The gold medals of being ~ Malinda Words

A few months ago, Indian wrestlers launched a protested demanding investigation into the allegations of sexual harassment by Brij Bhushan Sharan Singh, a BJP member of parliament, during the time he headed the Wrestling Federation of that country.

The wrestlers, after they were unceremoniously removed from the protest site, vowed to toss their Olympic gold medals into the river Ganga. The announcement sparked a protest against the wrestlers, where it was claimed that the medals belonged as much to India and every Indian. Technically, medals are the private property of those who won them, but when emotions run high such technicalities tend to lose their carry.

Suffice to say, though, that the medal-controversy is not central to the matter at hand: the reasons for the protests. May truth and justice prevail.

The wrestlers were inspired, they say, by Muhammed Ali. That story is well known. This is how Ali described it:

‘I came back to Louisville after the Olympics with my shiny gold medal. Went into a luncheonette where black folks couldn't eat. Thought I'd put them on the spot. I sat down and asked for a meal. The Olympic champion wearing his gold medal. They said, “We don't serve niggers here.” I said, 'That's okay, I don't eat 'em.' But they put me out in the street. So I went down to the river, the Ohio River, and threw my gold medal in it.’

Ali, as Cassius Clay, won the light heavyweight gold in the 1960 Olympics in Rome. He was admired and loved. His defiant act had a massive impact on the struggle to end racism in the USA. In 1996, during the Atlanta Olympics Ali was awarded a replacement gold medal. Consolation, that’s all. He played a part and the battle is far from over.

George Foreman says Ali was not ‘The Greatest.’ There will always be debates over such things. Rocky Marciano (Rocco Francis Marchegiano) is the only heavyweight champion never to be defeated. Perhaps because he had just six title fights and retired at the age of 32. Beside the point.

Ali, who died on June 3, 2016, was more than a great fighter in the boxing ring. He fought outside it. He fought when he spoke. He fought as he lived.

In one of this last interviews, Ali detailed how he would like to be remembered: ‘I would like them to say that he took a few cups of love, one teaspoon of patience, one teaspoon of generosity, one pint of kindness, took one quart of laughter, one punch of concern and then mixed willingness and happiness, he added lots of faith and stirred it up well.’

Everyone, including boxers and other sports personalities, have life philosophies. Ali’s recipe sounds wholesome. Maybe that’s how he lived. In his public persona, he seems to have, but that’s what we’ve seen. Maybe that was how he was in private as well. Foreman himself says that Ali was the greatest human being he had ever met. Coming from a longtime rival and someone who, as mentioned above, didn’t think Ali was the ‘Greatest Ever,’ this is certainly the highest praise imaginable.

Ali, Foreman, the great boxers they defeated and who defeated them, Marciano and others including the Indian wrestlers (those who protested and those who have not) are great in their own right. They are public figures. They are subjected to greater scrutiny. They are held to higher standards.

And then there are others, unknown and unsung, who have more or less subscribed to Muhammed Ali’s recipe for wholesome living. They are spoken of in much the same terms but only by the few people who they know and who knew them. Loved ones and friends, mostly.

They never won gold medals. They may have suffered injustice and voiced their objection. They just didn’t have medals to throw into a river with the world’s media as witness. Ali probably knew this.

Today, as I write, I remember Muhammed Ali. An inspiration and a hero, ever since I read his autobiography ‘The Greatest: my own story,’ published in 1975 when he was yet to retire. The song ‘Black Superman’ by Johnny Wakelin and The Kinshasa Band (released in 1974) is remembered not only for the catchy tune. Ali did float like a butterfly and stung like a bee. In and out of the ring. He hung up his gloves, but boxed on with his voice and words. Right to the end.

No one ever gave him a gold medal for being. ‘He loved, had patience, was generous and kind, knew how to laugh and to make people smile, had will, was happy and was strong in his faith. He stirred it up well.

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below]

07 June 2023

The gold medals of being

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