Jackie Robinson Day is pure celebration — and that's the problem

On Tuesday, all across the baseball world, Jackie Robinson Day commemorations will once again take center stage. Since 2004, April 15 has been an obligatory notch on the baseball calendar, an opportunity for Major League Baseball to honor, to apologize and to force onto the viewing public a particular remembering of Robinson's legacy.

The back of every jersey will feature Robinson’s iconic No. 42 in Dodger Blue. Stadium jumbotrons will roll dramatic tributes set to stirring music. Broadcasters will wax vague poetic about Robinson’s poise and courage in the face of vitriolic racism.

But there is a difference between stitching 42 onto hundreds of uniforms and a purposeful, powerful exhibition of Robinson’s story. Because beneath the sanitized public glorification of this American icon lies a darker, more uncomfortable truth — one that Major League Baseball opts to sidestep.

The glory of Robinson’s tale and the part on which the league chooses to focus — the breaking of the sport’s color barrier — was made possible by the system that forbade Black athletes like him from playing in MLB. He has had lasting power because his journey and his sheer existence were subversive, radical, provocative.

But Jackie Robinson Day, as currently observed by MLB, has none of that bite.

As the league plainly states on its website, "Every year on April 15, Baseball honors Jackie's legacy by celebrating his life, values and accomplishments."

There is nothing wrong with celebration, as long as it's accompanied by a legitimate reckoning. A meaningful telling of the tale. A poignant, impactful application of past to present.

Unfortunately, that’s not happening.

There's nothing controversial, thought-provoking or uncomfortable about how the league tells Robinson’s story. Money is donated, time is volunteered, the Jackie Robinson Foundation is included, and yet the entire day transmits a kind of kumbaya energy, one that whispers saccharine comforts in a post-racial tone.

"Jackie Robinson transcends any debate that's going on in today's society about issues surrounding DEI," MLB commissioner Rob Manfred said in a recent interview. "What Jackie Robinson stands for was moving us past an overt kind of segregation that I don't believe anybody actually supports today."

This way of thinking allows MLB to spotlight the good without confronting the bad, the difficult, the awkward. But to remove Robinson from the DEI conversation, while awfully convenient, whitewashes the non-baseball side of Robinson's life, in which he fought fiercely for civil rights.

The truth is that if every hero has a villain, so too must Jackie. And in his case, that villain was America.

Here’s what Robinson had to say in his 1972 autobiography, “I Never Had It Made”: “Today as I look back on that opening game of my first world series, I must tell you that it was Mr. Rickey’s drama and that I was only a principal actor. As I write this twenty years later, I cannot stand and sing the anthem. I cannot salute the flag; I know that I am a black man in a white world.”

Firm, fierce, unapologetically blunt — all fundamental aspects of Jackie the man, all themes completely absent on Jackie Day, all uncomfortable truths that MLB prefers to bypass. And now, in this day and age, never has MLB’s failure to champion the entirety of Robinson’s legacy been more glaring or more damaging.

As recent events in this country have highlighted, MLB is not succeeding in spreading the true message of Robinson’s story.

In late March, a story on the Department of Defense's website about Robinson's military career was removed as part of the Trump Administration's efforts to scrub material involving diversity, equity and inclusion. Amidst public outcry, the page was swiftly revived — but not before a series of controversial statements from since-sidelined DOD spokesperson John Ullyot, including the following.

"We do not view or highlight [the subjects of the removed pages, including Robinson] through the prism of immutable characteristics, such as race, ethnicity, or sex. We do so only by recognizing their patriotism and dedication to the warfighting mission like every other American who has worn the uniform.”

Not viewing Jackie Robinson through the prism of race is like not viewing food through the prism of taste. Yes, Robinson was many things besides a Black man who broke a sport’s color barrier — a father, a ballplayer, a business executive, a lieutenant — but his stature in American society is inextricable from his race. That’s particularly true for Robinson’s time in the armed forces, during which he was court-martialed after he refused to move to the back of an Army bus.

That DOD fiasco hasn't dissuaded certain political actors from continuing to attack Robinson's legacy. An executive order implemented by President Trump on March 27, titled "Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History," led to the flagging of 900 titles in the U.S. Naval Academy's Nimitz Library. Reportedly included in that bundle was a biography of Jackie Robinson. To date, the Robinson bio has not been purged, though 381 other books have been, but it appears to remain under consideration.

And most concerningly, as it relates to MLB, references to “diversity” were taken off the league’s website at some point in the spring. Specifics of the league’s lauded Diversity Pipeline Program, which provides opportunities in baseball to underrepresented communities, were also removed.

In a statement to The Athletic, a league official said: “As the commissioner stated, our values on diversity remain unchanged. We are in the process of evaluating our programs for any modifications to eligibility criteria that are needed to ensure our programs are compliant with federal law as they continue forward.”

It’s predictable, understandable even, that MLB would adjust its public-facing language to ensure it remains beyond President Trump’s wrath. Public confrontations with the administration, especially over race, would be bad for business. There’s a pragmatic argument for playing the long game. And to its credit, MLB has made significant investments in Black baseball, including the Reviving Baseball in Inner Cities program and a $100 million donation to the Players Alliance, a collective of Black big leaguers seeking to make the sport more “equitable and accessible.”

But in this particular case, MLB’s passivity is a disservice to what Robinson stood for.

That’s because the current administration’s systematic destruction of DEI efforts across the country stand in direct contradiction to Robinson’s legacy. Not spinning his story forward, not connecting it to modern America’s glaring inadequacies, not using this opportunity to make a point is an invalidation of the entire Jackie Robinson Day project.

Why uphold the past, if it’s not being used to impact the future?

MLB should celebrate Robinson’s courage and his grace. It should honor his achievements. But it should also tell the full story. It should linger on the harsh uglinesses. It should bear witness to the unsavory parts of American racism that necessitated Robinson’s bravery. It should remind us why that harsh history remains so dishearteningly relevant in 2025.

Quite simply, if MLB wants to honor Jackie, it must do more than have its players wear No. 42. It needs to carry the full weight of Robinson’s legacy — not just his number — on its back.