The bubble didn't burst because there wasn't one in the first place ~ Malinda Words

William C Rhoden, writing for theundefeated.com captured it well: 'Players were moved into a bubble to protect them from this deadly virus. Turns out that it will not be the coronavirus that possibly burst the NBA bubble, but the virulent, persistent virus of racism.’

He was writing about the premier basketball championship, currently at its (postponed) playoffs stage. He was writing about how the bubble burst or rather what shot it to shreds and made it impossible to play. Or live in the bubble, so to speak. He was writing about the players’ and teams’ reactions to the brutal shooting of Jacob Blake in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Blake, a black man, was shot seven times in the back. He is reported to be paralyzed below the waist.

Almost all the players currently or rather formerly ‘bubbled’ in Bay Lake, Florida, have expressed their frustration and anger. Fear too. For that’s what has always been part of being black in the USA and is only now being recognized. The Milwaukee Bucks, scheduled to play Orlando Magic, decided to boycott. This was the first time ever that an entire team ‘walked out’ in protest in a major sporting encounter in the USA. The NBA then postponed the remaining playoff games scheduled for the day. The future of the playoffs is uncertain.

The Bubble. That was new. It was a Covid19 product. And yet, the true bubble was that rarified space insulated from the violence, the persistent violence in fact, of racism in the USA. It’s a bubble which allowed some people to pretend that such things didn’t happen or were random; they could not have been systemic, they convinced themselves or allowed themselves to be convinced.

Well, the truth is that for most if not all black people and other non-white minority communities in the USA, there was no bubble which they could crawl into and escape the horrors of this world. They were living the horror, day in and day out, 24/7 as they say.

The ‘war’ we referred to did not start a few months ago when a white police officer kneed and killed George Floyd. It’s been there for years, decades, centuries. They call it different names at different times.

Rhoden has heard all the words inspired by heinous acts of state sponsored violence. Well, right now it is not just the police but vigilante groups acting in concert with the police. The USA is in flames. It is at war with itself.

That’s one way of putting it. Rhoden, as mentioned, has heard the words. This is how he put it:

‘Billie Holiday painfully sang “Strange Fruit” in reaction to seeing the horrid aftermath of lynchings. There has been Don’t Shoot, I Can’t Breathe, Say Her Name and Black Lives Matter. Now there are angry sounds coming out of the protective bubble.’

The players have objected, one way or another. They’ve taken a knee. They’ve worn black armbands. They’ve tweeted. They’ve marched. They’ve objected with thousands and thousands of others.

And now what? Well, I can do no better than defer to Rhoden for perspective:

‘What do you say when words are not enough, when gestures are no longer sufficient? What happens when your actions are no longer seen, your words fall on deaf ears and all that is left is unsatisfied justice?’

What do you say? What would you say? What do you do? What would you do? What should the basketball players in Bay Lake, Florida do and say? What happens now?

‘Don’t play,’ Rhoden suggests. There’s a bigger battle out of the court in places that cannot be bubbled. If it’s a game, then you have to play it. Hard. And, ironically, the way to start playing THIS GAME is just that. You stop playing. And certainly not by the rules of the enemy at the gate.

Other articles in the series 'In Passing...': [published in the 'Daily News']

Black and white AND/OR color?

Open spaces make for 'wanderment'

The poetry of fallen petals and leaves

Aaron Kuder and heart-doors that glide open on the wind

The walking words of Shantha K Herath

From here to there on a thread, a poem and a photograph

Reflections on seasonality

At the departure lounge

A without-a-second-thought story

The enduring 'maskism' of the human species

Mendis is special