A Tough Conversation About Race Is The Kind Of Locker Room Talk This Country Needs

A Tough Conversation About Race Is The Kind Of Locker Room Talk This Country Needs
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Politics is the dominion of pivoting. However, as NFL fans and citizens around the country reach peak hysteria over the national anthem on this given Sunday, one can’t help but wonder: Can we talk about the real issue now?

Colin Kaepernick took a knee because he was upset about police brutality, and the associated historical context in which it exists that our schools fail to teach and our news media headlines fail to link to the present. Every person has a right to observe the anthem at their discretion, but instead of being concerned with the reason why Kaep took a knee our country instead conjured an ancillary subplot. We pivoted to patriotism. We pretended once again that the impossible idea of a colorblind society is one of our nation’s core principles. Nevermind that personhood was circumspect in the Constitution or Francis Scott Key’s overtly racist third verse; instead of meeting the needs of black America we questioned their peaceful mechanisms for redress. We did this under the first black president while Ferguson and Baltimore burned, and we reprised the role in Charlottesville when half the country gave credence to the Donald Trump’s idea that some of the protestors chanting “blood and soil” were “very fine people.” ESPN anchors deemed Kaepernick mediocre, and sidelined him alongside the likes of Tim Tebow, his Evangelical kneeling predecessor.

It’s not that the conversation about patriotism is irrelevant to public discourse. Someone burns a flag every year and someone else flips out, often justifiably. Enduring tests to freedom of speech are endemic to American society. The problem is that the patriotism conversation is tangential to Kaep’s point. Whether you’re a so-called snowflake or you’re making America great again, surely a majority of sane people must recognize that feedback loop. We can face off circuitously until a riot erupts in the stands, but that isn’t what we were challenged to do. We were asked to think critically about why black life matters. Why a professional black athlete might feel uncomfortable observing a ritual that doesn’t feel inclusive. Why his uniform might act as body armor, but his skin puts him at risk when he steps off the field.

We have failed to address that conversation, and now we are engaged in a chaotic weekly meltdown that is barely inching forward. It’s like a long fourth down after multiple unsportsmanlike conduct penalties while the game clock expires and punting is pointless.

I went to my first football game when I was a week old. My father is head football coach of a team in San Diego. Our family is straight out of Friday Night Lights. If Trump succeeds at building his wall, we’ll be able to see it from our facilities. For 37 years I’ve grown up with primarily black and brown brothers in my football family. I became politically active my freshman year at UCLA when I read in the Daily Bruin that there were only dozens of black men enrolled in my college who weren’t there on athletic scholarship. The revelation prompted me to sign up for African American politics courses the next semester, which were taught by the son of the then-Minnesota Vikings General Manager, and I proceeded to spend much of the last few decades engaged in the issues of privilege my education and life experiences raised. I worked in political media for 15 years, moving deeper into the conversation on a personal and systemic level. Every Fall weekend I was by my father’s side on our sideline, deeply invested in our teams and reconciling the discrepancies.

My grandfather was a cop. My cousins are cops. I worry for their safety, and recognize that they are often put in the position of serving as a bandaid when our social institutions are hemorrhaging.

I’ve also been highly active on behalf of our service members, specially with the great Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America, the evangelical Serving California foundation for vets with post-traumatic stress, and the Travis Manion Foundation for those who made the ultimate sacrifice and are no longer with us. Many of our country’s finest service members are former football players of color; a good number of our players over the years have served in the military.

I currently run a non-profit for rape victims that was largely inspired by the work of veterans to educate the public about PTSD. I came of age overhearing football players in the locker room making bets about who could sleep with the football coach’s daughter first, and I live in a country where our president has said that kind of talk is acceptable.

I could write a dissertation on the problematic and powerful dynamics of football. It physically pains me to consider the tremendously complex social constructions that underscore the competition. But when the clock is running and our team is doing its best to succeed, time and circumstance stop. I’m always all in. For a few hours, we’re a unit in pursuit of a common purpose. That spirit is as quintessentially American to me as the stars and stripes, and more beautiful because of its diversity.

The NFL may be part of the entertainment industry, and the positive values most of the players were exposed to as amateurs may be sullied by the likes of Draft Kings, disproportionally white corporate executives, and lucrative endorsement deals. But in high school and junior college stadiums around America, football is important and our kids are watching. They’re thinking about what all this means.

I unequivocally support every player who kneels or sits during our games or any game, not only because of our collective right to peaceful protest but because the national anthem has problematic passages. I don’t want to talk about whether the players should sit or stand anymore, I want to talk about their safety.

The NFL might produce vague, tear-jerker statements about unity. It’s not enough. The teams, the players union, and the fans need to focus and shift this conversation to police brutality. It’s a hard conversation, but it’s worth it. It’s not distracting from the game; it’s an issue that impacts more than three quarters of the players.

There’s no Heisman trophy for sidestepping the real issue.

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