Arthur Ashe

by Raymond Arsenault

  In sixty-three years of competition, only four nations—the United States, Australia, Great Britain, and France—had ever won the Davis Cup, so both India and South Africa were closing in on an unprecedented feat. India, however, faced a dilemma. Should a nation populated by darker-skinned people participate in an athletic competition hosted by a racially discriminatory regime? The fact that hundreds of thousands of Indians had resettled in South Africa during the past century and that as early as 1919 Mohandas Gandhi had led a nonviolent struggle against racial discrimination in South Africa complicated the situation. As recently as July, the Indian delegate to the Davis Cup Committee on Management had voted to expel South Africa from the upcoming 1975 competition. The expulsion vote, which required a two-thirds majority of the seven-member committee, fell one vote short at 4–3. But India’s inclinations were well known long before the match with South Africa became a distinct possibility.21

  On October 5, following South Africa’s victory over Italy, R. H. Khanna, secretary of the All-India Tennis Federation (AITF), announced India had decided to default. “The principle of opposing apartheid,” Khanna insisted, “is more important than a tennis championship.” Officials representing the South African Lawn Tennis Union, which controlled the “choice of ground” for the final, promptly telegrammed Khanna with an offer to play the championship at a neutral site, or “even in a black African state.” But Khanna held firm, even after Basil Reay, secretary of the Davis Cup Nations Committee, threatened India with expulsion from future competition. The default drew both praise and ridicule. While some lauded the AITF for standing on principle, Ashe and others who favored engagement over isolation, including the subcontinent’s leading tennis stars, Anand and Vijay Amritraj, saw nothing but folly in the default.

  On November 7, Davis Cup officials not only awarded the cup to South Africa by default, but also surprised almost everyone by giving the rogue nation a spot on the powerful management committee. New to the committee but hardly bashful, the South African delegate immediately moved to expel his Indian colleague from the meeting and the committee. Fortunately, he later withdrew the motion, and by the end of the meeting W. Harcourt Woods, the American chairman of the committee, had restored order by summarily moving South Africa to the North and Central American Zone competition for 1975. India and South Africa would never have to worry about facing each other again, except in the committee.22

  All of this had important implications for the American Davis Cuppers—and for Ashe. In early October, Ashe and the American team had defeated the Commonwealth/British West Indies team in the first round of the 1975 North and Central American Zone competition. In the next round they would face Mexico, and after that, if they won, would advance to the main draw, where thanks to the Davis Cup committee’s decision of November 7, their opponent would be South Africa. This was a nightmare scenario for American tennis officials who hoped to avoid controversy and depoliticize the Davis Cup.23

  Much of the speculation concerned Ashe and how he would respond to the challenge of facing the white South Africans in international competition. On October 16, at the height of the Indian default controversy, Owen Williams announced that Ashe had agreed to play at Ellis Park for the second straight year. Arthur soon confirmed he was eager to return to South Africa to see if conditions had improved during the past twelve months. But playing South Africa in the Davis Cup was potentially a different matter. When asked if Arthur would be willing to participate in a U.S.–South Africa match, Dennis Ralston, the embattled captain of the U.S. team, was hesitant to say anything definite. “Arthur said he wanted to play Davis cup,” Ralston told a New York Times reporter on October 25, “but I don’t know that he would want to play against South Africa. We haven’t discussed that yet.”24

  Ashe, fearing the Davis Cup issue would spoil his upcoming visit to South Africa, hesitated to comment. At the time he was far away in Tehran, Iran, where, ironically, he was in the process of losing a tough match to Andrew Pattison, a twenty-five-year-old white Rhodesian who had migrated from South Africa as a young boy. From Tehran, Ashe traveled to Paris for the French Indoor Championship, and then on to Stockholm, where he won his first tournament since March, and finally to a Dewar Cup tournament in England, before heading for South Africa. With hardly a moment to catch his breath, he had neither the time nor the inclination to say very much about the Davis Cup question prior to his arrival in Cape Town on November 14.25

