Kareem is greater than any basketball record

Some athletes live swaddled in their greatness, and that is enough. Others not only master their sport but also expand the possibilities — in competition and away from it — for generations to come.

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar did just that, including for LeBron James, who has laid claim to the NBA career scoring record that Abdul-Jabbar had held so tight for nearly 39 years.

It is easy to forget now, in today’s digitized world where week-old events are relegated to the historical dustbin, how much of a force Abdul-Jabbar was as a player and cultural bellwether. How, as the civil rights movement heated to a boil in the 1960s and then simmered over the ensuing decade, Abdul-Jabbar — a Black man who had adopted a Muslim name — played under the hot glare of a white American public that strained to accept him or see him as relatable.

It is easy to forget because he helped make it easier for others, like James, to trace his path. That is what will always keep his name among the greats of sport, no matter how many of his records fall.

Guided by the footsteps of Jackie Robinson and Bill Russell, Abdul-Jabbar pushed forward, stretching the limits of Black athlete identity. He was, among other qualities, brash and bookish, confident and shy, awkward, aggressive, graceful — and sometimes an immense pain to deal with. He could come off as simultaneously square and the smoothest, coolest cat in the room.

In other words, he was a complete human being, not just the go-along-to-get-along, onedimensional Black athlete much of America would have preferred him to be.

James has run with the branding concept that he is “More Than an Athlete.” Fiftyplus years ago, Abdul-Jabbar, basketball’s brightest young star, was already living that ideal.

“He is more than a basketball player,” a Milwaukee newspaper columnist wrote during Abdul-Jabbar’s early years as a pro. “He is an intelligent, still maturing man, who realizes some of the individual and collective frailties of human beings, including himself.”

James’ ability to make a cultural impact off the court is the fruit of the trees Abdul-Jabbar planted decades ago.

As a star at the basketball powerhouse UCLA in June 1967, a 20-year-old Abdul-Jabbar was the only collegian with football legend Jim Brown at the Cleveland Summit, a meeting of prominent Black athletes who gathered in support of Muhammad Ali’s refusal to fight in the Vietnam War.

The next year Abdul-Jabbar shunned the Summer Olympics to protest American prejudice.

“America is not my home,” he said in a televised interview. “I just live here.”

In those days, Harry Edwards, now a University of California-Berkeley sociology professor emeritus, led a new wave of Black athletes in protests against American racism. Abdul-Jabbar was a vital part of that push. He also converted to Islam to embrace his Black African heritage, and changed his name from Lew Alcindor to Kareem (generous) Abdul (servant of Allah) Jabbar (powerful).

“You have to understand the context,” Edwards told me recently. “We’re still arguing over whether Black lives matter. Well, back then, Black lives absolutely did not matter. In that time, when you said ‘America,’ that was code for ‘white folks.’ So how do those folks identify with a Black athlete who says I am a Muslim, I believe in Allah, that is what I give my allegiance to? They didn’t, and they let him know.”

Edwards added: “What Kareem did was seen as a betrayal of the American ideal. He risked his life.”

Black athletes still face backlash for standing up to racism, but their voices are more potent, and their sway is mightier now because of Black legends like Ali, Robinson, Russell and Abdul-Jabbar.

You saw their imprint when James wore a T-shirt that said “I Can’t Breathe” for Eric Garner, or a hoodie for Trayvon Martin, or when he joined an NBA work stoppage for Jacob Blake. When right-wing pundits attack James and his peers for protesting, remember that AbdulJabbar has been in the hot seat, too.

The message here isn’t “Been there, done that, don’t need to hear it anymore.” No, that’s not it at all.

What I am saying is this: No one rises alone.

In this moment of basketball celebration for James, think about what he shares on the court with the 7-foot-2 center whose record he is taking: a foundation of transcendent, game-changing talent.

Nowadays, a younger generation might know Abdul-Jabbar mainly as the sharp-eyed commentator and columnist on the internet — or simply as the guy whose name they had to scroll past in the record books to get to James’. But his revolutionary prowess as a player can never be diminished.

He led UCLA to three national titles in his three years of eligibility, his teams accumulating a scorched-earth record of 88-2. Along the way, the NCAA banned dunking, a move many believe was made to hinder his dominance, and UCLA came to be known as the University of California at Lew Alcindor.

In his second professional year, he was named the NBA’s MVP — the first of a record six such awards.

That season, he led the fledgling Milwaukee Bucks to the 1971 NBA championship. It would be the first of his six titles, two more than James.

The pressure he was under as a player was immense for most of his career.

As the years passed, AbdulJabbar evolved. He grew happier, less strident, more content and more open. His advocacy came to focus on human rights for all who are marginalized.

And ultimately, fans began to warm up to him.

LeBron James now holds the crown as the league’s greatest scorer. Well earned. He remains something to behold at age 38.

But it was Abdul-Jabbar who stretched the meaning of greatness in the NBA, leaving the next generation and James to expand it even further.