The sad history of Sanford
The history of racism in Sanford isn't limited to the killing of Trayvon Martin. This is also the Florida town where Jackie Robinson faced intolerance and bigotry.
SANFORD, Fla., is a city that will now be known for all times as the place where Trayvon Martin was killed for the crime of Living While Black. It's, in addition, the place whose institutions--the police department, the local press, and even the city morgue--treated Trayvon and his body in ways that should disturb anyone with a shred of conscience.
Dave Zirin is the coauthor, with John Carlos, of The John Carlos Story, and author of Bad Sports: How Owners Are Ruining the Games We Love and A People's History of Sports in the United States, as well as two collections of his sports writings, Welcome to the Terrordome: The Pain, Politics and Promise of Sports and What's My Name, Fool? Sports and Resistance in the United States. He is a columnist for TheNation.com; his writings are also featured at his Edge of Sports Web site.
The city of Sanford also has a past that speaks to the racism many believe to be at the heart of why Trayvon was killed and why the man who pulled the trigger was never arrested.
I'm not arguing that Sanford, Fla., is somehow more or less twisted than anywhere else. Last month, unarmed 18-year-old Ramarley Graham was killed in his bathroom by police in New York City. on March 14, Dane Scott Jr. in Del City, Okla., was killed by police after a "scuffle." The state Medical Examiner's office, however, declared Scott's death a homicide. The murder of Trayvon Martin is only a "local issue" if we understand "local" to mean local communities across the country.
But Sanford, Fla., does have its own history, and it includes a collective moment of intolerance and bigotry that almost derailed the man who Martin Luther King called "a freedom rider before freedom rides," Jackie Robinson.
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BEFORE ROBINSON broke Major League Baseball's color line in 1947 as a member of the Brooklyn Dodgers, he spent a season desegregating the minor leagues, playing for the Dodgers AAA team, the Montreal Royals. The Royals held spring training in Sanford.
Dodgers General Manager Branch Rickey, after so many years, thought he knew Florida. He believed that Robinson's presence could go over if efforts were taken to ruffle as few feathers as possible. Robinson, on Rickey's instructions, didn't try to stay at any Sanford hotels. He and his wife didn't eat out at any restaurants not deemed "Negro restaurants." He didn't even dress in the same locker room as his teammates.
Rickey thought that would be enough. He thought he knew Florida. But he didn't know Sanford. As Jean West, a schoolteacher in Florida, wrote:
Branch Rickey had miscalculated the degree to which Jim Crow was entrenched in Sanford. As an example, an inanimate object, a second-hand piano, purchased in 1924 from the courthouse for use in a segregated school in nearby Oviedo, was filed as a "Negro Piano" in the school board's record; living human beings challenging segregation certainly would not be tolerated.
It wasn't. The mayor of Sanford was confronted by what the author describes as a "large group of white residents" who "demanded that Robinson...be run out of town."
The mayor caved. On March 5, the Royals were informed that they would not be permitted to take the field as an integrated group. Rickey was concerned for Robinson's life and sent him to stay in Daytona Beach. His daughter, Sharon Robinson, remembered, "The Robinsons were run out of Sanford, Florida with threats of violence."
This was a low moment for Jackie. The man whose number 42 is retired throughout Major League Baseball almost quit and rejoined the Negro Leagues.
The team then took an extraordinary step. As the late tennis star Arthur Ashe wrote in A Hard Road to Glory, Rickey, ''moved the entire Dodger pre-season camp from Sanford, Florida, to Daytona Beach due to the oppressive conditions of Sanford.''
That sounds heroic, and it speaks well for Rickey's fierce desire to forge ahead with "the Great Experiment," racists be damned. But the mob in Sanford had made, at least for the moment, a successful stand. In cites and small towns across the South, Jackie Robinson's mere presence provoked challenges to power and provoked real, meaningful change. In Sanford, change did not come that easily.
What does this tell us? Maybe nothing, maybe everything. If nothing else, the line between Jackie Robinson and Trayvon Martin points to how institutional and systemic racism actually is.
We might have short memories, but institutions only change when they are confronted and challenged. In Sanford, racist institutions took root. Now we bear the horrifying fruit.
First published at TheNation.com.