What Really Made Muhammad Ali The Greatest of All Time?

In 1960, a 20-year-old boxer from Louisville, Kentucky won the Olympic gold medal in the light heavyweight boxing division. 

He would go on to become the first professional boxer to win the heavyweight title three times. He would taunt his opponents with lines like "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." 

Yet the Olympic gold medal, as well as the 56 wins and heavyweight titles that followed did not make this boxer great. The bravado that he exhibited before, during and after fights would not make him courageous either.

In 1964, at the height of his career, which paralleled the Civil Rights Movement, the boxer would change his name. No longer would he be Cassius Clay. That, he argued, was his "slave name." No longer would he be a Christian. That, he contended, was the religion of the oppressor. 

 His new name, Muhammad Ali, was what he considered a "free name" and meant "beloved by God" in Arabic. And Ali became one of the most prominent members of the Nation of Islam, an African-American sect of Islam. Malcolm X, the controversial spokesman of the religious group, would serve as Ali's mentor. 

These acts--changing his name, changing his religion, and demanding that everyone respect his choices--were the first signs of the courage existing inside Ali. And this moment was not just defining for Ali, but for many African-Americans who were seeking a new identity void of  internal and external oppression. 

Ali's second act of courage would come just three years later. Still at the height of his professional boxing career, Ali was drafted to serve in the U.S. Armed Forces and fight in the Vietnam War. Yet, Ali refused to serve and cited his religious beliefs as the reason. He was arrested and the New York State Athletic Commission suspended his boxing license. Ali's heavyweight belt was revoked. Soon after, he was sentenced to five years imprisonment and fined $10,000. Holding tightly to his beliefs, Ali appealed the court's decision.

"My conscience won't let me go shoot my brother, or some darker people, or some poor hungry people in the mud for big powerful America. And shoot them for what....They never called me n----r, they never lynched me, they didn't put no dogs on me, they didn't rob me of my nationality, rape or kill my mother and father. ... How can I shoot them poor people? Just take me to jail."

Ali was never sent to jail--he appealed his case to the U.S. Supreme Court. But for the next three years, the fighter watched his mainstream popularity plummet as many believed Ali was a draft dodger. This did not make Ali wane from his beliefs. He stood grounded in his decision and began speaking out against the war to college students. And as the Civil Rights Movement transitioned to the Black Power Movement, Ali became a hero to a new generation of African-Americans. 

And by the time his boxing license was reinstated in 1970 and the U.S. Supreme Court overturned his conviction, Ali was a hero to many people for his resolution. 

Throughout his career spoke out against racism and oppression with the same bravado as he did before a boxing match. His delivery was charismatic enough not totally polarize white fans while being strong and affirming enough to inspire African-Americans to create change in their own way.

In 1984, Ali announced that he had Parkinson's syndrome. Over time, his motor skills continuously declined and his speech became increasingly limited. Yet that did not keep him out of the spotlight. No longer was he fighting in the ring. Now he was fighting for the humanity of others. For the rest of Ali's life, he traveled the world, making charitable appearances and even serving as a messenger of peace for the United Nations. 

When Ali died on the Friday evening of June 3, there were so many reasons to mourn his loss. Ali's bravado was unmatched. His honest intellect endearing. Ali was a great fighter in the boxing ring. And he lived his life as a fearless champion ready to fight racism and oppression. 

The Lessons Malcolm Learned

Everyday we teach children who they can possibly become. With every lesson we share, we have the ability to empower children to believe that there are no boundaries. 

We also have the power to discourage children in ways that can leave them feeling so defeated that they are unable to accomplish anything. 

As we celebrate the life of Malcolm X, I am centered in these thoughts. Malcolm X is one of the greatest thinkers of the 20th Century.  He is often unjustly compared to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. yet we should really be remembering his intelligence, his courage and his selflessness. 

But, we might not have ever found. When X was about 11, a teacher told him that a negro couldn't become an attorney. A negro could be a carpenter. X admitted in The Autobiography of Malcolm X  that this teacher's statement cut deep. He would hear this teacher's voice for years to come when he dropped out of high school and became a thief. 

What remained inside of X? 

The lessons he'd learned from his parents. Both of X's parents were followers of Pan African leader Marcus Garvey. As Garveyites, Earl and Louise Little held meetings for the UNIA in their small Michigan town. They subscribed to newspapers that promoted black liberation, an end to racial injustice and even, a return to Africa. Early in X's life, he heard his father preach not just about the love of Jesus, but also Pan Africanism and Black History. 

