I was five years old when Michael Jordan made "the shot", a go-ahead basket in the final seconds of the 1998 NBA finals between the Chicago Bulls and Utah Jazz. My dad and I sprang off the couch, high-fiving and jumping around as if we had just made the championship-clinching basket. "The shot" was one of my first memories, sports or otherwise. I was in the driveway the next morning, wearing my Jordan #23 Bulls jersey and Nike wrist band, practicing my jump shot with a mini-ball on a plastic hoop.

It was Jordan's unwavering confidence and effortless swagger that sparked my love for basketball. I emulated his moves and tried to model my skills after his. Growing up outside New York City, I watched every Nets game and endured more disappointing seasons than I care to remember. In college, I played pickup games on weekday afternoons, and in my early twenties I played in a recreation league in Boston. I just loved the game.

Then, in my late-20's, my burgeoning passion for politics and social justice began to supplant my enthusiasm for sports. But in that process, I developed a newfound appreciation for the league, and the sport, that I fell in love with as a kid.

Activism in Sports: A Fourth Wave

Dr. Harry Edwards, a professor emeritus of Sociology at the University of California, Berkeley, argues that the U.S. is in the midst of a fourth wave of sports activism, in which athletes are "bringing their financial independence and social influence to bear."

According to Edwards, the first wave dates back to the 1920s and 30s, when athletes like track star Jesse Owens and boxer Joe Louis fought to establish Black athletes as legitimate in the eyes of white fans. This was followed by a post-World War II period in which a handful of athletes, most famously Jackie Robinson, broke color lines in their respective sports, which not only brought about desegregation in athletics, but also laid the groundwork for the civil rights movement. The third wave is perhaps the most well-known, and produced icons that loom large in sports and culture today. It encompasses the Black Power and civil rights movement of the 1960s, when the boxer Muhammad Ali, the football star Jim Brown, and the NBA legend Bill Russell, among others, spoke out defiantly about racism in America, and the evils of colonization and imperialism more broadly. This period of activism also produced the legendary image of U.S. track and field stars Tommie Smith and John Carlos raising gloved fists in a stand for human rights at the 1968 Olympics in Mexico City.

In the final decades of the 20th century, against the backdrop of stagflation, white backlash and Reaganomics, political and social protests subsided. As contracts and corporate sponsorships in professional sports leagues exploded, athletes increasingly shied away from meddling in public debates. Michael Jordan, in a moment emblematic of the mood at the time, declined to endorse Harvey Gantt, the first African American mayor of Charlotte, in the 1990 Senate race in North Carolina, despite the fact that Gantt's opponent, Jesse Helms, was a staunch segregationist. Jordan, when pressed by local groups to support Mr. Gantt, famously quipped: "Republicans buy sneakers, too."

Players have found that their activism can actually make them more attractive to corporate America.

A variety of factors have paved the way for the current "fourth wave" of political activism in sports. Today's athletes are part of a generation that is more socially conscious, and willing to speak out about issues beyond sports, from politics to mental health. The Internet and social media platforms have helped amplify players' voices. And while this latest period of activism in professional sports pre-dates Trump's rise in politics, his inflammatory rhetoric catalyzed efforts to confront bigotry and promote social justice causes.

But unlike the previous three waves described by Dr. Edwards, the current period differs in a crucial way: Players today have institutionalized support, with the backing of leagues, teams, and a significant portion of the general public. Colin Kaepernick's decision to kneel during the National Anthem in 2016 likely cost him his football career. But the tide has shifted dramatically since then. Last year, Kaepernick signed a multimillion-dollar apparel deal with Nike, and was the focal point of an ad campaign with the tag line: "Believe in something, even if it means sacrificing everything." Players have found that their activism can actually make them more attractive to corporate America.

The NBA and WNBA are in a League of their Own

The COVID-19 pandemic and nationwide protests following the murder of George Floyd last year intensified social activism across the sports world. In May, ascendant tennis star Naomi Osaka declared on Twitter she was done being shy about speaking out against police brutality, and pushed back against critics who suggested that she "stick to sports". NFL commissioner Roger Goodell embraced the Black Lives Matter movement for the first-time publicly, and announced a plan to spend $250 million over ten years on social justice initiatives. Major League Baseball also embraced BLM, and just recently decided to move this year's All-Star game out of Atlanta in response to a Georgia law designed to restrict voting access.

Len Elmore, a former basketball player and television analyst, summarized this latest wave of activism well: "If anything, the year has reinforced the realization that sports is a mirror."

But while activism has been on the rise in every sport, this generation of NBA and WNBA players have been speaking out about social justice causes for years, well before the election of President Trump, the emergence of COVID-19, or the murder of George Floyd.

A month before Colin Kaepernick took a knee in 2016 to protest police brutality, members of the Minnesota Lynx held a media blackout day to draw attention to the issue.

