Black Wrestlers
Wrestlers' suit claims racial discrimination It's a case that's all about civil rights... Written by body Wrestlers' suit claims racial discrimination By Lyle V. Harris Atlanta Journal-Constitution Staff Writer
It's a case that's all about civil rights -- and lefts, full Nelsons and body slams. Three B-list pro wrestlers are suing Atlanta-based World Championship Wrestling, claiming they were denied protections that even extend to big guys in shiny spandex costumes. Bobby "Hard Work" Walker, Kazuo "Sonny" Onoo and Harrison "Hardbody" Norris contend that WCW paid them less than white performers and failed to promote them on nationally televised shows. They also claim that WCW based their characters on negative racial stereotypes.
"A message needs to be sent that this is the year 2000, and WCW should stop treating us like this is the 1960s," says Walker, an African-American with melon-sized biceps who talks like Mr. T. on Quaaludes. "I just want young black kids to know that they have the same chance to grow up and see their face on a T-shirt or on a doll as any white kid," declares Norris, who wears a bleached blond hightop haircut with his nickname carved neatly in the back. "That's what I'm fighting for." The three men's complaints were filed in U.S. District Court on Feb. 11.
The Atlanta-based WCW, a subsidiary of Time-Warner's Turner Broadcasting System, has until March 27 to respond. Alan Sharp, a spokesman for the WCW, declined to discuss the suits for this story. The wrestlers are being represented by Meadows, Ichter & Trigg, a buttoned-down Buckhead law firm where former state Attorney General Mike Bowers is a partner. A Republican candidate for governor in 1998, Bowers ran on a platform that sought to end affirmative action. That doesn't faze the pugilist plaintiffs, who see their case as an issue of basic workplace fairness, not quotas. Besides claiming discrimination, the wrestlers, who were contract workers, say they were improperly denied full-time employee benefits such as vacation and sick time.
Walker, a Fayetteville resident who still works for WCW, complains that if not for racism, he could be "a babyface who got pushed" -- wrestling argot for a heavily promoted performer who gets plenty of TV appearances. Instead, the wrestlers claim they have languished as bad-guy props to be kicked around by mostly white A-list wrestlers. "WCW told me there me there weren't enough black people watching wrestling to push me," says Walker. "If that's true, it's only because there aren't enough black wrestlers for fans to follow. Sharp, the WCW spokesman, says 87 percent of the league's fans are white, somewhat more than the nation as a whole, which is 83 percent white.
Deciding who gets pushed is not a matter of race, but of appeal, he says. "Pro wrestling is an extremely competitive business, and every athlete does not always succeed," Sharp says. "There are many factors involved in a wrestling, and often those who are successful posses a wide variety of talents including athleticism, wrestling ability, interview skills, and charisma. Everything counts."
During his six-year stint, Onoo, who is Japanese, was often played "a heel" --a bad guy in wrestling jargon. When WCW gave him a pink slip last fall he was making $160,000, about half the $300,000 annual salary Sharp said the average wrestler earns. The diminutive ex-karate champion says while he was upset about the pay disparity, he was even more offended that Asians, Mexicans and other minorities were also written off as heels. "I think TV can enhance the stereotype, or enlighten people about stereotypes," Onoo says. "WCW only showed one side. If they were creative enough, they could have also portrayed the positive side." Agrees Walker: "We've been busting our butts to get where we're at, and we don't want to be labeled as bad guys all the time." Sharp declines to provide the racial and ethnic makeup of the WCW roster, but it has two African-American headliners who've played both heels and good guys. Their nickname, "Harlem Heat," may evoke racial stereotypes for some. (At the rival World Wrestling Federation, a black wrestler called the "Godfather" plays a flamboyant pimp. WWF spokesman Jim Byrne says the league has not received any fan complaints about the character, which he describes as "an over-the-top interpretation.")
Onoo, who now lives in Iowa, complains that there were no minority writers at WCW when he was there. "I remember one time they started arguing with me about the term 'Japs,'" recalls Onoo. "They said it was short for 'Japanese.' I don't know if that's racist, but I told them it was ignorant and pointed out that it was offensive." After attending a WCW-sponsored diversity training session for its staff last year, Onoo recalls asking the human-resources manager: "What good is having a diverse work force if the person who puts the show together is always a middle-aged, white American man?"
Fellow plaintiff "Hardbody" Norris also claims his race kept him from becoming a WCW babyface. Norris, who is black, says his pro career began after he left the Army in 1994, and two years later answered an ad for tryouts at the Power Plant, the WCW-owned training facility in Atlanta. Norris said he paid the $3,500 admission fee, but after finishing the course he was not signed to a long-term contract as he had hoped. Instead he wound up competing in "crush matches" where he was usually cast as a hapless loser and paid $150 -- an amount he says didn't cover his expenses. Norris says he was also required to train less-experienced wrestlers, and to work as an equipment handler before and after shows, although he was not compensated. Last summer, Norris was offered a six-month contract and appeared in a handful of televised matches, he says. After his contract expired, WCW let him go. Since then, Norris, who lives in Kennesaw, has been competing in no-holds-barred Toughman competitions to make ends meet. "I found myself lost in the shuffle, I was sold into slavery," he says. "They told me they weren't hiring, but I kept seeing all these other white guys coming in getting contracts and leapfrogging past me." The wrestlers' suits come at a time when the television industry is under the microscope for its minority-casting practices. The NAACP and other groups have charged that TV is too white, and that when minorities do appear, they are usually in niche shows geared to minorities or in secondary roles in more popular programs.
Darnell Hunt, director of African-American Studies at the University of Southern California, is working with the Screen Actors Guild to examine the roles of minorities on television sitcoms, dramas, and fantasy/action programs -- including pro wrestling. "Minorities in general are way underrepresented on these shows," Hunt maintains. Yet the goofiness -- some would say violent stupidity -- of pro wrestling may make it less likely that philosophical allies will come forward for Walker, Onoo and Harrison. "Because some of the stereotypical roles the characters play," Hunt says, "I'm not sure whether it's a good thing or a bad thing to be represented in professional wrestling at all."