Muhammad Ali

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hen I learned of Muhammad Ali's passing, I was emotionally overwhelmed. Memories and images of the 60s and 70s, seasons of black protest marked by the long, hot summers of death and destruction, surge forth from deep down. It was the civil rights movement with the police and their billy clubs bashing innocent black brains. Mad dogs, descendants of their ancestors on the slave plantation, were barking, hounding and biting protesters. Water-hoses, capable of felling the sturdiest of men, were spraying children and adults into submission. The subdued victims of American civilization were bundled into paddy-wagons on their way to jail. And there are memories of assassinations: The Kennedys, MLK Jr., Malcolm X, Medgar Evers, and many others, nameless and unknown, making the supreme sacrifice so that we may survive the modern holocaust. Notwithstanding, the most remarkable memory is that of triumph over the forces of oppression and repression. The marchers for freedom and justice kept increasing in number and the March on Washington is etched in our memories as MLK's dream speech continues to echo everlastingly.

Muhammad Ali was not another faceless marcher. He was the epitome of protest and triumph. We remember his exploits at the 1960 Olympics, his gold medal and, most significantly, his decision to throw the medal into the river as he faced racism in his native Louisville, Kentucky where he was refused service at a restaurant because he was black. At age 22, Ali threw himself into the social fray. He never looked back. We remember the boxing titles: the first three-time heavyweight champion of the world; resounding victories over the formidable but phony Sonny Liston, the much dreaded George Foreman, the relentless Joe Frazier, and a whole array of heavyweights good, bad, and ugly. Of all the storied triumphs, what stands out is one fleeing moment in Ali's 1971 "Fight of the Century" against Frazier. In the 15th round, Frazier knocked him down to the surprise of those backing Ali to beat his opponent, American establishment's favorite stepson. In a flash, almost simultaneously, Ali jumped back onto his feet dazed but not defeated. That sign of courage, pride, resilience, and refusal to accept failure, would see Ali through all sorts of obstacles in his life. It would serve as example for all of us facing seemingly insurmountable mountains of ills and woes.

To our mind, henceforth, Ali was no longer a boxer. He was an activist using the platform of the ring to shed light on life. His objective was not to win titles, but to win the war against oppression, discrimination, prejudice and, yes, indeed, racism. When he refused induction into the army to go fight in Vietnam, he took a stand for peace, and for human love and conscience. He made a sacrifice that most would never make: He literally threw away millions of dollars as well as almost four years of a career the brilliance of which would probably never have been marched for ages. He was never afraid to speak his mind in very clear terms. To the supremacist masters of exploitation he declared: "I know where I'm going and I know the truth, and I don't have to be what you want me to be… I'm free to be what I want." He reminded those detractors that would rather expel Blacks from their exclusivist homeland: "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."

By changing his name and his religion, Ali delivered a devastating left hook to America's face. The name and the religion made him an alien, a pariah in the opinion of a reactionary mainstream determined to make God's own country the exclusive property of blond, blue-eyed Whites. Furthermore, the Islamic faith to which he declared allegiance was not the traditionally known one, but the rebellious sect of The Nation of Islam (Black Muslims) whose irreverent face and voice belonged to Malcolm X. Interestingly, one cannot but think of today's farcical shenanigans of birthers and bullies against a black president in so-called post-racial America. It is all about racism which Ali stood against in its every manifestation and ramification: "Hating people because of their color is wrong. And it doesn't matter which color does the hating. It's just plain wrong." Here is a sign of Ali's generous, human soul. However, it would be a mistake to construe his statement as condemning "black racism". One is surprised or, indeed, disgusted by some of the comments on Ali's life. For example, a TV journalist, Piers Morgan, is said to have declared that Ali made more racist remarks than the notorious presidential candidate, Donald Trump. Really? Morgan and others of his ilk would be advised to take a course on Racism 001.

