The weekend editions of the major American newspapers will devote the bulk of their coverage to one major issue this week -- the Donald Sterling affair. The central protagonist is Donald Sterling, the owner of the Los Angeles Clippers professional basketball club, who was recorded in a private conversation with his girlfriend, V. Stiviano, making racist statements. The episode has reinvigorated interracial dialogue in America, a dialogue that has become more complex and fraught with tension as well as more pluralistic and liberal as the years have gone by. "Why are you taking pictures with minorities? Why-" Sterling asks his girlfriend, a woman of black-Mexican extraction who goes by the name V. Stiviano. "It bothers me a lot that you want to broadcast that you're associating with black people," he adds. "Do you have to-" "You can sleep with [black people]. You can bring them in, you can do whatever you want," he says. "The little I ask you is not to promote it
and not to bring them to my games." "It's the world! You go to Israel, the blacks are just treated like dogs," he said. "It isn't a question -- we don't evaluate what's right and wrong, we live in a society. We live in a culture. We have to live within that culture." These are just some of the shocking statements made by Sterling, whose recorded remarks were first reported by an entertainment gossip site. After it became public domain, it was only a matter of time before it exploded into a full-blown scandal. The remarks and the massive media coverage that followed elicited wall-to-wall condemnation, from U.S. President Barack Obama to every major basketball player worldwide. The climax to the story was delivered by NBA Commissioner Adam Silver, who handed down the harshest penalty possible -- a lifetime ban from the league and a fine of $2.5 million. In effect, Silver forced Sterling, who has owned the Clippers since 1981 and whose fortune is estimated at around $1.9 billion, to sell his baby in the near future. A look back at recent American history reveals that racial tensions have often times been manifest on the sporting stage. The main victims of discrimination and racial taunting have usually been the trail-blazing athletes who dared to challenge the status quo -- Jews and African-Americans. When it comes to sports, political correctness, which is such a dominant force in American society, is tossed out the window. Banks and other large commercial entities across the country do their best to maintain equal representation among the various ethnic groups employed in their work forces. In sports, however, this doesn't apply. Basketball is predominantly black, while baseball is mostly white. Unlike the other industries, however, the composition of the work force is solely a function of talent. In the U.S., it's highly doubtful whether there is a more equitable platform for social mobility than professional sports. From Berlin to Mexico Avery Brundage headed the American National Olympic Committee as the world prepared for the Summer Games of 1936 in Berlin. While the Jewish community worked hard to persuade American athletes to boycott the events in light of the rise of Adolf Hitler, Brundage, who was a known Germanophile, traveled to Berlin and decreed that American athletes would take part in the games "and not bow down to Jewish designs." In one fell swoop, he sealed the athletic fates of two Jewish sprinters, Marty Glickman and Sam Stoller, who flew to Berlin but were left off the U.S. delegation at the last minute so as "not to embarrass" Hitler. When Jesse Owens, the black sprinter, captured the gold medal in the 100-meter relay, the entire world became convinced of the myth that Hitler had left the stadium in anger. Years later, Owens acknowledged: "I felt closer to my competitors from the German team than I did with the American delegation and its head." That statement is testament to the extent to which Brundage was perceived as a racist. Brundage's role in history did not end with Owens' historic performance. Over three decades later, on October 16, 1968, the top three performers in the 200-meter relay took to the podium for the medal ceremony in Mexico City. Two of them were black American sprinters -- Tommie Smith and John Carlos. The third was a white Australian runner, Peter Norman. As fate would have it, Brundage, who was at the time the head of the International Olympic Committee, was slated to hand out the medals to the winners. Smith and Carlos, who were well aware of Brundage's history of racism, demanded that someone else award them the medals. Brundage, who was an avowed supporter of Alabama governor and sworn segregationist George Wallace, did not hide his disappointment over the result of the race. Smith and Carlos, for their part, would not remain indifferent. When Smith -- the gold medalist -- and Carlos -- the bronze winner -- stepped up to the podium, the 50,000 fans in the stadium along with millions of viewers worldwide watched what was perhaps the most famous political expression in the history of the games. They ascended to the podium in their training gear while barefoot, wearing badges to protest discrimination. As the Star Spangled Banner was playing in the background, and the Stars and Stripes of the American flag were raised in honor of their victory, Smith and Carlos bowed their heads and raised their fists, which were covered in leather black gloves. This rare protest, an event so unusual given that the Olympic Games deem themselves to be apolitical, made an impact worldwide. That evening, Smith and Carlos were forced off the U.S. delegation and subsequently banned from the games. Brundage, for his