Editor’s Note: NHL players have spoken out against racism and social injustice since the death of George Floyd, a black man, while in police custody in Minneapolis on May 25. Three years ago, JT Brown, then Tampa Bay Lightning forward, raised his fist during the national anthem to draw attention to the same issues. With calls for social justice and the fight against racism at the center of the stage during the NHL’s Return to the Game, Brown wrote a special essay for the League on his decision to raise his fist:
On October 7, 2017, I had a choice. I could shut up and play hockey, or I could do something so loud that the entire hockey community listened to me. Nothing will be accomplished if we all keep our heads down and our mouths shut. So, during the national anthem in Sunrise, Florida, I raised my fist to protest against police brutality and racism. The same fist that put the arenas at his feet as he exchanged blows with outmatched opponents. The same fist that was broken by blocking a shot during the Stanley Cup Playoffs. The same fist that has hit countless black and Hispanic children in the community while teaching them to play hockey. I have always sacrificed myself for my team, for the fans, for my community. In 2017 I had the opportunity to sacrifice myself for something bigger than hockey, and I knew I had to.
While everyone was focused on getting the team out of camp or preparing for the season to start, the media asked me if I was going to protest during the national anthem. I was already feeling the pressure that comes with a one year contract, and now I had to decide if I was willing to do something uncomfortable and uncharacteristic for my sport. I’m a guy in and out of the lineup who has enough courage to stay on the fourth line. I knew it was replaceable. He knew that protesting could make it even more difficult to get another contract next season. My family and I were prepared for this to end my NHL career. I had decided that I was comfortable with the discomfort.
Hockey is played predominantly by wealthy white men and conforming to an entrenched team mentality from an early age. Throughout my professional career, I have been one of the 30 black hockey players in the League. For most of my hockey career, I have been the only black or colored person on my team. It is an experience that can make you feel like the Black guy token. An experience that makes you hyperactive of your blackness, wondering if you are acting too black or too white. Understanding where and how you fit in can be lonely and fundamentally shapes you as a person. I’ll be honest, most of the time, we are all teammates. We joke, we play video games, we play cards and we bet on the game of soccer. Then there are times when I’m the only player security arena asks for my credentials when I’m just trying to get to my locker room. Or when hotel security asks me to leave the hockey players alone and leave the hotel lobby when I’m waiting with my teammates for our bus. Let’s not forget the classic line that every black hockey player knows very well, “go play basketball,” which I heard during a hockey game at the highest level from an opposing player. I worked hard all my life to prove that I belong to the NHL, and when I did, they still reminded me that I was a black man playing a white sport.
Before raising my fist during the national anthem, I spoke to the team owner, general manager, coach, and teammates. I told them that I intended to raise my fist in solidarity during the national anthem as a symbolic protest against police brutality and racism. They were welcome to speak to me if they wanted to better understand my intentions. When I spoke to my coach about my plans to protest, I told him about the time when I had a shotgun pointed at my head. Usually, I tell the story of when I was called the n-word during a youth hockey game, and my coach told the referee that our team would leave the game if I didn’t kick the boy who said it. The referee did not expel the boy, so my teammates and my coach stayed with me when we left the game. Those are the stories that people like to hear because they offer resolution and a sense of community. I usually don’t speak when I was at a house party in high school, and some kids at school pulled out a shotgun and pointed it at my head while they called me the n word. People don’t like those stories because they reveal truths that they choose to ignore. These are the things that shaped me as a man. These are the things that led to putting my fist in the air.
Video: Predators and stars come together to play hymns
My father and I discussed at length how this decision could affect my career, my family, and my livelihood. I leaned on him for advice because of his unique experience, not only as a former National Football League running back, but also for his post-soccer career as a Ramsey County Probation Officer and Juvenile Correctional Officer. I have always turned to my father for advice about my life and career. While he was scared of me and the repercussions I would have to face, I knew this was something I had to do, and he fully supported me.
I decided to go punching after a heartfelt long with a friend who is a retired sergeant in the U.S. Air Force (E-7) who served during Operation Enduring Freedom and Operation Iraqi Freedom. We talked about how I needed to protest, but I also wanted to be aware of those who are serving and have served our country. Given the logistics of where we were during the hymn, I couldn’t have knelt down. I felt that a raised fist better represented my intentions, since it symbolizes solidarity, support, strength and even resistance.
My first protest was during a preseason hockey game and it went unnoticed. However, on October 7, 2017, I returned to the lineup for a regular season game. That protest went viral almost immediately. In the weeks after the game, I had a face-to-face meeting with management and then a meeting at the team owner’s home. They both wanted to know what I needed and how they could help me achieve what I was trying to do. That was a difficult question because I didn’t know how to solve racism in the United States, and I still don’t know. Even before protesting, I knew that it might not have a national impact, but I was hopeful that it would facilitate a positive impact in Tampa.
My team was able to support my initiatives and with the resources provided I was able to implement changes that I thought could benefit my community. The action plan included two things. The first was to work with the Tampa Police Department. I developed a relationship with the chief of police, went for a walk, and some of my teammates and I even went through police training. The second, which unfortunately never came to fruition because I found myself playing in Anaheim, was a program that would bring the police and community kids together to watch the Lightning games. I received a lot of criticism from the black community for these actions. I understood that it was problematic to integrate into a situation in which the narrative went from police brutality to the use of my actions for something that some saw as pro-police rhetoric. As black athletes, that year we were automatically put in a unique position. We were the only athletes who continually asked us if we would protest. It also put us all in a difficult situation. We were forced to choose a side. Am I black or am I a hockey player? We were all condemned if we did and condemned if we did not.
Video: Penguins, flyers united for social justice
I asked my wife before that preseason game to stay away from social media. I knew it was going to get ugly. I want to make sure to also mention all the incredible support and love I received after my protest. Unfortunately, not everyone understood. I received death threats; People told me that they expected her to have an injury that would end her career; people even called my little daughter the word n. To this day, when I speak out against racism, there is someone on my Twitter who tells me they want to hang up on me or who says the word n. The reaction reaffirmed my belief that I did the right thing. I know the hockey community, and specifically, the black community heard me acknowledge their pain and understood that I made an oath of that game to always fight for equality.
Before raising my fist, I never considered myself an activist. I was always focused on being a professional hockey player and figuring out how I could stay in the NHL. That changed in June 2017, when the Falcon Heights, Minnesota police officer who killed Philando Castile in 2016 was acquitted of murder at trial. Castilla was shot to death sitting in his car in front of his girlfriend and their 4-year-old daughter. The viral video of that little girl comforting her handcuffed mother while being placed in the back of a police car broke me. By then, I had a daughter, Lily, and I realized that I had a responsibility to fight for a better future for her and other black children.
Fast forward to 2020, when the Minneapolis police murdered George Floyd. For the first time, I saw a League consisting of predominantly wealthy white men who spoke out against matters that were once ignored. It has been promising to see activism in the NHL progress. The urgency for social change does not cease as the roars of the protests fade and disappear from our deadlines. So whether you use your hands to donate, volunteer, hold posters while marching in a protest, speak online, or raise your fist in solidarity, we all have a responsibility to fight for equality. History cannot continue repeating itself.
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