Skin Color Should Not Matter, But it Does (Part 2)

Skin Color Should Not Matter, But it Does (Part 2)

10 Points to Think About

1. The United States practiced human slavery across significant parts of the country until the end of the Civil War in 1865. At the expense of millions of African-Americans, their labor and lives were exploited to create wealth for many U.S. citizens, primarily white people. Thus, millions of white Americans benefited from the illegal or immoral labors of the blacks, setting up wealthy legacies for many whites that blacks never had. Many whites did not directly own African-American slaves, but white people enjoyed the enhanced economies that the Southern states' slavery provided for many generations and populations of white American citizens.

2. The generations of newly freed African-American slaves post-bellum did not have much to begin with, as far as owning things or being trained or educated to do things to get ahead economically. Worse yet, most black people in the United States, the majority of them who were enslaved short years before, dealt with the travails of poverty, discrimination, lack of resources, in short: societal racism. This was a problem that the government had that did not allow the common black people to get ahead and create wealth, as most white Americans had opportunities to do. This did not mean that there were not poor white people. It meant that whites had better chances to create and sustain wealth.

The wars of the United States allowed blacks to have opportunities that they had never had to that measure before, with authority, leadership, even the rudiments of education. Each successive war permitted more equality to the African-American soldiers, seamen, marines, and eventually airmen. The Spanish American War allowed more cavalry science to be learned; valuable skills in the world of the horses. Then came the car, and the truck. And the plane.

Each innovation in transportation and technology allowed more African-Americans chances to succeed. But wealth and inheritance, opportunity to grow financially was still stacked against them.

World Wars I and II gave more worldliness to the African-Americans, followed by South Korea, Vietnam, up till our current wars in the Middle-East and Afghanistan.

While there were many valid complaints that the brunt of the fighting were disproportionately fought and died by the poorer troops, especially in Vietnam, which inarguably meant more blacks than the regular population, these wars still gave African-America men, and later women, more and more upward mobility. The military services offered a modicum of equality to all races.

3. Meanwhile the Civil Rights movements of the 1950s and 1960s moved the thermometer of racial tolerance and acceptance, and integration and true equal rights to the fore, or to the real place where people of all color should have been at in the first place. The integration of the American national past-time of baseball was huge in 1947. Other black athletes and people of color had broken down the unfairness barriers in track and boxing.

Sports became the new way for many African-Americans to leave the poverty of their backgrounds, while music and entertainment also provided a tantalizing public and acclaimed way to reach success and financial success. Education for the general masses lacked, compared to non-blacks, and worse yet the criminal and judicial system seemed to take much heavier tolls on the black populations, based on rates of arrests and especially illegal drug dealing and use.

4. By the 1970s and 1980s many good things were happening in the United States in general, for African-Americans as well, and there were feelings (much of it witnessed by me personally in the way of television, movies, sports, literature, and my own interactions with friendships and associations with African-Americans.) In my native Indiana there were pockets of racism that I observed, but by and large the white people of my native state seemed to accept and love people of color, particularly in sports, where we all seemed to be happy brothers and sisters.

My second state of most observance was the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, where to my knowledge race relations, as we can call it, seemed to be advanced as well. Perhaps even better than my native Hoosier State?

On television Bill Cosby was king, Eddie Murphy revered, sports figures in all venues honored and cherished. Black men and women seemed to be thriving. Michael Jackson and hundreds of other black artists were celebrated and adored, as well as more and more actors and even directors and producers. Rap and hip-hop became popular modes of communication and culture, beyond the traditional black ascribed genres of jazz, the blues, gospel and soul.

We had serious presidential candidates in the likes of Jesse Jackson and soon after Colin Powell.

African-Americans seemed to have arrived, or so we (again, the white majority) thought. 

We were a country of freedom, free enterprise, prosperity and equality, right? We had moved past the racism of the past, correct?

5. Entering into the 1990s, things became more evident that disparities in the black populations were still not right: movies like Boyz in the Hood and New Jack City appeared to be cinema verite; true to life, and not flattering or healthy. It seemed whole generations of African-American youth were growing up surrounded by violence, drugs, intimidation, imprisonment, and overall malaise.

