Kevin Durant and the Myth of Michael Jordan’s America

Kevin Durant and the Myth of Michael Jordan’s America

by David J. Leonard | NewBlackMan

With game #3 in the NBA finals set for tonight, and the series in question, one thing not in question is that the league has finally found its Michael Jordan for the twenty-first century.  While others have fallen short for a number of reasons, it seems that Kevin Durant is on the precipice of following in Air Jordan’s footsteps.

Although the NBA lockout marked the end of this search, given the league’s focus on team rivalries over superstars, it now clear that Kevin Durant has taken the mantle.   Irrespective of who ultimately wins the series, Kevin Durant has already been declared the winner of America’s next best commodifiable baller.  His reign is not so much about basketball but the narrative, the embedded racial meaning, his appeal in “red state America,” and the representational possibilities available with Durant.  Clearly LeBron James’ basketball resume is on the same level; in fact, with multiple MVP awards, endless skill, and an ability to dominate each and every game at both ends of the floor, LB6 has game that is once in generation.  The same cannot be said for KD35, whose skills are unimpeachable yet his power and resonance rests with the story and ideological confirmation he provides the league and countless fans.

Since MJ’s retirement, the league, its marketing partners, and fans alike have pinned for someone to fill his AIR Jordans.  Each anointed as the next Michael Jordan, Penny Hardaway, Grant Hill, Vince Carter, and Harold Miner (“Baby Jordan”) all failed to deliver because of injuries, limited production, or a combination of both.  Each in their own right was imagined as a player who could fill the shoes, whose talents, charisma, and athleticism would propel the NBA during its post-Jordan era.  None of them met these expectations resulting in an NBA in continued search for a twenty-first century basketball God.    

Kobe Bryant and LeBron James each took the mantle of the next Jordan to places none of the other NMJ (next Michael Jordan) had reached.  Kobe, because of his talents, the ways in which he patterned his game and demeanor after Jordan, his quest for rings, and most importantly his competitiveness, all elevated the comparisons, leading many to argue that he was the NMJ.  Yet because of Eagle County, Colorado, because of his conflicts with Shaquille O’Neal and the ultimate demise of the Lakers Dynasty, and because he is said to have demanded to get out of Los Angeles, Kobe has fallen short in other’s quest to find the next Michael Jordan.  Like Kobe, LeBron James has delivered on the court, dazzling fans with his passing skills, his athleticism, and his ability to make his teammates better.  Worse than struggling to secure a title, LeBron James fell short in the MJ sweepstakes when he decided to take his talents to South Beach.  Simply exercising his rights of free agency meant that James was no longer eligible for Jordan status within the national imagination.

While possessing the skills, charisma, and baller potential, the two most promising players to lead the NBA, to build upon the global popularity established by Jordan, have fallen short not because of any basketball deficiency, but their inability (or our inability) to fill some mythical shoes.  The quest to find the Next Michael Jordan, thus, has nothing to do with basketball but rather is part of an effort to find a player who reinforces popular narratives about the American Dream, the protestant work ethnic, and post-racialness. 

Jordan, only seen in public in his basketball uniform or a $3,000-dollar suit, Jordan embodied the politics of racial respectability on and off the court.  He “allow[ed] us to believe what we wish to believe: that in this country, have-nots can still become haves; that the American dream is still working” (Ken Naughton quoted in Andrews 2000, p. 175).  David Falk, Jordan’s agent, celebrated the dialectics between his dominance in the marketplace, his worldwide popularity, and racial identity in illustrative ways:

When players of color become stars they are no longer perceived as being of color.  The color sort of vanishes.  I don’t think people look at Michael Jordan anymore and say he’s a black superstar.  They say he’s a superstar.  They totally accepted him into the mainstream.  Before he got there he might have been African American, but once he arrived, he had such a high level of acceptance that I think that description goes away (Quoted in Rhoden, 2006, p. 204). 

Amid the 1980s and 1990s, amid Reagan’s dismantling of America’s safety net and his elevation of the War on Drugs, Jordan provided more than a wicked jump shot, playing a lead role in the Republican Revolution.  He was “cast as a spectacular talent, midsized, well-spoken, attractive, accessible, old-time values, wholesome, clean, natural, not too goody-two shoes, without a bit of deviltry in him” (Falk quoted in Andrews 2001, p. 125).  

Imagined as emblematic of the power and importance of  “personal drive, responsibility, integrity, and success,” as opposed to “the stereotypical representations of deviant, promiscuous, and irresponsible black males,” Jordan’s racially transcendent, colorblind-driven, raceless image was always tied to racial language.  He represented the possibility of acceptance by whites (racial transcendence), which meant he was able to “transcend his own race” (Rhoden 2006, p. 204), or better said, constraints of the “facts of blackness.” 

The longstanding struggle for the next Jordan has been a journey in search of the next the  “Africanized Horatio Alger” (Patton quoted in McDonald, 2001, p. 157) to lead the NBA.  The search has failed in part because of the inability of the next generation of players to fulfill the imagined narrative and qualities associated with Jordan.  Michael Jordan was the leader of an “army of athletes who possess the (new) right stuff with modest beginnings, skill, and personal determination” (McDonald 2001, p.157).  In the dominant imagination, several players have had the game and even the success on the court yet failed to deliver the story and image.  Kevin Durant, with his decision to stay in OKC, his “nerd chic” clothing, his globetrotting from flag football games to the Rucker during the NBA lockout, and his overall image, possesses the right stuff.  

 

The anointing of Kevin Durant illustrates how the search for America’s next Michael Jordan has less to do with basketball and is all about the narrative, the ideology, and the overall mythical representation embodied by Jordan.  David Heeb, in “NBA Lockout 2011: Searching for the Next Michael Jordan,” encapsulates the narrative and ideological elements central to the proverbial MJ Search:

So after all these years, we are still looking for "The Next Jordan."  Will we ever see another player that great?  Maybe not, but the first thing we have to understand is, when looking for "The Next Jordan," we have to stop looking for guys that look like Jordan.  Instead, we have to look at what made Jordan tick.  What made him burn to be great?  We all know the story of how he was cut from his high school basketball team, and how he couldn't beat his older brother Larry in the backyard one-one games they would play.  We all heard the Hall of Fame speech, where Jordan recalled how he remembered even the slightest challenges to his greatness.  Michael Jordan was the kind of guy that got out of bed every morning looking for a challenge.  He looked for hurdles to jump over.  He searched for mountains to climb.  If there were no worthy opponents, he just invented insults, so he could say he had to prove himself all over again . . . . That doesn't change the fact that Kevin Durant might be "Next." Jordan had a "love of the game" clause in his contract, permitting him to play pickup basketball whenever he wanted to.  Durant, like Jordan, loves the game.  He will play anytime, anyplace, and against anybody.  We have seen him this summer playing pickup basketball all across the country.

