Inside Donald Trumpfs Latest Battle Against the NFL
A deliberately provocative President picks his latest fight over free speech in sports
A deliberately provocative President picks
his latest fight over free speech in sports
The worldfs most powerful man picked a busy
week to go to war with Americafs most popular sport. Donald Trump was
navigating a nuclear standoff with North Korea when he touched down in Alabama
for a political rally on Sept. 22. In Puerto Rico, millions of Americans were
without water or electricity in the wake of Hurricane Maria. A plan to revamp
the nationfs health care system faced a pivotal hurdle in the Senate.
But the President had another matter on his
mind: the squad of football players who had protested racial injustice and
police brutality by kneeling, raising their fists or locking their arms during
the national anthem. gWouldnft you love to see one of these NFL owners, when
somebody disrespects our flag, to say, eGet that son of a bitch off the field
right now?'h he asked the crowd of supporters in Huntsville.
Trump sprays outrage like a comedian
testing material, and the thunderous applause told the President he had struck
gold. So he pressed the attack. Some two dozen times over the next five days,
he questioned the protestersf patriotism and labeled them gprivilegedh
millionaires who lacked respect or gratitude.
It was a remarkable thing for a President
to devote so much energy to attacking athletes for peacefully exercising their
First Amendment rights. But the spat over sports wasnft just a diversion but a
move straight from Trumpfs political playbook. Confronted with crises, he
creates new ones, picking fights that stir his supporters and outrage his
opponents. In this case, he spotted a wedge issue that pits his rural,
conservative white base against both wealthy black athletes and liberal elites
who scold the NFL for everything from racist team logos to soft-pedaling the
risks of head trauma. White House advisers were pleased that the President had
found a way to turn Colin Kaepernick–the unemployed
quarterback who pioneered the kneeling protest–into the new gCrooked Hillary.h
But quite apart from whether North Korea or
Puerto Rico was a better focus of his attention, why run the risk of blowback
by taking on one of the few American institutions that appeals across party
lines, state lines, class and color lines? For this President, the words
usually matter less than the music. The point was not that he was attacking the
actions of black football players; the point was that he was telling his
supporters, once again, Ifm one of you, Ifm on your side, and Ifm willing to
endure the ridicule of the elites in order to say out loud what you are
thinking. The descants about political correctness, racial grievance and class
resentment toward millionaire athletes all reminded his base why he was one of
them.
More important, it reminded Washington
Republicans that he was not one of them. So long as he has the fervent devotion
of a core Republican cadre, he is to be feared. The same voters who preferred
Alabamafs Constitution-defying, anti–gay rights, Muslim-bashing judge Roy Moore
to Establishment opponent Luther Strange threaten every mainstream Republican.
And yes, Trump officially supported Strange, but everyone knew that Moore was
the true Trumpist in the race, and he prevailed by a
wide margin. Is it any wonder, in this climate, that one of the Senatefs most
respected statesmen, Tennessee Republican Bob Corker, announced that he would
not seek re-election next year?
So began a Sunday of football when the
spectacle on the sidelines outshone the action on the field. The Baltimore
Ravens and Jacksonville Jaguars set the tone from London, in the first game on
Sept. 24. Some players took a knee, while others linked arms in
solidarity–including Jaguars owner Shahid Khan, a
Pakistani immigrant who was among seven NFL owners to donate $1 million or more
to Trumpfs Inauguration. Members of the Miami Dolphins warmed up in #Imwithkap T-shirts. At the Atlanta Falcons–Detroit Lions
game in Detroit, singer Rico LaVelle knelt while
performing the anthem, joining 10 players. In Nashville, every player on the
Tennessee Titans and Seattle Seahawks chose to remain in the locker room during
the anthem. Titans wide receiver Rishard
Matthews took the field with the words We all bleed the same and we are one
written on his cleats. Even New England Patriots owner Robert Kraft, a close
Trump friend and generous donor, criticized the Presidentfs remarks.
The movement spread beyond football.
Basketball star LeBron James called the President a gbumh after Trump rescinded
a White House invitation to NBA champions the Golden State Warriors following
criticism from guard Stephen Curry, one of the worldfs most popular athletes.
The Los Angeles Sparks of the WNBA left the floor during the national anthem
before Game 1 of the league finals. Hall of Fame hoopster Bill Russell, age 83,
joined Twitter to post a photo of his 6 ft. 10 in. frame kneeling, with a
Presidential Medal of Freedom around his neck, above the hashtag #takeaknee. Bruce Maxwell, a rookie catcher for the Oakland
Afs, became the first MLB player to kneel during the anthem.