What went wrong? How could this be fixed? Were all the politicians on the left correct to the arguments of those conservatives on the right? Did we need more robust social programs like free health care beyond Medicaid, food stamps, and public and section 8 housing? What about scholarships for thousands of gifted youth? Did not the military still offer the same upward mobility of the 1940s and 50s for millions of returned G.I.s?

Was bussing (sending whites to black neighborhoods and vice versa) not the answer, or more money pushed into the public school systems? Why could we not fix these urban and not-so urban ghettos of millions of black youth? Why were the drug gangs the ruling force of so many across the streets, leading to the perpetual life of jail and recidivism for millions? Did we need socialism or communism to fix the ills of our minority societies?

Why did the upward mobility of the immigrants like Latinos and Asians continue to surge while African-Americans apparently were left behind?

Was institutional racism still at play? What could be done, or were things eventually turning for the better despite all the negative statistics?

6. The late 1990s brought to light more dichotomies between the so-called "white" and "black" communities, to many known as the "haves" and "have-nots". No definition of population of cohorts is that cut and dry, easy to delineate. The reason why I qualify these descriptors in quotations is because by the 1990s many communities across the width and breadth of the United States were a mix of all people: not all black, not all white, certainly not all brown (Latino or other). Sure, enclaves still exist twenty years later (presently) deep into the 21st century, but by the late 90s of the twentieth century there were many mixed families. Barach Obama himself was a product from a mixed couple, and he was raised in a highly multi-diverse environment between Hawai'i and Indonesia. As an adult he became more immersed in the African-American community writ large, after a very advanced educational tour through the Ivy Leagues.

The O.J. Simpson tragedy may have been the cultural cross point for many of us, as a Americans, at least; I venture to say for the majority of the country it was a waking up point to illustrate that progress under Clinton or Bush or Reagan or Carter was not as good as hoped. I think it was safe to say for my father well into his fifties and me halfway through my twenties, this was a moment of clarity and rueful hope. Guilty or innocent, the emotional responses were curious (somewhat comical for a while with respect to a bloody mess) in the media and entertainment shows, particularly Leno's Tonight Show, and then befuddling, especially at the much ballyhooed acquittal. 

Mostly black audiences cheered his declared innocence of killing two people in cold blood.

"Finally! One of of ours is released!" Like a reverse lynching, of sorts.

Another part of the story was the black lawyer Jonny Cochran, a smart legalist and the best money could be. A seeming victory for the African-American community as a whole.

What a way to be judged victorious... This after other racially charged public trials on nightly television like Kennedy's nephew, who was white and set free, the black boxer Mike Tyson, accused of rape and sentenced to years at the penitentiary, the four police officers filmed beating the black victim Rodney King, all acquitted, which provoked the heinous riots of '92 in Los Angeles.

It seemed still obvious that the "black" community and the "white" communities saw things vastly differently.

7. The era of George Bush, number 41, I think, ushered in among the disputes of fairness of the vote, questioning our democratic process itself, then brought the shocking tragedies and perfidies of the radical terrorists of mostly Arab persuasion from that fateful September, the 11th, a Tuesday. as most of us recall. This then introduced a new epoch of racial or prejudicial bias, always translated as hatred or antipathy: foreign and/or Islamic haters needed to find Allah the hard way. Justice was going to be served by blood.

Perhaps all communities of the United States, for once, felt the same. We were all victimized that bleak day, as the sun shone down on all God's creatures. 

White, Catholic or WASP, black, Christian or Muslim, Latino, legal or without documentation, Asian, of whatever background, we all felt American-- even the Europeans, normally sceptics of U.S. hegemony and power, Chinese, South Americans, and other would-be peaceful nations empathized and aligned with us.

The U.S. military,  now in the 21st century as fully integrated racially as it should ever be, took care if its business, and U.S. citizens were one color. Green (in the Army case). Or three: red, white, and blue.

Nothing unites a nation and an otherwise disparate people like a common enemy.

