Linsanity has overtaken almost everyone I’ve spoken with during the past week.
In the incredible case you’ve escaped it, Linsanity refers to the global obsession or craze with Jeremy Lin, the professional basketball player whose play for the erstwhile forlorn New York Knicks has set everyone atwitter with his out-of-nowhere story. He was the star of his state-champion high school team in Palo Alto, California, but wasn’t highly recruited to play college ball. Instead of accepting a walk-on role, he enrolled at Harvard, a school better known for brains than brawn. He excelled in the classroom and on the court, but after graduation was overlooked by NBA scouts.
Surprisingly, to me, I’m no exception to the Linsanity madness. I love college basketball, but generally yawn when it comes to the professional game. But I’ll admit that I’ve succumbed and can’t get enough of the guy. Or his amazing story.
Unfortunately, all this celebrity carries a racial edge to it, which is the part that fascinates me most. Lin is an American whose parents emigrated from Taiwan to the United States in the mid-1970s. He’s one of the few Asian Americans to ever play in the National Basketball Association and the first of Taiwanese heritage.
After posting a 7-15 record to begin this strike-shortened NBA season, the Knicks have gone 8-2 in the two weeks since Lin became the starting point guard. After Lin scored 38 points against the Los Angeles Lakers on February 10 and fired the last-second game winner over the Toronto Raptors on Valentine’s Day, his star glowed brighter than all the lights on Broadway.
Everybody is talking about Lin, from grizzled sports writers to Bible-toting Baptists to even (here’s an odd-fellows political tie-in) the president, a Tea Party activist, and a former GOP vice presidential nominee. All cheered their support.
But that hasn’t stopped the nasty boo-birds. Lin’s success brought out the racist stereotypes and ugly words from folks who should know better. Boxer Floyd Mayweather, Jr. tweeted that the media is making too much of him because he’s an Asian-American. Nationally syndicated sports columnist Jason Whitlock apologized for making a crude joke at Lin’s expense. And an offensive headline popped up on ESPN’s website that forced the sports outlet to fire a writer, suspend an anchor, and apologize profusely to Lin and the entire Asian-American community.
Perhaps the racial insanity reached its zenith with a tasteless Saturday Night Live opening sketch. Sure, I got the satiric point. But trading in racial stereotypes might have been fresh, oh, a generation ago when Chevy Chase and Richard Pryor played the dozens in a classic SNL sketch.
But haven’t we progressed to more meaningful interracial discourse since then? Why is that when the conversation turns to race, harsh and crude humor – satire, included – becomes the vernacular of choice? I suspect it’s because we’re chafing in our color-coded skins.
The subtle (and not-so-subtle) racial nature of our chatter reveals less about Lin’s hoop dreams and so much more about our discomfiture with the changing diversity of our nation. The outbreak of racial puns and sophomoric humor is a shiny mirror that reflects what many Americans may feel but know better than to say out loud.
So, instead of expressing candid fears and emotions, some folks make racist jokes, utter insensitive wisecracks and pretend to be astonished when called to task for boorish behavior. Those of us who embrace racial differences as a societal benefit aren’t amused. Rather, we’re sincerely offended.
Sam Fulwood III is a Senior Fellow at the Center for American Progress.