Durant’s rise as the NMJ was almost derailed over when fans and the media wondered if he was more AI than MJ. Over the summer, controversy erupted when Kevin Durant revealed that his back and stomach were covered in tats.  The sight of Durant, often celebrated as “one of the good ones” (in this article he is noted to be “likable” and “humble”) covered in tats brought into question his acceptance into the “good black athlete” club.  Could the next MJ have tats?  Given the response then and his anointing, the answer appears to be yes, as long as they aren’t visible. Eric Freemen reflects on the meaning of his tattoos, their placement, and the changing level of acceptance of NBA tats.  Yet, he concludes by arguing that Durant’s tats should cause little to his marketing potential and fan popularity in part because he is different.

It's tempting to say that Durant is trying to hide his tattoos to appeal to a larger market of fans, but it's possible that he just prefers to put tattoos on his torso and not his extremities. Plus, we've reached a point as basketball fans where tattoos are not an automatic sign of a thug. They're perfectly normal and a common feature of the league's most popular players. LeBron James is covered in tattoos, but any marketing issues he has are tied to his lack of a championship, not the belief that he's a gang member. That point of view is thankfully a thing of the past.

Whatever the case, Durant's tattoos prove that he's not the squeaky clean figure many people make him out to be. As I've said before, he has an edgy streak. He has a lot more in common with the rest of the NBA than many people are willing to admit.

The constant references to his doing it the right way, his humility, his team orientation, and his lack of ego speaks to his power not only as a marketable commodity but as a vehicle of ideological meaning.  Basketball is almost secondary, a fact that has been quite clear throughout the finals with the constant juxtaposition of Durant and James as a battle between good and evil.  Berry Trammel describes the series as one straight out of Hollywood

But Good vs. Evil makes an appearance, too. Dwight Howard, back when he wore a white hat, and the starless Pistons, both against the Kobe Lakers. But in this Star Wars Finals that comes to Oklahoma City, it’s not just Good vs. Evil. It’s Lovable vs. Evil. It’s America’s sweethearts against the Galactic Empire.  It’s the Thunder skywalkers — these barely grown guys who let out war whoops after big buckets and grow funky beards and wear shirts straight out of Urkel’s garage sale – against the Darth Vaders. Miami Heat? Miami Hate is more like it. The Thunder is the team America loves to love. The Heat is the team America loves to see lose.

Likewise, Nicholas Schwartz, with “The Heat-Thunder Series Reveals One Troubling Truth About How We Think About Sports,” notes how the media has gone to great lengths to narrate the 2012 finals as a competition between two different ways of life: “The 2012 NBA Finals have been cast as a battle between good and evil. The Oklahoma City Thunder represent the hard-working team that evolves organically and ‘does things the right way,’ And the Miami Heat represent all that is wrong with the NBA.” 

While pundits have constructed the matchup as one between the lovable Thunder and the hateable Heat, the true meaning comes from the attached narratives assigned to Durant and James.  According to CBS sports, “Durant has never been about glitz and glamour. His winning combination has been humility and hard work, and it may soon pay off. The Thunder need four more wins to win a championship in only their fourth season in Oklahoma City and fulfill Durant's ultimate goal.“  Melissa Rohlin concurs, making clear that Durant’s appeal rests not just with his silky 3 or his timely buckets but the image and narrative surrounding him, all of which is wrapped up in the meanings of race within the dominant white imagination: “Despite Durant's ascension, he has remained humble. He is one of the few superstars in the league who speaks to reporters before games. Most of the league's other stars avoid the media until after the game.”  Humility appears to be as important as post moves for NBA commentators, making clear how race fits into this discussion; do we see the same demands of and celebration for humility in others sports, not too mention in Hollywood, on Wall Street, or in the halls of Congress?    

The inability of LeBron, Kobe and Carmelo to attract Jordan level fan support prompted systemic change with the 2011 lockout. The fears that Dwight Howard, Chris Paul, Blake Griffin, and Derrick Rose might follow in their footsteps not only contributed to the lockout but changed the ways in which the NBA and its partners sought after the next Jordan.  In the end, the presumed failures of the players to deliver off the court contributed to this shift.  The low q-ratings of these players, and claims about player betrayals of fans mandated a system change that has traded a league organized around superstars to one more focused on parity and competitiveness. 

Yet amid all of these changes, KD35 emerged as a superstar on the court (scoring championship + winning) and the media, league, and fans took from there, refashioning Durant as the next Jordan.  He has become the next Jordan not just in game but also as a free-floating racial signifier.  Just as the MJ emanated from dominant representations of blackness, Durant’s ascendance is wrapped up in the Palace Brawl, hip-hop, white racial framing, and the meaning of blackness in the twenty-first century.  Whereas Kobe or LeBron embody an aesthetic, a swagger, and a demeanor that is continually pathologized and demonized (yes, Skip Bayless I am talking to you), Kevin Durant and Blake Griffin function as points of comparison; depicted as humble, team oriented, and likable, they are able to become Jordan-esque.   

Yes, KD35 has game, but what is celebrated is neither the game nor the man but his perceived meaning within the dominant white imagination.  It ain’t about lovin the player, but loving their game.

***

David J. Leonard is Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender and Race Studies at Washington State University, Pullman. He has written on sport, video games, film, and social movements, appearing in both popular and academic mediums. His work explores the political economy of popular culture, examining the interplay between racism, state violence, and popular representations through contextual, textual, and subtextual analysis.  Leonard’s latest book After Artest: Race and the Assault on Blackness was just published by SUNY Press.

