Revisiting the State of Racism in the NBA
The continued stories of discrimination towards the athletes in the world’s most progressive professional sport
IN EARLY NOVEMBER, I wrote about the NBA’s efforts to reform and end racism in their league. More specifically, I wrote about the controversial player-fan relationship, relating it to the way people view animals at a zoo. I also wrote about the relationship between team governors (previously known as “team owners”) and players, and how the “plantation mentality” still plagued athletes.
But there are more stories to be told, more issues to be uncovered — which is why I write today as our world delves deeper into the issue of racism as I speak.
Athletes experience a lifetime of insults, harassment, and prejudice — so I can only hope to reach the surface of what they experience. Still, it is invaluable to reflect on the past to see what can change in the future.
And with as great of a spotlight being placed on racism and inequality as I can remember in my life, now is a perfect time to reflect on stories of inequity in the NBA — which is now, fairly or not, known as the standard-bearer for justice and progressiveness among the major professional sports.
So today, my goal in writing this piece is to uncover more about what it means to be discriminated against — even as a professional athlete and a member of the top 1% of society.
THE ROOTS OF the NBA’s racist culture began in the 1950s, in Boston, Massachusetts, a town known for its passionate sports fans, but also its blatant, virulent racism.
When then-Celtics owner Walter Brown selected Chuck Cooper with his 14th selection in the draft, people told him that Cooper couldn’t play in the NBA and he was making a mistake — all because Cooper was a “negro.”
Six years later, the Hall-of-Fame coach Red Auerbach traded two future Hall-of-Famers, who were white, to draft Bill Russell, the sport’s first African-American superstar. Despite having the first African-American in the league, the first all-black starting five in NBA history, and the first black coach (which was also Russell), Boston never changed its ways.
Not even thirteen rings could change the discriminatory attitude of Boston fans towards those early Celtics. Not even THIRTEEN rings.
Thirteen champions is the equivalent of watching the Warriors’ dynasty — if they repeated their success four times over. It is the equivalent of seeing two Michael Jordan-led dynasties. Nobody has come close to that level of dominance ever again. Not a single team.
Throughout those years, Russell and his teammates saw their houses vandalized with racial slurs, defecation, and even a burning cross. When Russell’s iconic #6 was sent to the rafters, he did it in private, creating a closed ceremony — all because he felt he was disrespected by Boston fans throughout his career.
Tom Sanders, another early draftee by the Celtics, claimed that the city of Boston was so distant to him that he would leave for his safety. “I was 212.4 miles away from New York City,” he said. “There were times I finished practice at 12:00, jumped in my machine after learning how to drive and bought a car, and drive to New York. [I came] back the next morning.”
For as far removed from today as the stories of Cooper, Russell, and the legendary early-Celtics seem, the reality is that these same issues continue today.
One time, after another game at the TD Garden, current Celtics guard Marcus Smart was driving home. When a light turned green, Smart honked his horn, as a woman and a little boy were standing in the crosswalk.
“Excuse me, ma’am, you better get out of the street before you and your son get hit. Cars are coming. I don’t want you to get hit,” Smart recalled exclaiming at the lady. The response he received was telling.
“F — you, you f — — — n — — — ,” she exclaimed back. The people around her were shocked. “Did she have no self-awareness,” many must have thought. And her lack of self-awareness wasn’t the fact that she used a racial slur — no, that was expected in a city with as brutal a background as Boston. The reason she wasn’t self-aware was that, on her back, was a large number “4” with “THOMAS” embroidered along the top.
Yes, she was wearing an Isaiah Thomas jersey, she attended the very game that Marcus Smart had just appeared in, and she referred to him as the N-word, all within the course of mere hours.
A few years later, a fan was banned from T.D. Garden for using a racial slur at then-Warriors center DeMarcus Cousins — who was quick to retort back at the fan and alert league officials and referees of the matter.
Boston as a city has grown far more welcoming to its superstar athletes today, but it isn’t hard to see how a legacy of racism — even from early team executives — remains today. Think about it. Owners pass down money, power, and control — but they also pass down the same ideologies and misconceptions that were prevalent in their time.
Among those ideologies is racism.
WHEN THE ATLANTA Hawks’ team plane touched down in Newark in early April of 2015, nobody could have anticipated what would transpire over the next twenty-four hours.
Hours earlier, the Hawks dominated the Phoenix Suns, and two weeks prior, they clinched the top spot in the Eastern Conference, part of their improbable 60-win campaign in 2015.