part, demanded that the two medals be confiscated and that their performances be expunged from the history books. His wish was not realized. The institutional racism which Brundage championed would once again rear its ugly head four years later. It was during his tenure as IOC chief that the 11 Israeli athletes were murdered at the Munich games. It is Brundage who is remembered as the man who silenced those who called for the suspension of the events, insisting "the games must go on." Brundage's announcement received loud applause in the main Olympic stadium in Munich. Years later, it was this miserable decision that would expose Brundage's pro-Nazi sympathies, making him one of the more controversial figures in history. If he can die in Okinawa, he can play baseball The roots of racism in American sports can be traced back to the latter stages of the 19th century and first half of the 20th century. This was a period during which minorities fought for their share of legitimacy. Hank Greenberg was the first Jewish superstar in American team sports when he emerged as the top slugger for the Detroit Tigers baseball club. The Motor City conducted its affairs in the shadow of automobile tycoon Henry Ford, an avowed racist and anti-Semite. Ford was even an ardent admirer of Hitler, and he did not hesitate in publicly declaring his support for the Germany tyrant in the American press. Greenberg made headlines around the world in 1934, when he publicly considered sitting out games played on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. After consulting with rabbis in the midst of a media firestorm, Greenberg became the focal point of anti-Semitic invective. Finally, Greenberg, who would go on to voluntarily enlist in the American military and serve in combat on the southeast Asian front during World War II, elected to play on Rosh Hashanah but to rest on Yom Kippur. Despite the anti-Semitic nature of the criticism, Greenberg admitted: "I thought I was suffering, but then I met Jackie Robinson." Robinson was the first black player in history to play in the major leagues, the top level of professional baseball in the U.S. To this day, Robinson is considered a transformational figure in American sports history. The first athlete in the history of UCLA to win varsity letters in four sports, Robinson, like most of his friends at the time, enlisted in the military shortly after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. After he was discharged, he officially joined the Negro Leagues, a professional baseball league that had operated for 60 years separate from the all-white Major League Baseball. During that time, nobody thought that a black ballplayer could make it in the all-white league. Robinson's performance in the Negro League -- which included an impressive .387 batting average -- caught the attention of the MLB's Brooklyn Dodgers. The Dodgers took advantage of the departure of the league's racist commissioner, Kenesaw Landis, and the arrival of his replacement, Happy Chandler, who famous said: "If a black boy can make it on Okinawa and Guadalcanal, hell, he can make it in baseball." For Dodgers president and general manager Branch Rickey, this was the green light from Chandler that he had waited for before signing the first African-American ballplayer in the history of the major leagues. In 1947, Robinson was summoned to the Dodgers, where he finished the season as the top rookie. Robinson's path to stardom was a bumpy one. In the years that followed his initial call-up, he would be on the receiving end of racist remarks in nearly every city in which he came to play -- both from the spectators in the stands and from opposing players. When he traveled with his team to towns that were racially segregated, he was forced to have dinner separate from his teammates. He was even compelled to sleep in different hotels on the road. Today, African-Americans, Latinos, and Asians are the leading stars for their baseball teams. Posters of minority stars proudly hang in the bedrooms of homes all across America. Minorities' solidarity Last month, Rubin Carter, the famed American boxer who was famously convicted for a murder that he never committed and who was immortalized by Bob Dylan in his song "The Hurricane," died at the age of 76. In 1961, Carter fought in his first professional fight. After a string of successes in the ring which earned him the moniker "Hurricane," he fell just short of the middleweight title in 1964. That year, Carter was quoted in a newspaper article as supporting the rights of black people to shoot at police officers if they ever fell victim to police brutality. Carter, who later denied the statements, said that from that moment onward he was targeted by police. His boxing career came to an end in 1966, when two men entered a Patterson, New Jersey bar and shot three people dead. Carter was arrested a short time later when he was found driving a car with his friend, John Artis. The arrest came on the heels of eyewitness statements claiming that the shooters were two black men. None of the witnesses to the shooting identified the two men as being at the scene in a police lineup. After taking a polygraph, Carter and Artis were freed, though they still remained suspects. In 1967, Carter and Artis were convicted of murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. In 1974, the eyewitnesses recanted their testimony, though this did not prevent the jury from convicting the two men a second time. It was only in 1988 when the charges against them were formally dropped by a federal court, which determined that exculpatory evidence was deliberately concealed by the prosecution. After 21 