Covering the #Fail: The NBA, Sports Reporting & the United Hater Nation

Covering the #Fail: The NBA, Sports Reporting & the United Hater Nation

by David J. Leonard | NewBlackMan

I have lost that lovin' feeling.  Already a recovering baseball, football, and college sports fan, I am slowly starting to hate the NBA.  Don’t get me wrong – I love the game; there is nothing like a crisp bounce pass, a thunderous dunk, an ankle-breaking crossover, a fadeaway jumper, and a last second shot.  Nothing compares to the beauty of the NBA game, or its excitement, competitiveness, and unpredictability.  No other sport can compare when it comes to artistry and memorable moments: MJ’s jumper over Bryon Russell, Magic’s baby hook, Reggie’s 8 points in 9 seconds, Kobe’s alley-oop to Shaq, Robert Horry/Derek Fisher, and that is just a few playoff moments.  Just think: Iverson’s crossover, Duncan’s bank shot, the Dream shake. Shaq’s rim tattlers, Ray Allen’s jumper, Gervin’s finger roll, and MJ/Kobe’s baseline jumper.  The sight of LeBron James or Kevin Durant getting in the zone is not simply greatness personified but pure beauty.  Perfection, beauty, and timeless are the words I would use to describe the NBA yet I have lost that lovin' feeling. 

My waning love isn’t about the hypocrisy of a league that sells its products through hip-hop at the same time it disparages and regulates its presence.  It isn’t about an overzealous commissioner who vetoes trades for basketball reasons or even the league’s racial and class politics.  It isn’t about greedy owners and the treatment of players.  I have long come to grips with my discomfort, remaining a fan in spite of these troubling realities for the love of the game.  Yet, that love doesn’t feel eternal.

The last week of the playoffs has highlighted my growing unease with basketball, which has nothing to do with the players, the league, or even basketball.  I am starting to hate watching the NBA (and sports in general) because of the media, fans, and the cultural politics of blame.  Upon the conclusion of several playoff games, commentators and fans alike immediately took to their respective platforms to blame players for a loss, to disparage, mock, and otherwise ridicule these great athletes.  It is not just the glee the results from THEIR loss, but the pleasure in denigrating and disrespecting another person’s hard work and artistry that is killing my love softly and slowly, especially during the playoffs.  

The Pacers’ victory over the Heat didn’t produce praise for Indiana’s squad or celebration of a clutch performance from David West or Roy Hibbert but endless statements from the UHN – United Hater Nation.  Blaming LeBron, D-Wade, Spoelstra, Riley, and the role players, the post-game banter focused on player failures, player shortcomings, and worse yet the inadequacies of the players – “he isn’t clutch; he is mentally weak; he is selfish; he is to blame for the loss.”  What happened to who is responsible for the win?  What happened to celebration and acknowledgment of the greatness of players evident in the victory?  In victory and loss, the politics of blame imagines players as robots deserving condemnation when they don’t perform as expected. 

Even James’ historic performance in Game 6 of the Eastern Conference Finals did not silence every critic with questions raised as to whether he could play at the level in a 4^th quarter with the score tied, or whether or not he had the mental toughness to make that last 2^nd shot.  I am surprise he wasn’t criticized for not having 25 assists along with his 45 points.  Where is the love?

The postgame commentary following game 2 (and likely game 4) between the Lakers and Thunder was no different in terms of the blame game, although it included death threats directed at Steve Blake.  With debates about who was responsible for the Lakers inability to close and secure in those games (Kobe, Pau, Bynum, Coach Brown, role players; Jim Buss??) few even acknowledged the execution from the Thunder.  The Thunder won that game and would ultimately win 4 games.  The Thunder execution when it counted was amazing, especially for the young and untested team from OKC.  That continued into the Spurs series.  Yet, in many instances, the exceptional play of the Thunder and all its players hasn’t been the focus from the media and fans on social media given the dominance of the culture of blame, uber criticism, and the haters that dominate the NBA landscape. 

What is worse and certainly more corrosive to sport culture is the joy and pleasure fans and even sports media pundits take from watching others fail.  The number of tweets and online cheap shots that pop up at the conclusion of any number of games devalues the game.  At the conclusion of the Heat and Lakers’ games, non-Heat and non-Thunder fans have taken to twitter to celebrate the loss; that is, their failure to win combined with individual struggles (missed shots; not taking shots), seems to the basis of fandom.  Pleasure increasingly comes from calling LeBron a “choker” and “mentally” weak leaves me to wonder what will commentators and fans talk about on those when he delivers 40 and 18.  When Kobe scored 81 against the Raptors many critics chastised him for shooting too much and only getting a few assists; surely some even scoffed on fact that he didn’t score 82.  No time to praise and celebrate when there is criticism to be leveled.

If LeBron and Kobe ended world hunger, these folks would criticize them for taking too long.  Combine the blame game and name-calling with the joy and pleasure derived from other’s pain and suffering and you can see not only everything that is wrong with what surrounds today’s NBA culture but our mean-spirited culture.

Haters are nothing new; fans and media that power and power pleasure in criticizing is as old as the game it self.  Yet, with 24-7 sports networks, countless debate shows, and talk radio, the blame game rules the day.  As with America’s political culture, defined by partisan commentators blaming politicians for societal problems and politicians scapegoating other politicians and the people themselves for larger issues, the politics of sports blame creates a climate where the post-game commentary has become more important than the game itself.  The similarities are striking and disturbing at so many levels.  Whereas Republicans blame regulation and government for unemployment; whereas the Right blames a culture of poverty or the lack of a work ethic for persistent poverty; whereas the GOP blames teachers for educational shortcomings, unions for budgetary issues; and the Left for value changes; and whereas society blames hip-hop and scapegoats community of color for __________ (fill in blank with any social ill or problem), I want sports to be something different. 

But in many ways it is not any different.  In terms of its replicating society’s ills, embracing its politics, its celebration of victory/$ over anything else and embracing of a politics of hate and blame, sports is no escape.  In absence of something to hate on, a player to blame, it is almost as if sports cannot exist just as the game itself. 

