To start the race, Bubba Wallace, NASCAR's lone Black full-time driver, was joined by a huge crowd of all his opponents and their crews, as they pushed his car around the track in a show of solidarity. Someone -- perhaps a NASCAR insider, given the restricted access to the facility where it was found -- had left a noose in Wallace's garage stall, garage No. 4. Wallace, who was visibly emotional during this display, has been a vocal advocate for Black Lives Matter and spoke out against the display of the Confederate flag in NASCAR events, which NASCAR banned earlier this month.
Tuesday, the FBI concluded after an investigation that the noose had been in garage 4 as early as October 2019 and since "nobody could have known Mr. Wallace would be assigned" to that garage (it was assigned to him last week), no charges would be pursued.
In its own statement, NASCAR noted, "The FBI report concludes, and photographic evidence confirms, that the garage door pull rope fashioned like a noose had been positioned there since as early as last fall." The statement also said: "We appreciate the FBI's quick and thorough investigation and are thankful to learn that this was not an intentional, racist act against Bubba. We remain steadfast in our commitment to providing a welcoming and inclusive environment for all who love racing."
On the one hand, a crowd of overwhelmingly White men rallying behind a Black colleague who was the victim of a racist incident was powerful to watch on Monday. On the other hand, it was also precisely the kind of sappy White savior moment designed to make audiences feel virtuous about the state of race relations in America (yes, at the time many believed he may have just been a victim of a federal hate crime, but -- how heroic! -- his White opponents pushed his car). NASCAR wasted no time packaging a slick video of the scene, with a tagline: "We are one family."
We are not. Wallace's rise to national prominence stems from his daring to make what should have been an uncontroversial statement that Confederate battle flags have no reason to be the fixture they are at NASCAR races. When NASCAR banned the flags thereafter, the backlash from many fans was immediate.
One thing that the outcome of the FBI's investigation doesn't change is this: That anyone is even debating the presence of Confederate battle flags at major sporting events is indicative of how power and privilege have hijacked the most basic terms of the national debate on race. Even a quick scroll through responses to NASCAR's statement makes it seem that many were hoping the episode was a hoax, and that the fact that a crime wasn't committed negates the ugly realities of racism in America and NASCAR. That is all beside the point.
First, it is important to unpack the very presence of the Confederate flag today. Let's assume for a moment that the Confederate flag is, as some have argued, a nod to ancestors who fought on behalf of a cause they believed to be noble. As a Black person, and child of immigrants, and a Yankee from New Jersey, I find this profoundly hard to swallow. But legacies are complicated, and we ought to cherish our ancestors, even in spite of their warts. Still, the explanation of the flag as a symbol of filial or regional heritage is disingenuous at best. For the most part, displaying the flag today isn't about showing support for the agrarian economics of the old South. It's about shutting Black people up.
While the rebel flag was occasionally flown after the Civil War to commemorate fallen soldiers, its use got a newfound prominence in the middle of the 20th century, during the height of the civil rights movement. Through history, a similar trend followed the erection of Confederate monuments -- some of which are today meeting their demise -- around the country. In all, two periods in American history -- the turn of the 20th century following the Reconstruction (which also saw the revival of the Ku Klux Klan), and the modern civil rights movement -- showed clear spikes in the dedication of new Confederate monuments.
Put another way, if Confederate monuments were intended simply to enshrine the memory of the fallen, why do nearly 2,000 of them exist across the country, stretching to California and Pennsylvania, hardly hotbeds of the rebellion? Likewise, if the flag is just a symbol of heritage, why was it employed flying over the speedway at Talladega with a sign reading "Defund NASCAR" -- a message clearly designed to tweak the Black Lives Matter movement?
It seems symbols of the Confederacy curiously manage to show up whenever and wherever Black people have threatened White people's comfort with the old social order.
Which is exactly what Bubba Wallace has done -- a truth that's easier to miss if you only see him being pushed around the track by his White fellow drivers. He and NASCAR faced no such backlash when when he finished second in the prestigious Daytona 500 in his rookie season in 2018. Everything was apparently fine then, so long as he kept quiet. It seems some people can tolerate a successful Black race car driver. Just not an uppity one.
Wallace was merely trying to perform one of the basic functions of life -- going to work -- without having images shoved in his face that devalued his membership in society. Whether sitting at a lunch counter in Greensboro, or arriving at a stock car track in Alabama, we all deserve to not be hassled by White supremacists, and just be. But, as we saw in Talladega this week, that still isn't easy.
Moreover, it's people's discomfort with the flag that seems to make its supporters even more emboldened. This is the ultimate sign of privilege; knowing something is hurtful to many, yet still continuing to do it, simply because you can.
As NASCAR's fan base ages and shrinks, it needs Bubba Wallace desperately. Telegenic, self-effacing and humorous on social media, he is precisely the kind of star to help broaden the appeal of an enterprise that needs to grow to survive. Prominent Black athletes, including one of the biggest stars on the planet, Lebron James, have tuned in to the controversy. This is a golden chance for NASCAR to grow, as it certainly doesn't want to alienate new potential fans like King James or his 47 million Twitter followers. Figures like Wallace may be what keeps them watching.
I'm a NASCAR fan, and one of many outside the sport's heavily White, heavily Southern fan base. I want to keep enjoying the sport. But my fellow NASCAR fans are making that hard. I've brought my children to a NASCAR race, but probably won't do it again.
I've already had to explain to my 6-year-old once this year how his favorite driver was fired for freely using the word n***** when he thought he was alone among friends; I'm not certain we're ready for a discussion about nooses -- perceived or criminal -- yet.
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Bubba Wallace didn't suffer a hate crime. NASCAR still has a problem - CNN
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