There will never again be anyone like Muhammad Ali. From his birth in 1942 to his death in 2016 a confluence of circumstances made him incomparable. His legacy is so intertwined with politics it’s hard to discern where the athlete stops and the activist begins. At his funeral he will be remembered for his numerous public deeds as much as, if not more than, his 37 knockouts. Few American sports figures have been as openly political as Ali. And as a heavyweight champion, he had plenty to lose. The champ chose dignity over dollars.
Yet we can’t separate Ali’s strong stances from the decade in which he took them. He was a champion at the 1960 Olympics but he wasn’t celebrated because of Jim Crow laws. Imagine standing on the podium, watching your county’s flag raised while the Star-Spangled Banner plays, and then weeks later having to stand at the back of the bus in your hometown. If LeBron James wins another Olympic medal not only will he not have an issue being served at restaurants he’ll be on the cover of a Wheaties box before he returns home.
People often refer to “the decision” not to enlist as courageous but his earlier decision to embrace the Nation of Islam and change his name from Cassius Clay was just as controversial. In many ways he was an accidental revolutionary as the Nation of Islam instructed him not to enter the draft. And while today, the conventional wisdom is that America’s involvement in the Vietnam war was a mistake, at the time, most Americans supported it—Ali was seen more as a threat than a hero, an unpatriotic draft dodger not a prophetic disciple.
It’s hard to say what the effect would be of a similar action today; perhaps the closest comparable example is Pat Tillman deciding to enlist during his prime. Athletes today have financial advisers and agents whose job it is to make sure they don’t put their financial lives at risk. LeBron James has a lifetime contract with Nike, owns stock in Beats by Dre and is an investor in Liverpool football club. Everything he says represents multiple shareholders and board members. The King’s realities and market pressures are different from Ali’s. Like Ali was back then, LeBron is one of the most scrutinized athletes of his time, but it’s not entirely fair to say they aren’t cut from the same cloth. They are products of different environments.
LeBron James has spoken out against Donald Sterling’s racist rants and in support of grieving families like Trayvon Martin’s. He’s spoken intelligently about the Black Lives Matter movement and has worn an “I can’t breathe” shirt in warm-ups in memory of Eric Garner. However, “The Decision” is probably still the public proclamation most people think of when they think of LeBron. It may be that star athletes have less inclination to be vocal, but we as a viewing audience are less interested in being educated by them and more interested in being entertained by them.
The truth of the matter is Ali today is celebrated partially because he was silent for so long. Although his poster is plastered on university students walls, how many would embrace his brash style if “I’m the greatest” were his Twitter handle? Sadly, probably not.
Which is why we should appreciate Ali—and his legacy—as products of their time. Saying that modern-day athletes fall short of Ali’s standard is like blaming a modern-day preacher for not quite being Martin Luther King Jr. Who else at their funeral would have eulogies given by Bill Clinton and Billy Crystal and have numerous heads of state in attendance? Nobody. Not LeBron, or Jeter, or Bolt, or Rousey or Brady or anyone who comes afterward.
Ali was a diamond created by the pressure he lived under and as he’s laid to rest that’s how he should be remembered.