In an effort to reclaim my love for basketball and avoid the trap of blaming others for my changing relationship with my national pastime, I have decided to make that change.  No more debate shows; no more Sports Center spotlight segments, and no more commentaries – post-game twitter is now off limits.  Nothing but the game and me.  I may even begin to watch the game on mute so that the beauty of the game, the greatness of the players, and their commitment to excellence will be fully visible without the corrupting voices of sensationalism and haters.  Just basketball and me. 

Just me and CP3’s competitiveness; just me and Kevin Durant’s clutch 3; just me and the beauty of the Spurs versatility; just me and LeBron James dribbling through defenses, powering up for another layup; just me and the Pacers defense; just me and KG’s longevity; just me and harden’s sweet left hand; just me and the potential of Dru Holiday, Darren Collison, and Russell Westbrook; just me and Kobe’s and Wade’s greatness.  Just me and clutch shots from “The Truth” and James Harden.  Just me and LeBron in the zone. Just me and those post-game glasses; just me and a fantastic game. 

The game is too beautiful, and the game is too exciting, unpredictable, and unscripted to do anything but just sit back and love this game.  Let the haters hate, the blamers blame, and those whose very existence is predicative on telling people what to hate, ridicule, and fear, because I will be watching the NBA, a beautiful game indeed.  Just in the couple days since putting the blame game and the haters on mute, I already got that lovin' feeling back.  Silence is golden!

***

David J. Leonard is Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender and Race Studies at Washington State University, Pullman. He has written on sport, video games, film, and social movements, appearing in both popular and academic mediums. His work explores the political economy of popular culture, examining the interplay between racism, state violence, and popular representations through contextual, textual, and subtextual analysis.  Leonard’s latest book After Artest: Race and the Assault on Blackness was just published by SUNY Press.

‘No [Hoodies] Allowed’: The NBA’s Dress Code & the Politics of New Racism —Excerpt from After Artest: The NBA & the Assault on Blackness

‘No [Hoodies] Allowed’: The NBA’s Dress Code & the Politics of New Racism

—Excerpt from After Artest: The NBA & the Assault on Blackness

by David J. Leonard | NewBlackMan

The murder of Trayvon Martin has prompted widespread discussions about race in America, persistent inequalities within the criminal justice system, differential values afforded to different bodies, and the real-life consequences of racial stereotypes.  Amid many of the discussions, media reports, and the protests have been questions about the racial signifier of the hoodie.  From the million hoodie march to the backlash directed at Geraldo Rivera, who named the hoodie as a co-conspirator along with George Zimmerman, the discourse has reflected on the racial signifiers embedded in the hoodie.  In other words, how is a black body, inherently criminal and suspect when read within a hoodie; what are the dialects between the hoodie and the black body within these processes of criminalization?  These types of questions have been asked and represented in a spectrum of spaces, highlighting the ways the black bodies are imagined as threatening within the dominant white imagination.  Pushing the conversation beyond individual prejudice and “what was in George’s heart,” such counternarratives have reflected on how media narratives, popular culture, and a culture that criminalizes black bodies produces a Trayvon Martin, whose mere presence is seen as a threat, all while producing a George Zimmerman. 

As a scholar of race and sport, these questions have long guided my work: how do the representations of black athletes, particularly those in the NBA, buttress larger ideological, political, and criminalizing processes?  How does the ubiquitous references to NBA players as “thugs” and “gangstas” as “criminals” and “punks” normalize blackness as questionable, undesirable, and inherently suspect?   The murder of Trayvon, the prison industrial complex, the racial segregation in school discipline, and the levels of state violence are a product of these cultural projects.  According to a report from the Opportunity Agenda, “distorted media representations can be expected to create attitudinal effects ranging from general antagonism toward black men and boys, to higher tolerance for race-based socio-economic disparities, reduced attention to structural and other big-picture factors, and public support for punitive approaches to problems.”

In my recently release book – After Artest: The NBA and the Assault on Blackness (SUNY 2012), I explore the broader criminalization of blackness inside and outside of the NBA’s arenas, that among things has focused on the attitudes, demeanor, and clothing of NBA ballers.  I, thus, present to you a short excerpt from the book, one that explores the racialization and criminalization that is evident in the NBA’s dress code as a way to expand our conversation about the murder of Trayvon Martin to reflect on how popular culture, media discourses, and the language of everyday racism both normalizes the criminalization of blackness and points to the importance of intervention in this regard.

After Artest

Not only unsuccessful on the court, the 2004 Olympic basketball team caused a significant amount of embarrassment for the NBA in the wake of its efforts to conceal blackness from the league.  Once a source of national pride, given the longstanding dominance of American basketball over the world, the 2004 installment was more of a nightmare than a dream team.  In anticipation of the Olympics, members of the basketball team attended a dinner in their honor at a fancy Belgrade restaurant.  While other guests, including members of the Serbian National Team, wore matching sport coats and dressed “appropriately,” Allen Iverson, Carmelo Anthony, LeBron James and other members of the American team showed up in sweat suits, oversized jeans and shirts, large platinum chains, and, of course, diamond earrings.  Larry Brown, the team’s coach and the often celebrated benevolent white father figure of the NBA, was appalled, coming close to sending several players back to the hotel.  Mike Wise, in The Washington Post, described the incident as transformative for the NBA’s league officials. 

Word of the fashion faux pas eventually made its way to the office of NBA Commissioner David Stern in New York, where concern was already on the rise about how some players were dressing and, more broadly, how the game's appeal was slipping. The NBA had tried mightily to fuse its product with hip-hop culture, viewing its young players and their street fashion sense as a way to connect with a new generation of fans in the post-Michael Jordan era. But that wasn't happening. Indeed, Stern and some of his closest advisers concluded, they might be driving fans away from the sport (2005).

Shortly after the debacle in Athens, and less than two months after the Brawl at Auburn Hills, the NBA sent a clear message about the future of hip-hop and those bodies who embraced/reflected/ signified this “ghettocentric imagination” (Watkins 1998).  Shortly after he was traded to the Sacramento Kings, the NBA formally admonished Cutino Mobely for conducting interviews wearing a skullcap.  Despite the fact that he donned headgear baring the insignia of the NBA, and that he was considered “a good guy,” Mobely’s fashion choice impelled league officials to remind its players about professionalism and the league’s new unofficial policy concerning hip-hop. In this instance, with the NBA’s simultaneous commodification and demonization of hip-hop and its black male signifiers now visible, the efforts to police the league’s new black aesthetic illustrated the complex and contradictory roles played by aesthetics, cultural values, and bodies that are constructed as both fashionable (desirable and cool) and suspect (dangerous). 

