In the days since the death of Muhammad Ali, much has been said and written in an attempt to capture the essence of the man.
Yet in death, as in life, Ali remains elusive, as true originals always are. It is no easier to corner him now than it as for so many hapless opponents in the boxing ring.
He would not be submit to being defined by others for their own purposes. He defined himself, which emboldened others to define themselves as well, especially in the black community.
The boxing ring thrust this remarkable man into the public eye, but it was merely a prelude to a larger life whose relevance went far beyond the narrow confines of sport.
He leapt from that limited forum into the nation’s social consciousness during the turbulent 1960s, when no issue so polarized our nation as the war in Vietnam.
Like thousands of Americans, Ali took a principled stand against the Vietnam War, refusing to serve upon being drafted. Some in his position fled the country to avoid the draft. Others used connections or loopholes to avoid service.
During the Vietnam era, 38 future senators/congressmen (including Mississippi’s Trent Lott), two presidents (G.W. Bush, Clinton), two vice presidents (Biden, Quayle), two Supreme Court justices (Alito, Souter), 10 governors, the current GOP presidential candidate and Lee Greenwood (of “I”m Proud to Be An American” fame) received deferments from military service.
Ali would not flee. He would not scheme. He would not manipulate.
In the image-conscious world of celebrity, Ali remained defiant, loudly proclaiming a view he knew would be unpopular among many, willing to suffer blows to his popularity, reputation and livelihood for a higher principle that is the definition of courage.
Ali lost his title and boxing privileges for three years during his prime and almost lost his freedom, avoiding prison only when the U.S. Supreme Court overturned a lower court ruling, confirming Ali’s status as a conscientious objector.
When news of his death was reported, there remained those who called him a “draft dodger” and referred to him not by the name he chose for himself, but as his name at birth, Cassius Clay, a sure show of disrespect and a sobering reminder of humanity’s incomplete journey toward tolerance.
Today, we can hardly imagine a superstar athlete taking a stand on anything. They are brands, beholding to corporate sponsors and the millions of dollars they earn through those endorsements. They take no position, and in doing so offend no corporate sponsor.
Today, it never occurs to us to ask what Roger Federer’s views on LGBT rights might be, how LeBron James feels about gun control or what position Tom Brady holds on immigration reform.
But it is not that Ali was simply willing to be a lightning bolt for his unwavering, unambiguous stands, it is that he was able to hold those views without hating those who opposed him.
Ali showed that you can be devoted to a religion, a position or a group without hating all others. In the immediate wake of the Orlando carnage, it is a lesson that has outlived the man who so brilliantly demonstrated it.
Ali was a committed Muslim, yet he embraced people of other faiths and respected their views.
That one of the people who would speak at his memorial service was a Orrin Hatch, a white Mormon politician from Utah, speaks to Ali’s ability to build relationships despite serious differences in beliefs or backgrounds. He may have been the only Sunni Muslim that Shiite Muslims were incapable of hating.
As revered as he was among many Americans, he was idolized abroad, particularly in places such as Africa and the Philippines, where Ali fought and was a symbol of hope among people all to familiar with grinding poverty, oppression and injustice.
In race relations at home, he was very much a man for the times. As the nation grappled with civil rights, Ali stood as an inspiration for the black community. In defying the accepted, deferential role for black athletes carefully crafted by the white establishment, Ali elevated himself, and a people, from self-doubt and self-loathing to self-confidence and self-determination.
Even so, he did not view white people as an enemy, although he might have been justified. Instead, he gave and loved indiscriminately.
In the boxing ring, he was known for his grace and elegance in a sport where such qualities were rarely seen or appreciated.
He proclaimed himself “The Greatest,” and waited with bemused indifference for the rest of the world to concede that point, as it ultimately did.
It is possible that someday another boxer will emerge as a greater fighter than Muhammad Ali.
But in his larger life, a life marked by that rare combination of fierce convictions and remarkable grace, we will never again see anything quite like Muhammad Ali.
Slim Smith is a columnist and feature writer for The Dispatch. His email address is [email protected].
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