years, Carter was released from prison. American boxing has traditionally been a sport that has attracted racism. Part of the reason is that in the early 20th century the sport was almost completely run by Jews. Fighters like Barney Ross and Benny Leonard encountered racism and anti-Semitism in the ring, which spurred them to continue combating their opponents with their fists and racist public opinion with their presence. Much like in jazz music, some of the Jews took the black fighters under their wings. Ross, one of the greatest Jewish fighters of all time, became a boxer after his family was devastated by the murder of his father by African-American robbers. Just before Ross was to battle Henry Armstrong, a black fighter, for the world championship, he was asked by reporters whether the fight had any added significance given that his father was killed by black men. Ross was so infuriated by the question that he ordered the reporter expelled from the room. Years later, Armstrong said that was a defining moment in his career as well as the careers of thousands of black boxers. While other sports gradually began to open their doors to blacks, the realities of everyday life outside of the arena remained far bleaker. Althea Gibson was born in 1927 on a cotton farm in South Carolina. Growing up in the Harlem section of New York City, her talents were first discovered when she began throwing balls against cement walls. Gibson would later go on to become the first black tennis player to win the prestigious Wimbledon and French Open tournaments in both the singles and doubles competition (which she won with a Jewish partner). Despite the achievement, Gibson was not allowed to participate in the U.S. Open due to her skin color. In 1950, a white tennis player, Alice Marble, wrote an editorial for American Tennis Magazine denouncing the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association's discriminatory practices. After the letter's publication, the racial barrier was broken, and Gibson was permitted to compete in the U.S. Open, which she went on to win. For decades, she was the only African-American female tennis player to win the tournament -- until the arrival of the Williams sisters, Venus and Serena. Much worse in Europe From the mid-20th century onward, institutionalized racism in American sports has largely disappeared. The general sense was that humane pluralism won the day. Still, prejudice and racism have not been entirely eradicated. In specific instances, they have once again reared their ugly heads. In 1997, the world was introduced to the first black golfing superstar, Tiger Woods, who took home the prestigious Masters championship. After one round of play, one of his competitors, Fuzzy Zoeller, was heard saying of Woods: "He's doing quite well, pretty impressive. That little boy is driving well and he's putting well. He's doing everything it takes to win. So, you know what you guys do when he gets in here? You pat him on the back and say congratulations and enjoy it and tell him not to serve fried chicken... or collard greens or whatever the hell they serve." Zoeller was referring to a Masters tradition in which the winner of the tournament plans the menu for the annual dinner the year after. Last year, another rival said of Woods: "We will see him in the restaurant every night, and they'll serve fried chicken there." During the 1990s, the O.J. Simpson trial exposed racial skeletons in America's closet. Public opinion polls showed that a majority of blacks believed that he was innocent of murdering his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and Ronald Goldman. Most whites, however, believed he was guilty. Winter sports have also not been immune to racial tensions, given that these are competitions that have been predominantly "white." Shani Davis, an Olympic champion speed skater and one of the few African-Americans in his sport, is on record as discussing the many difficulties he encountered while competing in a field that thus far has been primarily white. The swift reaction of American society and the NBA to the Sterling matter leave little doubt as to why the U.S. is light-years ahead of the rest of the globe in handling instances of racism. This week, President Obama called Sterling "a racist." Magic Johnson, who was insulted by Sterling on the tapes, announced that he was considering purchasing the Clippers. Corporate sponsors announced that they were abandoning the Clippers in droves. Despite all of this, however, nobody is willing to wager that a similar instance doesn't repeat itself in the future. As the Sterling saga was unfolding in the U.S., halfway around the globe, a soccer fan patronizing a Barcelona match against rival Spanish outfit Villareal threw a banana at the feet of Brazilian player Danny Alves. These overt displays of racism have become commonplace in Spanish soccer, a league that is considered one of the worst in western Europe as it relates to stamping out prejudice. In response, soccer players from around the world took photographs of themselves with bananas as a symbol of protest, but the Spanish authorities so far have been unable to root out the phenomenon. In Israel, the former coach of the Maccabi Tel Aviv basketball club, Pini Gershon, was once caught on tape telling a group of IDF officers: "There are different shades of black. The mocha-colored guys are smarter, but the dark colored ones are just guys off the street," he said. "They're dumb like slaves, they do whatever you tell them." Gershon remained in his post as coach. Today, he is a television commentator and the lead basketball analyst for the Sports Channel and Channel 10.