In the aftermath of the Palace Brawl, the failures of the 2004 Olympic basketball squad, the sexual assault allegations against Kobe Bryant, the arrest of Allen Iverson, and the overall perception that the NBA was being overrun by “criminals,” gangstas, and those otherwise prone to “bad behavior” (Philips 2005), David Stern announced plans for a league-wide dress code in October 2005.  Concluding that ad hoc policies and team-directed rules² were incompatible with their efforts to “rehabilitate the image of a sport beset with bad behavior,” the league instituted a dress code policy that governed players all while sending a message to fans and corporate partners. While denying that the dress code was part of the NBA’s master plan to appease white corporate interests and those of Red State, Middle America – or even that it was directed toward the NBA’s black, hip-hop baller – Stern repeatedly acknowledged the connection between the dress code and the Palace Brawl.  “It was a low point in the perception of our league . . . .  Our players are really good guys who deserve more respect than that” (“Code Makes Debut to Mixed Reactions Across League”).  In other words, the dress code represented an effort to counteract the negative publicity that had plagued the NBA during recent years by restricting assumed signifiers of blackness. 

The 2003-2005 seasons were a “low point” for the NBA in a number of ways.  The NBA experienced a sharp decline in fan support.  Television ratings for the 2005 finals that pitted the Detroit Pistons against the San Antonio Spurs were down 30% from the previous year; its ratings for that year were last amongst the big three American sports (baseball and football).  During this time, the NBA office and its teams saw an increased number of complaints from corporate (Lorenz and Murray 2005).  Public opinion polls ranked basketball players as the least liked professional athletes among all the major Americans sports leagues.  In response to falling ratings, dissipating corporate support, a deluge of publication relation’s nightmares, and unrelenting criticism from much of the media, the NBA hired Matthew Dowd, a Texas strategist who had previously worked with George W. Bush on his reelection campaign.  Having successfully helped Bush find immense support within Middle America, Dowd was brought in “to help” Stern “figure out how to bring the good ‘ol white folks back to the stands” (Abramson 2005).  As a result, the league office directed players to be more accessible to fans in terms of signing autographs, while also participating in “season-ticket holder events.”  It also initiated the NBA Cares project, a global public service outreach initiative, which was intended to facilitate the donation of $100 million dollars to charity, provide one million hours of community service donated by the players themselves, and build 100 youth centers by 2010.  Both these initiatives represented the NBA’s effort “to look a little less gangsta and more genteel” (Eligon 2005). It was part of a public relations strategy that emphasized the quality and good nature of NBA players.  

Yet, the dress code would come to embody the NBA’s most systematic effort to alter its image in order to bring back its red state fans and corporate sponsors.  According to an NBA official, the dress code was designed to appease corporate anxieties about the league’s hip-hop image and protect the NBA’s economic (television contracts) future.  “If you speak to 100 people on the street and most of them think our players are the worst of the lot in pro sports, there’s a problem” (Quoted in Wise 2005).  Notwithstanding these anonymous explanations, or the media’s praise for the proposed dress code as a necessary challenge to the hip-hop/gangsta invasion of the NBA, David Stern and others consistently downplayed these motivations, instead focusing on the dress code as a means for combating the unfair demonization of its players.  It was the NBA’s attempt to help its (black) players be seen in a proper light.  In a letter outlining the dress code, which was sent to players, coaches, and owners,³ the NBA provided the following rationale for the policy:

We know that you share our desire that NBA players be appreciated not only for their extraordinary talent and hard work, but also for their accessibility to fans, their community service, and their professionalism – both on and off the court. To that end, we will be instituting, effective with the start of the regular season, a league-wide “minimum” dress code. Many teams have previously issued their own dress codes, designed to demonstrate the seriousness with which their players take the representation of their teams, their cities, and our league; our new dress code is not intended to affect any of those that are more formal than what is set forth below in the new NBA dress code (“NBA Dress Code: Dress Code Policy” 2005).

The policy required that players “wear business casual attire” whenever participating in league events or team functions, or when conducting “team or league business,” defined as any “activity conducted on behalf of the team or the league during which the player is seen by or interacts with fans, business partners, members of the public, the media, or other third parties.”  The policy restricted the clothing choices of players engaged in a number of tasks: participating in league events, promotional appearances, or media interviews; sitting on the bench when not in uniform; leaving or arriving at the stadium, and, potentially, riding on team buses or planes.  In addition to regulating dress in particular (public and private) spaces, the policy also stipulated what constituted “business attire,” noting that to be in compliance players must wear dress-shirts and/or sweaters, dress slacks, dress jeans or khakis, socks, and either dress shoes “or presentable shoes.” Beyond the above description of business attire, it required that those players sitting on the bench out of uniform wear jackets along with the other mandated clothing options.⁴  It additionally offered a series of prohibitions, thereby clarifying its intent, against the following: sleeveless shirts, shorts, jerseys, t-shirts, sports apparel (unless event appropriate), chains, pendants, medallions, sunglasses (indoors), and headphones (unless on team plane, bus or in the locker room).  The breadth and specificity of the regulation is clear: “Headgear of any kind while sitting on the bench or in the stands at a game, during media interviews, or during a team or league event or appearance (unless appropriate for the event or appearance, team-identified, and approved by the team) is to be excluded” (“NBA Dress Code: Dress Code Policy” 2005).   