Taken together, it was the largest, most
potent demonstration of social activism among athletes in the history of the
U.S. gThis was a watershed moment,h says Harry Edwards, a University of
California, Berkeley, sociologist who helped organize the 1968 sports protest
that culminated with U.S. track stars Tommie Smith and John Carlos raising
their black-gloved fists on the medal stand at the Mexico City Olympics.
Which doesnft mean the players had won. The
moment of unity on the field obscured the deepening divisions that Trump was
exploiting. His fight with sports is part of a larger culture war that brings
race, religion, rights, privilege and patriotism on the battlefield. The
assertion of power by black men sparked predictable counterdemonstrations from
some of the NFLfs white supporters. Fans in New England jeered their own
players; crowds in Arizona booed the Dallas Cowboys and the team owner Jerry
Jones, as the team knelt before the anthem on Monday Night Football. After left
tackle Alejandro Villanueva was the only Pittsburgh Steeler to take the field
for the national anthem before a game against the Bears in Chicago, sales of
the obscure linemanfs jersey briefly became the NFLfs top seller. (Villanueva,
a former Army Ranger, later said the move to separate from his teammates was an
accident.)
In Greenville, S.C., the Palmetto
Restaurant and Ale House announced it would no longer show NFL games until the
protests subsided. DirecTV offered customers refunds for their pricey Sunday
Ticket packages. In Washington County, Pennsylvania, a local volunteer fire
chief wrote aFacebook post with a racial slur aimed
at Mike Tomlin, the Steelersf black head coach. When Stevie Wonder began a
performance in New York Cityfs Central Park by kneeling in solidarity, former
GOP Congressman Joe Walsh called the legendary singer ganother ungrateful black
millionaire.h
gI donft think any American wants to take
away the right to free speech of professional football players,h says Senator
John Kennedy, a Louisiana Republican. gI wouldnft have said it the way he said
it, but President Trump is saying what a lot of Americans are thinking. Does
there have to be politics to everything? I mean, do you really have to inject
politics into a football game?h
The idea that sports are a space somehow
cocooned from politics has always been something of a myth. But in this case it
was Trump who trampled the boundaries, spurring athletes to speak out in
response. gPeople say you have to keep politics out of sports,h says Afs catcher Maxwell, the son of a white mother and a black
military-veteran father, who was raised in Alabama and plays in a league where
just 7.7% of players are black. gBut hefs the one who put politics into sports
when he decided to demean certain athletes as players and as people.h
Like so many of his feuds, the tale of
Donald Trump and the National Football League began with grand ambitions,
before spiraling into acrimony and lawsuits. In 1983, the real estate mogul
bought the New Jersey Generals, one of 18 teams in the upstart United States
Football League (USFL), in time for its second season the following year. The USFL
was conceived as a complement to the NFL, not a competitor; it played its games
in the spring. Trump had a different vision. Within two years he persuaded his
fellow owners to move to the fall, and he sued the NFL, alleging antitrust
violations.
As the USFL bled cash, the courts
stonewalled Trumpfs legal attack. The upstart league, which had sought up to
$1.7 billion in damages, was awarded a measly $3 in the case. The disastrous
outcome left the new league in ruins. But Trump never abandoned his dream of
joining the exclusive club of owners in the most prestigious American sport. In
1988, he considered buying the New England Patriots. In 2014, he said he
offered $1 billion to purchase the Buffalo Bills, but was outbid.
When his overtures were spurned, he lashed
out against the league like a jilted suitor. As the NFL grapples with an
escalating crisis over CTE–the degenerative brain disease associated with the
head trauma players suffer on the field–Trump has derided league executives for
their attempts to mitigate the damage inflicted by collisions. gFootball has
become soft like our country has become soft,h he thundered in January 2016 at
a rally.
Trumpfs lament over efforts to guard human
safety, of all things, is one more way Trump has turned the sport into a new
front in the culture wars. gIf therefs ever an issue that shouldnft be
political, itfs head trauma in football,h says
cultural historian Michael Oriard, a former NFL
lineman. And yet, he adds, gthe response Trump gets seems to justify the assumption
that the nanny state or whomever are ruining the grand old violent game.h
Indeed, Trump trotted out the bit again during his visit to football-mad Alabama. The Presidentfs remarks came one day after a new report indicated that Aaron Hernandez, a former Patriots tight end who was convicted of murder, had suffered from the disease when he committed suicide in prison in April at age 27.
Professional sports have long been a
looking glass for American culture and identity. At the Berlin Olympics in
1936, the black track star Jesse Owens dominated international competition,
dispelling Nazi theories of racial superiority in the process. In 1940s
Brooklyn, Jackie Robinson broke baseballfs color barrier, marking the beginning
of the end of segregation in the nationfs top sports leagues.
