Republicans Wear Sneakers, Too

In 1990, Democratic challenger Harvey Gantt opposed Republican incumbent Jessie Helms in North Carolina's Senate race. Gantt, an early civil rights leader and Mayor of Charlotte, ultimately lost the election, thanks in part to a racially charged advertisement from the Helms campaign. The now infamous ad, “Hands,” depicted a white man crinkling up a piece of paper after losing his job to a minority, implying, of course, that unfair racial quotas were to blame. Written by Republican strategist Alex Castellanos, the ad would go down in political history as one of the more egregious (and successful) exploitations of white resentment for political gain.

When asked to endorse Gantt for the Senate seat, NBA legend and North Carolina native Michael Jordan refused, stating, “Republicans wear sneakers, too.” The implication was clear, and the message came through loudly: As an avid businessman and superstar athlete, Jordan was happy to shelve his politics—and self dignity, for that matter—in favor of merchandise sales.

Flash forward nineteen years. Last week, conservative radio personality and former ESPN NFL commentator Rush Limbaugh announced interest in buying the beleaguered St. Louis Rams. Rejecting Michael Jordan-style political ambivalence, players across the league openly expressed dissatisfaction. Mathias Kiwanuka of the New York Giants, for example, was quoted as saying:

"I mean, I don't want anything to do with a team that he has any part of. He can do whatever he wants, it is a free country. But if it goes through, I can tell you where I am not going to play […] I am not going to draw a conclusion from a person off of one comment, but when it is time after time after time and there's a consistent pattern of disrespect and just a complete misunderstanding of an entire culture that I am a part of, I can't respect him as a man."

Kiwunaka was not alone. In 2003, Limbaugh resigned as an ESPN commentator after making racially charged remarks about Donovan McNabb, suggesting that the Pro Bowl quarterback only reached stardom due to the media’s irrational desire for “a black quarterback [to] do well.” Current players, like New York Jets linebacker Bart Scott, have not forgotten these statements:

“It’s an oxymoron that he criticized Donovan McNabb. A lot of us took it as more of a racial-type thing. I can only imagine how his players would feel. I know I wouldn’t want to play for him. He’s a jerk. He’s an —. What he said (about McNabb) was inappropriate and insensitive, totally off-base. He could offer me whatever he wanted, I wouldn’t play for him. … I wouldn’t play for Rush Limbaugh. My principles are greater and I can’t be bought.”

In a league that’s between 60 and 70 per cent black, it’s more than a little insulting to imagine a man that once suggested the NFL “all too often looks like a game between the Bloods and the Crips without any weapons” could become a team owner. In fact, it’s absolutely outrageous. That a man with such overt, explicit contempt for African Americans could purchase and control an organization that profits from the labor of black athletes signals far too much historical baggage to be appropriate. Sports hold a special, unifying place in American culture, and as a result shouldn’t be a venue that rewards bigotry and divisiveness. Limbaugh’s disrespect of the league, its players, and African Americans in general are all legitimate grounds to oppose his involvement with the NFL—all opinions, I might add, that exist above and beyond any objection to his political views.

Given Limbaugh’s long history of racially charged remarks, it’s not surprising that players were offended by his announcement. But what is surprising is the public nature of their comments. Normally, team owners work to thwart political activism and diffuse dissent among their players. Bad for business, per the Jordan model of merchandise sales. But with the controversy over Limbaugh’s announcement, professional athletes may be moving toward a new model of political discourse, rejecting the Jordan template and re-embracing self dignity. The recent news that Limbaugh was officially dropped from the group bidding to buy the Rams only underscores the potential power of civically engaged professional athletes. Maybe this is the dawn of a new era—an era of renewed self-respect, moral integrity and civic engagement—in professional sports.

Tony Kornheiser of ESPN’s Pardon the Interruption made this very point earlier in the week, suggesting, “We are out of the Michael Jordan era where everyone wears sneakers, and back to the Jim Brown era of social activism.”

No complaints here.