8. Into the 2000s, as the threats from Afghanistan dissipated and Iraq ramped up, and later after the momentous triumphal entry of Mr. Obama, middle named Hussein, no less, and Afghanistan again took our attention with its own surge up in Helmand and Qandahar provinces, with drone strikes in Yemen and Pakistan, and the ever famous targeting of Mr. Bin Laden himself, the domestic tranquilities masked by foreign conflicts continued on...

Case by case, incident by incident, the law enforcement grievances piled up. Every city with a major black community had a famous case of "police brutality" and lives lost or forever damaged. Usually blue on black. This is a phrasing derived from what I knew of in Afghanistan as "green-on-blue", meaning a green local Afghan troop turned on blue troops, ISAF, or international forces from around the world.

Blue on black means that an African-American, typically, is killed by means of law enforcement officers. Case after case is cited by many as modern day lynchings, which has its own awful history in the United States.

When I moved to San Bernardino, California, in 1999, my close associates recounted to me the bad death in nearby Moreno Valley, in Riverside County. Was it an episode of another egregious and unnecessary police brutality victim of racism? A lady alone in her vehicle winds up shot to death? Could this not have been avoided? Was it because she was black? People had protested her unfortunate death, and yes, it was considered a racist blight on law enforcement. If I recall correctly the police of Moreno Valley were not sanctioned or punished.

Others saw her as a crazy threat to the public good that should not have been found in those extreme circumstances. Look up the case, I am sure the Google has some stories to tell, each way you would like.

Driving while black became the new mantra of institutional racism and fear among the black communities.

I saw a sticker at my workplace a couple years ago, smartly stuck in the passenger side window: "I know: I keep my hands on the steering wheel and I will present my license slowly." Or something to that affect.

Getting pulled over for some people, simply a routine traffic stop, can be a trying experience for many, especially minorities, even to the point of death when things are misinterpreted.

It happens too often, especially to African-Americans.

9. Enter the 2010s, which just wrapped up a little over a month ago, and we had some of the most famous cases of blue on black deaths.

Trayvon Martin in Florida was about a wanna-be cop, George Zimmerman. That got people pretty riled up, understandably. I will not replay the whole scene, but Trayvon was considered the young victim of a guy's zealousness to be the neighborhood watch, and it turned out tragic. Martin died, and then Zimmerman was acquitted based on the case and ruling.

A young black man dies again, through no fault of his own.

Then we had the choke out case of the coolie seller in New York, then the cigar stealer in Ferguson, Missouri, then the mishandled or poorly transported victim in Baltimore.

And while these more famous cases went on, many African-Americans continued to feel unlawfully and unreasonably targeted, and killed.

Most of these people, these innocent or certainly ill treated people were filmed. And most of the law enforcement professionals were let off, with little enough repercussions or censure. Hence, the public ire gathers and erupts.

The mantras were shouted and published repeatedly:

"I can't breathe."

"Hand's up, don't shoot!"

Before that a popular cry was: "Don't taze me, bro." Less lethal, usually a tazer shock, but hitting the same sentiment of unnecessary reactions to alleged misbehavior by offenders, usually of color.

By 2019, we had been through the new decade of race riots and pillaging. New racial offenses and accusations. Far from over, our black persecution complex. Police forces re-worked their numbers to provide more minority representation, like in Ferguson, where the numbers were far from representative of the overwhelming black neighborhoods versus the number of African-American police officers.

Ultimately, poverty is the culprit. Some accuse the U.S. government federally, and then state by state or locally, of malfeasance or indifference, apathy by the underlying racism that has existed since the 1800s or before. There are the statistics that show that blacks have too many problems purchasing homes, getting loans, saving money, getting proper educations, receiving too much punishment for misbehavior in the schools, being judged too harshly and unfairly accused and locked up too much. Others accuse the African-American communities of not doing enough to keep themselves free of these problems, taking advantage of government hand outs to their own detriment, smoking too much illegal substance or taking part in too much crime, petty or more serious. Or, the claims of the African-American break down of the nuclear family and sons and daughters without enough parents, let alone parental control.

Sometimes the very art of rap and hip-hop can be the source of the reasons of the downfall of the greater "thug"community, celebrating or glorifying violence, sex, drugs, and unwelcomed proper values to a more decent society.

Perhaps. 