Specific to the relationship between Black and White, racism is built upon the myth of an absolute dichotomy whereby White is deemed superior to Black. The white "race" lays down the rules of engagement heavily tilted on the side of White. White - Black. Superior - Inferior. Civilized - Savage. Human - Cannibal. Beautiful - Ugly. Intelligent - Instinctive. Intellectual - Physical. Sexually Controlled - Hyperactive/Promiscuous. Brain - Brawn. Corporate Brilliant Mind - Boxer. The myths keep on coming in a society where it is normal to keep an eye on the prize of reaching the pinnacle occupied by His Majesty Mr. White. In such a situation, victims of white racism may set their own standards but, given the paucity of power, such an agenda would be hardly effective. At best, it would give them a shallow sense of success; at worst, it would elicit from the oppressors cynical laughter and more opprobrium thrown down at their victims. In short, racism is a one-way traffic of supremacist delusion of grandeur, hate, and dehumanization that led to the enslavement and colonization of Blacks/Africans and that continues to operate in new, civilized forms. Strangely and sadly enough, the new forms have lately been stripped of their human consideration. Subtlety is being replaced by blatant barbarism, shockingly shameless, exhibited with impunity. True that there remains a certain political correctness (don't use the so-called n***** word!) that, however, hardly hides the hypocrisy driving the agenda of racial superiority.

The so-called racist remarks made by Ali were nothing but a harsh affirmation of white racism. It is noteworthy that, notwithstanding the forthright statements, "The Louisville Lip" rapidly became the darling of the white Western media. Like a piped piper, he led them on a psychological journey of self-evaluation and final acceptance of Ali as an international figure for peace, freedom, and equality for all humans. His "uneducated" background (less than high-school certificate) did not prevent him from proving highly intelligent and witty. He was a poet of the people and the wisdom of his words still resonates in myriad circles beyond race and color. Many, if not most, of the media trailing him at every stop were white. Some, detractors, were there to lambast him as they insisted on calling him Cassius Clay; others, more civil and considerate, slowly came to his side, even if they would not fully forget and forgive his defiant stance.

Ali's importance to the black community was unequalled. His quest for freedom, equality and justice was recognized by fellow athletes. In 1967, one of them, Jim Brown, social activist and star of American Football, brought together a group of prominent sportsmen in a meeting with Ali dubbed "The Ali Summit". The gathering was symbolic as a sign of possibilities for black emancipation in racist society. It was the first and last time that elite black athletes publicly came together in support of a controversial cause. Soon after, when the call came for the Olympic Boycott Project asking black athletes to boycott the 1968 Mexico Olympics, the attempt at communal commitment failed woefully. It was a fractured front that left the United States. Friction, not common cause, was the name of the game. Schism battered solidarity. Most athletes refused to participate. That un-black, Negro, counter-revolutionary group included O.J. Simpson, a football player that broke Jim Brown's single-season rushing record. "I'm not black, he said. I'm O.J… There is less prejudice in sports than in any other field." When two sprinters, Tommy Smith and John Carlos, protested at the medal ceremony of the 200 meters, their raised gloved fists were nothing but a black ghost piercing the dark skies of Mexico City. They were swiftly expelled from the games and sent back home to face the consequences of their "foolish action". The two men's courage reminded one of Ali's example. More importantly, it revealed the lack of consciousness and organization pervading the black community, particularly the athletes supposedly serving as role models for the millions of underprivileged Blacks. From then until now, there is no sign of another courageous role model in the horizon. Many athletes would appear to be afraid of facing off against the capitalist beast. Nestled in the comfort of their gilded mansions, they wish to safeguard their millions from any and every danger of loss. When professional basketball players were interviewed about Ali's influence on their career, most did nothing more than express tired, tiresome clichés about opportunity to play (and make money). Only one, Lebron James, showed a sense of history and appreciation of Ali as social icon, humanitarian, and rights activist on behalf of all peoples. One lesson that one and all would do well to learn is that, while activism may not be everyone's cup of coffee, being active must be a given. Be knowledgeable, be alert, be aware of realities, and do the right thing not only for yourself but for others.

