COMMENTARY: Urban links between power and respect

c. 1999 Religion News Service (Samuel K. Atchison is an ordained minister and has worked as a policy analyst and social worker to the homeless. He currently is a prison chaplain in Trenton, N.J.) UNDATED _ The cover of a recent issue of Sports Illustrated features a famous photograph of Muhammad Ali standing over a […]

c. 1999 Religion News Service

(Samuel K. Atchison is an ordained minister and has worked as a policy analyst and social worker to the homeless. He currently is a prison chaplain in Trenton, N.J.)

UNDATED _ The cover of a recent issue of Sports Illustrated features a famous photograph of Muhammad Ali standing over a fallen Sonny Liston, after knocking him down during their heavyweight championship rematch in 1965.


The image of the once indomitable Liston sprawled on the ring canvas brought to mind the only time I actually saw Liston fight. It was a few years later, 1968 or 1969, and Liston, by then an old and obviously overmatched fighter, was desperately pursuing a journeyman boxer named Leotis Martin in a vain attempt to position himself for another shot at the title.

At one point, Liston did manage to knock Martin down with a solid left hook to the jaw. His flashback of glory proved fleeting, however, for Martin knocked him unconscious in the next round.

Upon being revived a full two minutes later, Liston _ a convicted felon with underworld connections _ began to weep. It was as if he knew that his last chance for a title shot _ and the respect that came with it _ had come to naught. Less than two years later he was dead, under circumstances that remain mysterious to this day.

For Liston, and his latter-day compatriots in the nation’s urban centers, power and respect are closely linked. Such persons use power _ whether with a fist or a gun _ in misguided pursuit of respect.

This is because, like most people who are shunted aside at a young age and are thus forced to rear themselves, they learned early to trust no one, to conceal their fears and vulnerabilities behind a menacing scowl, and to resist to the death any challenge to their person.

Liston, for example, one of 25 children, was abandoned by his father as a youngster. He left home at 13 and began using his large frame and enormous strength to personal advantage, embarking on a life of crime.

While in prison for armed robbery, he learned to box. Possessing knockout power in both hands, he eventually won the heavyweight title, developing an aura of invincibility along the way. Yet, when he lost the title to a young man who refused to be intimidated named Cassius Clay (now known as Muhammad Ali), his whole sense of identity was shattered.


Such is the way of life on the streets. Street toughs forge intimidating reputations through acts of violence or cunning, in a perverse effort to boost their stature and gain self-respect. Any perceived slight _ no matter how small _ is taken personally, as evidence of disrespect.

Typically, however, such persons become trapped behind the images they themselves create. The same facades that were designed to insulate and protect them effectively prevent them from enjoying the intimacy, both human and divine, that would enable them to heal. Thus, when their reputations are shattered, they lack the skills to cope with their loss of identity.

As a prison chaplain, I’ve seen this dynamic repeated time and time again. I’ve known men whose egos were forged in the urban jungle and who have, by virtue of the vagaries of the criminal justice system, been broken almost beyond repair.

These are men who often admit their criminal culpability, but who also are cognizant of the legal, political and journalistic career advances that have been made at their expense. Like Muhammad Ali in the Sports Illustrated photo, their victors stand over them, taunting them to get up so they can be knocked down again.

And, like Liston, the men remain sullen and unapproachable, fearing they’ve lost their last chance for respect.

As a Christian, I believe that Jesus died for these men, and, like the thief who trusted in Jesus as the two of them were being crucified (Luke 23:39-43), there is a place in his kingdom for criminals who believe.


I believe further that God has a plan for each of their lives, one that will enable them to respect themselves even as they win the respect of others.

Somehow I doubt that Sonny Liston knew of God’s plan for his life. I can only wonder if, had he known, his life might have wound up differently.

AMB END ATCHISON

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