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Epoch Times
03-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Epoch Times
Jackie Robinson's Silent Fight for Racial Equality
On Aug. 28, 1945, Jackie Robinson walked into the office of Branch Rickey, manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Unaware of the reason he was called to this meeting, Robinson had no idea that he was about to play a part in changing American history. In '7 Men and Their Secrets of Greatness,' Eric Metaxas recreated this moment. When Rickey informed Robinson that he wanted him to play for the Brooklyn Dodgers, Robinson was at first too surprised and overcome to utter a word. Blacks played in their own league, but never on major league baseball teams. After Robinson accepted the offer, Rickey explained what Robinson probably already knew: He would be the target of verbal abuse and threats because of the color of his skin. Then Rickey added a kicker to their agreement that Robinson couldn't have foreseen. 'I'm looking for a ballplayer who has the guts not to fight back.' American professional baseball player Jackie Robinson (1919–1972) of the Brooklyn Dodgers, dressed in a road uniform, crouches by the base and prepares to catch a ball, 1951. Throughout the course of his baseball career Robinson played several positions on the infield as well as serving as outfielder. PhotoRickey then took off his coat and acted out various scenes that would soon confront Robinson: the hotel clerk who would refuse him a room; the maître d' who would turn him away from the restaurant entrance; the spectators at the games who would hurl obscenities and slurs at him. Rickey hit Robinson with these curses and racial taunts right there in his office. Robinson withstood all that Rickey threw at him. He considered the offer, recognized it as an enormous opportunity both to play ball as he had dreamed and to improve race relations, and shook hands on the agreement with Rickey. Looking down at the two men from a wall in Rickey's office was a portrait of Abraham Lincoln. Robinson first played for the Dodgers' Montreal farm team. There, he successfully completed that season without reacting to the jeers and taunts that often accompanied his appearances on the diamond, and joined the Dodgers in New York in the spring of 1947. A turning point for him and his team came in his first game when manager Ben Chapman of the Philadelphia Phillies, joined by several of his players, spat out racial epithets throughout the contest. Years later, as Metaxas reported, Robinson recollected that horrible afternoon in 'I Never Had It Made,' his 1972 autobiography: 'Starting to the plate in the first inning, I could scarcely believe my ears.' At the stadium the next day, when the insults grew even more cruel and obscene, Robinson's teammates, including those opposed to having him on the team, stepped up to defend him. Eddie Stanky, the second baseman, shouted back at the Phillies' dugout: 'Listen, you yellow-bellied cowards, why don't you yell at somebody who can answer back?' Related Stories 4/16/2025 7/25/2023 Metaxas explained, 'Branch Rickey was delighted with the team's response. Chapman's evil intentions had, he said, 'solidified and unified thirty men, not one of whom was willing to sit by and see someone kick around a man who had his hands tied behind his back.'' Jackie Robinson and his wife, Rachel, arrive at the Capitol Hill grounds in Washington, on July 18, 1949. AP Photo Yet the abuse continued, and not only on the field. Some restaurants and hotels refused Robinson service, and death threats came through the mail. Throughout that entire season, however, Robinson maintained his cool. Never once did he give way to the temptation of retaliation. He ignored the mockery and curses, and usually walked to the plate without a glance at his tormentors. His wife, Rachel, whom he had married in 1946 after Rickey's offer, stood by him and helped him remember the cause for which he was fighting: racial equality not only in baseball but in the nation. According to Metaxas, Robinson also relied heavily on his religious faith to maintain his silence in this torrent of abuse. He made a habit of 'getting down on his knees every night to pray for strength.' Doubtless, he was supported in this resort to prayer by Rickey himself, also a man of strong faith. By the end of the season, Robinson's name had become a household word. Moreover, he won the 1947 Rookie of the Year Award, with a batting average of .297 and an outstanding performance at the plate. Though the abuse continued into the next season, another turning point occurred in Cincinnati. While Robinson was once again being assailed from the stands, Pee Wee Reese walked over to his teammate and put his arm around him. Dedicated in 2005, a A statue of Pee Wee Reese (L) and Jackie Robinson was unveiled in then, other blacks were entering major league baseball. Over the next decade, this practice of putting ballplayers on the field based on their talent rather than on the pigmentation of their skin became standard. Robinson himself went on to an outstanding career in baseball. After retiring from the game, he was engaged in several successful businesses, ran programs aimed at providing food and housing for the poor, and was active in the civil rights movement. In 1962, only 15 years after joining the Dodgers, he was voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Ten years later, he collapsed from heart failure into his wife's arms, telling her for the last time, 'I love you.' Lots of great Americans have helped improve America through their deeds and words. Jackie Robinson did the same through dignity and silence. What arts and culture topics would you like us to cover? Please email ideas or feedback to
Yahoo
15-04-2025
- Sport
- Yahoo
Jackie Robinson Day is pure celebration — and that's the problem