Another theme addressed in the many comments on Ali's life and career is the similarity between him and Nelson Mandela. At the memorial ceremony held at the KFC Yum Center in Louisville, eulogists made the comparison and, many would say, rightly so. President Clinton placed Ali's 32-year struggle with Parkinson's disease side by side with Mandela's 27-year incarceration by the apartheid regime in South Africa. Let us note that Madiba's suffering was the act of a vicious, violent regime ready to obliterate him and his people while Ali's reportedly resulted from blows suffered to the head in the boxing ring. Perhaps it would be best not to make a comparison, potentially a source of criticism and condemnation of two black men that rose from poverty to prominence and attained the status of global icons. Rather, we should just assess and appreciate their lives and careers. Interesting enough, Mandela, too, was an amateur boxer before he went into law school, became a political activist and first black president of his long beleaguered country. Both had exemplar traits, such as charisma, morality, integrity, fierce commitment, and fearless in their struggles against racism that kept their people under the boots of the rampaging forces of enslavement. Mandela was a politician; Ali a social activist and critic that transmuted into an unofficial diplomat and ambassador of peace, and a philanthropist. For each man, the constant elements were honesty and single-mindedness of purpose. They refused to back down before the oppressor. They said a resounding no to any form of prejudice against the majority have-nots, making as they did the ultimate sacrifice so that others could live as humans. Significantly, they were both compelled tto make adjustments to their positions vis-à-vis the white mainstream: In the case of Mandela, he secretly dialogued with the apartheid monsters, to the utter disbelief of his people. But he refused to be released on their terms; thus he kept faith with the anti-apartheid struggle. Ali, too, did in another fashion, to the point where he came to make admirers out of the millions of Whites that abhorred him. In essence, both placed a premium on others, not themselves. That is why and how Madiba won a Nobel Prize for Peace. A couple of statements by Ali reveal the shared qualities and principles of the two champions of the people. "Only a man who knows what it is to be defeated can reach down to the bottom of his soul and come up with the extra ounce of power it takes to win when the match is even." He adds: "He who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life." And then: "A man who has no imagination has no wings." They have both taken flight to the land of our ancestors.

Talking further of Nelson Mandela and Ali, one is astonished at the otherwise absence of Africa in the unfolding posthumous discourse. An official spokesman for the Congolese government praised Ali for having "built a bridge between African Americans and Africans". We should ask him to explain and expatiate. For the American civil rights generation, blackness was the challenge; black identity and consciousness, the objective. The cultural terminology, African American, was neither as popular nor as common as that of color, black, although many proudly displayed a paraphernalia of Africana in clothes (dashiki), jewelry, hairstyle (Afro), and names. Note that the first black millionaire, Dr. Walker, made his bad money by selling products for the whitening of the black body, thus making "white beauty" of "black ugliness". Africa was but a remote memory whose fuzzy reality was fraught with contradictions, controversies and confusion. As we have averred earlier, the myth infused in the psyche of Blacks was that they were inferior having been saved from savagery into civilization. Negative images of Africa persisted and prevailed: Barbarity, Atheism, and The Jungle. Some of that attitude of ignorance encouraged by the white mainstream may be understood in the context of struggle on issues of race and class, not heritage and culture. Under such circumstances and the Afrophobic sermon of "the best and brightest" crossing the ocean into these superior, civilized United States of America, Africa would constitute a bad and sad memory to be stoked away or used as reminder of black good fortune in "civilized" America. Some would contend that Ali fell into that trap of Afrophobia. Africa is considered a country, not a continent; an indivisible block of backward exotica. Yet, we recall Ali's refusal "to help white slave masters to continue the domination of the darker people of the world". It is noteworthy that none of the athletes involved in the 1968 Summit was featured at Ali's memorial ceremony where Bill Clinton delivered the keynote address. Were Jim Brown, Bill Russell, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Harry Edwards and others supporting the beleaguered Ali invited? The comedian Billy Crystal and the TV journalist Bryant Gumbel both stated that they had been specially invited as Ali's friends by his wife, Lonnie.

