Racism, Silence, and Hypocrisy in Sports – A Call for Real Change

Flagging the NFL’s attempt at “Ending Racism

The NFL’s hypocrisy problem is big, bold, and white. The capital type font nestled in the kaleidoscope of colors screams at you from the endzone: “END RACISM.”

It’s a message meant to uplift, galvanize, challenge, and compel us all to stand on the right side of history. 

Yet, if you squint, you can almost see the fissures, the vacuousness behind the words, the desperation of a league trying to cover old wounds with a fresh coat of paint. With its massive reach and billion-dollar broadcast deals, the NFL is no stranger to declarations. Yet this one feels different. 

Because when you see “END RACISM” plastered on the turf of a stadium where a Black man just put his body on the line for a touchdown, it’s hard not to think about the hypocrisy wrapped around it like a boa constrictor. 

The NFL’s appeal is unassailable, especially in working-class communities, where the dreams of proletariats and lumpen proletariats dissipate before they can germinate or materialize. And where the possibilities of promise often perish prematurely. 

For many in these communities of destitution and destruction, where schools are often pipelines to prison, football is the Willy Wonka golden ticket, a lottery, a golden promise of propaganda whispered into the ears of children who grow up on streets with dilapidated streetlights and schools with overcrowded classrooms. 

The message is evident to these poor and exploited boys: run and catch the wind, hit with the force of a car wreck, or catch blurs thrown at you, then a chance may exist that your exceptionalism can lift you from the slums. You might escape–maybe. But it’s a conditional kind of freedom, one that’s anchored and contingent upon your physicality, not your intellect. And for many young Black men, that’s the most compelling deal of perceived options.

It’s no wonder that Black players comprise roughly 70% of the league. Yet, for all the speed, agility, will, and sheer determination they display on the field when the helmets come off, they face a different game — one where the rules are skewed, and the odds are never quite in their favor. 

Consider the scandal of race-norming. There was a practice so bluntly insidious, so unthinkably prejudiced, it’s hard to believe it went on as long as it did. The NFL, with all its power, money, and influence, assumed that Black players had inherently lower cognitive abilities. It wasn’t just a slap in the face; it was a calculated move to make it harder for them to receive payouts for brain injuries, a denial of the pain and suffering that so many endured. 

The league announced it would stop the practice on June 21, 2021, but there was no public apology or accountability for the years of harm done. It was just a quiet, procedural end to a dark chapter they’d prefer you overlook.

Then there’s the coaching carousel of head coaches — a merry-go-round that spins primarily white. The sidelines remain stubbornly monochrome for all the Black talent on the field. How many teams have never had a Black head coach or general manager? 

There are too many to count, and every new season feels like a rerun of an old episode. The Las Vegas Raiders stand out as an exception, a glimmer of what could be. They made Antonio Pierce their head coach, even if on an interim basis, and then allowed him to helm the team full-time. 

But these are the exceptions, not the norm. If you examine the league’s structure closely, it becomes more glaringly conspicuous: a stratified hierarchy in which the people who profit most don’t look like the ones who do the work.

Jim Trotter tried to address this. Trotter, a journalist with a sharp pen and sharper insight, dared to publicly question Commissioner Roger Goodell and other executives on the league’s lack of diversity and record of racial discrimination. 

He found himself on the outside for his efforts, settling a discrimination lawsuit just this October. Trotter’s voice was clear, courageous, and damning: the NFL still had a long way to go. And instead of listening, they pushed him out.

It’s impossible to talk about race in the NFL without mentioning Colin Kaepernick. He wasn’t just a player; he became a symbol, a flashpoint. His silent, solitary act of taking a knee during the national anthem after his teammate Nate Boyer, a Green Beret, encouraged him to do so was a protest of police brutality, a call for justice. But instead of engaging with the message, the NFL punished the messenger. 

We’ve seen the NFL owners collude before. From 1933 to Kenny Washington’s reintegration in 1946, NFL owners operated under a gentleman’s agreement to bar African Americans from the league.

