Political Activism and Expression in Today’s NBA

The Steve Mills ’81 Sports, Race and Society Lecture is presented by Princeton African American Studies and the Princeton Department of Athletics.

 

Overview from the Princeton Alumni Weekly – 

NBA Commissioner Adam Silver told a Princeton audience that when a handful of the league’s stars wore “I Can’t Breathe” T-shirts during warmups last year, following a Staten Island, N.Y., grand jury’s decision not to indict the police officer involved in the death of Eric Garner, he appreciated their effort to express their point of view.

Speaking about Chicago Bulls guard Derrick Rose, the first player to wear the shirt, Silver said, “Credit to him — he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how much more effective that would be than making a statement to a reporter after a game.” But Silver cautioned that too many political statements on the court would be “a disservice to the fans, who come to see a basketball game.”

Steve Mills ’81, general manager of the New York Knicks, and Craig Robinson ’83, an ESPN commentator and former college coach, joined Silver for the March 24 discussion of “Political Expression and Activism in Today’s NBA,” moderated by Professor Eddie Glaude *97.

Black Father in Letter to His Son

Dear Langston,

I thought of you when I saw the son of Alton Sterling weeping at a press conference. It was the latest of a string of haunting public rituals of grief. The police had killed another black person. His cries made me think of you. It seems, ever since the murder of Trayvon Martin—and you were only fifteen then—that you have had to come to terms with this pressing fact: that police can wantonly kill us, and there seems to be little or no protection. That even I can’t protect you.

I remembered that day when the grand jury in Cleveland declined to indict the police officers who killed Tamir Rice. We were in an airport, traveling home. You cursed out loud and paced liked a trapped animal. I didn’t know how to speak to your rage. It was familiar to me, but I didn’t know what to say. How could I keep it from seeping in and coloring your soul a deep shade of blue? And when I read your Facebook posts in response to the death of Sterling and Philando Castile, I felt the sting of your anger. It too was familiar. You are your grandfather’s and father’s child.

James Baldwin wrote—and you know how much I love Baldwin—in “The Uses of the Blues” that “in every generation, ever since Negroes have been here, every Negro mother and father has had to face that child and try to create in that child some way of surviving this particular world, some way to make the child who will be despised not despise himself.” He wrote that in 1964, and here we are in 2016, and I am worried about the state of your spirit—worried that the ugliness of this world and the nastiness of some of the white people who inhabit it might dirty you on the inside. Might take away your infectious smile and replace it with a permanent scowl.

I find myself more often than not, and upon reflection this is an astonishing thing to say no less think, wishing you were seven years old again. You were adorable at seven. The vexations of the teenage years were far off, and you still liked me. But I say this not because I find having an empty nest unbearable, although at times I do, or that I long to raise a teenager again—and eventually you would be that maddening teenager again. I just say it because I feel that you would be safer at home, with us.

Those tears, son, shook me. Diamond Reynolds’s four-year-old baby consoling her mother made me tremble. I love you, and I don’t know what I would do if anything ever happened to you. But I am proud to see your radical rage—your refusal to believe what this world says about you. Keep fighting. And remember, as your grandmother reminds me with all of the wisdom that Mississippi living can muster, that I won’t stop worrying about you until die.

Love,

Dad


Dear Dad,

When I saw those videos of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile, I thought of you and mom. I thought of Michael Brown’s mother and the emotions she felt when they stole her son from her, and I wondered about the pain and anguish you both would feel if that was me in those videos. Then I, too, saw the video of Alton Sterling’s son, and I thought about if it had been one of you in those videos, stolen from me by a trigger-happy policeman. The thought alone triggered emotions inside me that I didn’t know existed. I wept.

I remember when I first really started getting into activism. You were always checking up on me, making sure I was safe and that I was being careful about what I said and who I said it to. I thought you were being your typical dad self, over-protective of your little boy. I also remember when I started getting death threats on Facebook and Twitter. A neo-Nazi group had put my picture up on their Twitter page. I was terrified. I ran to you.

You may not have known it then, but your presence at the time was perhaps one of the most important things that could have happened to me. On the outside I appeared to be able to keep my composure, but on the inside I was scared. With a single tweet, my confidence and feeling of safety was shattered. To be honest, I almost didn’t want to go outside. The world seemed like it was doing everything in its power to destroy me. I was overwhelmed. And despite your parental instincts, which I know were screaming to pull me off social media, you pushed me to reach higher, to stand by the right, and to rise above the ugliness I was experiencing. You taught me that fear is natural, but it’s what we do in the face of fear that determines what kind of person we want to be. I will never forget those words. They motivated me. It was exactly what I needed to hear.

In these times of injustice, great anger and grief, I find myself consistently asking, “What would my father do?” Crazy, right? I’m actually listening to your advice for once. But it’s your advice that keeps me going. It’s what you taught me that keeps me pushing for justice. It’s knowing that you love and support me that gives me some sense of safety in this cruel world. And that is everything I need.

Funny, I too find myself wishing that I were a kid again. The world seemed so much simpler back then. But then I remember Tamir Rice. I remember Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown and Aiyana Jones. I look at the faces of countless black bodies piling up in our streets. And I remember my own experiences with police officers as a kid. The struggle must continue, for our future’s sake.

I love you, Dad.

Langston

Where Can I Imagine You Have Been?: A Reading and Conversation

Award-winning poet/critic Claudia Rankine read from her work on Wednesday, February 10, at 4:30 p.m. in the Berlind Theatre at McCarter Theatre Center. After the reading, Tracy K. Smith, director of the Program in Creative Writing, joined Claudia Rankine for an onstage conversation. The event, part of the Althea Ward Clark W’21 Reading Series, was free and open to the public.

The New Book, From #BlackLivesMatter to Black Liberation

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Learn more about the book.

The eruption of mass protests in the wake of the police murders of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri and Eric Garner in New York City have challenged the impunity with which officers of the law carry out violence against Black people and punctured the illusion of a postracial America. The Black Lives Matter movement has awakened a new generation of activists.

In this stirring and insightful analysis, activist and scholar Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor surveys the historical and contemporary ravages of racism and persistence of structural inequality such as mass incarceration and Black unemployment. In this context, she argues that this new struggle against police violence holds the potential to reignite a broader push for Black liberation.

What Has the Obama Era Meant for Young Black People?

As we enter the twilight of Barack Obama’s presidency, WNYC’s Arun Venugopal hosted a live conversation in The Greene Space Thursday, May 14 that asked: What has the Obama era meant for young black men?

A conversation with Professor Imani Perry of Princeton University, journalist Syreeta McFadden and Dr. Khalil Muhammad of the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture.

The Katrina Disaster Now: The Lasting Effects of Environmental Racism

Professor Joshua Guild and the activist Malik Rahim discuss the environment, race, class, justice, history, and the New Orleans community post-Hurricane Katrina.

Malik Rahim was raised in New Orleans’ Algiers neighborhood. He has spent many years studying and organizing around housing and prison issues. He was a founding member of the Black Panthers’ Louisiana Chapter, the anti-death penalty campaign Pilgrimage for Life (with Sister Helen Prejean and others) and the successful National Coalition to Free the Angola Three. Malik was also a founder and operator of Algiers Development Center and Invest Transitional Housing, an ex-offenders program which housed over 1,000 men, women and children. He is co-founder and outreach organizer of Housing is a Human Right, an affordable housing non-profit organization in San Francisco.