Then here comes The Rumble in the Jungle, the unanimously accepted, attention-grabbing moniker of Ali's 1971 epic victory over the universally deemed invincible George Foreman. The docu-drama, When We Were Kings, gives a comprehensive account of the process of the business that took place in the then Zaire, now given back its original name, The Democratic Republic of The Congo. Yes, The Rumble was a business flush at the center of Capitalism. The architect was the savvy hustler Don King, the ex-convict always waving the American flag as a patriot believing in the land of the free as the only place where a man with a criminal record can still become a millionaire. King has the reputation of fleecing black boxers and making them bankrupt. He sold Ali on the heritage thing: How sweet and deep and convincing of his attachment to "the motherland" would it be if the Foreman fight could be held in Zaire, Africa's heartland! Of course, it took no time at all to convince Mobutu, the Zairian president, the murderous monster that rose from a cheap, unclear post in the military to the rank of general and national president and, finally, to a self-proclaimed king with the nearly absolute power over life and death (he learned too late that he had no power over his own life). Mobutu was desperate for the limelight, for any chance to prove to the world that his country was peaceful, unified, and democratic.

One may still wonder why the promotional name was chosen. If the Americans chose it, why did Mobutu and his regime (a no-brainer, he was the regime) accept it (another irrelevant question)? Mobutu was the jungle. He did not give a damn about names and titles, except for the Africanization of his people's identity/names, what he called Authenticity. He passed a law by which every Zairian must take an African name composed of several units. He changed his birth name of Joseph-Desire Mobutu to Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu Wa Za Bunga. On the other hand, why did African (or Black) Americans borrow a word from the lexicon of racists and Afrophobes always ready to ask them to return to their jungle in Africa at each and every turn of argument or discontent? It were as if Don King and all were glad to return to their savage roots for the lure of the greenback and shallow fame! Anyway, the world, including Africa - silent butt of myriad horrible jokes - did not complain. The title reeks of a typical Ali rhyme. It caught people's attention and made many head for Zaire.

Coupled with the chant, Ali Boumaye!, the bombastic title hid the reality of a horror show with the underlying trope of the living and the dead: The motley crowd of natives (pardon the insensitive choice of word) zealously urging Ali on for the kill and the spectators crowded into the cavernous stadium were like the living dead, potentially. While euphorically stomping on the floor, they were dealing a second death to the rotting corpses of Mobutu's victims piled like slaves on a trans-Atlantic vessel heading for "Civilization". So, were the dancers and spectators really unaware of the inhabitants of Mobutu the beast's rotten underbelly? One hesitates to agree. The dancers, local people always with ears glued to the sounds of the radio of the street, must have known of rumors circulating in the villages, and some of them would concern them as family and friends of victims. For their part, the spectators, even in those days preceding the all-powerful social network, must have heard something. Only a tone deaf or self-blinding hypocrite would have been ignorant of the reality.

On a cool, rainy night in the outskirts of Kinshasa, Muhammad Ali took a walk with his team. He stopped at a bridge to spend a moment of meditation staring at the Congo River. When he rejoined others, Ali said: "Fellows, you'll never know what this means to me." Pity that no one will ever know. One may guess, nonetheless. A sudden tinge of awareness and appreciation of his African heritage? Reflection on the fate of his ancestors crammed into slave vessels named Peace and Friendship with many perishing in the Atlantic either by death resulting from the inhuman conditions or thrown overboard to feed sharks? Or gratitude that his ancestors were among "the best and brightest" saved from savagery into Civilization? What we know is that the Rumble project was a business put together by an unscrupulous black man with whom Ali probably should not have worked.

Still in regards of Africa, a glimpse of the larger, pan-continental picture increases our absence from the Ali horizon. Videos abound of him surrounded by laughing faces of children from unnamed African countries. However, there is nothing concrete or precise on his acts of philanthropy or humanitarianism among our people. On the contrary, he is praised to high heavens for helping to free hostages or prisoners in Iraq, for dialoguing for peace in Afghanistan, and for other deeds of heroism and generosity. Did the revered U.N. ambassador do such things in Africa? During his days in limbo, Ali used the lecture circuit to promote and publicize his religious message and social, anti-Vietnam war cause. He gave talks in universities and colleges far and wide, at home and abroad. Africa?