Ted Kennedy’s Call to Service (And How I Got Into Harvard)

It’s not wholly surprising, given the current political climate, that Ted Kennedy’s legacy has been framed by the mass media in relation to healthcare reform. But Kennedy’s political and public impact reached far beyond bipartisan policy legislation. For me at least, Kennedy’s most powerful (and, successful) leadership came in the form of support for service and collective social change.

Following his death, Be The Change founder/City Year co-founder/potential candidate for Kennedy’s vacant senate seat Alan Khazei offered a moving tribute that highlighted Kennedy’s influence on nationwide opportunities for service and civic engagement. In part, Khazei wrote:

Senator Kennedy is the true godfather of the service movement. Without his tireless commitment, this movement as it thrives today never would have come about. He indelibly changed the fabric of America by not just inspiring, but personally enabling millions of citizens to give their time and skills to improve their communities and country. Through his visionary and bipartisan leadership in authoring the National and Community Service Act of 1990, the legislation that created AmeriCorps in 1993, and most recently with his good friend Senator Orrin Hatch, the Edward M. Kennedy Serve America Act of 2009, he created the infrastructure that empowers people all across our nation to put their energy and idealism to work addressing critical social needs.

While Kennedy’s service-oriented community development legislation continues to empower and invigorate communities across the country, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the personal impact these organizations had on my own life.

In the summer of 2006, I received a community-based research fellowship through the University of Michigan. The fellowship paired me with a non-profit community development corporation in Detroit, where I created and administered a neighborhood-wide survey. But the non-profit didn’t foot the bill for my services. Nor did Michigan. Instead, my research was subsidized by funds from AmeriCorps. In fact, two other Michigan students also worked at this particular non-profit for the summer, and both were funded by AmeriCorps. One was a graduate student in urban planning, and catalogued the non-profit’s real estate holdings. The other, an undergraduate student in Michigan’s business school, created and organized the Northwest Detroit Farmer’s Market, now in its third year of operation. If you know anything about Detroit, you know how monumental it is to offer fresh produce to the city’s residents. And all this work was made possible by AmeriCorps funding.

My research with the non-profit later became my research on the non-profit, forming the basis for my senior Honors thesis. That research became the basis for my applications to graduate school, which led me to Harvard where I study inequality and public policy. So in a Kevin Bacon-esque “six degrees of social justice separation,” Ted Kennedy helped me get into Harvard.

On a larger sociological level, Kennedy’s commitment to government-funded service organizations and legislation influences two related, critical components of urban poverty: civic engagement and social organization. When work disappears from central cities, as Harvard sociologist William Julius Wilson has so brilliantly argued, the rhythm and pulse of neighborhoods are disrupted. A lack of employment opportunities not only influences neighborhood economic stability, but it also removes valuable role models from day-to-day urban life. Social organization—the kind of informal rules and regulations that act as social control mechanisms and structure interpersonal interactions—is undermined when men and women don’t work regular, consistent hours.

Moreover neighborhood poverty, in part influenced by the aforementioned lack of employment opportunities, often reduces levels of civic engagement. Low levels of civic engagement often means less community cohesion and cooperation, which suppresses political power and places formidable barriers against paths to upward mobility. But organizations like AmeriCorps and other service groups empower impoverished neighborhoods and encourage active civic engagement—powerful mechanisms that help reduce inequality.

To be sure, service organizations like AmeriCorps are not without their conservative critics. But that’s probably just a testament to their continued relevance and effectiveness in bringing about social change. It’s also a testament to Ted Kennedy’s lasting legacy, one that stretches far beyond the fight for healthcare reform.

Faith, Family, and Football

Ask any former high school football player to reflect on his playing days and you’ll undoubtedly notice a certain sparkle in his eye. He’ll crack a smile, look off into the distance, and wave his hands as if he were fending of blockers or stiff-arming a potential tackler.

But sometimes high school football means more to a community than just a game.

