a stadium that wasn’t built on the public dime. They are living proof that private capital can finance their own games and do just fine.

Yet Baer—maybe with an eye on the next Giants stadium—is pressing hard for the games. He said, “It just seems like it’s sort of our moment in time for this region to shine on the international stage.” We always hear this sort of talk about a city being ready to step up to the world’s imaginary podium in the sky, but while we all crane our necks upward, the Olympics are wreaking real problems back on earth. Displacement and gentrification are amplified wherever the Olympics appear.

San Francisco already suffers from all of the problems that the Olympics would exacerbate. Earlier this year we saw protests focused on “Google buses,” the chartered shuttles ferrying tech workers from the city to Silicon Valley that are a glaring symbol of inequality. The Olympics will bring the equivalent of a platinum-plated fleet of Google buses, and, per IOC’s normal requests, their own special driving lanes.

Then there is police brutality. Where the Olympics go, crackdowns on the poor follow. In the wake of Ferguson and the demonstrations that have followed, people in San Francisco and Oakland—the home of Oscar Grant—should ask themselves if they want the kind of hyper-intense policing that come with the games.

In the wake of the America’s Cup, John Avalos of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors said, “The whole event has been nothing more than a stupefying spectacle of how this city works for the top 1 percent on everyone else’s dime.” With the Olympics, the same dynamic applies, only exponentially and in Technicolor: local taxpayers play the role of fiscal backstop, while a privileged sliver of the global 1 percent walks off with the rewards. The time to fight is now, SF. Let the looters of international sports know in advance that SF has a powerful tradition of protest that is ready to be wielded if the Olympics dare to try and make SF their new playground.

Read Next: “Boston Is Already Saying ‘Hell No’ to the 2024 Olympics”

Dave Zirin: ‘This Is Not White-Man-Burden Time to Stop Domestic Violence’

Dave Zirin

Dave Zirin joined Melissa Harris-Perry on her show yesterday to discuss the NFL’s rapid transition from the role of an abuse “enabler” to that of a “savior,” an idea he also explores in this blog post. Responding to an NFL representative’s assertion that they have assembled an “army” to deal with domestic violence, Zirin says that “this is not white-man-burden time to stop domestic violence. You actually have to have agency of the survivor themselves, or you are going to trap people in cycles of violence.”

Jessica McKenzie

St. Louis Rams Players Tell the World That #BlackLivesMatter


Members of the St. Louis Rams raise their arms in a “hands up” gesture to acknowledge the events in Ferguson. (AP Photo/L.G. Patterson)

Anytime someone says that pro athletes should just “shut up and play,” remind them that at every moment of every game “play” is only a small part of what they are actually doing. Instead, their number-one job is being a product. They are the product, selling the righteousness of their global sports brand. They are the models, selling the Nike swooshes that adorn their uniforms or the Gatorade they pour down their throats. They are selling, with each adrenaline pumping play, the myth that spending a billion dollars on this new stadium was a fine investment. They are also often asked to hawk whatever war is under way, their play a glamorous stand-in for blood on faraway battlefields. When fans and the media say to athletes with opinions, “Shut up and play,” they are really saying, “Shut up and sell.”

That is why it was so important, so daring and so transgressive for several members of the St. Louis Rams to show up at their home field to try to sell the idea that black lives do in fact matter. It started before the game, when wide receivers Kenny Britt and Tavon Austin came out of the tunnel with their hands up, in the now internationally recognized “hands up don’t shoot” gesture in solidarity with the family of Ferguson’s Michael Brown. Then Stedman Bailey, Jared Cook and Chris Givens joined them. Later, running back Tre Mason put up his hands after scoring a touchdown. (The fact that Tre Mason is the son of DJ Maseo from De La Soul is worth mentioning if only to point out that the political reach of golden-age hip hop lives on.)

After the game, Britt said, according to the Associated Press, “I don’t want the people in the community to feel like we turned a blind eye to it….What would I like to see happen? Change in America.” He also posted this picture to Instagram of his arm-wraps, with messages of solidarity for Michael Brown written upon them.

Britt wasn’t alone. Cook was challenged by one member of the media who asked why the team hasn’t gone to Ferguson to protest, if they are so serious about it. His answer was honest. He said, “It’s kind of dangerous down there, and none of us want to get caught up in anything…. It takes some guts, it takes some heart, so I admire the people around the world that have been doing it.”

Not surprisingly, the backlash against these actions was flying fast and furious, but not only in the sewers of social media or the right-wing blogs hard at work scouring the web for the arrest records of Britt and other Rams players. The more ominous response was from the St. Louis Police Officers Association, which “condemned” the action and promised an organized response against the NFL, the players and the team. It also released a statement demanding punishment for those who took part in the action, calling it “tasteless” and “offensive.”

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As for social media, the ugliness was on full display. The most common theme, beyond the racist baiting and vitriol, was some form of “If Michael Brown only had his hands up, none of this would have happened.” The fact that sixteen of eighteen witnesses say that he in fact did have his hands up has no bearing. They received the ruling that they wanted and nothing is left to do other than slander the dead.

Meanwhile, as players made their gesture inside the stadium, the organization Lost Voices was protesting on the outside, chanting, “No football, no peace!”