That African absence may be partially adduced to Ali's Islamic-based social commitment. Interesting that he changed his name to Arabic - Islamic Muhammad Ali, and not to an African name. After all, Islam and Christianity are both widespread in Africa, reputedly one of the lands where those religions have grown exponentially in recent times. With his new faith Ali came closer to the Middle East where religion and culture, and often politics, too, are complementary. It is therefore understandable how he could become a "world hero" exclusive of Africa; for, in the modern world of globalization, Africa is either absent or perceived as the jungle to be degraded and disgraced.

Just before the date fixed for the Ali-Foreman rumble, the latter was injured at a sparring session. Therefore the fight had to be postponed for weeks. Ever the astute businessman, Don King arranged for black bands to travel out to entertain the many Euro-American guests as well as Africans. The most prominent of the musicians was the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, best known for what had become a kind of black anthem, the defiant 'Say it loud, I'm black and proud!' Before Brown's catchy, drum and horn driven song of liberation, Ali had declared, 'I'm black and pretty (beautiful)'. One could argue that the latter moved forward the discourse and enhanced the tone and timber of the struggle. Pride does not address issues of quality, of God-given attributes. Pride counters the myths of inferiority regarding content of character. When Ali proclaimed his black beauty, he shocked those constantly berating black as endemically ugly. Ali said it; he lived it, too. No perm in the hair, no gloss, no sleek, shining, dripping wet do. He wore his natural hair. He never bleached his skin. He never aspired to be white-skinned. The down side to that commendable position is Ali's berating of some of his black boxing opponents as ugly. Some considered it an aspect of his harmless show-boating and promotional ploy, but others, such as Joe Frazier, took exception to the insult. It is said that Frazier, until his death, hated Ali; others assert that he forgave Ali before he passed.

All in all, one is impressed by the media's enthusiastic celebration of Ali's life even though one remains bothered by a certain lack of genuineness in the adulation. Ali's long battle with Parkinson's curtailed his activities. In the final years, he appeared in public as a ghost and one always wondered when the end would come. He resembled a revered relic rolled out as a reminder of what used to be. Such is the agenda of society: history is the past with no impact on the present. The mighty media, in concert with the political powers that be, created a mythical Ali, an iconic figure, a hero through and through. The personality outstrips the person. The myth transforms the man into a legend revered by the master controllers fearful of real revolutionaries. The man is remolded in the image of "civilized society" so that he and they may work together as partners of progress. To Ali's credit, he did not completely sell out or give in; he did not jettison his principles.

Flawed he was, but fearless; controversial yet courageous and convincing in his commitment to the cause of freedom; compromising and compromised, yet cultivated by millions in search of a hero. One wishes he had focused more on the black struggle and not on a universal quest muddled up in political manipulation. Hopefully, Ali's fate would differ from that of many heroes past and forgotten, laid to rest in archives and in innocuous footnotes. As it is, his two weeks of fame have gone and almost gone. The media's attention is being directed at other heroes. One of them, actually an ex-hero, a villain, is O.J. Simpson, the Juice, once cynosure of all eyes white and shame of all eyes black. He was given a free pass into the white world of fortune and fame. He declared himself as being beyond black and his white friends claimed that he did not look like other Blacks. Only he forgot the rule that he must not step out of bounds. The O.J. story makes one appreciate Ali's life a tad better.

Mainstream America would have us believe that Ali represents immense progress in racial and social relations. He may be described as symbol of post-racial America, in an era where a black man occupies the White House. But them one remembers the opprobrium cast upon President Obama (monkey, liar, jungle man, un-American). One notes the target practice by police with Blacks on the receiving end. One recalls the courts' democratic action of overturning hard won civil rights legislation, and one wonders. Today's realities show categorically that the work of Ali and others, incomplete, must be continued. We stand convinced that the modalities and thrust must change: Instead of some fuzzy universal approach, the struggle must be brought back home to Black. (Ojo-Ade is Professor Emeritus of St. Mary's College of Maryland, USA)

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