On Tuesday, all across the baseball world, Jackie Robinson Day commemorations will once again take center stage. Since 2004, April 15 has been an obligatory notch on the baseball calendar, an opportunity for Major League Baseball to honor, to apologize and to force onto the viewing public a particular remembering of Robinson's legacy. The back of every jersey will feature Robinson's iconic No. 42 in Dodger Blue. Stadium jumbotrons will roll dramatic tributes set to stirring music. Broadcasters will wax vague poetic about Robinson's poise and courage in the face of vitriolic racism. Advertisement But there is a difference between stitching 42 onto hundreds of uniforms and a purposeful, powerful exhibition of Robinson's story. Because beneath the sanitized public glorification of this American icon lies a darker, more uncomfortable truth — one that Major League Baseball opts to sidestep. The glory of Robinson's tale and the part on which the league chooses to focus — the breaking of the sport's color barrier — was made possible by the system that forbade Black athletes like him from playing in MLB. He has had lasting power because his journey and his sheer existence were subversive, radical, provocative. But Jackie Robinson Day, as currently observed by MLB, has none of that bite. As the league plainly states on its website, 'Every year on April 15, Baseball honors Jackie's legacy by celebrating his life, values and accomplishments.' Advertisement There is nothing wrong with celebration, as long as it's accompanied by a legitimate reckoning. A meaningful telling of the tale. A poignant, impactful application of past to present. Unfortunately, that's not happening. There's nothing controversial, thought-provoking or uncomfortable about how the league tells Robinson's story. Money is donated, time is volunteered, the Jackie Robinson Foundation is included, and yet the entire day transmits a kind of kumbaya energy, one that whispers saccharine comforts in a post-racial tone. 'Jackie Robinson transcends any debate that's going on in today's society about issues surrounding DEI,' MLB commissioner Rob Manfred said in a recent interview. 'What Jackie Robinson stands for was moving us past an overt kind of segregation that I don't believe anybody actually supports today." Advertisement This way of thinking allows MLB to spotlight the good without confronting the bad, the difficult, the awkward. But to remove Robinson from the DEI conversation, while awfully convenient, whitewashes the non-baseball side of Robinson's life, in which he fought fiercely for civil rights. The truth is that if every hero has a villain, so too must Jackie. And in his case, that villain was America. Here's what Robinson had to say in his 1972 autobiography, 'I Never Had It Made': 'Today as I look back on that opening game of my first world series, I must tell you that it was Mr. Rickey's drama and that I was only a principal actor. As I write this twenty years later, I cannot stand and sing the anthem. I cannot salute the flag; I know that I am a black man in a white world.' Firm, fierce, unapologetically blunt — all fundamental aspects of Jackie the man, all themes completely absent on Jackie Day, all uncomfortable truths that MLB prefers to bypass. And now, in this day and age, never has MLB's failure to champion the entirety of Robinson's legacy been more glaring or more damaging. Jackie Robinson Day is a celebration for baseball, but the league's passivity in light of recent events is a disservice to Robinson's legacy. (Grant Thomas/Yahoo Sports) As recent events in this country have highlighted, MLB is not succeeding in spreading the true message of Robinson's story. Advertisement In late March, a story on the Department of Defense's website about Robinson's military career was removed as part of the Trump Administration's efforts to scrub material involving diversity, equity and inclusion. Amidst public outcry, the page was swiftly revived — but not before a series of controversial statements from since-sidelined DOD spokesperson John Ullyot, including the following. "We do not view or highlight [the subjects of the removed pages, including Robinson] through the prism of immutable characteristics, such as race, ethnicity, or sex. We do so only by recognizing their patriotism and dedication to the warfighting mission like every other American who has worn the uniform.' Not viewing Jackie Robinson through the prism of race is like not viewing food through the prism of taste. Yes, Robinson was many things besides a Black man who broke a sport's color barrier — a father, a ballplayer, a business executive, a lieutenant — but his stature in American society is inextricable from his race. That's particularly true for Robinson's time in the armed forces, during which he was court-martialed after he refused to move to the back of an Army bus. That DOD fiasco hasn't dissuaded certain political actors from continuing to attack Robinson's legacy. An executive order implemented by President Trump on March 27, titled 'Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History,' led to the flagging of 900 titles in the U.S. Naval Academy's Nimitz Library. Reportedly included in that bundle was a biography of Jackie Robinson. To date, the Robinson bio has not been purged, though 381 other books have been, but it appears to remain under consideration. Advertisement And most concerningly, as it relates to MLB, references to 'diversity' were taken off the league's website at some point in the spring. Specifics of the league's lauded Diversity Pipeline Program, which provides opportunities in baseball to underrepresented communities, were also removed. In a statement to The Athletic, a league official said: 'As the commissioner stated, our values on diversity remain unchanged. We are in the process of evaluating our programs for any modifications to eligibility criteria that are needed to ensure our programs are compliant with federal law as they continue forward.' It's predictable, understandable even, that MLB would adjust its public-facing language to ensure it remains beyond President Trump's wrath. Public confrontations with the administration, especially over race, would be bad for business. There's a pragmatic argument for playing the long game. And to its credit, MLB has made significant investments in Black baseball, including the Reviving Baseball in Inner Cities program and a $100 million donation to the Players Alliance, a collective of Black big leaguers seeking to make the sport more 'equitable and accessible.' Advertisement But in this particular case, MLB's passivity is a disservice to what Robinson stood for. That's because the current administration's systematic destruction of DEI efforts across the country stand in direct contradiction to Robinson's legacy. Not spinning his story forward, not connecting it to modern America's glaring inadequacies, not using this opportunity to make a point is an invalidation of the entire Jackie Robinson Day project. Why uphold the past, if it's not being used to impact the future? MLB should celebrate Robinson's courage and his grace. It should honor his achievements. But it should also tell the full story. It should linger on the harsh uglinesses. It should bear witness to the unsavory parts of American racism that necessitated Robinson's bravery. It should remind us why that harsh history remains so dishearteningly relevant in 2025. Quite simply, if MLB wants to honor Jackie, it must do more than have its players wear No. 42. It needs to carry the full weight of Robinson's legacy — not just his number — on its back.
