I will confess that I have always been a bit perplexed by
the seemingly universal adulation of Muhammed Ali. His death has prompted so many tributes that
I am almost reluctant to express any reservations whatsoever about his place on
the pantheon of heroes, but I will forge ahead anyway.
I can understand why Ali is a fascinating figure. Certainly as an athlete he appears to have
been uniquely gifted and convincingly successful (a career professional record
of 56 wins and 5 losses). What is even
more remarkable is that he was able to achieve this record despite being
suspended from boxing for three years during what could have been the most
productive years of his career.
His athletic endeavors were accompanied by a penchant for
publicity. His professions of
invincibility (“I am the greatest”) and his trash talking were as much a part
of his persona as his success in the ring.
From the little bit of research I can do on the topic, Ali is credited
with legitimizing trash talk and bringing it to an art form. He even is credited with a full length record
album consisting solely of trash talk that apparently sold quite well.
I have written previously about my opinion of trash talk and
the decline of sportsmanship, so it should come as no surprise that this aspect
of Ali’s fame leaves me rather cold. But
the story does not end there, and it is what Ali did after he achieved fame in
the ring that secured his place in history.
Cassius Clay began his association with the Nation of Islam
around 1961 and came under the influence of Malcolm X in 1962. By the time he fought Sonny Liston in 1964,
he was a Black Muslim. He soon changed
his name officially to Muhammed Ali, which was a pretty dramatic move in the
mid-60s. The new Muhammed Ali began
speaking out very energetically on civil rights and black empowerment, taking a
much more aggressive stance than the dominant civil rights leaders such as
Martin Luther King, Jr. He famously
stated: "I am America. I am
the part you won't recognize. But get used to me. Black, confident, cocky; my
name, not yours; my religion, not yours; my goals, my own; get used to me."
Even his trash talking reflected his growing focus on black
liberation. He frequently referred to
his opponents as Uncle Toms and ridiculed them for being part of the white
establishment. He referred to his birth
name, Cassius Clay, as his slave name.
To African Americans who had grown up under almost apartheid
conditions and, though grateful for the MLK inspired non-violence movement, thirsting
for more triumphant and provocative claims of liberation and pride, Muhammed
Ali was a potent symbol. He was a fist
in the face of the white plantation owner, a no excuses, stand-your-ground
example of black manhood.
In this way, Muhammed Ali was transformed from a braggart to
a prophet. He was not afraid to provoke
the white establishment, indeed he relished the opportunity. And he went one step further: He refused to
be inducted into the U.S. military on the basis of his unwillingness to fight
for a country that was oppressing his race.
He said "Why should they ask me to put on a uniform and go ten
thousand miles from home and drop bombs and bullets on brown people in Vietnam
while so-called Negro people in Louisville are treated like dogs and denied
simple human rights?"
His refusal to be drafted was not a simple publicity
stunt. It cost him about three years of
his prime fighting period. One has to
respect the courage it took for him to stand by his principles and give up the lost
income and opportunities.
This act of defiance, occurring at a time when even white young
Americans were beginning to question the Vietnam War, created an impression of
Ali that transcended his comic boasting and arrogance. As one of the most famous athletes in the
world during that period of time, his racial radicalism and anti-war stance
took on a profound significance that propelled him to a place of status based
on courage and independence rather than athleticism and self-confidence.
To better understand why Ali is so cherished, read Kareem
Abdul Jabbar’s reminiscences: "I remember the teachers at my high school
didn't like Ali because he was so anti-establishment and he kind of thumbed his
nose at authority and got away with it. The fact that he was proud to be a
black man and that he had so much talent ... made some people think that
he was dangerous. But for those very reasons I enjoyed him."
The impact of Muhammed Ali and his place in history are
unquestionable. He is a symbol that
encompasses much more than athletic prowess.
And he appears to have had a charm that few could resist. There are few major public figures that have
anything but high praise for Ali. And
all this from a man whose IQ was below the threshold that the Army would accept
for recruitment until it reduced the threshold in 1966. So add to his accomplishments the dispelling
of the belief that IQ does anything but quantify a narrow range of potential.
I started out to write this essay with a view that Ali’s fame
and exalted status were somewhat mystifying, but as I finish up now, having
explored the topic and read quite a bit about the man, I am much more
sympathetic to the prevailing interpretation of his contributions. Rest in peace, Muhammed Ali!