The social role of athletes intensified in
the 1960s and f70s, when superstars with an activist bent such as Bill Russell,
Muhammad Ali and Arthur Ashe helped shape the erafs civil-rights movement.
Tennis star Billie Jean King blazed a trail for female and LGBT athletes, and
HIV-positive diver Greg Louganis challenged misconceptions about the virus. The
Olympic-gold-medalist decathlete formerly known as Bruce Jenner changed the
debate about transgender issues after coming out as Caitlyn. Part of the power
of sports is that the imaginary intimacy between fans and their icons can spur
social change.
By the dawn of the 1990s, though, star
athletes had become more concerned with protecting their earning potential than
using their talent to oppose social injustice. Michael Jordan dodged politics
as deftly as he did defenders: in the mid-1990s, the native Tar Heel declined
to endorse a black candidate in a Senate contest against the segregationist
Jesse Helms. gRepublicans buy shoes too,h he supposedly told a friend,
according to an account by author Sam Smith. In a Nike commercial, fellow
basketball star Charles Barkley delivered a line that captured the ethos of the
era: gI am not a role model.h Silence on social issues was seen as a fair
trade-off for fat contracts and lucrative endorsement deals.
Bit by bit, and then in a series of giant
leaps, that reticence to engage has faded. NBA stars such as LeBron James and
Chris Paul endorsed Barack Obama in 2008. Four years later, James led his Miami
Heat teammates in donning hoodies after Trayvon Martin, an unarmed black teen
in Florida, was shot dead. In 2016, NBA stars opened the ESPY Awards with a
speech against police brutality. Then came Colin Kaepernickfs
sideline protest, which trickled through the ranks of college athletics–where a
debate has raged over the creation of a multibillion-dollar industry on the
backs of free labor–all the way down to youth sports. It was in this context
that Trumpfs attack on Kaepernick and the NFL landed.
It has been a jolt to the NFL in particular. The NFL is one of the most culturally conservative professional leagues, and it has arguably the trickiest relationship with race. It is a sport in which mostly white fans pay to watch mostly black (some 70% of players are African American) athletes pummel one another. The gladiatorial aspect is underlined by the fact that 30 of the 31 private-team owners are white. Unlike in the NBA and MLB, contracts are not guaranteed, which means that every time a player takes the field, his career can end with a single violent tackle. The owners veer politically conservative, yet the economic victories that they have won–from salary caps to franchise-player tags–defy free-market principles.
Some of this tension is built into the
NFLfs founding. The nationfs first professional football teams were in once
booming Rust Belt cities like Muncie, Ind.; Rock Island, Ill.; and Akron, Ohio;
and the league works hard to promote its roots in Americafs manufacturing base.
The NFL Hall of Fame is in Canton, Ohio, and the names of iconic franchises
like the Steelers and Green Bay Packers are living tributes to blue collar
identity. The deepening cultural divide between its athletes and its audience
is one reason the NFL studiously tries to avoid controversy.
In one of his many tweets about the player
protests, Trump insisted gthe issue of kneeling has nothing to do with race. It
is about respect for our Country, Flag and National Anthem. NFL must respect
this!h But it escaped no one that Trump had uncorked his attack in a state with
an ugly history of racial discord. gThe people cheering,h Seattle Seahawks
defensive end Michael Bennett told TIME, gwas the most hurtful thing.h Trump
has a history of fanning tribal divisions, including comments about the Central
Park Five case in 1989, the racially loaded ads he ran against potential Native
American casino competitors in 2000 and his campaign-trail attacks.
For NFL players, it was hard to square the
fact that the President had called black athletes gsons of bitchesh for
peacefully using their constitutional right to free speech, just five weeks
after defending the same rights for violent white nationalists marching on
Charlottesville, Va. gWhy didnft he condemn what was going on in Charlottesville?h
Denver Broncos linebacker Brandon Marshall told TIME hours after he and 31
teammates knelt on the field before a 26-16 loss to the Bills. gFor him to
condemn us for exercising our rights, that says a lot about him as a
President.h Says a White House official: gThe national anthem and the American
flag are symbols of the commitment Americans make to our country and its
ideals. They serve as a humbling reminder of those who have fought and died to
ensure that we remain one nation, under God, indivisible–something for which
the President will always stand firm.h
Where will the national-anthem controversy
end? A 2015 joint oversight report released by Arizona Senators John McCain and
Jeff Flake, both Republicans, argued that the military pageantry that has crept
into professional sports is partly about profit. The study found that $6.8
million in Defense Department contracts had been doled out to professional
sports leagues to showcase what the Senators called gpaid patriotismh–from
on-field color-guard performances and re-enlistment ceremonies to sponsorship
deals for performances of gGod Bless America.h
But now the battle lines have been drawn by
the President. gThe venue is not what itfs about,h says Representative Brian
Mast, a Florida Republican and Purple Heart recipient who lost both legs in an
IED explosion in Kandahar in 2010. gItfs about disrespecting the flag and our
country. Theyfre using the national anthem as an opportunity.h
According to a senior White House official,
some Administration aides, including chief of staff John Kelly, were peeved by
the Presidentfs focus on the sideline behavior of professional athletes at a
moment when challenges like threats from North Korea and the aftermath of
Hurricane Maria loom. But other Republicans saw a matchup to exploit.
