MY JACKIE ROBINSON DILEMMA

It was good to be in Washington rubbing shoulders with friends and acquaintances and trying to resolve my long-term dilemma involving Jackie Robinson, who was receiving the Congressional Gold Medal posthumously. Jackie Robinson was the first Black baseball player allowed to play in the all-White Major League. He became a towering figure in the Black and White communities and, probably, in the world. He did something that not many men could do. I don’t know if I could do it or not, but I am absolutely certain that I would never try to do it…not for pieces of silver or gold or the brotherhood of mankind.

It’s not Jackie Robinson who caused my dilemma. He was a great man on and off the field. Rather, I’ve always had difficulty appreciating what is universally celebrated in the White world as Jackie Robinson’s greatest accomplishment…his willingness to remain silent in the face of a constant barrage of racial indignities slung at him from racist White folks who didn’t have enough moral stature to even shine his shoes. And he did it while becoming one of the greatest ball players of his time. No man should have had to endure such indignities.

I had the honor of briefly meeting Robinson at the Black Expo in New York before he died of a heart attack in 1972 at the young age of 52. His hair was peppered and his smile was easy-going. He appeared unusually strong and out of place in a wheel chair. I recall thinking that the stress of silently accepting all those years of abuse had probably taken its toll on his health. And I thought about how much healthier it would have been for him and how much more satisfaction he might have given to today’s Black community had he thrown his bat at a couple of those foul-mouthed bigots.

Yep. When I was young, year after year, in movies and the news, with grand gusto the White world proudly celebrated Jackie Robinson’s restraint, always tossing around the “N” word, complete with the dragged out “r” that grates on any self-respecting Black person’s ears. To be frank with you, even as a young kid, the spin of the media offended me. I was always amazed at how proud so many White people were to let Black people know how much they loved Jackie Robinson’s great restraint. And many hold that aspect of his behavior out as the model that all good Black folks are supposed to imitate.

Not me!

A White law client of mine, believing he was paying me an honest compliment, went so far as to give me a copy of Robinson’s biography, which I promptly discarded without reading. In so many words, he had insulted me with his mistaken notion that we shared views in common regarding what he believed Robinson stood for. Don’t get me wrong, I should have read the biography. It contained Jackie Robinson’s version of who he was and it shows that he was much more than the “passive” person who held his temper for the good of his race. I admire him because it was his decision to hold his temper against bigotry that was out of character.

Years before he played for the Dodgers, Jackie Robinson, as an Army private riding a bus south, refused to move to the back of the bus when it crossed the Mason Dixon line. He was court marshaled for it and won his case. And when he left baseball after the Dodgers ungraciously traded him to the Giants and he refused to go, he did everything that he could to highlight the plight of Blacks in America. To paraphrase Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., he was a freedom rider before freedom rides started. And as Jessie Jackson explained in his award ceremony speech about Jackie Robinson, he was on of those “champions [who] win events between the lines…”

I always wonder if White folks will ever properly honor all those other qualified Black players who were rejected because of their color, especially those who wouldn’t get caught alive in a baseball stadium without kicking the butts of anyone so suicidal as to call them a nigger. I’m reminded of my sons’ experience at summer camp when a White camper called them niggers. They kicked his butt. When I arrived to pick them up, the White camp director suggested that it would be better if they didn’t return to camp. As I drove away with them in the car, I asked them what happened. They were hesitant to speak, but they finally told me why they kicked the kid’s butt and I quietly affirmed the righteousness of their actions. I didn’t make a big deal of it but I made it clear to them that the benefit of summer camp was not worth their dignity and I was proud that they readily agreed. I didn’t want any Jackie Robinson experiences in my family because Jackie Robinson had already paid the price for all of us and I wanted my sons to understand that the real wrong was the failure of the White camp director to expel the White offender.

I continue to be amazed at the number of otherwise intelligent White people who still cannot relate to strong, proud Black men. They love house niggers and Uncle Toms and still haven’t figured out why they haven’t been able to establish consistent, coherent, productive relationships within the Black community. Jackie Robinson bit his tongue because the times demanded it and he had the intestinal fortitude to respond to the demands of his times. Times have changed. And if Jackie Robinson was living he would be the first to tell you that White expectations of passive negritude are unacceptable. He would show you the Jackie Robinson that we knew even before and after the Brooklyn Dodgers. He was a proud Black man, which may be why it took White America this many years to honor him as a national hero.

And for that I give credit to the “new” Boston Red Sox, the principal owner John Henry, Chairman of the Board Tom Werner, President Larry Lucchino, Public Relations Vice President Dr. Charles Steinberg and all the others on the team who are dedicated to changing the Red Sox image. I give special credit to Frank Jordan, Special Advisor to the team. He is a proud Black man who does not mince his words. He calls it like he sees it and the new Boston Red Sox seem to respect him for it. That should tell you a lot about the new Boston Red Sox, who, I hope, one day, might spread their gratis and, more significantly, their enlightment to the backwoods of Springfield, Massachusetts.