As stated before, there are more mixed and diverse communities than ever before in the United States.

There are white and Asian rappers, black and Latino country singers. We are not as we once were, not as segregated on the surface as 30 or 50 years ago.

Will things change?

10. We have entered the dubious age of Donald Trump. Charges of racism run rampant, violent protests tinged with racial messages of hate have been tossed around, plenty.

Some have died, some have marched, some have killed as homeland white extremists. We mourn at the senselessness, the cruelty and awful juxtaposition of it all. In the land of plenty, we have the horror houses and terror halls.

Racism and its detritus and hubris and ugly history is alive and well (not well, of course), in our new decade of 2020.

I don't have the answers, my children are largely grown and are thinking well for themselves. I am adding my points, nothing definitive, nothing authoritative, but as a man of almost 50, white, black, brown, or otherwise, I do know and declare that racism is bad. It is evil and we need to rid ourselves of its effects and causes.

We need to clean up our language, black and white and brown and other.

We do not need to rehash the words and language of false empowerment and hate. Start there.

My white boy was called a "f-in' n*gg*r during a basketball game last year by an opposing player. It upset him greatly. We talked about it. It doesn't matter what the race of the other player was or is, it is not right.

Stop the racism, NOW.

Stop the speech of ignorance and hate.

Stop the words and ideologies of some kind of supremacy.

We are one human race. Can we slow down on the white/black jokes? I know some people make a lot of money doing those, but...

This thing has to end sometime.

Skin color does not matter, but it does. 2020.

Skin color does not matter, but it does. 2030?

Skin color does not matter, but it does. 2040?

Skin color does not matter, but it does. 2050?

I might live to be 80, who knows? Will I always be known as a white guy? A gringo? A gaijin? A howlie?

Sure, I am all those things. I should not enjoy privilege over others because of it.

Will white farmers of Zimbawe be kicked off their lands forever?

Will law enforcement always be perceived enemies of the African-Americans in the U.S. and elsewhere?

Does Canada have the answers?

Can we learn to get along, in the immortal words of Rodney King, a black man beaten in the streets of L.A. by four policemen? 

Can we stop using the "N" word?

All of us?

I have heard it used too much, by people of all races. It was used sometimes as brother, or chum, or buddy, or friend, or pal. Dude. For a while I ran with a crowd that made me accustomed to use the word "negro", but even that is not appropriate. But it, the harsher "N' word, carries so much more negative weight, this "N" word. It is abusive, an epithet of hate and violence. There is no more room for it in modern parlance.

Some think that it gives the user some type of empowerment, this overused word in hip hop. That black people can use it with impunity, because they "own" it. No. It is in fact empowerment of ignorance and hate. I have had that lecture with my students at Pacific High School: Anthony Bradley, Charles Clark, Andrew Palomino, Darnell Easley, and the one who I know that died by bullet at the local mall a few years later...

Robinson. Latrell. Pernell. Andre. Dante. No, none of those, but we know the ones taken...

I will remember your name. You are not just a black guy to me. You are a son, a man, a student, an athlete. You were my student. A person that I knew and I respected as much as I could.

I am sure he used this hateful, ignorant word. He didn't need to, and I am confident that it did not lead to his death. But why do we use these words of hate? Because of the color of our skin, how we have been branded, like cattle?

Stop it.

Stop the hate, let's all move beyond skin color.

Please.

Skin Color Should Not Matter, But it Does  Part 2.

Ahh, your name came to me in the middle of the night, and I woke and I felt I had to write this, dedicate this, to you and perhaps a thousand, I mean a million other young men cut down in their prime.

The Million Man march to oblivion, as it were.

Donnell Jury. I saw you play football, I saw you play basketball, I saw you do your best in my class. You gave me your respect, I thank you.

I recall talking with your special education teacher, the one with a doctorate named Ross, also from Indiana like me, but a big golfer who lived in Redlands, paid big money to play the links. Many teachers at Pacific lived in posher, safer Redlands across the wash (arroyo) where less ghetto crime and violence occurred.