It may sound trite, but in Parkersburg, Iowa—a deeply religious community in America’s heartland—high school football is an institution. Each Friday night is a community event. Football is the source of community identity. Football is a community lifeline. Indeed, the Aplington-Parkersburg Falcons have helped unite the sleepy Iowa town after two devastating tragedies. First, in 2008, tornadoes and floods ravished the community, decimating businesses and homes. Buildings could be rebuilt, but nothing shook the foundations of Parkersburg more than the destruction of the Aplington-Parkersburg High School football stadium.

The community rallied together, ultimately placing a priority on rebuilding the football stadium rather than their own homes. You see, a return to normalcy in Parkersburg was defined more by their Friday night community routine than any other aspect of their lives. As one parent eloquently put it, “They might not have their home or their car or their X-Box or any clothes, but they still have each other. They still have football.”

A second tragedy beset the community a mere two months ago: Falcons head coach Ed Thomas was murdered by a former player in the high school weight room. After 35 years of coaching, Thomas was as much a Parkersburg institution as high school football itself. But the team—and the community—pulled through. ESPN ran a special on the tragedy, showing footage from Thomas’ emotionally charged funeral. In one of the most poignant gestures I’ve ever seen, countless Iowa high school football teams, all dressed in their respective team jerseys, lined the road as the funeral procession drove to the cemetery.

Last Friday, the Falcons took the field against archrival Dike-New Hartford for the first time since their coach’s murder. ESPN carried the game nationally, and I tuned in. The play-by-play commentators discussed both the tornado and the murder, noting Parkersburg’s unique resilience. Reese Davis mentioned that university researchers have recently descended upon the community, studying how Parkersburg was able to rebound from adversity so quickly and so successfully. Herm Edwards replied that the answer was simple: “Faith, family, and football.”

But the scene at Thomas’ funeral procession, with hundreds of local football players paying the ultimate respect to a coach they never knew personally, points to a larger phenomenon. What sets Parkersburg apart from other communities isn’t so much their profound religiosity; rather, it’s strong community cohesion and extraordinarily high levels of collective efficacy that distinguishes Parkersburg from comparable communities. Unlike other communities, local residents here are more engaged, more willing to help their neighbors out in times of need. Political scientist Robert Putnam has made a career analyzing this social process, studying how civic engagement affords social capital, which in turn can be leveraged for political power and other resources. Faith may be important, sure. But it’s strong social organization and a collective identity—defined by the local football team—that makes Parkersburg so unique, and so resilient.

When I played high school football, I distinctly remember gazing up into the stands, thinking, Where are all these people were coming from? I mean, they couldn’t all be parents cheering for their sons, or former gridiron giants reflecting on their glory days. In fact, the majority of fans were local community members, old and young, coming together each Friday night to collectively embrace the local team.

I never really grasped what prompted them to put their lives on hold and come watch us play week after week. Now I do.

I Put On For My City

As a graduate student, my scholarly “career” is largely based on pointing out everything that’s wrong with the world. I dissect every little intricacy of U.S. public policy, deride American culture for its excesses, and lambast other scholars for “unconvincing” arguments. Rarely do I get an opportunity to point out what’s good in the world, which social policies work, and which scholars impress me.

Two recent articles in the Detroit Free Press have given me a reason to rejoice in the prospects of positive civic engagement—that is, something good to write about. On April 15th of this year, the Free Press ran an article on Bryan Barnhill, a Detroit native and recent Harvard graduate. Upon graduation with a degree in government, Bryan had numerous job offers throughout the East Coast. Nevertheless, he was committed to return home to Detroit. Quoted in the Free Press, he said

"I was inundated with the negative press going on in Detroit, and I was also being inspired by the political and social transformation that was happening in our country with the election of Barack Obama. I'm not prepared to take flight and leave Detroit, because where there is crisis, there is opportunity [emphasis added].”

Yet, Bryan couldn’t find a job anywhere in the city. Attempts to contact city agencies specializing in urban planning, real estate, and politics all failed. Here is a young man with dedication, drive, and commitment, unable to find a job in a city that needs his knowledge and expertise most.