Although Stern and others inside the NBA spoke of the policy in universal terms, as an effort to highlight the professionalism and “goodness” of all its players, numerous players saw the policy as something else: a racist assault on hip-hop and yet another instance of the NBA attacking its young black male stars.  Blackness exists as “a problematic sign and ontological position” (Williams 1998, p. 140).  Given that the NBA does not want to rid itself of its black players, the dress code seeks to lighten, if not whiten, these players in the national (white) imagination. It sought to recreate the illusion of racial transcendence amongst its African Americans players. It works to sever the ties between LeBron, Dwyane, and Kobe and hip-hop, blackness and the criminalized black body, at least within the white imagination.  Jason Richardson again makes this clear:  “They want to sway away from the hip-hop generation. You think of hip-hop right now and think of things that happen like gangs having shootouts in front of radio stations” (“Pacers' Jackson: dress code is ‘racist’”).

***

David J. Leonard is Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender and Race Studies at Washington State University, Pullman. He has written on sport, video games, film, and social movements, appearing in both popular and academic mediums. His work explores the political economy of popular culture, examining the interplay between racism, state violence, and popular representations through contextual, textual, and subtextual analysis.  Leonard’s latest book After Artest: Race and the Assault on Blackness will be published by SUNY Press in May of 2012.

Ebru Today - Dr. David Leonard on "Linsanity" & NBA's Racial Landscape

David J. Leonard is Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender and Race Studies at Washington State University, Pullman. He has written on sport, video games, film, and social movements, appearing in both popular and academic mediums. His work explores the political economy of popular culture, examining the interplay between racism, state violence, and popular representations through contextual, textual, and subtextual analysis. He is the author of Screens Fade to Black: Contemporary African American Cinema and the forthcoming After Artest: Race and the War on Hoop(SUNY Press). Leonard is a regular contributor to NewBlackMan and blogs @ No Tsuris.

Pride and Prejudice: Jeremy Lin and the Persistence of Racial Stereotypes

Pride and Prejudice: Jeremy Lin and the Persistence of Racial Stereotypes

by David J. Leonard | NewBlackMan

The recent success and national visibility afforded to Jeremy Lin has both inspired Asian Americans and has been driven by the adoration and pride he elicits from some within the community.  Whether on twitter, Facebook, or in the stadiums, it is clear that Lin is not simply a national phenomena but a treasure for the Asian American community. 

According to Jamilah King, “regardless of how the rest of the season goes for Lin, and the Knicks, his moment in the spotlight is an important time to reflect on how the country views its Asian American athletes.”  Whereas past Asian athletes, whether it be Yao Ming or Ichiro captured the global Asian Diaspora’s imagination, Lin is the most widely recognized Asian American athlete on the American team sport scene.  Timothy Dalrymple highlights the appeal of Lin to Asian American males:

He particularly has a following amongst Asian-Americans.  And some Asian-American young men, long stereotyped as timid and unathletic, nerdy or effeminate or socially immature — have fought back tears (which may not help with the stereotype, but is understandable under the circumstances) as they watched Jeremy Lin score 25 points, 7 assists and 5 rebounds for the New York Knicks.

In “Asian Americans energized in seeing Knicks' Jeremy Lin play,” J. Michael Falgoust elucidates his cultural power within the Asian American community in quoting the thoughts of several different people:

"I don't care about the outcome. I just want to see him in action. He's as good of an Asian American athlete as there is” — Rose Nguyen

"I'm so proud. I don't care if he is Chinese or Korean. I had to see him … my boyfriend has been talking about him so much" — Christine Lee

"I'm really excited. He breaks so many stereotypes. And my friends are just as excited. If you go to my Facebook feed, it's all Jeremy Lin. I like that he plays smart. But then he's from Harvard. So that is expected. He is also humble. He reminds me a lot of Derrick Rose, who's always crediting teammates” — Andrew Pipathsouk

Andrew Leonard similarly argues that Lin’s popularity amongst Asian Americans is emblematic of the power of social media and also the pride that athletic success garners for Asian Americans, otherwise seen as “nerds” not “jocks.”  While problematically invoking the language of “genetics” that erases Lin’s tremendous athleticism/speed, Leonard concludes that Lin inspires Asian American kids who yearn for a masculine role model given persistent invisibility and anti-Asian racism within the public square. “He’s a triumph of will over genetic endowment, a fact that makes him inspiring to an entire generation of Californian kids restless with their model minority shackles,” he notes.

On Monday, the social media world was also getting worked up about Michigan Republican Senate hopeful Pete Hoekstra’s racist Super Bowl ad,featuring a Chinese woman (labeled “yellowgirl” in the HTML code for the Web version) gloating over all the jobs her country was taking from the U.S. Once thrown into the 24/7 crazy cultural mashup perpetual motion machine, it didn’t take long before anger about that ad ran head on into Jeremy Lin pride. I have seen tweets urging Jeremy Lin to run for the Republican nomination for the Michigan senate seat, tweets warning that the only American jobs in danger from Asians are those belonging to New York Knick starting point guards, and even a tweet riffing off Kobe Bryant’s self-identification as “black mamba” — Jeremy Lin is suddenly  the “yellow mamba.”

Lin has trended #1 on twitter on three successive game days, was top-10 searched items on Sina Weibo and is all the talk of the sports world.  For the moment, it is Jeremy Lin’s world and we are all just living in it.

                                         

The pride and possibility reflects the broader erasure and invisibility of Asian Americans within popular culture (minus this year’s Top Chef).  “Asians are nearly invisible on television/movies/music, so any time I see an Asian on TV or in the movies, I feel like I’ve just spotted a unicorn, even though usually, I see them being portrayed as kung-fu masters/socially awkward mathematical geniuses/broken-English-speaking-fresh-off-the-boat owner of Chinese restaurant/nail salon/dry cleaners,” writes one blogger. “Anyway, this phenomenon is 10x worse in sports.  While there has been some notable progress with Asians in professional baseball, Asians are all but non-existent in the big three sports in the US (football, basketball, baseball).”   

Lin breaks down, or at least penetrates, the walls that have excluded Asian Americans from popular culture.  The pride, adoration and celebration reflect this history of exclusion, a history of erasure, and invisibility.  The efforts to link Lin to Nike’s “Witness” campaign is illustrative in that we are all witness, maybe for the first, time in history, of an Asian American sports hero, someone who challenges and defies expectations and stereotypes.