After checking into the Ritz Carlton, teammates Thabo Sefolosha and Pero Antic headed for 1 Oak, a nightclub in the Chelsea district. Unbeknownst to them, another NBA player was there, and it was Chris Copeland, a former New York Knick who was fighting to keep his spot on the Milwaukee Bucks.
At 4 A.M., about an hour and a half, after Sefolosha and Antic arrived at the club, a fight broke out on the street right outside of the club. As a result of the fight, Copeland was stabbed and the police were called. The rest remains a largely forgotten moment in both NBA history and the movement for equal rights for ethnic minorities.
“Get the hell out!” exclaimed an officer towards Sefolosha. After being forced from the scene, Sefolosha was led towards a cab. After trying to give a homeless person twenty dollars, Sefolosha was told that he was “going to jail” as he was violently brought down by five officers.
As his friend, Antic, exclaimed that he didn’t do anything wrong, Sefolosha’s leg was violently hit by a retractable baton. His arms and neck were being grabbed, and he couldn’t move. Only adrenaline prevented him from feeling the full extent of the pain.
But all Sefolosha could think about was his leg. That same leg that was hit by the baton was swelling — and swelling rapidly, at that. After he and Antic finally were let out of custody, the extent of the damage caused by police brutality was revealed: Sefolosha “separated the ligament on the inside of [his] ankle, torn the ligaments on the front, side, and outside, and broken [his] fibula.” Needless to say, his season was over.
And in a year where the Hawks’ inability to slow down LeBron James in the playoffs, as well as an untimely injury to Kyle Korver, destroyed all of their momentum from the regular season in the playoffs, they desperately needed the veteran savvy and defensive abilities of Sefolosha.
The officers charged Sefolosha with obstruction of governmental administration, disorderly conduct, and resisting arrest. The district attorney claimed that Sefolosha was “entitled and disdainful” — a stereotypical characterization of professional athletes.
Six months later, and Sefolosha was exonerated on all charges put forth against him. He later filed a $50-million lawsuit against the NYPD.
But the point remains. Sefolosha, a player of Swiss and South-African descent, was subject to the same treatment experienced by other ethnic minorities, despite his status among the country’s upper class.
In a sentiment that is now widely shared in the wake of the death of George Floyd, Sefolosha, in October of 2015, while reflecting on his experience, questioned, “In a situation like this, you are helpless. If there’s six people jumping me outside of the club, I scream, ‘Police, police!’ If the police are doing this to me, who you want me to turn to?”
THE MOMENT WAS almost too good to be true, the anticipation of the exhilaration of a lifetime so clear.
Prancing around mid-court, Kawhi Leonard raised his 7′ 3″ arms towards the sky, yelling in celebration with Kyle Lowry, his fellow co-star, joined him. Jurassic Park in Toronto, Ontario was illuminated as it seemed as though Leonard’s yell of triumph had reverberated throughout the entire country of Canada that night.
Moments earlier, after a drawn-out ending that featured a Danny Green turnover, a missed go-ahead three-pointer by Curry, and two free throws by Leonard, the game was finally over, a 114–110 victory for the Raptors. And, more importantly, Canada was home to an NBA champion.
But as Masai Ujiri, the masterful architect of the 2018–2019 Raptors who traded franchise cornerstone for Leonard, who was on an expiring contract and a major flight risk in free agency, tried to enter the court, he was denied.
According to the police, Ujiri tried to enter the court without “the proper credentials.” Video later showed that Ujiri did indeed have the correct credentials as the GM for Toronto.
But what made headlines was Ujiri allegedly striking an officer with “two fists” after being denied entry. Later, videos surfaced on social media showing that the officer shoved Ujiri, and there was no evidence of Ujiri starting an altercation with the officer — making it even more curious as to why the officer pursued legal action in the following weeks.
So after being doubted by many for pulling a gutsy trade in pursuit of a championship — and winning the championship — Ujiri’s celebration was spoiled by… a police officer?
It is here where it must be noted that Ujiri is not what many would now associate with a “general manager.” He doesn’t share the same appearance of Bob Myers, Daryl Morey, Danny Ainge, or any other high-profile front-office executives. The difference? His race.
As a person of Kenyan-Nigerian descent, Ujiri worked tirelessly to bring basketball to Africa, almost as much as he worked to bring championships to front offices that he resided over — which makes it even more disheartening that he experiences racism and discrimination in his profession.
Remember, this is the same place where, just three games earlier, Warriors minority owner Mark Stevens shoved Kyle Lowry as he dove to save a loose ball.
Hopefully, in the future, as more executives like Ujiri join front-offices, they will not experience the same inequity and unfair judgment.
