White Voices Matter
By Don McPherson
I am a black man.
For a quarter century I have been working to end all forms of men’s violence against women; the categories of which can be delineated to sexual, domestic and countless other ways in which the force of patriarchy violently oppresses the lives and experiences of women. I do this work, not as a perpetrator or survivor but generally as a man in recognition that the privileged silence of men is at the root of the problem. In 2019 I published “You Throw Like a Girl: The Blind Spot of Masculinity” which chronicles my experiences and work on race and gender issues over the past four decades. The first chapter is titled Black Man with Privilege. I am a proud black man, but my privileged silence is a problem!
In 1987 I placed second in the voting for the most popular and prestigious award in American culture – the Heisman Trophy, given to the nation’s best college football player. If I won, I would have been the first black quarterback in the (then) 52-year history of the award. As one of the most decorated and celebrated college athletes in America, I was poised for a career in the National Football League (NFL). However, prior the NFL Draft of 1988, at the height of my power, popularity and privilege, I sent a letter to the general managers of each of the 28 NFL teams, respectfully requesting they NOT draft me if they did not intend for me to play quarterback for their team. I was not making a socio-political statement however, in the supposed and often romanticized meritocracy of sport, the reality was that I was not a quarterback but a “black quarterback.” And my blackness superseded my talent and credentials as the unquestioned best quarterback in college football earning the right to pursue that endeavor professionally. Nevertheless, NFL teams had little interest in the best quarterback in college football leading or representing their team. The letter was all I could do to personally protest the racism that underlined the disinterest, protect my integrity and, ultimately the integrity of the game I loved.
My professional football career spanned seven seasons and was as inconsequential as my opportunity to “play” quarterback; a footnote in the history of the sport of black quarterbacks who excelled in college but didn’t “fit” in the NFL. Despite my silent protestation, my story and that of many other “black quarterbacks” of that era did little to change the issues of racism that remain an undercurrent in the most popular sports league in the world.
After retirement from football in 1994, I joined the staff of Northeastern University’s Center for the Study of Sport in Society and its founder, social justice pioneer, Richard Lapchick. What was most notable about Lapchick to me and the world was that he is a white man who very directly and unapologetically names the racism and systems of oppression historically levied by white people. It was not my plight as a “black quarterback” that drew me to Lapchick but his example of a white man using his privilege, status and voice to address issues he could have otherwise abstained without scrutiny of his silence.
When I arrived at the Center in 1994, I met Jackson Katz renowned scholar for his work on masculinity and its direct links to all forms of men’s violence against women. These were two issues that were as prevalent in my life as “race” but for which I had no language, inclination or incentive to address. My ignorance and accordant silence made me complicit in a (misogynistic) culture that was painfully more prevalent, hostile and indifferent than the (racist) one that wanted to deny my opportunity to be a quarterback. Katz not only educated me not the gravity of the issue of men’s violence against women, he revealed the privilege I had as a man to ignore it. He simultaneously made me realize, I had to use a privilege I did not know I had to address an issue I did not know was mine.
As a once iconic symbol of privileged and powerful masculinity as an accomplished athlete, I use that platform to challenge men to eradicate sexism and misogyny, the foundations of men’s violence against women. The oppression of and, violence committed against women is learned behavior, normalized and excused in our patriarchal society that historically has not held men to account or actively involve them as part of the solution. This has taken my work far beyond sport and into every crevice of American culture identifying the unchallenged power and influence of patriarchy and, the ubiquitous ways in which boys and men are socialized to view girls and women as “less than.”
When I watched the murder of George Floyd by a white police officer, beyond feelings of anger and despair, I thought of my father. I am the son of a cop; more specifically an internal affairs detective who served New York City from the early 1960’s to the late 1980’s. The most profound lesson I learned from him was not that there are “bad cops” but, that if any institution or society is to function with credibility and integrity, especially in regard to justice and social order, accountability must come from within. It takes more than the oppressed speaking truth to power through protest and testimony but, that the stakeholders of power and privilege be truthful and just in how society functions and served.
Though I reflexively deny the uniqueness of the post-football career path, choosing to address issues of gender as opposed to race, the work is perpetually challenged by the acute examination of the culture in which I was raised as a boy that, I would otherwise benefit from with my silence. The significance of that perspective was not just learned behavior that I received from my father but a purpose and critical strategy for social change exemplified by Richard Lapchick.
One of the questions I hear most often regarding my work is ‘what do my “football” teammates and friends think about my current work and identifying as a feminist?’ The question is a clear indication of the assumption that my work is a forthright betrayal of the (privilege and silent) hyper-masculine culture of sport, heaped with obstinate masculinity. The question also suggests the precarious level of risk to my status among my most valued peers; “my people,” “my tribe,” “my boys,” “my inner-circle.”
The greatest risk is in my silence.