Amid the invisibility is a history of feminization of Asian American males.  When present within media and popular culture, Asian American men have been represented as asexual, weak, physically challenged, and otherwise unmasculine.  Sanctioning exclusion and denied citizenship, the white supremacist imagination has consistently depicted Asian male bodies as effeminate.  The entry of Lin into the dominant imagination reflects a challenge to this historic practice given the power of sports as a space of masculine prowess.  

Whether shock or celebration, Lin’s cultural power rests in his juxtaposition to the stereotyped Asian American male.  According to Timothy Dalrymple, “their astonishment at the sight of Jeremy Lin outperforming the other players, their consistent references to how exhausted he must be, and how “magical” a night he’s having (rather than a natural result of talent and hard work) suggests that they’ve bought into the stereotype of the physically inferior Asian-American male.”

Lin’s recent ascendance is not simply about success or dominance within the sports world, a place defined by masculine prowess.  It reflects the cultural and gendered meaning of basketball.  Lin is excelling in a world defined by black manhood, an identity the white racial frames construct through physicality, strength, speed and swagger.  Unlike other players who burst onto the American scene (Yao Ming, Yi Jianlian, Wang ZhiZhi), Lin is a guard, who has found success because of his athleticism and skills as opposed to his presumed freakish stature.  “The best part is how viscerally pleasurable it is to watch Lin play: His game is flashy, almost showoffy, and requires him to have guts, guile and flair in equal measure,” writes Will Leich. “The drama of it is, it's obvious, what's most fun for him. It is all you could possibly want as a feel-good story. “

In other words, Lin’s appeal comes from his ability to ball like a street player to face off and dominate against black players at “their own game.”  The celebration of Lin as a challenge to the denied masculinity afforded to Asian American males reflects the ways in which black masculinity is defined in and through basketball culture.  While surely offering fans the often-denied sporting masculinity within the Asian body, the power of Jeremy Lin rests with his ability to mimic a basketball style, swagger and skill associated with black ballers. 

Pride emanates from the sense of masculinity afforded by Lin, a fact that emanates from stereotypical constructions of black masculinity.  “Through no fault of his own, Lin stands at a bombed-out intersection of expected narratives, bodies, perceived genes, the Church, the vocabulary of destinations and YouTube,” wrote Jay Caspian Kang, who’s Asian American, about Lin’s electrifying play at Harvard. “What Jeremy Lin represents is a re-conception of our bodies, a visible measure of how the emasculated Asian-American body might measure up to the mythic legion of Big Black superman” (cited by King in Colorlines)

Fulfilling a fantasy for a “white American fantasy of an athletic prowess that can trump African-American hegemony in the league” (Farred, p. 56) and the appeal of a masculinity defined by its association with blackness, the celebrations, parties, and various public adoration are wrapped in these ideas of race, gender, and nation.   Writing about Yao Ming, Grant Farred, in Phantom Calls: Race and the Globalization of the NBA, reminds us about these issues:

The body of the athlete, which has a long history of standing as the body of the nation, is simultaneously reduced and magnified in the Yao event, in its micro-articulation (Asian-American), it is asked to refute the myth of the feminized ethnic by challenging – and redressing the historic wrongs endured – those ‘American’ bodies that have been dismissed the physicality of the Asian male.  As representative of the Chinese nation, Yao is expected to remain a national subject even as his basketball heritage seems difficult to unlearn and continues to disadvantage him in the NBA. . . . In his representation of the ‘Chinese people,’ Yao will not become an NBA – which is to say ‘African American’ – player.  He will not trash talk, he will not develop an ‘offensive personality,’ in more senses than one, and to his detriment, he, will not become more ‘physical’ (62)”

Lin is confined by this trap, so his wagging tongue (that was blue during one game), his trash talk, his swagger, his reverse layups, his flashy speed, and now his dunk, all confirms that Lin isn’t just a basketball player but a baller.  The celebration is thus, wrapped up in the dominant configurations of blackness, and how hegemonic visions of black masculinity confer a certain amount power to Lin.  According to Dave Zirin, Lin’s power rests with his transgressive play: “Asian-Americans, in our stereotypical lens, are supposed to be studious and reserved. We would expect nothing less than that the first Asian-American player would be robotic and fundamentally sound; their face an unsmiling mask.”  While Lin is not the first Asian-American to play professional basketball in the U.S. (Rex Walters, Wataru Misaka, and Raymond Townsend – h/t Scott Kurashige), Zirin’s analysis points to the larger ways that race operates in this context. 

Lin’s appeal comes because he defies people’s expectations about Asian Americans because he is excelling and playing in a way that people expect from and authentically associate with black players. Zirin goes further to argue, “Instead, we have Jeremy Lin threading no-look passes, throwing down dunks and, in the most respected mark of toughness, taking contact and finishing baskets.” With this analysis we see how race not only defines Lin, but the NBA as a cultural space.  His power rests with his ability to “become” black within the national imagination as baller, yet remain outside the prison/prism of the black-white binary.  Or as Oliver Wang notes, the fanfare illustrates how “hegemonic masculinity is constructed whereupon whiteness hides behind a cloak of black desire.” 

Lin is therefore not breaking down stereotypes (maybe denting them), but in many ways re-inscribing them.  Celebrated as “intelligent” and as “a hustler,” his success has been attributed his intelligence, his basketball IQ, and even his religious faith.  His athleticism and the hours spent on the court are erased from the discussion.  Moreover, in positioning him as the aberration, as someone worthy of celebration, the dominant media frame reinforces the longstanding stereotypes of Asians as unathletic nerds.Likewise, the juxtaposition of his identity, body, and basketball skills to the NBA’s black bodies simultaneously reinforces the dominant inscriptions of both blackness and Asianness.   While J-Lin brings something new to the table – an Asian American basketball role model;  Knicks’ victories – we must not forget the many things that remain in place.  

***

David J. Leonard is Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender and Race Studies at Washington State University, Pullman. He has written on sport, video games, film, and social movements, appearing in both popular and academic mediums. His work explores the political economy of popular culture, examining the interplay between racism, state violence, and popular representations through contextual, textual, and subtextual analysis. He is the author of Screens Fade to Black: Contemporary African American Cinema and the forthcoming After Artest: Race and the War on Hoop(SUNY Press). Leonard is a regular contributor to NewBlackMan and blogs @ No Tsuris.

