Caveats first, because this is important: I am a white man. My ancestors, for centuries, used the lives of millions of Africans as nothing more than a resource to fuel their imperialism. They kidnapped them, packed them below decks in creaky wooden ships in conditions beyond what a sane mind wants to comprehend, and ripped them away from every connection to family, culture, and home. Those that survived the months-long trip across the Atlantic Ocean were rewarded by being sold into permanent slavery. 

For generations these slaves built and maintained the industries of the New World. While the fruit of their labor has been a life of relative comfort and plenty for myself and the large majority of White Americans, theirs was working 12-14 hour days, seven days a week, through illness and fatigue. It was beatings, floggings, humiliation, murder, rape, and death.

When society could no longer bear the obvious injustice of state-sanctioned slavery, America took it underground. Rather than seek reparations, beg forgiveness, and honestly reckon with our past, we have instead used a labyrinthian web of shadow policies, agencies, and unspoken biases to ensure every facet of life for African Americans reminds them that they are lesser. From Jim Crow, Black Wall Street, Redlining, Birmingham, COINTELPRO, to the full unveiling of the racist brutality of our country’s police, we have used local, state, and federal programs, cultural institutions, schools, banks, and all other aspects of American life to fight against the simple fact that we, as a people and a nation, are guilty of horrible crimes, and we must, must in some way answer for them.

For a century and a half, we have used violence to push back against the idea that black people are owed anything other than freedom in name only. We have turned from our obligations towards justice, and that turning has only compounded our debt. And now, as our society and country feels on the very brink of an abyss, the bill is coming due.

In this context, and for the purposes of discussing racial reconciliation in our country, and specifically as it concerns professional athletes and their use of protest as a tool for progress, I acknowledge my part in this process is not one of the creditor, but the debtor. The justice owed African Americans is not mine to give, but rather to advocate for, assist in obtaining and hopefully, by grace, to survive. 

*****

To protest the shooting of Jacob Blake specifically, and the broader wave of police violence towards African Americans, the Mariners players chose not to play baseball last Wednesday. They were joined by members of the Brewers, A’s, and a smattering of other MLB teams. In doing so, they set themselves up as leaders in social justice activism and, at least as crucially, at the forefront of professional athletes using their massive platform and power to organize and demand change. To their credit, the Mariners organization did not attempt to co-opt the players’ choice as anything other than what it was: A player-led act of defiance.

Pride is not a word I like to use when discussing professional sports teams. We live in the Masks Off Era, and the idea that these organizations exist for any reason other than further enriching their obscenely wealthy owners feels like privilege-soaked naivety. Pride insinuates something reciprocal, that the Mariners as an organization care about what I think. They do not. So the feeling Wednesday night was not necessarily pride, but rather profound admiration for this group of players. These are men who have endured the poverty of the minor leagues and the brutal nature of the sport itself to achieve their dream sacrificing that dream in the name of social justice and solidarity. It shows, at minimum, a mindfulness and courageousness of spirit, and a lot of good can flow from that.

But then, with the game off and the league scrambling to reign in a movement with real teeth, they simply made up the game the next day. Scott Servais spoke with the media, praising the team’s decision to “let off the gas” in a “unique day”. It is absolutely unfair to expect a baseball manager to speak eloquently on social justice issues, just as it is preposterous that we have put our best athletes in a position where they are compelled to lead our society on those same issues. Still, it is clear that at least for Servais, the statement had been made, the ritual performed. Go get ‘em tomorrow, as they say.

Across MLB and the other major sports, what seemed like a generational coalescing of athletic labor, like so many other potentially historic movements, flickered out before it truly got going. The Lakers and Clippers voted to stop the NBA playoffs, and within 48 hours agreed to return in exchange for NBA arenas being used as voting sites. The A’s, Nationals, Mets, and all the other MLB teams eventually settled for protest as a symbol, rather than a continuous act of defiance towards a state that enacts systemic violence against people of color.

I get it. For many of us it’s so easy to view social advocacy as a sort of bingo – mark off this spot if you’ve marched, that one if you’ve donated to a bail fund, etc. – rather than a continuous, all-encompassing movement that will always require sacrifice; yours, mine, ours, until the day we’re dead, or justice is served. Vacations, after all, are more compelling than lifestyles. It was too much to ask the Mariners, or any team or group of athletes, to spontaneously rise up in unity against police brutality. At some point, however, we are going to have to ask too much of some, and they are going to have to give it. Change will not come through symbols. Only action.

I cannot tell the black community how to protest the horrors committed against them. It is simply not within my rights to do so. I also recognize how deeply unfair it is that black athletes are put in this position at all. The world is on fire,and America is perilously close to falling full-bore into fascism. All I hope is that the Mariners players understand that. I hope they know we are going to need them, just as they will need us. 

Jerry Seinfield’s classic “rooting for laundry” bit has been on my mind a lot recently. The absurdity of loyalty to team over player looms starkly when framed against our current moment. There is no team beyond the people who play on it. There is no organization beyond Dee Gordon, Justin Dunn, JP Crawford, Shed Long, et al showing up everyday to do their job. In 2020 I root for the Seattle Mariners no further than I cheer for these men and their teammates to continue to discover and take hold of the power their labor provides them, and to assist them however I can as they wield that power to make the world a better place. After all, when you root for people and not corporations, you can root for all of them, not just the product they make. Through liberty and justice for all.