debtFifty-two years ago last month, 100,000 black Angelenos gathered at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. Though the historic stadium had long hosted many of the city’s sports teams, that wasn’t the centerpiece of the event on August 20, 1972. Rather, it was Wattstax ’72, a celebration of black culture aimed at spreading positivity and pride in a community devastated by the 1965 Watts riots and mourning the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1968.
The emcee, Reverend Jesse Jackson, touted the efforts of co-sponsor Schlitz Brewing Company to promote black employment and urged the audience to remember the motto “I am somebody” no matter how poor they are. The police were not asked to maintain order, but the organizers themselves were in charge. Among the talented artists was “Prince of Dance” Rufus Thomas, who led the crowd in an impromptu Funky Chicken on the field. (Many of the stars, including Thomas, had ties to co-sponsor Stax Records.) Afterwards, one spectator was asked to leave the field but refused, but Thomas convinced the crowd to escort him off. Overall, this was a successful case of repurposing a sports stadium into a public square, a phenomenon that Frank Andre Griddy, professor of history and African-American studies at Columbia University, explores in more detail in his new book, The Stadium: A History of Politics, Protest, and Play in America.
“We think of stadiums as places where we go to be entertained and to watch our favorite teams and artists play,” says Griddy, “but whether they’re privately owned or, as is often the case, publicly managed or owned, in the United States, these buildings have long served as public square facilities where people can come together to refresh and feel connected.”
As he explains, “civil rights groups, including the black liberation movement, gay liberation movement, and feminist movements, organized protests inside and outside the stadium,” and “the largest crowds in the stadium’s history were there when Pope John Paul II visited the United States, or when Billy Graham went on missions in the mid-20th century.” And, he adds, “the facility played a major role in all aspects of the war effort” at the time, including both world wars and the more recent conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq.
It’s a compelling thesis. (Pick your favorite sports metaphor. Slam dunk? Home run?) After all, the book points out, stadiums are generally accessible via public transportation and often located in the heart of large cities. But the author is dismayed by the current state of stadiums: Though built with taxpayer money, their designs are corporatized, catering to wealthy ticket holders and encouraging gentrification. Consider what the author, a lifelong Bronx resident and self-described sports lover, thinks about how Yankee Stadium has changed.
“The ’70s and ’80s were very different,” Griddy says. “That building was inhabited by far more New Yorkers, not just in terms of race, but in terms of class. The surrounding community is predominantly black and brown.[Now]they’re on the playing field or working the concession stand… It’s a temple of exclusion, an enclave of exclusivity, and it’s antithetical to any political or public purpose.”
The book documents many instances in which politics and civic purpose were infused into ballparks and arenas, and Mr. Gridi found many examples in his hometown, including Madison Square Garden.
Opened in 1874 as the home of PT Barnum’s Circus, it was originally called the Grand Roman Hippodrome, fitting with the stadium’s Greco-Roman history. Rebuilt and renamed Madison Square Garden, it quickly became a venue for sports and other entertainment, as well as for political rallies.
In the 1930s, fascists and anti-fascists alike met here. In March 1933, New York Governor Al Smith spoke at a rally cosponsored by the American Jewish Congress, denouncing Nazi anti-Semitism. The following year, the Friends of a New Germany, a pro-Hitler, pro-Nazi group, held its own rally at the same site, with ushers wearing swastikas on their armbands. Ugliness reached a peak in 1939, when another similar group, the German American League, gathered 20,000 people at the Gardens, ostensibly to celebrate George Washington’s birthday. But in reality, it was a night in which speakers uttered anti-Semitic and anti-black rhetoric against a backdrop of a mix of American and Nazi symbols. While protesters demonstrated outside, two voices inside took the anti-fascist stance. Journalist Dorothy Thompson mocked the Bund: A Jewish plumber’s assistant, Isadore Greenbaum, disrupted the proceedings and was assaulted by Bund security.
“We see German American organizations trying to reconcile fascism with American patriotism,” Gridi said. “There are some parallels with Trumpism.”
On the other hand, the author argues that wartime is a great time to champion the military at sporting events. He tracks the playing of the Star-Spangled Banner at baseball stadiums, including during the early stages of the Civil War. During World War I, the banner became mainstream. More recently, after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, another patriotic song, “God Bless America,” replaced “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the seventh-inning break, and the Department of Defense has spent taxpayer money to promote the military throughout sports leagues.
Marginalized voices also found ways to express themselves publicly in stadiums. One example was in 2016 when Colin Kaepernick, then quarterback of the San Francisco 49ers, knelt during the national anthem before an exhibition game against the San Diego Chargers at Qualcomm Stadium. Kaepernick’s stated reason was that he was outraged by the way the United States treated blacks and people of color following the deaths of minorities at the hands of police and vigilante civilians. The author makes a consistent connection between Kaepernick and the Black Power salute made by African-American athletes Tommie Smith and John Carlos at the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City, which also took place in a stadium, in this case the Estadio Olimpico Universitario.
Smith, Carlos, and Kaepernick were all criticized for challenging the status quo, and Kaepernick was soon fired from his NFL job. Though stadiums are public places, the book points out, they have a history of exclusionary practices. Sports leagues banned mixed-play games and segregated spectators. Southern stadiums sometimes hosted pro-Confederate displays, such as the Sugar Bowl at Tulane Stadium in New Orleans.
“White Southerners during the Jim Crow era sought to demonstrate the politics of white supremacy to the public,” says Griddy. “The Sugar Bowl Classic was broadcast on television and radio. People weren’t just watching a football game, they were also watching a celebration of the plantation past. The Confederate flag was prominent in the stands and on the field. As the black liberation movement began to take hold, this ‘tradition’ was amplified.”
The book examines gender segregation in sports media. The league barred female reporters from the press box or locker rooms. A landmark lawsuit filed by Time Inc. on behalf of Sports Illustrated reporter Melissa Luedtke in 1978 mandated equal access, but change was slow even into the 1990s. Gridi also documents homophobia in stadiums, such as the infamous “Disco Demolition Night” at Chicago’s Comiskey Park in 1979. To him, the crowd that destroyed disco records and ultimately the ballpark was not a harmless stunt but an overt act of homophobia. He contrasts this with the positive example set by the 1982 Gay Games as a place where gay and lesbian athletes could feel welcome.
“These buildings were designed to bring people together,” says Griddy, “and of course, there are other narratives of exclusivity that continue to this day.”
But if he’s disillusioned with the current situation at Yankee Stadium and elsewhere, he also sees reason for hope. The disruption caused by the COVID-19 pandemic may have helped repurpose stadiums into a more public role. The book documents the spontaneous Black Lives Matter protests that erupted in Barclays Center Plaza in 2020. With much of the world shutting down, the site in the heart of Brooklyn became an ideal protest site. Across the country, stadiums have been repurposed as vaccination centers and polling places, a movement that continues to this day.
“It made perfect sense and it really worked through the clubs and elected officials,” said Gridi, noting that 50,000 Atlantans voted at State Farm Arena in the 2020 presidential election. “It was so impactful. It was so effective that people asked us, ‘Why aren’t we doing this on a regular basis?'”