With huge economic power, Black athletes in the south could intervene on voter suppression.
The American South is operating under a hypocritical contract: Black talent is worshipped on game day, while Black voices are silenced on Election Day.
In much of the South, sports are more than simply entertainment — they’re civic identity. College football stadiums function like cathedrals, game days drive local economies, and athletes are celebrated as hometown heroes. Black athletes, in particular, sit at the center of that culture. They fill rosters, attract huge audiences, generate billions in revenue, and help build the prestige that universities and states proudly market to the world. But the reverence shown to them while in uniform is very different from the political realities of their communities. As a result, some leaders are saying now’s the time for players to take back their power.
This came to a head in April, when the Supreme Court essentially gutted Section 2 of the 1965 Voting Rights Act in Louisiana v. Callais. By siding with a January 6 protester Phillip “Bert” Callais, the court effectively cleared a path for Republican-led states to dilute the power of Black voters. Leaders in those states wasted no time getting to work.
The day after the Louisiana v. Callais court ruling, Louisiana Governor Jeff Landry suspended the state’s upcoming congressional primary to redraw its maps. Since then, Louisiana — a state where Black people make up roughly one-third of the population — has eliminated one of the state’s two majority Black districts, replacing the formerly blue seat with a right-leaning district instead.
This move against Black voters stands in sharp contrast to how heavily the state’s economy relies on Black talent. In 2025, Louisiana State University’s (LSU) economic impact for its home state was valued at $1.65 billion. A key driver of this wealth is LSU’s football program, which the school reports generated $117.6 million in revenue. Of the team’s current roster of 105 players, a little more than 75% are Black.
Louisiana isn’t the only state to do this. In states like Florida, Texas, Alabama, Tennessee, and Georgia — home to major universities and athletic programs powered by Black athletes — leaders are advancing redistricting efforts that dilute Black voting power, while benefitting from billions in revenue generated and thousands of jobs supported. This raises questions about who benefits from Black labor and influence, and how that influence might be leveraged in return.
We’ve confronted the idea that sports should be divorced from politics many times, like when former NFL player Colin Kaepernick took a knee during the national anthem in 2016 to protest police brutality. The reaction was swift — he was told to shut up and play. But that framing ignores the fact that sports and politics have always been intertwined. Public universities accept state funding, stadiums are built with taxpayer dollars, and college athletics shape local economies. Additionally, these athletes are members of communities affected by these political acts. Because they occupy a unique position within institutions that profit from their talent both culturally and financially, athletes are uniquely positioned to influence how those institutions — and the politicians connected to them — respond to issues of power, representation, and justice.
The NAACP and the Congressional Black Caucus (CBC) understand that. In response to the Supreme Court’s decision, the organizations launched “Out of Bounds” — a campaign urging Black athletes, families, alumni, and fans to withhold their labor, consumer dollars, and cultural capital from states attacking Black voting rights. It hits directly at the heart of Southern identity: 12 of the SEC’s 16 member schools sit within states currently targeting Black voters. To strike directly at these flagship institutions is to expose the raw mechanics of Southern capitalism — a system that, for centuries, has exploited Black labor for revenue while systematically dismantling Black civil and human rights.
Asking Black players to sit out their games may sound extreme, but it’s actually rooted in a long tradition of Black political organizing.
In January 1959, after being denied a hotel room because he was Black, 24-year-old Minneapolis Lakers rookie, Elgin Baylor, refused to suit up for a game in Charleston, West Virginia. “I’m a human being. I’m not an animal put in a cage and let out for the show,” he told his white teammate. Baylor, who went on to become a Lakers legend with a Hall of Fame career, risked his contract with this move, but his conviction had an impact. “We will demand a non-segregation clause in future contracts,” Lakers CEO Bob Short said. Additionally, a wealthy, white business club that sponsored the game reached out to the NBA to complain about Baylor sitting out. The people in power were forced to pay attention.
Six years later, around 20 Black AFL All-Stars, led by Buffalo Bills fullback “Cookie” Gilchrist, refused to play the 1965 All-Star Game in segregated New Orleans. By sacrificing their game checks and risking their professional futures, their strike hit the league’s wallet instantly, forcing the AFL to pull the game out of Louisiana and relocate it to Houston two days later.
This isn’t just history and it isn’t confined to the pros. In recent years, young college athletes have revived this strategy to force the hand of powerful university boards and state lawmakers. In 2015, when around 30 Black football players at the University of Missouri refused to play until the university president resigned over his handling of campus racism, they saw swift results. In less than 72 hours the president had stepped down. It wasn’t a moral choice; this move helped the team avoid a $1 million forfeit fine. Later, in 2020, when Mississippi State star Kylin Hill tweeted that he would no longer represent the state unless it removed the Confederate emblem from its flag, the SEC and NCAA followed up by threatening to pull all post-season events. Five days later, lawmakers voted to change the flag.
However, asking athletes to walk away from these institutions is no small request. In this era of Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) deals, playing for a flagship Southern university can create life-changing wealth and transform a family’s financial circumstances, setting up a difficult choice for young athletes in particular.
From the Montgomery bus boycotts and Memphis sanitation workers’ strikes to athlete protests, we’ve seen that ordinary people are never as powerless as they’re told they are. Our greatest victories have rarely come from those in power suddenly finding their conscience; they’ve come when people acted together and made injustice too costly to maintain.