You, Donnell, played at Chafee Junior College after Pacific High School, but I believe that is where your sports career ended. I heard about your demise 6 years later after our class, from a basketball teammate of yours who excelled more at baseball. Details like being at that mall at 3:30 or 4:30 in the morning...

I wrote about you in my old blog on Foxpsorts.com, and it was erased and sent to the vapor by those pinheads around 2009. Of all the blog posts that I composed on my two Fox accounts, created free at the end of 2005, that is one that I wish I had access to the most.

They lied about not erasing/deleting it. I would have backed them up if they had been truthful about only "adjusting" the URLs, our shared websites. Guys like you get erased and forgotten in the ghetto where you hail from. I lived in the neighborhood next over, in the San Gorgonio High School zone. Things were not too bad by day, but places like "Little Africa" always seemed sketchy... Police helicopters at night with their strobe lights a common occurrence.

I miss the memories that I put in the post about you, Donnell. You deserve my memories, my salutations, your presence in the world of black men, women, children, and other minorities cut down in mindless ways. Live on, my brother and student. Once you have poured a part of yourself into a student, you feel a kinship and responsibility toward them, a bit like a parent.

I would have like to have considered myself a mentor, in some small way, a ray of hope, providing an ounce of momentum toward future successes and achievements. But like too many , your life was taken. Have other former students of mine been shot to death, too?

"Black on black violence." "Street killing." "Gang banging". It never ends in our lifetime. Check the newspaper obits.

So bad that we have to put our finger on it somehow, wrap our minds around it and fix it.

You are still there, you still have family that remember you, maybe someday I can visit your gravesite or your church where your family weeps and prays for you, Donnell, the basketball and football star. They have your pictures, your obituary, probably talk to the girlfriend you took to the prom or were planning on marrying, or possibly had your child. You should be featured in the 2000 year book, prominently.

You are still there, Donnell. RIP, like Kobe and Gianna.

edclinch'sit.com
papaclinch'sit.com

RIP to my old blogs blogicided, but dedicated to the unwanton violence and victims and survivors of  San Berdu, the Inland Empire (like that boy had the IE tattooed on his forearm at UCLA...), and the rough and shady urban streets across the United States and the world.

And oh yeah, it doesn't have to be a ghetto to be deadly, and it doesn't have to be primarily African-American folks to be poor. But the combination lends a pretty high chance of it being a tough mix for stats. Like reports from the war zone where I lived, the daily numbers add up to fratricide. Brothers killing brothers.

Like the Vietnam Memorial bulging up in 1969, name after name, Donnell is among the thousands, hundreds of thousands?, that did not make it to age thirty.

The lists go on.

Skin Color Should Not Matter, But it Does (Part 2)

Skin Color Should Not Matter, But it Does

Skin Color Should Not Matter, But it Does

It is 2020: a pretty modern year on paper, and it is Black history month in the United States; we are a little over half way through it (today is Sunday the 16th), and these things matter to me. The fact that skin color, a large indicator of culture and identity, matters so much. Still. We humans have a lot of quirks that we are trying to get past, maybe, to overcome.

Why do I care? Because I consider myself somewhat of a historian, and historically significant as a chronicler or not,  I do care, so I write this for a few reasons. I write this to understand both myself and the subject addressed. I also care about justice, fairness, the "correct", the "good", if there is such a Plutonian concept. Skin color, pigmentation, should not matter as much as it does in 2020.

But it still does.

Examples?

I read reports at work about White Extremist movements around the world. Ugh.

I see that the Roast of Inside the NBA hosts in the middle of the All-Star weekend for Shaquille O'Neal, Ernie Johnson, Kenny Smith, and Charles Barkely is replete with racial identity, black and white. Many racially based comments and jokes. It is meant to be funny, but underlining the humor is the sadness of racial identity, and therefore the existence of discrimination.

I read and re-learn about white farmers in Zimbabwe, former Rhodesia, who are violently expelled from their homes because of their skin color, which happens to be white.

In the last five or six years in America, we had the protests and riots of Ferguson, Missouri, Baltimore, and many other places dealing with law enforcement relations with people of color, blacks, or African-Americans in particular. African-Americans felt oppressed by men and women in uniform of all color.

