Ja Morant, masculinity and the misguided way of the gun

I will get to the messy tale of Ja Morant shortly. But first, a personal history. I grew up in South Dallas. Our house was repeatedly broken into. Drive-bys were a regular occurrence. I was jumped often, walking to and from school. Escaping that level of purgatory for the creature comforts of middle-America capitalism was no small feat. Many of my friends were involved in gangs. I never joined in – I was too scared. My pops kept me off the streets as best he could, while protecting himself and his family from the terrors outside our door. He had multiple guns. A Glock rested inside his bedside dresser. A shotgun sat on top of a stack of Maxim magazines at the top of the closet.

Most people in my neighborhood had firearms: many on the left act like the only people who are pro-gun in the US are backwoods rednecks preparing for a race war. But Black and brown communities have plenty of gun rights advocates too. They aren’t members of the NRA and don’t march in Maga hats to defend gun laws after school shootings but they exist. As an adult still living in the ‘hood in Texas, albeit a gentrified one, I still keep a shotgun in my closet. Growing up in poverty is a disease that you never quite cure. I have only touched my gun once – when I moved home. I hope that remains the case. I do not take my gun out. And if I did, it wouldn’t be on Instagram Live, something Morant, a fabulously talented young NBA player, has done … twice.

The latest incident – and there have been plenty of disturbing stories around Morant – came on Sunday when a video emerged of him riding in a car with friends, rapping along to NBA YoungBoy. So far, so innocent. But at one point, Morant is seen holding a gun. Soon afterwards, the Memphis Grizzlies