In 2016, the owners colluded to keep Kaepernick off the field and out of the NFL, treating him like a rogue element and social pariah rather than a man brave enough to speak truth to power. The league’s handling of Kaepernick became a stark reminder: the NFL loves the labor of Black players, but when it comes to their voices, their minds, or their opinions? Well, these n**as for Lease are expendable.

The NFL’s relationship with Blackness has always been fraught, a twisted and convoluted mix of reverence and exploitation. The league has grown fat off the talents of Black athletes and turned their bodies into commodities, all while keeping most of them out of the boardrooms and back offices where meaningful decisions are made. 

It’s not just about the players; it’s about a system that resists change, that uses words like “diversity” and “equity” in PR statements but doesn’t seem to understand what they mean. The symbolism of “END RACISM” painted in the endzone is powerful but also paradoxical.

How can the NFL truly end racism when it hasn’t even confronted its own sordid past and problematic present? When it denied Black men the compensation they deserved for CTE, all while knowing that those injuries stemmed from years of violent collisions and concussions that left them cognitively impaired? 

When it refused to apologize for race-norming, as if erasing the practice could also erase the hurt and indignity inflicted on its victims? When there are still teams that have never had a Black head coach or GM, and few owners are willing to venture out on leadership that doesn’t resemble them? How can the NFL end racism when voices like Trotter’s and Kaepernick’s are subdued and suppressed?

The game is thrilling; there’s no denying that. The roar of the crowd, the crash of helmets and the moment of stillness before the snap are addicting.

 But as much as the NFL has attempted to rebrand itself, to paint over its controversies with bold slogans and heart-tugging commercials, the cracks remain. Words in an endzone are devoid of meaning; they cost nothing. 

The league still must reckon with real change—the kind that comes with challenging conversations, admissions of guilt, and a commitment to do better. Until then, “END RACISM” is just another campaign, a marketing ploy to win over and ingratiate themselves with fans who see through the façade.

The truth is, fans do see it. They see the inconsistencies, the hypocrisy, and the league’s attempts to straddle both sides, offering vague gestures toward progress while maintaining the status quo.

Many fans recall the brave few who have opted against going against the behemoth of Sundays, who spoke out and paid the price, the journalists who asked the hard questions and were shown the door.

Those fans know that painting the end zones is a step in the right direction and raises the public consciousness, but it still needs to cross the goal line. Until the NFL takes a hard, honest look at itself, it will remain out of the end zone forever.

Racism in the WNBA

By Mykell Mathieu

Since its conception, the WNBA has been a league of unity and has spoken out about what’s right.

The W has been one of the top leagues pushing for more rights for the LGBTQ+ community and is even very active in social justice issues through its Social Justice Council, player activism, and other efforts.

The W has received top grades for racial and gender hiring practices. According to the Institute for Diversity and Ethics in Sport (TIDES), the WNBA has held the top position in the racial and gender report cards since its inaugural season.

For a sports league that is so big on pushing love and unity, it was troubling to see how things were handled when it came to racism and the league’s biggest star, Caitlin Clark.

Clark’s fame carried over from college, and as a white basketball player, her name has been brought up in culture wars and online debates. This was especially true when she was left off the Team USA Olympic basketball roster, and fans reacted to several hard fouls committed against the rookie early in her WNBA career.

Those online debates took on a very dark turn from just your typical basketball takes to full-on racial and misogynistic comments.

Clark herself spoke on the back-and-forth squabbles online about her fellow WNBA players in June.

“People should not be using my name to push those agendas. It’s disappointing. It’s unacceptable,” Clark said on June 13th when asked about the comments. “… Treating every single woman in this league with the same amount of respect, I think, is just a basic human thing that everybody should do.”

This topic continued to make news throughout the season until the Fever was eliminated from the WNBA playoffs.

The WNBA issued this statement on September 26th, “the WNBA is a competitive league with some of the most elite athletes in the world,” read the statement. “While we welcome a growing fan base, the WNBA will not tolerate racist, derogatory, or threatening comments made about players, teams and anyone affiliated with the league. League security is actively monitoring threat-related activity and will work directly with teams and arenas to take appropriate measures, including involving law enforcement as necessary.”