This past Friday’s Free Press ran a follow-up on the newly employed young man. After the original article ran last month, Bryan received countless job offers and even a few pleas to run for City Council. Today, Bryan begins work at Southwest Solutions, a non-profit organization focusing on psychiatric counseling to mentally ill people in conjunction with community organizing and real estate development. Bryan’s specific duties include housing and real estate programs, and he is excited about his new job. I have to say, I’m excited too.

Bryan represents everything that is courageous about Detroit, everything that is valued at Harvard, and everything that we as a nation expect from our young people. This is the kind of non-tangible, non-measurable action we need, beyond bricks and mortar housing and resources. His commitment to his city—a city in need—is unparalleled and commendable. I, for one, wish him all the success in the world.

We need more Bryan Barnhills in Detroit. Hell, we need more Bryan Barnhills everywhere.

I Spoke Too Soon: Athletes and Civic Engagement

Well, it looks like I might have been a little premature in my prognosis from last night's post.

My friend Shilpin alerted me to this article in yesterday's Detroit Free Press discussing Larry Foote's trade to the Detroit Lions. Foote, a Detroit native and former star linebacker for the University of Michigan (Go Blue!), discussed his desire to make the Lions a winning franchise and his excitement to return home to Detroit. Foote expressed unparalleled optimism--and committment--to the city:

“Detroit is on the up-and-up,” Foote said. “We’re starting fresh with the football team. We’ve got a new mayor. We can’t do nothing but go up, to be honest.

“But people have got to be willing to roll up their sleeves and get to the root of it and turn things around, and I’m definitely one that’s on the positive side of that. I’m excited. Just off the field, just doing stuff in the community and reaching these young kids and getting this place turned around.”

Don't get me wrong; I'm still pretty skeptical about the role of sports stadiums in urban revitalization efforts. And I'm also pretty worried about the low voter turnout in the mayoral election. But Foote's comments signal a shift in our thinking about sports, politics, and civic engagement. The business of sports hasn't done much for ailing cities, but maybe athletes can. Let's see if Foote makes good on his word, and maybe others will follow suit.

So Much for Civic Engagement

NBA Hall of Famer Dave Bing won Detroit's mayoral election last night. With former mayor Kwame Kilpatrick's arrest in August and the auto industry bailouts fresh in our collective memory, this is certainly a welcomed piece of good news.

Or is it?

Bing, who made a cameo in one of my earlier posts, will finish out Kilpatrick's term, ending on December 31st of this year. There's a few points of interest in this story. First of all, Bing is a former businessman, and his election rehashes old conversations about the idea of business leadership as viable political experience. Bing also won in a pretty tight fashion - 52% to 48% - and maybe there's a story there about split constituencies, or conflicting political alliances. But the telling storyline here is the voter turnout: 15%. Fifteen per cent of registered voters actually voted.

Look, I recognize that voter turnout is typically low during special elections. Hell, Bing will barely be in office seven months before his term is up. And voter turnout for the 2005 Mayoral race was only about 33% - certainly not impressive.

Still, with Kilpatrick's national news-worthy scandal and the continued decline of the city, you'd think more people would be passionate about this election. This low civic engagement points to what some social scientists call the low "collective efficacy" of impoverished neighborhoods. Communities with low levels of collective efficacy are less cohesive, less socially organized, less likely to exhibit social control, less politically engaged, and more likely to concentrate violence and perpetuate existing poverty. Detroit, on the whole, certainly qualifies as one such community.

A dew days ago, ESPN columnist/reporter/pundit/all around brilliant analyst Jemele Hill wrote an extensive piece on Bing that's worth checking out. Hill wrote about Bing's NBA career, his relationship to Detroit after retirement from the NBA, and his vaguely articulated "platform" (Change the business climate. Reduce crime. Focus on education). This is certainly a compelling story for ESPN, but how good is it for Detroit?

It's tough to say what changes Bing will make; it's an understatement to say that his policy platform is a little on the light side. Will Bing's election fix Detroit? Probably not. But a good start might be to invigorate civic engagement and get Detroit residents excited about the democratic process. Because they certainly aren't excited now.