Silence, Innocence, and Whiteness: The Undemonization of Kevin Love

Silence, Innocence, and Whiteness: The Undemonization of Kevin Love

by David J. Leonard | NewBlackMan

The Minnesota Timberwolves battled the Houston Rockets this past Saturday.  Normally not on my radar, an incident involving Kevin Love and Luis Scola compelled inquiry even as the media remained silent.  Purportedly frustrated over a non-call, Love not only fouled Scola, but as the Houston power forward lied on the ground Love proceeded to step on his face as he ran back to the offensive end of the court.  “I fell down. He was kind of right there," Love explained. “I got Size-19 feet. He just happened to be there. I had nowhere to go. I got tripped up. I had nowhere to step. It is just heat of the moment-type play.”  The non-explanation aside, Love simultaneously identifies the incident as an accident and justifiable. 

If an accident, why does he feel necessary to describe it as an unfortunate situation or to reference what happen between the two of them in game on Monday? “Love also referenced an unfortunate incident in Houston on Monday, when Scola attempted to throw a ball to deflect it off of Love out of bounds but the ball hit Love square in the groin.” Offering an explanation that seemingly justified his accidental behavior, Love was not alone in the exoneration process.

What followed the game, and the several days since there, has been silence – crickets in fact.  Despite the fact that one of the league’s emerging stars stepped on an opponent’s face, the media has found little reason to write about the event.  References to the event notwithstanding and a series of articles that have asked viewers to weigh in whether it was intentional or not, the overall media discourse has rendered Love’s stomping on an opponent’s face insignificant by its relative silence. 

Even after the NBA announced a 2-game suspension for Love, the sports punditocracy has been muted in its criticism of Love, choosing rather to focus on his apology.  Several headlines noted that in wake of the suspension, he has apologized yet again, having already apologized to Luis Scola following the game.  In headline after headline, Love is constructed as apologetic, even though there is no specific apology provided by any of the news outlets (example #1, example #2).  Instead they reference his statement issued on the team’s website:

“We got to talking about it, and as long as Luis and the Rockets are OK, then I'm OK with it," Love said. "I feel like it was a learning experience, and it won't happen again. There were no ill-intentions. I was trying to get him on a foul on the way up. I wasn't trying to stomp him or anything like that. Just moving forward, and hopefully we win these next few games.

His post practice comments are further illustrative of a lack of contrition and a desire to give explanation rather than apology:

I don't want to be known for that. I want to be known as a stand-up guy who happened to make a mistake with a size 19 shoe and just move on. So everybody knows there were no ill intentions there.  It's been a chippy year.  It's not only us. It's not only the Pacers, the Rockets or anything like that. It's a lot of games. The guys are tired. Games are being drawn out and guys are worn down.

Denying any “ill-intentions,” while describing it as a learning experience, doesn’t constitute an apology.   The lack of criticism, the efforts to explain Love’s actions as resulting from his emotions, out-of-the-ordinary behavior, and otherwise not indicative of Love’s character reflect an overall effort to downplay the importance of his stomping on an opponent’s face.

Compare this response to the recent media criticism directed at Andrew Bynum.  Following Game 4 of the 2011 NBA playoffs, which saw Bynum knock JJ Berea to the floor with a very hard foul, he was lambasted in the media. Called a thug, as player who was ejected for “dirty hits,”  and as a player who exhibited, “stupidity, cowardice and unprofessionalism”; Ken Berger described the play and Bynum specifically in the following way:

Losing is one thing. Getting swept is another. Getting sent home in an utterly uncompetitive blowout is even worse. But nothing is more disgusting than champions acting like punks. Nothing is more embarrassing than a team that cannot lose with dignity.    . . .Bynum, a positive force during much of the series, doesn’t deserve to wear a Lakers uniform again after his unconscionable cheap shot to a defenseless, airborne J.J. Barea in the fourth quarter of a 30-point humiliation. There’s no place for that regardless of the victim, but Bynum violated the No. 1 rule of the schoolyard (where he belongs) and the NBA: Pick on someone your own size. Only punks and losers take aim at those half their size. 

Such vitriol has been no where in the response to Kevin Love.  Others described the play with Bynum as “bush league,” as “dirty”, as “classless acts” that are repulsive and without any valid excuse.” Bynum was also suspended for 5 games as a result of his play during the Western conference semifinals, yet for some this wasn’t close to enough of a punishment. 

A similar level of outrage and demonization was evident following an incident involving Ndamukong Suh, who was unmercilessly condemned as “dirty”as not “just dirty, but filthy.”   The efforts to demonize Suh and to use the on-the-field incident as a referendum on Suh’s character and values stands in stark contrast to the tepid and excuse-ridden response to Kevin Love.

The systematic excuse machine embodies the sporting world’s wages of whiteness and the hegemony of anti-black racism.  It is the embodiment of Peggy McIntosh’s invisible knapsack, who described white privilege in the following way:

I have come to see white privilege as an invisible package of unearned assets that I can count on cashing in each day, but about which I was "meant" to remain oblivious. White privilege is like an invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions, maps, passports, codebooks, visas, clothes, tools, and blank checks

As such, Love, without even having to defend himself, was able to cash in on his whiteness.  With a media not only defending, downplaying, and disputing any ill-intent, with a media that has constructed the criminalblackman on and off the field, that has made it virtually impossible to see unsportsmanlike behavior outside of the black body, it is no wonder that few were able to see Love’s action as troubling. 

The disparate responses are indicative of the larger inequalities that define America’s criminal justice system.   In a system where African Americans and Latinos are presumed guilty, the wages of whiteness are powerful so much so that the media frequently deployed its right to remain silent, securing Kevin Love’s innocence in the national imagination. 

***

David J. Leonard is Associate Professor in the Department of Critical Culture, Gender and Race Studies at Washington State University, Pullman. He has written on sport, video games, film, and social movements, appearing in both popular and academic mediums. His work explores the political economy of popular culture, examining the interplay between racism, state violence, and popular representations through contextual, textual, and subtextual analysis.  Leonard’s latest book After Artest: Race and the Assault on Blackness will be published by SUNY Press in May of 2012.