Under the last two presidents of the United States since 2008, we have been talking about racial unity, accomplishments, divisiveness more than ever. 12 years of new racial polemic and possibility.

But we still cannot get past it, dismiss it or overcome the pigmentation problems.

Does it affect me personally? Yes, I am American and human, no matter my skin color.

As a citizen, patriotic and trying to do my part for my republic, I want to celebrate people of all races, but foremost the human race. Regardless of creed, language, socio-economic status. I want us to be one.

But I feel like we can't. Yet.

Do I suffer the fear of being black and getting pulled over? No, I am a white man.

Does this give me white privilege? To a certain degree I enjoy this, or I am privileged by this skin color, by less fear while driving, I admit. Is this right? Certainly not. It is not fair to others, not fair to society.

When will we look past the divisions and barriers and labels and jokes of race? White, black, brown, and on...

Probably never, the way we keep making the jokes, the stereotypes, the unfair claims of injustice which might be true in many cases...

Poverty of the bank account, the thinking mind, and the popular will continue to perpetuate the racism and racial polarities that vex us.

Race and racism vex us.

We can joke about it at NBA roasts, but the language and stinking thinking continues. He has a "black name". He has a "white name." Haha, laugh it up. Painful but true. Funny but true.

Skin color should not matter, but it does.

Skin color should not matter, but it does.

Skin color should not matter, but it does.

Skin color should not matter, but it does.

I will not eat green eggs and ham, Sam-I-am.

Rhythm and Soul: NBA Life and Meaning Pt. 2

Rhythm and Soul: NBA Life and Meaning Pt. Deux

2) Overcoming

Overcoming is a pretty interesting subject in and of itself. It has historically substantial and personal meanings to everyone. We all do it, right? 

We overcome lethargy or laziness. We overcome oppression or unrighteous dominion. We overcome the world, we overcome the poverty of the past, or our childhood, we overcome the abuse of a parent or a system or a mean boss, etcetera and anon.

We, us humans, and even our pets, are resilient and we overcome. And, we love ourselves and each other for it. We are relentless and we win by working and overcoming.

Overcoming is largely begun and ended by the individual.

The NBA has shown this spirit and principle again and again in thousands of their athletes, coaches, trainers, commentators, and leaders, despite the underpinning team aspects of the sport of basketball.

It is the young boy or girl who individually has to have the will to run, jump, dribble, rebound (which is quite physical), day after day, week after week, year after year. No matter the parents or friends or coaches urging him or her to do it, no matter the literal hunger of the stomach or the violence or threats of the streets or the neighborhoods, it is the one player who was to have the desire and passion for it. To overcome the affluence, the apathy, the insult, the lack of a thousand suitable circumstances to be competitive in this hard ground sport.

In other cases, the man or woman does not learn the skills nor the passion of the sport till later in life. They learn to play at age 17 or 19, and work and drive themselves with the help and coaching and mentoring of others to thrive or contribute to a team, even up to the level of college basketball, a professional league, or even the NBA.

Men and women have come from all socio-economic backgrounds, lifestyles, cultures, sizes and shapes to succeed and overcome in the game of basketball.

Some had to deal with hardships, particularly injuries or health conditions during their careers, but even more astoundingly is where some of these overcomers have come from.

Kosic, Yugoslavia.
Shrempf, Germany.
Sabonis and Marciulonis, Lithuania.
Mutombo, Congo (former Zaire).
Olajuwon, Nigeria.
Nash, Canada.
Duncan, U.S. Virgin Islands.
Parker, France.
Ginobli, Argentina.
Harper, Panama.
Jose Juan Barea, Puerto Rico.
Yao Ming, China

Of course the grand majority of the NBA players came from the United States, where the game originated.

And most, if not all, had to overcome themselves and their respective circumstances.

For millions of African-Americans, it has been the city ghettos. Many found their way to the courts of the N.B.A and other professional leagues. This helped them overcome their plights.

For millions of whites from impoverished backgrounds, city or rural alike, basketball also offered a way to escape the streets or the drudgeries that they experienced. Black or white, brown or other, the game and the ultimate destiny of fame and fortune in the grandest stage gave them a chance to achieve a huge reward for their hard work, a true meritocracy.