The breadth of action among WNBA players, in particular, is unparalleled in professional sports. They include singular efforts — like Natasha Cloud's advocacy for gun control, and Seimone Augustus' campaign to oppose a ballot measure that would ban same-sex marriage in Minnesota — as well as unified undertakings, like when the league formed a Social Justice Council last year to facilitate conversations about race, voting rights, and LGBTQ+ advocacy.

According to Amira Rose Davis, a professor of history and African American studies at Penn State and co-host of the podcast Burn It All Down, the league and its players have been at the forefront of calling for change: "These women have pushed the envelope long before it came into vogue among modern-day professional athletes," Davis said.

The WNBA mirrors a broader culture in which Black women's labor and organizing is often overlooked. A month before Colin Kaepernick took a knee in a 2016 preseason game, members of the Minnesota Lynx held a media blackout day to talk about police brutality following the deaths of Philando Castile and Alton Sterling. Later that year, Lynx players became the first professional athletes to wear Black Lives Matter T-shirts during games.

In 2019, Maya Moore, one of the league's superstars, shocked the basketball community when she announced she would be taking a two-year hiatus to advocate for criminal justice reform. Moore, who was 29 and in her prime at the time, proceeded to work with grassroots leaders to free an innocent man, Jonathan Irons, from prison, after he was convicted and serving a 50-year sentence for a murder he didn't commit.

Maya Moore helped free Jonathan Irons from prison. The pair later married. Source: NYT

Even in 2020, the WNBA's activism was unmatched. The league and its players partnered with the #SayHerName campaign to dedicate their season to Breonna Taylor. Former Lynx star Renee Montgomery opted out of the season altogether (and later retired) to fully pursue social justice causes. And players on the Atlanta Dream collectively stood against Kelly Loeffler, a co-owner of the team who had criticized their support for Black Lives Matter, and actively campaigned for Loeffler's opponent, Dr. Raphael G. Warnock.

The NBA has also been ahead of the curve, relative to other professional leagues, in advocating for social justice causes. LeBron James, who has been the face of the NBA for nearly two decades, began speaking out about social issues more consistently following Trayvon Martin's murder in Sanford, Florida in 2012. Throughout that season, James wore t-shirts during warm-ups that paid tribute to Martin, and regularly took to social media to call attention to the case.

James' activism grew from there. In 2018, James founded the "I Promise School", a public elementary school in Akron, Ohio, his hometown, aimed at at-risk children. James' "More Than an Athlete" campaign seeks to spread the message that athletes have a responsibility to use their platform for social good. And last year, James partnered with other current and former NBA and WNBA players to start "More Than a Vote", an organization that aims to inspire African Americans to vote. The project, a collaboration with the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, recruited young people to serve at polling locations in Black communities in swing states, including Georgia, Michigan, Wisconsin, Florida and Ohio, and lobbied NBA and NFL teams to turn their stadiums into polling places. James also joined other players in calling for Florida to restore voting rights to formerly incarcerated citizens.

Like the WNBA, the NBA reinforced their commitment to social causes when the pandemic hit. When the league was contemplating re-starting its season last summer, many players, like Boston Celtics forward Jaylen Brown, worried that resuming play would distract from ongoing social justice protests and organizing efforts: "Our job at the least is to keep these conversations going," Brown said. "We're not political elites. We're not politicians. We're not educators. But we have influence."

The league, in collaboration with the players union, Disney, politicians and activists — including Stacey Abrams and Tamika Palmer — developed a plan to ensure that the games in its Orlando "bubble" would amplify, rather than detract from, the discussions about racial inequality and police brutality against black people.

"Black Lives Matter" was painted in black across the hardwood courts next to the NBA logo. During the national anthem, teams locked arms and knelt to display a united front. Each player chose a social justice message to display on the back of their jersey, including phrases like "I Am A Man" and "Vote". And the NBA produced a Black Lives Matter PSA, which was played during every commercial break.

NBA players, coaches and referees knelt together in a coordinated protest on the opening night of the league's restart. Source: ESPN

Then, on August 23rd, Jacob Blake, a 29-year-old Black man, was shot seven times in the back by a white police officer in Kenosha, Wisconsin. The shooting, which left Blake paralyzed and happened in front of his three children, prompted NBA players and coaches to reconsider the impact of their efforts. The next day, players from the Milwaukee Bucks organized an unprecedented boycott, inspiring dozens of players and teams in other leagues to join the effort.

Before the NBA returned three days later, the league and players association, in consultation with advocacy groups and politicians, including President Obama, outlined a new set of action items, which included the formation of a social justice coalition, a league-wide effort to turn arenas into voting locations for the 2020 election, and an investment in advertisements to promote civic engagement.

Institutional Underpinnings of Social Activism

It's been suggested that the demographic composition of NBA and WNBA players, coupled with the liberal political leanings of both leagues' fan bases, underlie their willingness to speak out about social issues. But missing from this explanation are the institutional factors — each leagues' histories, business models, and rules — that create space for social activism.