  In the meantime, he received a good bit of unsolicited advice. When several observers speculated that Ashe and the Americans might prefer to play the South Africans at a neutral site, the American Committee on Africa’s special projects director Ray Gould erupted. “The playing at a neutral site is what we really condemn,” he explained. “It’s a cosmetic cover-up of the real issue.” Ashe agreed that apartheid was an evil system and that South Africa should never be treated as just another nation. But, as in years past, he took the position that engaging white South Africans in an open dialogue held out more promise than forcing them into isolation. In a letter made public on October 26, he reiterated his belief that international engagement fostered the liberation of black South Africans. “In light of the recent developments in Guinea-Bissau, Angola and Mozambique,” he wrote to M. N. Pather, secretary of the multiracial SALTU, “I, more than ever, think that further contact with politically active American blacks is essential to speed up South Africa’s transition to normalcy.” Ashe was aware that Pather had already condemned his participation in the South African Open, insisting the white sports establishment was using him. But he remained convinced that sealing off white South Africans from the rest of the world would make things worse not better.26

  Unmoved by Ashe’s letter, Pather scolded the American tennis star for his naïveté: “Arthur Ashe must realize that tennis in this country is played on racial lines, and if he was a citizen of South Africa, he might not have got to his present stage.” The entire exchange was distressing, but Ashe remained hopeful his critics would respect his right to do what he thought was best for black South Africans. He felt he had so much to offer, having collaborated with Williams on an ambitious plan to create expanded opportunities for black athletes through the Black Tennis Foundation. Following the South African Open, a special “Tennis Day” exhibition featuring some of the world’s top players would be held at Ellis Park, and Williams predicted the benefit would raise at least 30,000 rand for the new foundation. Under the original plan, much of the money would have been funneled to SALTU, but Pather made it clear he would reject the donation as “tainted money.” Ashe claimed to be acting in the best interests of black South Africans, but, according to Pather, he was actually “trying to buy the friendship of the Black people after sacrificing them.”27

  These harsh words gave Ashe pause as he prepared for his return to South Africa. But at least he had a better sense of what to expect than on his first visit, and this time there would be no restrictions on his political commentary during the visit, or so he thought. Of course, once he was actually there making his way across a labyrinthine landscape of tribal and racial complexity, he discovered surprises around every turn. For most of the journey, he was accompanied by three fellow travelers: Dr. Robert Green, SCLC’s former national education director, who served as dean of the College of Urban Affairs at Michigan State University; Michael Cardoza, Dell’s assistant at ProServ; and Andrew Young, who had just won a second term representing Georgia’s Fifth District.

  Together the four men—three black and one white—encountered a dizzying array of South Africans. In Cape Town, they met with Dr. Christiaan Barnard, who unintentially provided a sobering reminder of the limitations of white South African liberalism. Distancing himself from the harsh racialism of the Afrikaners. Barnard was eager to show off a pediatric cardiac unit where black and white babies lay side by side. “We don’t discriminate here,” he proudly explained. But minutes later he confessed, somewhat sheepishly, that he did “not believe yet in one-ma
n one-vote in South Africa.”

  Disappointed, Ashe suspected “an implicit quota system loomed in the back of Barnard’s mind. He believed logically that all men were equal, but evidence led him to the conclusion that his country would be better off not immediately putting the ballot in the hands of his African maid or his illiterate gardener.” The Barnard visit dampened Ashe’s hopes for change in South Africa. “Those who claim there is white support for equality inside South Africa exaggerate their claims,” he concluded. “The white liberals there are not as liberal as they’d have you believe. . . . I have come to the conclusion that white South Africa will have to be forced to change.”28