I will cite four:

Jerry West
Moses Malone
Larry Bird
Isaih Thomas

But first, the international players. They overcame their "foreign-ness" to make it in the NBA, or at least most of them. Those who did not impact the Association directly inspired others that did.

Kresimir Cosic made his way to lesser-known Utah-based church school Brigham Young University in the early 1970s, when Communism was a huge Iron  Curtain across Europe and the world. He had size, but he something more. Talent and vision. He was a big man who could move and shoot unlike American big men. He brought that style and knowledge back to his homeland, which eventually led to dozens of former Yugoslav players making it big in the N.B.A.

What did Cosic have to overcome in order to accomplish this? Language barriers, cultural obstacles, circumstances of a Western minority faith, political and ideological barriers, and a hundred other logistical trials.

But he impacted the sport and the N.B.A. as a pioneer to the world.

He tragically died young, but he overcame and brought a huge presence to the rhythm and soul of this league.

Detlef Shrempf came from a soccer (football) crazy country. He, like Cosic, had height in his favor. But his desire to be the best, as a minority, was unsurpassed. Well, until Dirk Nowitski and generation later. But I believe one would not have existed without the other.

Germany then added to the rich mosaic of the NBA. A player had to break through at the highest level to overcome those hurdles for this powerful nation in the heart of Europe.

Small Lithuania, then thickly ensconced in the massive and oppressive Soviet Union, by far the largest territorial empire in the world, produced some of the best basketball players of all time. Perhaps basketball was an outlet for many of them to express a freedom that they knew that they deserved?

One was 7'3", which could make one think this was the advantage, but you had to see him play. He had moves and passes a man his size has never had. His smaller buddy Sariunas had the inside moves, too. These two brought new artistry to the American sport.

They overcame the Soviet Empire and the world of Russian oppression.

--A side note on the comparison to the art or display of the NBA and its basketball with music, or possibly the genre of jazz.

Millions of us listen to music, really we are in the billions. Millions of us perform music in voice and instruments. We all hear a little or a lot of it everyday. Millions of people participate in and play basketball, too. Some are mere amateurs and others get gain from it.

The NBA is the highest form of basketball, and therefore it is like the best of the symphonies, or orchestras, or jazz bands on the planet. The diversity of talent that comes together to make these teams are the synthesis of of a lot of honed fusion. So the disparate nations of the world, different peoples who bring their talents to the league enhance the musicality and tones of the art.

Therefore, the people mentioned from all these foreign lands (non-U.S.) are additional pieces that are placed in the jazz ensemble. But these are not middle school or high school or college level players. These are world class, best of the best players that are moving in their artistry throughout the entire human race.

And like a virtuoso in music, be it classical music, folk, rock, or jazz, the player has to perfect his or her skills and add their talents to the patinee of the art and flow of the work. 

Thus, we continue with Monsieur Dikembe Mutombo Mpolondo Mukamba Jean-Jacques Wamutombo.

That is his full name. He was a part of many artful teams and seasons. Perhaps the most iconic was when his Denver Nuggets as an eighth seed (lowest) upset the first seed Seattle Supersonics in 1994. The "little" slayed the giants. Of course, this French and perhaps 7 other language speaker was no little guy, but his team was the last to qualify for the playoffs.

And they, the little regarded ones, knocked them, the fast and steady regular season champs, out.

But the best ever from Africa has to be Akeem, later Hakeem, the Dream, Olajuwon. He grew up playing soccer in Nigeria, and perhaps for this reason as a big man he had the best footwork ever.

Amazing skills and repertoire of talents. A champion.

These African men, despite their superior size, were much more in overcoming their situations and circumstances.

Steve Nash, of British Colombia, Canada, was a thin and not-so-tall white guy from a country that usually only provided big men to the south.

Nash took things to another level in the NBA, and overcame a small college off the radar background and environment where guys like him were an after thought. Hall-of-Famer all the way, in retrospect.

Tim Duncan of the U.S. Virgin Islands, I think from lesser known St. Croix, was a swimmer who grew to 6'11''. He became the best power forward of all time. Not the prettiest shooter ever, but boy he could use the glass, play both sides of the ball, and win.

