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 Ali's heavyweight belt was revoked.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.
Awesome!
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