To be honest, Mike had no choice but to be a superhero because our dad was the original Mr. Incredible, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
So what is Mike’s superpower? It’s his unfiltered voice and ability to make people uncomfortable. If you ever sat at a table with Mike, you’d begin to feel uncomfortable before the waiter could deliver the appetizers. I mean, the guy wastes no time. He’s the dude you have to warn your guests about before coming over, like, “Hey, my bro Mike is a great guy, but there’s no telling what the fuck he is going to say. But if you listen, he has a lot of great thought-provoking things to say, in between the jokes about your hair, shoes, or teeth.” So guess what? This is your warning. Ain’t no telling what the fuck he’s about to say. Enjoy being uncomfortable!
(Waiter…?)
Martellus Bennett
January 2018
PREFACE: THE SIT-DOWN/ON FEAR
I couldn’t see another “hashtag Sandra Bland,” “hashtag Tamir Rice,” “hashtag Walter Scott,” “hashtag Eric Garner.” The list goes on and on and on. At what point do we do something about it?
—Colin Kaepernick
It was our first preseason game in 2017. I couldn’t even tell you who we were playing because the thoughts in my mind were like cars, smashing into each other, with screeching tires, broken glass, and blood on the streets. I was thinking about American Nazis marching in Charlottesville and the young woman who was killed. I was also thinking about Charleena Lyles, mother of four, pregnant, who called Seattle police for help and they shot her to death, with seven bullets, four in her back. I was thinking about my friend Colin Kaepernick, denied a job in the National Football League because of his protests against racism and police violence that he staged during the national anthem, the stand he took for equality and justice. I was thinking about my mom, a teacher for over twenty years, who taught me to question everything. I was thinking about the gap between what we are taught the flag represents and the lived experience of too many people. I was thinking about all of this, and as the anthem started to play, I sat down. There was no way I could stand for the national anthem, and there was no way I would, until I saw this country take steps toward common decency.
By not standing, I wanted to honor the founding principles of this country—the freedom of self-expression, liberty, and the equal opportunity to pursue happiness—and challenge us to try to reach those goals. I wanted to use my platform to inspire young people to see us not just as athletes or pitchmen for products, but as changemakers.
It was something I had to do. Charlottesville brought back memories of growing up in Texas and being afraid sometimes even to breathe. It brought tears to my eyes to see people armed to attack somebody because of the color of their skin or their religion. I couldn’t believe it took Trump forty-eight hours to respond, and then I couldn’t believe when he said “very fine people” were marching in an army of hate and violence.
At this point, I think if you’re being silent, you’re making a choice and taking a side. As NFL players, we cannot be silent anymore just because we have the ability to hide beneath our helmets. I can’t hide behind the shield. I can’t hide behind the glamour and glitz of football and fame. The reality is that I’m a Black man in America and I’m going to be a Black man in America long after I’m out of this league. There is too much in this country dragging down the poor, women, and kids, and we can’t be hiding behind gated communities, pretending these things are happening somewhere else.
So I sat during the anthem and the hate came in, as sure as night follows day. I’ll leave out the worst, but I will say that the fact it made people angry, uncomfortable, and even hateful was proof that I was right to make a stand and take a seat. If I’d protested for the right of men to grow beautiful beards like my own, no one would have cared—and if no one cared, then I would have been wasting everyone’s time.
Of all the responses, what bothered me most was when people said I was dishonoring the military. It got under my skin because I also heard from a ton of veterans who said, “We wore the uniform precisely so people would have the freedom to protest.” It bothered me because my father was in the military. I love my father, but I don’t love the hatred I see growing in this country. I love the soldier who, after I started my protest, sent me an American flag from Afghanistan, shaded by dust and dirt from thousands of miles away, and said he stood with me. I want to use this platform to reach people, to encourage us to see how unselfish we can be. Just because people don’t eat what you eat, just because they’re not from where you’re from, just because they don’t pray to the same god you pray to, just because they don’t love who you love doesn’t mean they should be treated like they are less than human. I want us to aspire to love one another, in all our difference. To me, sitting during the anthem is not being divisive. The way those Nazis and Fox News are using the flag is divisive. My hope is to bring people together. It’s so much easier to put up walls.
I also took a
