Voices: The Lessons of Tulsa

By Brian M. McKeon

It wasn’t until I watched the HBO series “Watchmen” that I knew what the Tulsa Massacre was, and I’m ashamed to admit that fact. I had probably read something in a book about it, or seen an exhibit in a museum somewhere, but my privilege allowed me to avoid internalizing the horrific events of Memorial Day Weekend 1921 that occurred in the Greenwood District of Tulsa, Okla. I won’t attempt to describe the indescribable events, but if you’re like me and want to learn more, I will point you to the eloquent and deeply researched words written here or here for more information on those tragic days. 

If any good possibly came from the terrible year of 2020, it’s that so many Americans have begun trying to fill the gaping holes in our history textbooks, to come to terms with white privilege, to acknowledge institutional racism, and to embrace the strength that diversity provides our communities. After seeing “Watchmen” and its dramatic re-telling of the Tulsa Massacre through the eyes of one young boy, I was deeply drawn into learning more about how white Tulsans could so violently turn on their Black neighbors, such that anytime I see news about the city, I think of 1921.

Enter the PGA of America’s decision to bring the 2022 PGA Championship to Southern Hills Country Club in Tulsa, Okla., because the organization determined, shortly after the attempted insurrection at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, that the tournament could no longer be held at a golf course (Trump Bedminster) owned by former President Donald Trump.  

To the golf architecture geek in me, I was thrilled that one of next year’s majors was moving from a standard Tom Fazio design to the historic Southern Hills, a 1936 Perry Maxwell course that’s hosted seven men’s major championships and that’s been partly renovated, partly restored by Gil Hanse and Jim Wagner.  

But despite the excitement, I couldn’t help but wonder if the selection of Southern Hills in Tulsa was one of our better angels giving us a proper smack in the face. The PGA of America isn’t innocent in the mess it has not-so-delicately extricated itself from at Trump Bedminster. The 2022 PGA Championship was awarded to Bedminster in 2014 when Trump was at the height of his embrace of the birther movement, which served as his entry into national Republican politics. And the PGA of America isn’t without blame when it comes to our nation’s history of institutional racism. This is an organization that actively and aggressively enforced a “whites only” policy in the ranks of PGA golf professionals until 1961. Fifty years after the “whites only” policy ended, the PGA and the game of golf still have a lot of catching up to do when it comes to diversity and inclusion.  

Bringing the PGA Championship to Southern Hills, to Tulsa, in May 2022 — 101 years after the Massacre — sure seems like a chance to do something good, to acknowledge past mistakes, to educate, and to lead. I don’t know exactly what those things might be, but I’m certain there are people in Tulsa and throughout golf  who can help the PGA of America figure it out. Let’s hope they take the opportunity to ask. 

Brian M. McKeon is an attorney and golf tragic who lives in Arlington, Va., with his wife and two children. He is a proud member of the New Club Golf Society.

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