Kobe Bryant's Death Sparks Emotions
Julian Richardson (12-4) & Josie Rosman (12-4)
Editors’ Note: In the wake of Kobe Byrant’s death, Voices wanted to reflect on his legacy.
Julian Richardson (12-4)
Photographed by Theo Wyss-Flamm (12-4)
The halftime buzzer rang and I sat on a bench to continue my lunch: lemonade with exactly four splendas and an everything bagel with cream cheese. It was a typical Sunday refereeing, work was the same as always. One minute and thirty seconds before the game resumed, a coach approached me and asked, “Have you heard the news? Kobe Bryant died.” I didn’t find his joke funny, what a**hole says something like that in the middle of a kids basketball game? “You’re a liar,” I said without any hesitation. The words he uttered buzzed in my head and a terrible premonition began to set in. “Here, look,” he said, as he showed me the dozens of headlines popping up on Google. At this point my mouth was open in disbelief, but there was simply nothing to say. It felt like I was suffocating. My body felt heavy, like it would collapse at any second and I held back tears for the first time in ages. The buzzer rang and I finished reffing the rest of the game despite being completely out of it. Checking my phone only confirmed what I’d seen. Condolences and headlines infested my social media, and I had to turn my phone off to keep from embarrassing myself in front of everyone in the gym.
What Kobe Bryant gave to the game of basketball is so much more than the five championships, All-Star games, an iconic line of shoes, and Olympic gold medals. He taught the basketball world, and world in general, about hard f*****g work. He was just a black kid growing up in West Philadelphia. An Eagles fanatic, cheesesteak lover, and a student, just like millions of other kids. He made it to the league straight out of high school, giving the everyday student athlete something to work towards; and all he did
was outwork the competition. Before school he practiced every day from 5-7, and afterwards four hours every day. Insane for a typical high schooler, but enough to solidify Kobe as an All-American high school player, and one good enough to skip college completely. In the NBA, Kobe was paid to play basketball, so time spent training increased exponentially: three 2-4 hour practices a day with 4 hours of sleep every day for 20 years, 1,346 games, and 48,643 minutes in the NBA; all while managing his diet, marketing his sneakers, and managing recovery time. It’s the Mamba mentality, a way of life that means believing in hard work and never being satisfied. It’s how Kobe lived his life, and it’s how millions of others now choose to live theirs.
Not everyone is born with the voice of Beyoncé, or the stature of Shaq, but anyone can be Kobe Bryant. It’s not about being 6’6. It’s not about going to the NBA. And it’s not about being naturally talented. People gravitated to Kobe Bryant because he gave people hope. He was living proof that hard work pays off, and that when there’s always more to strive for, you should keep on striving. He showed people that greatness isn’t achieved overnight, that it’s a long, frustrating battle. But most importantly he showed the world that if you want to get anywhere, you have to believe in yourself first, because the Mamba mentality isn’t selective to certain tasks, it’s a way of life. Kobe showed not only the NBA that, but the entire world.
When Kobe Bryant and eight others died in a helicopter accident on January 26, 2020, I was completely and utterly devastated. I bought his shoes. I played in them every chance I got, because Kobe inspired me too. He loved the game of basketball, but he loved his family more. His daughter, Gianna also died in the crash, along with seven other people involved with her team. But an accident as unfortunate as this one isn’t enough to erase their legacies. Every time a pair of Kobe’s shoes is laced up, or whenever you shout “KOBE” when throwing away some trash, or whenever you embrace the Mamba mentality, you carry on the legacy he started. Kobe Bean Bryant was a phenomenal basketball player, but an even more phenomenal person, it’s simply the type of man he was. Numbers 8 and 24 will live on forever. The basketball world aches in your wake.
Rest in peace Kobe, Brianna, John, Keri, Alyssa, Sarah, Payton, Christina and Ara.
Mamba Forever.
Josie Rosman (12-4)
Photo courtesy of Josie Rosman (12-4)
As everyone knows by now, on January 26, 2020, former NBA star Kobe Bryant, as well as his 13-year-old daughter and 7 other people, died in a horrific helicopter crash. After the news broke, the entire world united to mourn his death. During the Grammys, hundreds of fans gathered outside of the Staples Center (“the house that Kobe Bryant built,” according to Alicia Keys) to pay tribute. NBA teams took 8-second backcourt violations and 24-second shot clock violations to honor Bryant, who wore numbers 8 and 24 during his career. Everyone from Lebron James to Serena Winters (the Sixers’ court-side reporter) to my baby brother publically grieved the loss of a person worshipped as an idol and loved like a family member.
Kobe Bryant deserves to be remembered as a legend. He was a 5-time NBA champion and an 18-time All-Star. He was a good father. But in all of the bereavement, I wonder if and when it’s going to be okay to talk about the dark spot on Kobe’s otherwise shining record.
In 2003, Bryant was charged with the rape of a 19-year-old hotel employee. The criminal case was dropped, and a civil case was settled out of court. But none of this absolves Bryant. In a statement, he said that, “Although I truly believe this encounter between us was consensual, I recognize now that she did not and does not view this incident the same way I did. After months of reviewing discovery, listening to her attorney, and even her testimony in person, I now understand how she feels that she did not consent to this encounter.” Obviously the case isn’t cut and dry, but it’s plain to see that her consent in this situation wasn’t as clear as it should have been. On top of the trauma of the assault, during the case, Bryant’s alleged victim received hate mail and death threats for years.
Just after Kobe’s death, journalist Felicia Sonmez, a sexual assault survivor herself, tweeted about the case. The Washington Post suspended her for violating their “social media guidelines” until they received some public pushback. She received hate and death threats from the public. To me, as Voices editor and as a feminist, these reactions seemed like both a breach of journalistic standards and necessary respect for sexual assault survivors. I was driven to write this article, but I knew, unfortunately, that I’d have to be extra careful in how I wrote it.
1 out of every 6 women is a victim of attempted or completed rape; but only half are likely to make a formal accusation. Victims and allies alike are scared of reactions like Kobe’s victim and Sonmez received: disbelief, shame, harassment, and direct threats. Bryant’s status as an all-time great doesn’t excuse his actions, and it certainly doesn’t excuse the actions of his fans. Attacking people for talking about sexual assault will not honor anyone’s memory or stop people from making false accusations (false rape accusations are incredibly rare, it’s been estimated that they only make up 2% of accusation), it will only increase the number of women who don’t speak up about their own assault because they fear they won’t be believed.
Some have said that Sonmez tweeted too soon after Kobe’s death. I get that. But then when is it going to be okay to talk about it? A week from now? A month? The truth is that everyone loses out when we don’t talk about consent. If we take him at his word, then Bryant himself would have benefited from a deeper understanding that “no” means “no.”
We don’t teach consent well in America--not in our schools, not through our entertainment--so it’s no wonder that so many people struggle to understand it. Getting consent is more than not violently assaulting another person--it means having the other person’s enthusiastic approval every step of the way. It means stopping immediately if the other person says “no” or “don’t” or “stop;” it means checking in if the other person isn’t saying anything at all. It’s likely that what happened between Bryant and his accuser wasn’t clear cut; many interactions that count as sexual assault or rape start as consensual, then cross a line when the consent is revoked. The takeaway here is that we need to get better about consent: talking about it, asking for it, and listening to it.
We should and will continue to lament the loss of Kobe Bryant; but let’s do it in a way that makes society better, safer, and more respectful of the importance of consent.