It’s a shame that the WNBA waited until the end of the season to address racism. In 2022, Las Vegas Aces star Kelsey Plum pointed out how white players received preferential treatment. Retired Seattle Storm superstar Sue Bird spoke out recently, stating racism isn’t new to the WNBA, but it has become much more blatant and threatening.

With the growing popularity and attendance the past few years the time is now to fix the racism problem when it comes to the WNBA. The racism issue takes attention away from what’s most important and that’s the exceptional basketball that is being played on the court.

You can’t control the fans opinions but you can always make campaigns to speak out against the wrongdoings. For a league that has shown it is willing to come out to speak against or for what’s right or wrong. Let’s see them tackle racism and keep it out of their amazing and growing game.

The Silence and the Stain: Why Our Inaction Fuels Racism in Sports

by Jackie Rae

When I step into the media room for the Los Angeles Sparks, I’m part of something new and long overdue. What was once a space with just two Black journalists now includes more—talented reporters, independent voices, and respected names from major outlets. It’s progress, but progress doesn’t fix everything.

As I, Mykell Mathieu, and Eric Lampkins II cover the WNBA, it’s clear that we each bring different perspectives and see the game’s issues in different ways. But one thing unites us—the glaring, relentless stain of silence on racism in sports.

The silence from Caitlin Clark is the tip of the iceberg. She’s become a symbol of how some athletes evade the racial hate spewed in their name. I will happily admit that I missed her June 13th statement. 

In fairness, prior to that, myself and several journalists asked her that same question, and her response was always the same: “I’m not on social media. I don’t see that stuff. I just focus on basketball.” I genuinely applaud The Athletic’s James Boyd for finally getting a straight answer from Clark.

That doesn’t mean my perspective regarding Clark has changed. How could it? She was asked the same question following her June response, but it wasn’t until after the Fever was eliminated from the playoffs that she responded directly.

Sure, there will be those who ask why she has to answer the same question repeatedly. The answer is simple– because racism and homophobia in her honor keeps happening. Repeatedly. Sometimes, you have to state your position loudly and repeatedly so that the people affected can hear and feel it. 

Maybe that’s the problem: silence isn’t just avoidance—it’s complicity. For those who’ve watched the WNBA grow, this year’s financial strides ring hollow in the face of moral stagnation. But the WNBA isn’t alone in this; just look at the NFL.

Racism and discrimination are almost institutional there, ingrained in its practices. When Colin Kaepernick knelt in silent protest against police violence, the league made sure he never played again. And what did we do? We debated, we dissected, and we let it go. Instead of rallying behind him, we argued boycotts would hurt Black players or wouldn’t be effective. Think about that—70% of the league is Black, yet we convinced ourselves we couldn’t afford to demand justice.

The numbers speak volumes: 42% of the NFL fan base is Black, yet we won’t wield our collective power. Imagine if Black fans united with Black players, laid out demands, and refused to engage until they were met. Maybe Kaepernick’s protest would have been successful, and George Floyd would still be here. Maybe police violence, gentrification, systemic neglect—all the things disproportionately crushing Black communities—would have met severe resistance.

The uncomfortable truth is that we don’t stick together. Real change in this country comes when the oppressed demand it loudly and persistently. Black people have faced every form of abuse, from financial exclusion to police brutality, for one reason: our collective silence.

The United States has paid over $70 billion in Holocaust restitution payments, but slavery reparations are still “too heavy a lift” because we won’t stick together and demand it.

The phrase “Black people aren’t a monolith” is not an excuse for inaction. That phrase recognizes our diversity, not an inability to unify against common oppression. Our refusal to act is why institutions as powerful as the NFL can placate us with empty gestures instead of real change.

If the WNBA, the NFL, or any other institution ignores racism, it’s because we let them. The truth is, silence on racism doesn’t just happen on the field—it starts with us. Until we can truly come together and demand better, the world will keep turning. Unchanged!

It falls on us.