IT’S THE MOST recognized play-call in Sacramento.
“If you don’t like that,” Kings announcer always Grant Napear exclaims in an exclamatory tone, “you don’t like NBA basketball!”
Since becoming the play-by-play announcer for the Sacramento Kings in 1988, Napear has punctuated a countless amount of highlight plays with his signature call. But masked by his popular calls and energetic voice — compared to the likes of Mike Breen, Kevin Harlan, and Marv Albert — Napear may have been a concealed racist in an industry dominated by African-American athletes.
So when DeMarcus Cousins tweeted at Napear on May 31, it wasn’t surprising at all to former Kings players that Napear responded with a retort that was uninformed at best, insensitive and prejudiced at worst.
“@GrantNapearshow what’s your take on BLM?,” tweeted Cousins from his verified Twitter account with over 1.1 million followers.
“Hey!!!! How are you? Thought you forgot about me. Haven’t heard from you in years,” said Napear, who boldly typed, “ALL LIVES MATTER…EVERY SINGLE ONE!!!”
The “All Lives Matter” phrase isn’t one that promotes equality and equity in society; it is a retort to the movement for equal rights for African-Americans.
Soon, Cousins claimed that Napear’s response was “as expected.” Former Kings superstar Chris Webber added, “[DeMarcus] we know and have known who [Grant Napear] is. The team knows as well. I’ve told them many times. They’ve seen it. They know who he is,” and the candid NBA veteran Matt Barnes chimed in, claiming he “[expected] nothing less from a [closeted] racist.”
Napear subsequently resigned from his position with the Kings, and the station that airs his radio show put him on “administrative leave” as they investigated his statement. If he was truly innocent and simply misinformed about the meaning of “All Lives Matter,” there would’ve been more testimonies about his character and kindness from those who worked with him.
But Napear is only part of a larger problem. Why is it that he was empowered to be friendly with players face-to-face, but hateful and bitter behind the scenes? How was he employed for so long if he was resentful to the very players he worked for? And, most importantly, why are cynical people like Napear empowered to take jobs in a league that is predominantly African-American?
This issue traces back to the NBA’s roots, when “owners” had a limit on African-American players on their rosters, creating an environment in which white millionaires and billionaires could treat their players as property, allowing them to rule with a “plantation mentality.” With white owners managing the “business decisions” of their organizations, a precedent was set: while teams would draft the top talents, who were predominantly African-American, they wouldn’t ensure that these talents would feel safe, secure, or even happy in their work environments.
Thankfully, change is coming. Though Masai Ujiri of the Raptors experienced some tough moments since becoming a general manager due to his race — he has proved that front offices should not and will not be reserved for white Americans.
This change is currently seen in Chicago, where, as the Bulls look to build their post-Jordan and post-Derrick Rose future, they have turned to Marc Eversley, an African American who was previously a vice president of player personnel for the 76ers. Additionally, they are considering hiring Ime Udoka, a former player of Nigerian descent, as their new head coach.
Change and progress are on the way in the NBA — even if the stains left by the league’s less-than-stellar track record of racism remain.
IF THERE IS anything to take away from my work, it is this: no matter the socio-economic status, stardom, or following of an athlete, they are reserved to the same standards of society — and not in a good way.
No matter how much wealth they accumulate, athletes cannot separate themselves from their ethnicity, and for African and African-American athletes, this means that they are subject to discrimination, prejudice, and even police brutality.
Seriously, look back at story of Thabo Sefolosha and Masai Ujiri. Is it really dissimilar to the tragedy that was the death of George Floyd? When will our country progress to the point that society actually treats African-American people with respect?
Even LeBron James saw his home vandalized with the N-word, among other racial slurs, in advance of the NBA Finals. Does that story sound familiar? It should. It mirrors the disrespect and hate experienced by Bill Russell and the early Celtics over 50 years ago.
In reflection of the state of racism in the NBA, Kyle Korver, a player who has been in many NBA franchises, and saw the damage caused to Thabo Sefolosha by the NYPD, had this to say about racism in the league: “Guys [are] just sick and tired of it all.”
Thankfully, it seems the rest of the America shares this sentiment.
Sources:
- The Undefeated: The Distressing Lack of Black Leadership in the NBA
- The Undefeated: Being a Black Player in Boston
- The Boston Globe: Denying problem of racist fans needs to end
- The Player’s Tribune: Privileged by Kyle Korver
- Sacramento Bee: Kings play-by-play announcer Grant Napear suspended for Black Lives Matter remarks
- GQ: NBA Star Thabo Sefolosha Tells His Story of Assault by the NYPD