I spoke with Charles, one of the protesters, and he said, “It was beyond heartwarming. Protesters erupted in cheers when I showed them the picture of Rams players with their hands up. They are now true ambassadors of a city and country that is in great pain, but refuses to stop fighting for justice.”

But let the last word go to another athlete who made a gesture on the field for the ages, Dr. John Carlos. In 1968, Dr. Carlos, along with Tommie Smith, famously raised his fist in Mexico City in the name of human rights. I spoke with Dr. Carlos today and he said, “How about those Rams? They may be under contract to play football, but greater than that, they have a right to care about humanity. They have the right to feel whether something is just or unjust. They are entitled to their opinions, most centrally that Michael Brown’s life should not have been taken. Asking them to just ‘shut up and play’ is like asking a human being to be paint on the wall. They have the right to say what they feel in their heart. A lot more athletes need to step up and speak up as well. These atrocities have been going on and we are saying enough is enough. I remember saying in 1968, you think I’m bad, just wait until this new generation comes out. I feel like that new generation is here at last.”


Read Next: Dave Zirin on the “savior blues”

The Savior Blues: Ray Rice Can Play and Roger Goodell Is Revealed as an Accomplice in Abuse

NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell

NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell  (AP Photo/Seth Wenig)

The abuser and the savior: in instances of intimate-partner violence, these roles are often two sides of the same coin—both destructive to a survivor attempting to assert control and escape the cycle of violence. In the case of Ray Rice vs. Roger Goodell and the ruling by Judge Barbara Jones, which has voided the NFL commissioner’s ban of Rice for the entire 2014 season, you see the two sides of the coin on full display. And with this ruling, it has to be said: in the story of Ray Rice and Janay Rice, we have seen Roger Goodell play the role of both “abuser” and “savior” to ruinous effect, without any consideration for the self-determination of Janay Rice.

The role of Roger Goodell as abuser can now be seen with utter clarity. For those who have not been following the case, here is the narrative Goodell put forward that was just summarily shredded by Judge Jones. The commissioner says that he heard about Ray Rice punching Janay Rice and knocking her unconscious and called Ray Rice and Janay Rice into his office to hear what happened from both of them. (This month-old revelation—that Goodell had a survivor tell her story to her abusive partner’s boss in front of her abuser—alone should have triggered his immediate dismissal.) The NFL commissioner then determined that “both were at fault” and suspended Rice for two games. Outrage ensued, so Goodell, in full damage-control mode, hurriedly announced a new sweeping set of guidelines. These new rules—not applicable to Rice, who had already been punished—would include a six-game suspension for domestic violence for a first offense and then a lifetime ban for a second infraction.

Then the videotape of Ray Rice punching Janay Rice dropped, and the NFL’s world stopped turning. The Baltimore Ravens released Rice, and NFL media sycophants became born-again firebrands. As for Roger Goodell, he not only announced more sweeping changes but said that the videotape revealed that Ray Rice had lied to him about what had taken place in that elevator, and in light of this “new information,” Ray Rice was now suspended for the entire season. To believe this, one would have to believe that Roger Goodell, despite a paper trail to the contrary, had never before seen the videotape. You would have to believe that the bottom-feeders at TMZ have greater resources than the team of former FBI and Secret Service agents who work for NFL security. You would have to believe Roger Goodell over a slew of witnesses who say that Rice described in exacting fashion what had happened on that video. Judge Jones chose not to believe the commissioner. She has said instead that Goodell’s story is simply not credible, and the inference is that he suspended Ray Rice indefinitely out of public relations anxiety or, if one is being profoundly generous, out of a guilty conscience.

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Now Ray Rice is looking for a team to sign him and Roger Goodell is exposed as a liar. He has also exposed himself to the world as someone who has flipped from being a domestic violence enabler to a self-proclaimed savior. By having an NFL that now says it will end the careers of those suspected of domestic abuse, Goodell has chosen to wear the incredibly ruinous “savior” hat—a hat that flows from the same logic of toxic masculinity that led to years of cover-ups of abuse. That means he has created a new revictimizing system that takes the power away from survivors about how to seize control of their own lives and map out a plan to be safe and end cycles of abuse. Instead, the power rests with Goodell to end the careers, the economic opportunities and the public lives of those suspected of abuse. This will not only disincentivize some survivors from coming forward; it could also create dangerous situations for those figuring out safety plans and strategies to leave abusive partners. The survivor needs to figure out—with assistance if desired—how to best remain safe: either by staying in or ending these relationships. That is not the job of Roger Goodell or the NFL. And frankly, given the track record of a man who continued a practice of covering up instances of domestic violence until the videotape was released, why would anyone trust Roger Goodell to save anyone or anything other than his own career?

Ray Rice released a statement through the NFLPA where he said, “I made an inexcusable mistake and accept full responsibility for my actions.” We should all be waiting for Roger Goodell to take full responsibility for his own actions, as both cover-up artist and wanna-be savior. The NFL is a place where toxic masculinity not only festers but is valorized every single Sunday. The commissioner’s office should ideally be a place where that toxicity is countered, not where it originates.

(This could not have been written without the assistance of former intimate-partner violence counselor and survivor’s advocate Anais Surkin.)

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