Sexism is my issue to eradicate because my silence enables its force. Therefore, not only is it my responsibility to confront the issue but my voice is authentic and necessary to break the silence that endorses the problem. My silence not only enables the status quo and (theoretically) puts women at risk but my silence allows it to be done in my name and that diminishes my very existence, identity and integrity; If my privilege comes from the oppression of women then it is not truly mine and would necessarily require force to maintain; that forced is the systemic application of misogyny and sexism within a patriarchal culture. My silence co-signs the force and enables a culture in which its normalized.
The role of white people to confront racism is no different morally and in practice. Racism is my problem but not my issue to eradicate. My voice is insufficient to influence the behavior of those who knowingly or unwittingly benefit from it or, whose privileged renders them incapable to recognize it. Moreover, the complexities and ubiquitous nature of racism in our culture provides a barrier that makes the choice of inaction a cultural norm.
When George Floyd lay on the ground, the knee of white police officer literally pressing the life out of him, for many black people it was not a moment in time but a timeless moment. In the days preceding we learned of Breonna Taylor’s murder in her home and watched the lynching of Amhaud Abrey in broad daylight as he was simply out for a run in Brunswick, Georgia. When I heard “Brunswick, Georgia” it may as well have been my hometown on Long Island, New York. In fact, one of my dearest friends Jeff Mangram, a college teammate and four-year starting cornerback at Syracuse University who holds a Ph.D. from Syracuse and is a full-time tenured Professor in the School of Education is from Brunswick, Georgia.
No matter how credible, cogent or urgent our pleas, underscored by our academic credentials or other successes attained by “playing by the rules” our voices are often minimized as anomalous examples that allow white people to feel comfortable with black people who seemingly transcend the wretchedness of systemic racism. Even in the meritocracy of sports and education, our voices are not only insufficient they are drowned out by years of our own crying out and minimized by our association with white privilege.
Thirty-two years ago, when I wrote the letter informing NFL team to ignore me in the draft I risked the opportunity to play quarterback. Times have changed and that opportunity is afforded black quarterbacks quite readily. Some may consider that progress, to which I would agree in minor terms. When Colin Kaepernick silently protested, he was ostracized by the league indicating that the commodification of black men had grown acceptance but only if we remain obedient to the white culture we entertain.
When several NFL players passionately responded to the murder of George Floyd by a white police officer, it was the comments of one white man, Roger Goodell that mattered most. And, not just because he is Commissioner of the league but, because he is white! He echoed the sentiment of many white people in the moment acknowledging that which their privilege has allowed them to ignore. What was most important about Goodell’s comments was not that he admits the league was wrong but the tacit acknowledgment that they heard but ignored. What was most profound about this is that what Colin Kaepernick was trying to do with his peaceful, silent protest was protect George Floyd.
Kaepernick didn’t need to know George Floyd to express his love and concern, no matter the risk to his privilege. Likewise, white people need not know a black person or have one in their life to demonstrate the humanity of love. Moreover, “hearing” Kaepernick and the pain of black people will not explain nor rid the world of systemic racism and the violence used to maintain it. This is what white people must DO and, act upon what you already know. You don’t need to sit back and listen to us, you need to talk to “your people” “your tribe” “your inner-circle,” even at the risk of the privilege your silence protects.
But, if you insist on listening, hear this. Stop saying you don’t see color…please SEE ME! If you have never said that to a white person that you are ONLY seeing color. Moreover, if you say that to me you are telling me you have a diminished attitude about the color of my skin and there is something inherently wrong with it. It’s also like when a friend does something, and you excuse it by saying “I didn’t see that.” Blackness does not need white permission to exist and be valued.
Finally, when Jackson Katz introduce the “bystander model” to sexual violence prevention programming in 1993, it was done so to change longitudinal trends in behavior. It was not meant to stop an incident or crime in progress but to create an environment where men can confront each other and the dogma of masculinity that influences behavior and, do so in the absence of women and the urgency of a pending assault. It was this approach that intrigued me most and led to the sustainability of my lifelong learning, growth and work in this field for more than a quarter century. My goal is the impact on future generations of men, liberated from the narrowness of masculinity that not just ends sexism and the subsequent violence against but allows them greater freedom and lifelong benefits of living in their wholeness.
This moment is not simply about white people preventing the next murder of black man by police but the realization that change begins with how you we raise your children and what you want for them. That means the sacrifices you make for them are not just matters of time or finance but of long-held ideologies of silence and convenience that will leave them bearing the responsibility of the violence and pain of racism previous generations chose to ignore.
Don McPherson is the author of You Throw Like a Girl: The Blind Spot of Masculinity, chronicling more than thirty-five years, using sports to address social issues and focused on a quarter century of work on gender violence and aspirational masculinity. His programs have reached more than one million, throughout North America. A member of the College Football Hall of Fame, McPherson was a highly decorated All-American quarterback at Syracuse University.