Tony Parker of  France. Like Kobe Bryant who had a dad playing pro ball in Europe, Parker grew up with that advantage. But unlike Kobe, Tony Parker Junior played till adulthood in France, and then became a superstar with Duncan and the Spurs. He spoke with a French accent, he was French. Different.


Speaking of accents, Manu Ginobli of Argentina created the triumverate of the above-mentioned Spurs to make their mark on the 21st century. To me, a Hall-of-Famer along with the other two.

What a blend of talent and cultures! What music Popovich and the San Antonio community reveled in all those years.


Rolando Blackmon of Panama made it very well in the NBA with the Dallas Mavericks. 6'5" is not that big, but how did he overcome the obstacles of little Panama to make it big in the NBA?

Jose Juan Barea, Puerto Rico. A little guy from a relatively little island. They list him at 6'0'' but I think he is likely 5'10".

If you were to show a picture of overcoming, I think that Jose might be it.

Giant Yao Ming did not succeed and overcome in the NBA simply because of his abnormal size. He had heart, vision, skill, and hard work.

He overcame a culture where the government "values" skills and talents, but who else had come from such a foreign environment where the game was still such a distance and cultural leap.

But let us revisit the American culture of our rich and poor and glorious and terrible history, the land of milk and honey and the land of slavery and genocide.

Here in the homeland of the leather round ball, the peach basketball turned hoop with the twines hanging below, the culture of outdoor and indoor courts became a crucial part of cultures, inner-city, suburban, and rural.

Overcoming slavery, human bondage, is more than just overcoming bondage. Some of the youth of our nation played basketball as an escape or release or opportunity to leave their impoverished settings. Some played it as a lifeline.

Jerry West, a taller, lanky very talented and great shooting white guy from West Virginia, made it big in the city of lights, Los Angeles. Small town boy done good. From a state that has a lot of blue collar workers, miners, and people without great outlets for success.

Moses Malone, without knowing too much about him, was a giant of a man who made the pros out of high school. He was strong enough and good enough, and had a great career in the days of the NBA when blacks were dominating a sport that suffered some image problems due to lack of education among many of its stars (poor grammar and Ebonics was not considered good culture), plus the issues with drug use that was counter culture.

Like many black men, Moses came up through the tough neighborhoods of his city, and basketball was his way above the hopelessness of poverty and want.

Larry Bird came from a small rural town, isolated from the rest of the state of Indiana, let alone the country. His father was an alcoholic and Bird found refuge and strength in the high school gym, where he perfected his craft and superior will. White was a color he had to overcome to be considered among the best ever.

Isaih was the last son of ten children, raised by his single mom in the toughest projects of Chicago. His elder brothers had talent, and ghetto problems, but they nurtured the hungry youngest boy of them and bred him for success.

And he found it. From the wealthy private school in the suburbs where he was bussed, to the bucolic Bloomington where Bobby Knight would take him to the NCAA championship over North Carolina, to the Detroit Pistons where he was a multiple time champion as their captain, overcoming the giant stars Bird then Magic Johnson, before the supreme Michael Jordan could establish his dominance, Isaih was the David among the giants of the hardwood. And he brought the banners back to his cities, forever appreciative of his verve, vigor, will, determination, and skill.

When some said blacks were naturally gifted at jumping and running and playing basketball, Isaih correctly countered that African-Americans did not overcome in the sport by chance, but by hard work.

All these players, domestic and foreign, no matter wealthy or poor, small or large, fast or slow, had to overcome. First individually, and then as a team.

First in desire, then in pure determination and practice and team work, planning, and will.

The will to overcome.

There were no accidents in their successes.

I cannot fully explain here in this forum or maybe ever, but those who watch and observe the game year in and year out, night in and night out, see the gift to overcome among these players, teams, and coaches.

How to create and perform a virtuoso? A masterpiece? A championship in the NBA?

Dig deep, run, have a vision, and give all you got.

And that determination will lead to overcoming. It is a microcosm on a hardwood stage, this game of running and jumping, the modern day rugged yet graceful ballet and theatre we call the NBA.