When David Stern became commissioner of the NBA in 1984, he inherited a league that was on life support — viewership was dwindling, drug abuse among players was rampant, and financial deficits plagued the league office. But Stern, who embraced a player-centric marketing strategy and was adamant about international expansion, managed to turn the sputtering league around, aided in no small part by a rising crop of superstars from Larry Bird and Magic Johnson to Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant. Last season, more than 1 billion unique viewers tuned into NBA programming — or one in every seven humans. According to Sports Illustrated's Andrew Sharp, the NBA's investment in international basketball has been "a story of social responsibility that doubles as excellent business strategy."

Stern's focus on player's star power in the 80's and 90's laid the groundwork for the pro-labor politics that persist in the NBA today. The National Basketball Players Association, the league's union, has collectively bargained professional basketball players into an average salary of $7 million, making them the highest-paid union employees in the world, and molded the league into a community that embraces civil rights and black culture. The players' union has funded historically black colleges and universities, nonprofits supporting voter registration, and initiatives tackling the school-to-prison pipeline. In 2014, after an audio tape surfaced of Los Angeles Clippers owner Donald Sterling making racist remarks to his girlfriend, the union threatened to boycott the playoffs if the league did not fire Sterling — two days later, the NBA banned Sterling for life.

Members of the Clippers staged a silent protest prior to a playoff game against the Golden State Warriors. April 2014. Source: Sportsnet

The NBA's rules for competitive fairness also set it apart from other leagues. To address inequitable circumstances between big markets and small markets, the NBA divides television revenue — which totaled $2.6 billion last year — evenly among the teams, regardless of how many viewers each team attracts. This means that profitable teams, like the Lakers and Knicks, actually concede some of their earnings to aid teams that are less profitable. The league's salary cap — which stands at $110 million per team — limits how much each team spends on players, thereby ensuring wealthy teams don't always outbid everyone else. And each year the NBA draft lottery rewards top picks to the worst teams, giving them a head start on building back for the following season.

These rules don't just ensure healthy competition on the court. They empower teams and players to take stances on issues that those in other leagues are inclined to avoid, for fear of retribution and financial loss. In the NBA, it is understood that each team's individual success is inextricably tied to the shared prosperity of the league.

As for the WNBA, protest was baked into the league's DNA when it launched in 1997 with the marketing slogan "We got next". From its inception, the league's players have had to fight to secure decent pay, corporate sponsors, and media exposure.

"We are a walking protest at all times as a W.N.B.A. athlete." — Mistie Bass, who in 2016 took a knee during the national anthem while with the Phoenix Mercury

The WNBA season is also shorter than that of the NBA, or other men's leagues. There are fewer spots on rosters. Labor is more precarious, and this feeds into a sense of urgency when it comes to social issues as well.

Amira Rose Davis put it well on her podcast: "Their very presence on a court, their very insistence that they have the right to play and make a living by playing is a political act in and of itself."

For a league that has fought for national recognition for 24 years, its players see protest as a natural outgrowth of who they are, and a necessity in a league dominated by Black women, many of them lesbians.

"To say to us, as WNBA players, to keep politics out of sports is incredibly hypocritical. There's some irony because all anyone has ever done is judge us on everything but the game of basketball. We're judged because we're women. We're judged because we're Black. We're judged because we're gay." — Sue Bird, Seattle Storm

Takeaways

In my view, the political impact the NBA, WNBA, and its players have had over the past year shouldn't be overlooked. Both leagues drew positive attention to the BLM movement. "More Than a Vote" helped turn out thousands of Black voters in swing states in the 2020 Presidential election. Atlanta Dream players campaigned for Warnock and Jon Ossoff, and may have helped flip the Senate blue. And these were just the latest efforts in a history of activism in both leagues.

The NBA and WNBA offer a blueprint for how other organizations should operate in the 21st century.

It's true that most organizations — in sports or otherwise — don't have people like Lebron James, Kyrie Irving or Maya Moore — phenomenal talents who choose to use their platform to elevate causes more consequential than sports. But what the NBA and WNBA have done to bring out the best in their players — both on and off the court — can be replicated in any sector.

Rather than tether their brand to the U.S., the NBA and WNBA embrace a global image, and market their diversity. Both leagues strive for competitive balance. Management partners with labor when making major business decisions. Players' voices are amplified, not muted. And collective action protects players, and fosters a culture of mutual support and understanding.

"We become a better league and more valuable because of the space we use to fight social justice. It gives other professional leagues a space to say: 'It's OK to speak out. It's OK to be unliked.' Because we've been unliked for 23 years by mainstream America, you know what I'm saying? You can survive not being liked for saying something that's right." — Dawn Staley, Hall of Fame player and coach