Stephen VasciannieSOMETHING HAPPENS in the world let's say Mike Tyson starts a brawl at the Hudson Theatre in New York, roughing up his prospective opponent Lennox Lewis in the process. Tyson also delivers the odd bite, clutches the odd private area, and delivers himself of a stream of barely comprehensible expletives.
If you ask, generally, why this brawl took place, the response can be on several levels. One response could be that Tyson is a boxer, that boxing is brutal, and that, therefore, Tyson's apparent attack on the Lewis camp is simply part of the hype for the upcoming fisticuffs.
A second, and related response, could be that boxing, by its very nature, fosters brutality after all, the underlying concept of boxing is that Contestant A must use all his might and guile to pound the brain of Contestant B into a state of unconsciousness. When unconsciousness is achieved, the spectators, many of whom have placed bets in favour of Contestant A's superior brutality, then arise with ecstasy to support the Champion of the World. Well, then, if you can suspend civilised norms of behaviour for the duration of the fight, why should we expect Tyson to maintain civility at the Hudson Theatre when he comes upon Lennox Lewis?
What principle of social interaction should restrain Mike Tyson at the Hudson Theatre, but cause him to let loose all his brutality a few weeks later in the boxing ring (or to be more precise, in the boxing square)? In response to this query, some may invoke the Queensbury Rules: somewhere in the 19th century, the good old Marquis of Queensbury pronounced upon the circumstances in which A may hammer B's head into oblivion, and this pronouncement certainly does not permit pre-fight brutality. So then, one is inclined to argue, the fault lies with Tyson, for failing to appreciate that not all fighting is allowed, for failing to appreciate social context, for not being a gentleman when he is fully clad in his expensive clothes.
BRUTALITY INHERENT
Tyson's apparently erratic behaviour raises wider questions about whether we should continue to regard boxing as a sport, with its champions as role models. For some, the brutality inherent in the process of achieving gladiatorial conquest is enough to frighten the horses. And, its viciousness is coming home even more forcefully nowadays when we see young women throwing punches at each other in the quest for victory, and in justifiable defiance of sexual prejudice.
Women knocking the teeth out of each other, and presumably graduating, like their testosterone-filled male counterparts to brutal threats, is the reality that we must accept if boxing is allowed to continue as a sport. Can this really be justifiable?
Faced with the force of these arguments, supporters of boxing loudly respond that boxing is a matter of free will. No one is forcing the contestants into the ring; rather, each contestant pursues this route in the hope of glory and financial reward with full knowledge of the risks, and after careful consideration.
Besides, supporters of boxing counter, it is not as if boxing will inevitably lead to death and destruction: it may do so in some cases, but, in the main boxers live to a ripe old age, always anxious to tell their grandchildren about famous exploits in exotic cities. Thus, for these supporters, boxing is not to be written off in the way we would condemn a promoter of, say, open knife-fights subject to Queensbury-type rules, or even cock-fights (of the avian variety): knife-fights and cock-fights lead almost certainly to blood-spilling, but boxing, they say, reserves the chance of the contestants coming out still looking pretty.
DIGNITY AND WORTH
Where, then, should the balance lie? For me, Muhammed Ali, as boxer and as social phenomenon, provides telling points on both sides. Today, those who would wish to ban the sport, can readily point to the tear-jerking sight of Muhammed Ali, struggling with Parkinson's Disease induced at least in part from absorbing so many punches over a lifetime, as he reached forth to light the Olympic flame six years ago. Muhammed Ali today, perhaps still perceptive, but light-years away from the articulate, self-confident, and powerful advocate of black pride that he once was physically destroyed, it seems, by boxing.
And yet, when Muhammed Ali turned 60 on January 17, he probably had few regrets about his boxing career as a whole, and almost certainly expressed no aversion to boxing as a sport. Boxing provided Ali with the soap box upon which he made himself the best-known human being in the world: in full flight as a boxer, whether floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee, whether indulging in the thrilla in Manilla, or acting as conquering lion in the rumble in the Jungle, Ali was king of the world. He touched our souls with subtlety, ringcraft and speed which elevated boxing to the level of the poets; sporting perfection and social activism combined in a way that shook the foundations of racist America.
Without boxing, we may not have had Muhammed Ali, and, that must ultimately be one of the strongest arguments for retaining the sport. Boxing opened the door, not only for Ali, Fraser, Foreman, but for our own Grant, Hayles, McCallum, 'Shrimpy' Clarke and others: it assisted in the struggle of the black people to have our dignity and worth recognised by hostile tribes.
Then other things happen in the world. Tyson commits rape, bites off a piece of Holyfield's ear, and threatens to eat his opponent's children. He is single-handedly inviting even the staunch supporters of boxing to recoil in horror.
Stephen Vasciannie, a UWI lecturer, is currently Visiting Fellow at Wolfson College, Cambridge University, in Britain.