  A lesson of a different sort emerged from a social gathering hosted by a group of prominent Coloured South Africans. After a few minutes of pleasant conversation, Ashe was taken aback when one of the Coloured leaders upbraided him for concentrating on the plight of the black majority. “You’re spending a lot of time with the Africans, and that’s fine,” the man declared, “but when are you going to help us a bit?” Somewhat flustered, Ashe tried to explain that black Americans were unaccustomed to sharp differentiations based on color as opposed to race, but his host would have none of it. “Hell,” he exclaimed, “you’re colored yourself. You should help your own kind.”29

  Solidarity was an unrealized ideal even in the black community, and Ashe and his colleagues had to be careful as they divided their time among black South African leaders. Many leaders of the ANC, including Nelson Mandela, were in prison and unavailable, but Ashe made a special effort to meet with Robert Sobukwe, Mandela’s counterpart in the rival Pan-African Congress. Sobukwe, who had been released from prison in 1969 after nine years of solitary confinement, was still under house arrest in Kimberley, the North Cape mining town made famous by Cecil Rhodes and the De Beers Corporation. Banned from all political activity and anything but local travel, he agreed to meet with the Americans even though he knew it was a clear violation of his parole. At age forty-nine, the freedom fighter turned law student was physically broken. But “the professor,” as his admirers called him, had lost none of the personal charm and courage that had made him a respected figure in black South Africa.

  Sobukwe was little known outside South Africa, and Ashe, Young, and Cardoza did not know what to expect before arriving in Kimberley. The meeting easily exceeded all of their expectations. Despite years of privation, Sobukwe showed no trace of anger or bitterness. Warm and gracious, he expressed admiration for Young, King, and the SCLC, and thanked Ashe for returning to South Africa. Encouraged, Ashe asked how the trip might benefit black South Africans. Without a moment’s hesitation, Sobukwe “launched into an hour-long discussion on South African race relations and the role of the outside world in bringing about equality.” As the three Americans sat transfixed, he uttered the words they had been waiting to hear. “A lot of good could result from your trip,” he offered. “We have many problems here and not too many black Americans really know our situation. If you could help explain our predicament to your countrymen, that in itself would be a help.”30

  Unfortunately for Ashe, the meeting in Kimberley proved to be the high point of his two weeks in South Africa. At almost every other stop, from Cape Town to Johannesburg, he became enmeshed in a web of racial and political tension that kept everyone on edge. While there were moments of inspiration, including an encouraging interview with the Zulu chief Mangosuthu Buthelezi in Nongoma, for the most part he encountered skepticism and suspicion.31

  The tournament itself was a disappointment, even though he was gratified by the number of blacks in the stands who cheered wildly whenever he appeared on court. He played well in the early rounds, defeating the tough Mexican Raúl Ramírez in the semifinals, and for the second straight year faced Connors in the final. In the first set of the title match, Ashe pushed his cocky young opponent into a tiebreaker before losing 7–6. But from then on it was all Connors, who closed out the match 6–3, 6–1.

  Losing to a man he didn’t like or respect, especially in such an emotional setting, was a bitter pill for Ashe to swallow. But the worst of it was the negative press coverage following the match. The South African press could not resist playing up the simmering feud between the two Americans, and when Ashe made the mistake of breaking tradition and leaving the court while Connors was being photographed with the championship trophy, enterprising reporters made the most of it. Even before the match took place, several reporters speculated that Ashe’s failure to include Connors on a three-man American team scheduled to face three South Africans on Tennis Day was a deliberate snub. After his victory Connors confirmed that Ashe’s decision had made “me want to beat the pants off him.” When asked about the matter, Ashe shrugged his shoulders and explained he had chosen Marty Riessen and Brian Gottfried over Connors simply because they were two of his “closest friends.” Unconvinced, local white reporters continued to talk about the “bitter personal feud between the two American tennis stars.”32

  Sensationalist journalism of this kind irritated Ashe, even though in this case there was more than a grain of truth in the “grudge match” stories. But his biggest problem with the press had nothing to do with Connors. In a meeting with black journalists held several hours after the final match, he was shaken by a series of hostile statements that challenged his understanding of South African racialism. At first, the black reporters welcomed Andrew Young’s interest in South Africa and showered him with praise and applause. They seemed especially interested in Young’s background as an aide to Dr. King and in his reasons for accompanying Ashe. “I have come to South Africa because I have realized that unless my brothers in Africa are free I can never be completely free,” Young told them. “In America we often get a completely wrong picture of what is going on here. For instance a banned journalist is vilified as a sort of vicious communist. Well, today I had lunch with one and found him to be one of the finest, gentlest people I have ever met. That is why it is important for us to come to South Africa to find out the truth.”