And when X was in prison, at his lowest, what remained? The teachings of his parents. X was able to connect those early lessons with all that he would learn from the Nation of Islam. Then he was able to rise above being a petty criminal to become a man who would teach those willing to listen that we (African-Americans) were not inferior to anyone.

The rest is history.

Teach your children. Anything can happen to you...but if you teach your children empowering lessons, they will never forget. Even if they stray for a moment. And you never know who they will become.

The Black History Project

Often when I tell people that I love history, their response is, "ugh. history is boring." Not so. At least not for me.

History is not about memorizing dates. It's about understanding different points of views concerning various events.

And that's why I love African-American history. It's filled with beginnings.

When the first African decided that enslavement was not for him, abolitionism was born. 

When Ida B. Wells-Barnett wrote Southern Horrors: Lynch Law in All Its Phases she became a muckraker--making the practice of lynching an issue that would have to be discussed in American society.

 And when Barack Obama became the first African-American to be elected president of the United States, it allowed people to feel hope for sincere change in society.

African-American history consistently shows how a marginalized group uses their voice to resist oppression and become valuable players in United States’ society.

 That's why I love researching, thinking and writing about history. The purpose of this blog will be to provide candid discussions on people and events--not to read a bio of a historical figure.

But if you need a profile, timeline or overview of an event, you should check out African-American History .

Angela Davis' Fearless Fist Pump and Sudden Sob

When I look at images or video footage of the 1970s, Angela Davis, pumping her fist immediately comes to mind. For someone who was born later in the decade and did not have the opportunity to experience this moment in time, it has often appeared to be a time of  effortless fearlessness; a rare opportunity for an African-American woman to be sexy and an intellectual. 

But today, at 36, I know that it couldn't have been so easy to be sexy and an intellectual. It couldn't have been easy to be fearless. And it couldn't have been easy to be Davis. 

On June 4, 1972, the political activist and professor  was acquitted of murder, kidnapping and criminal conspiracy charges. For almost two years, Davis, who was an ally of the Black Panther Party,  awaited trial.  If convicted, Davis would have faced the death penalty for her alleged involvement in the murder of a Marin County judge. 

An article published in The New York Times provides a detailed summary of Davis' arrest, trial and subsequent acquittal. And it was this article that provided me with a glimpse of how uneasy it was to be Angela Davis in 197-anything. These words struck home the most: 

Miss Davis, who had shown little emotion through the 13 weeks of the trial, broke into sobs after the last verdict had been read. "This is the happiest day of my life," she later exclaimed.

Sobs? Angela Davis?  In photographs that I have seen of Davis during the Black Power Movement, she often appears stoic and (in some cases) depicted as menacing or dangerous. Never once have I thought of Davis as a woman whose life was on the line. I'd never thought of her as someone who lost so much (her professorship) because of her beliefs. I'd never thought of her as fearful.

Yet, the news account (whether intentional or not) showed her humanity in a way that I don't know if many people will ever understand.

So now when I think of Davis, I think of resilience.

Prospects for Freedom: Then and Now

Yesterday, in celebration of Malcolm X's birthday,  I read his speech Prospects for Freedom in 1965. Delivered just a few weeks before X was assassinated at the Audubon Ballroom, the speech was insightful--compelling audience members to think about the actions of the U.S. government, various civil rights leaders and then, question how much freedom has really been allotted to the everyday man and woman. And is freedom achievable without peace?

In the speech, X argues that 1964 was the year of "illusion and delusion." He points out that while the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was signed, several incidents occurred in the same year (notablethe murders of civil rights workers Chaney, Scherwner and Goodman and the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party being denied participation in the 1964 Democratic Convention proceedings) that should make African-Americans really question the notion of freedom and if it had indeed, really been achieved. And if it hadn't been achieved, what should African-Americans do to make sure that freedom and peace could in fact be achieved?

One of my favorite lines from the speech is actually at its beginning: ...you can't separate peace from freedom because no one can be at peace unless he has his freedom. You can't separate the two—and this is the thing that makes 1965 so explosive and so dangerous. 

And his ending is just as powerful as the beginning. X declares:

Black people in 1965 will not be controlled by these Uncle Tom leaders, believe me; they won't be held in check, they won't be held on the plantation by these overseers, they won't be held on the corral, they won't be held back at all....So in 1965 we should see a lot of action. Since the old methods haven't worked, they'll be forced to try new methods.

Thinking about the great hope that African-Americans had during the Civil Rights Movement makes me wonder what are our prospects for freedom in 2014? Have we achieved enough peace to truly be free as Malcolm contended?