The first time I really paid attention to boxing ring entrances — the long, celebratory walks fighters take from their dressing rooms to the ring before a bout — was in 1992 when I watched the classic match between Julio César Chávez and Hector Camacho that symbolically pitted Mexico against Puerto Rico. I was a 7-year-old U.S.-born Mexican, yet it was Camacho’s entrance that drew me in: the blaring strains of “Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now”; the flashy Captain Puerto Rico outfit; the way Camacho danced his way to the ring.
Camacho lost the fight, but he won the narrative. His ring entrance was a bravado performance of political and cultural resistance. It made such a strong impression that it launched my career researching the political economy of boxing. Today, I excavate ring entrances to understand the ways boxers make their mark on their sport — and the world.
The ring entrance allows boxers to reach new markets and increase their earning potential. It lets them express themselves and communicate messages of political and cultural dissent. The boxing ring entrance is the most important ritual in sport. It forces the world to witness boxers in all their performative glory.
Every boxer in history, dating to the establishment of the 1867 Marquess of Queensberry rules, has made that long walk. Jack Johnson blew kisses at racist fans who razzed him in Sydney in 1908 and enjoyed adulation during ring entrances in later decades. In 1989, Sugar Ray Leonard entered the ring to fight Thomas “Hitman” Hearns wearing a robe with the word “Amandla” stitched on the back. Amandla is the isiNguni word for power and was used by the African National Congress as a rallying cry against apartheid in South Africa.
An effective political ring entrance has three crucial components. The first is music, which helps boxers communicate pointed messages. In the 1990s, when Mike Tyson entered the ring to Public Enemy’s “Welcome to the Terrordome,” it amplified Black hip-hop culture and Chuck D’s powerful message. When I asked Chuck D what it meant to him when Tyson entered the ring to that song, he replied, “Well, Tyson never lost when he did.” By linking his athletic prowess to a soundtrack that spoke truth to power, Tyson legitimated and boosted calls against racial violence.
The second is fashion and style. Boxers select their own ring outfits, and their fashion choices are often connected to their lived experience and culture. World champion Kali Reis describes her purple-and-white, wampum-festooned trunks as “boxing regalia” — and they are a direct manifestation of her experiences as a multiracial Black Indigenous woman, hearkening to the tradition of fancy dancing, a type of dance performed at powwows that were reserved for men until Indigenous women challenged that societal norm. Kali is part of this rich rebellious history. By wearing garments that express her identity, she rebels against dominant structures and ideologies.
The final crucial component is an entourage. Popularized by Sugar Ray Robinson, the entourage is a traveling team, rooted in a boxer’s obligation to bring along the people who have contributed toward their success. Entourages are also a way to show the world who you are and what you stand for. In 2002, world champion Fernando Vargas was scheduled to fight against Oscar De La Hoya. Vargas entered the ring with his boxing hero, César Chávez, a boxing icon who represented a Mexican working-class ethos, to express his pride in being brown and Mexican. This ring entrance was particularly powerful given its timing: In post-9/11 America, the population of immigration detention centers was rising along with anti-immigrant sentiment.
Today, fighters such as José Ramirez continue to use ring entrances for collective empowerment. Ramirez’s parents were Mexican immigrants to the Central Valley, and he grew up witnessing the harsh work conditions they endured doing agricultural work. Ramirez started boxing at 7; at 14, he began working the bell pepper fields to help his family. Somehow, he kept up his training. In 2012, he represented the U.S. at the London Olympics, and soon after, he made his professional debut.
In the first years of Ramirez’s career, he partnered with the California Latino Water Coalition to raise awareness about funding for water infrastructure. When Donald Trump first ran for president and delivered his now-infamous speech calling Mexican immigrants murderers and rapists, Ramirez leaped to action again. At his first world title fight, against Amir Imam in March 2018, he used his ring entrance to unveil a pro-immigrant, anti-Trump message. He wore a white-and-red Fresno baseball jersey and a red cap, similar to Trump’s MAGA hats, but refashioned with the message “Pro-Immigrant and Proud.” His trainer Freddie Roach accompanied him to the ring, wearing the same hat. Ramirez won the fight, earning the World Boxing Council World Super Lightweight championship.
I asked Ramirez a few weeks later what “pro-immigrant and proud” meant to him. Whether it was our president or our neighbors, he explained, “The reason they like to divide people is to make them weak. The message is for me to remind everyone that they should be proud that they’re immigrants and they come here and are doing something positive.”
Ring entrances are ephemeral, only lasting a few minutes. But through music, fashion and style, and entourages, these shows subtly and overtly communicate pride, dignity, and, at times, political protest. Beyond the pyrotechnics and pageantry, there is a story in every ring entrance.
Rudy Mondragón is a UC Chancellor’s Postdoctoral Fellow at the Institute for Research on Labor and Employment at UCLA. This piece was originally written for Zocalo Public Square.
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