  This statement drew loud applause, but Ashe’s participation in the white-run South African Open was another matter. Didn’t he realize, one reporter asked plaintively as Ashe winced, that playing in the Open implicitly supported the existing system of “racial” sport? When Ashe tried to counter with an explanation of how the Black Tennis Foundation would open up new opportunities for black South African athletes, his words were drowned out by cries that the Tennis Day money would only legitimize SALTU’s black and Coloured affiliates.

  One reporter claimed that, despite good intentions, Ashe had allowed the South African government to turn his visit into pro-apartheid propaganda. Others asked about his stands on corporate divestment and a proposed expulsion of South Africa from the Olympics. For nearly two hours the questions kept coming. How could he associate with a hypocrite like Owen Williams? Was he really impressed with the cosmetic changes and half-baked desegregation of Ellis Park? Through it all, Ashe kept calm and listened far more than he spoke. The anger in the room did not surprise him, since he had experienced a similar grilling in 1973. But somehow this gathering seemed more desperate than the group at his first encounter. The education he received that night would percolate in his mind for years to come, and he would never forget the scene at the end of the meeting when the journalists rose as one with clenched fists as they sang the militant anthem “Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika.”33

  Two days later, a somewhat chastened Ashe presided over the Tennis Day event. The crowds were smaller than he and Williams had anticipated, and the money raised for the Black Tennis Foundation, 10,645 rand, was barely a third of Williams’s early estimate. But it was a start, and no major disruptions or protests spoiled the day. Before his featured match with Ray Moore, Ashe presented an autographed racket to Shepherd Mojanaga, a promising young black tennis player whose obvious delight signaled how important the black American star was as a role model. It was a great moment for Ashe who, despite all the disappointments and diff
iculties of the past two weeks, remained committed to cultivating and liberating the talent of young black South Africans.34

  As both Ashe and Young noted at a press conference two days later, just before departing for New York, South Africa’s future, not its past, was what really mattered. They talked of a new South Africa and of emerging leaders like Sobukwe. “There are people who shape history,” Young informed the reporters, “people with limited or no physical resources who fight injustices through the sheer force of their personalities. Like Martin Luther King, Robert Sobukwe is one.” Sometime in the not so distant future, he predicted, “the South African Government may have to go to Sobukwe like the British went to Kenyatta.” Ashe agreed, calling his new friend “a real leader of the African people.” No one that day had any way of knowing that Sobukwe would be dead within three years, and that it would take another decade and a half before Mandela would enact the scenario laid out by the two Americans. But there was a prescient wisdom in their long-range vision.35

  Once he was back in the United States, Ashe talked openly about his recent experiences in South Africa and tried to clarify his views without riling his critics. In a press conference on December 16, he made it clear that he believed India—which he pointed out “had its own problems, such as the caste system”—had erred when it defaulted in the Davis Cup competition. “By not playing,” he insisted, “India set back normalization of racial tensions two or three years.” How he had calibrated this precise assessment was left unexplained, but he went on to justify his decision to participate in the South African Open. “South Africa and its apartheid policy is something I like to monitor,” he explained. “I don’t say anything inflammatory and I don’t burn my bridges behind me. . . . I guess the government knows that we both use each other, for different reasons, but that’s all right. There is progress being made. They like to say to the world, ‘We’re not so bad, we let Arthur Ashe play here.’ I say to them, ‘You’re still pretty bad.’ ”36