As these strategists read it, so long as
the President could cast the debate as patriots against protesters, he would
win. Polls bear out that view: in an Ipsos/Reuters
survey released on Sept. 26, 58% of respondents said athletes should be
required to stand during the national anthem, compared with just 33% who
disagreed. From that vantage, picking the fight was a shrewd survival tactic.
For the players and the league, the goal is simpler. gWe wanted to show our fan base that we support each other, that we have each otherfs back, and wefll continue to be champions for our communities,h says Philadelphia Eagles safety Malcolm Jenkins, who raised his fist before the Sept. 24 game and has been a leader of the protest movement.
Trumpfs rhetoric also turned conservative
owners who support him into social activists, if fleetingly. Many knelt, locked
arms or released statements in support of their players. Such displays of
sideline strength could buy the NFL some goodwill among the growing segment of
its fan base turned off by concerns about the CTE crisis and the leaguefs
handling of domestic-violence cases involving its players. While those owners
may have recognized the value of the gesture, none have been willing to risk
the blowback of signing Kaepernick, who is widely
considered to be more talented than many other backup quarterbacks in the
league.
Even on an extraordinary Sunday, however,
the NFL was far from unified: overall, just 12% of players knelt on Sept. 24,
according to an ESPN estimate. As his teammates protested, Broncos defensive
end Derek Wolfe told the network that he thought the display was disrespectful
to military veterans. gThe greatest country in the world, and you reside here,h
Wolfe said. gWhy do you stay?h
The divide is a reminder of how differently
people see the American condition. Itfs also notable that few, if any,
prominent white NFL players, such as Tom Brady, Aaron Rodgers or JJ Watt, have
taken a knee, though Brady called Trumpfs remarks gdivisiveh and all three
linked arms with teammates. Such a move could send a powerful message to white
America that black players are fighting for issues that matter to everyone.
gWhen somebody with that huge a name uses
a platform to fight for a cause, it moves mountains,h says Miami Dolphins
safety Michael Thomas, a Stanford graduate who knelt
during the anthem throughout the 2016 season but has not been repeating the
gesture this year. gIt just canft be black players. If we get more of our NFL
brothers who are white, the narrative is going to change. Itfs that simple.h
The protests, if they continue, should
spark other conversations, not only about race, justice and inequality but also
about how to respond to a President with a knack for choosing battles that
benefit him, no matter how divisive. As has often been the case, Trump turned a
protest with specific goals–from racial equality to criminal-justice
reform–into a referendum on the President himself.
gThe most frustrating thing is that people
werenft kneeling because they believe police brutality is too high or because
of racial inequality,h says Nate Boyer, a former Green Beret and NFL long
snapper whose conversations with Kaepernick helped
coax the quarterback to kneel rather than sit in
protest. gThey took a knee because they donft like Donald Trump. Wefre now
equating the American flag with a person–not the 300 million diverse people
itfs supposed to represent.h
It is a talent that Trumpfs foes have come
to appreciate. gHe does a good job of picking his opponents,h says Terry
Sullivan, a Republican consultant who managed Marco Rubiofs presidential
campaign. gThat is his gift: he has a unique ability to bring down the
discourse and drag down his opponents to his level, so that their arguments
seem even more ridiculous than his.h As another GOP strategist whose candidate
competed against Trump in the 2016 primary frames it: gWe were playing on his
stage the entire campaign.h
Or to put it in football parlance: Trumpfs
playbook is to turn every battle into an away game for his opponents. Until
they figure out how to win on Trumpfs turf, each new provocation by the
President is likely to end in a victory for the White House.
–With reporting by BEN GOLDBERGER/NEW
YORK; and PHILIP ELLIOTT and ZEKE J. MILLER/WASHINGTON
This appears in the October 09, 2017 issue of TIME.