The New Willie Lynch Letter: Shedeur Sanders and the Price of Black Pride
“If you ain't trying to change the franchise or the culture, don't get me.”
Many years ago, I read the so-called Willie Lynch Letter. When I first read it, it resonated as truth. It reflected the world I knew: if you had Black skin, there were unspoken protocols we were told to follow so you didn’t appear out of line. For instance, if you were walking down the street and approached a white person, we were told to lower our eyes or possibly cross the street. And if you were stopped by the police, you had to be overly polite, ending every sentence with “Sir” or “Ma’am.”
My generation was rebellious. We sidestepped these social norms. For us, the days of Rosa Parks were long gone. We sat at the back of the bus not because we had to, but because we wanted to.
Later, I learned the Willie Lynch letter is widely believed to be a hoax—a 1712 speech attributed to a British slave owner who supposedly gave American enslavers a guide to control African slaves. Real or not, the strategies described in the letter have echoed through generations. The method involved dividing enslaved Black people by age, gender, and skin tone. Enslaved women were deceived at high levels because they were tasked with raising the next generation of women to be strong and ensuring the young boys were docile. The letter also described how to publicly break the strongest male slave, physically and mentally, in front of everyone else. This performance of destruction was meant to ensure fear and compliance for generations to come.
“You’re going to get the truth. You’re not going to sugarcoat it. And that’s going to be the uncomfortable part.”
Historians may call the letter fiction, but the behavior it describes has been all too real. The same methods once used to keep Black people down during slavery are still used today to divide Black families, suppress Black talent and potential, and keep the Black man in check.
Some people insist that times have changed, and yes, they have. But the tactics haven’t just changed—they’ve evolved. Long gone are the days when the behavior remains the same.
We saw that behavior rear its head again over the weekend. It showed up during the NFL Draft. Countless people are dismissing what happened to Shedeur Sanders, declaring that this is “not about race.” But history has taught us that when this kind of behavior is called out, the response is always the same: “It’s not about race.” Lynchings, whippings, and the sale of children were never “about race” either. They were framed as acts of discipline, necessary to maintain peace for whites. Slaves had to be controlled, and sparing the rod was seen as unbiblical. It was the same mindset used to justify taming animals.
Clearly, what happened to Sanders as he waited to be drafted by a league wasn’t about merit or capability either. He was repeatedly overlooked, despite his performance. Sanders threw for over 3,200 yards, 27 touchdowns, and only 3 interceptions in the 2023 college season at Colorado. He also rushed for 4 touchdowns, demonstrating both leadership and talent. He was projected by some analysts as a second-round pick. Instead, he was passed over. Critics like Officer Tatum and other right-leaning independent media sources focused on his perceived arrogance, pointing to his Instagram posts and confident persona as red flags. But Willie Lynch-style tactics don’t require many examples. You only need to punish one in order to control the rest.
What’s even more cruel is how Sanders was taunted. Jax Ulbrich, the 21-year-old son of Atlanta Falcons defensive coordinator Jeff Ulbrich, decided to give Sanders a call. Jax Ulbrich identified himself as the general manager of the New Orleans Saints, telling him, “We’re going to take you with our next pick—you’re going to have to wait a little bit longer.” It was meant to be a joke. To some, it was funny. But it was really just another lynching, carried out in modern form. No rope, no tree—just the same message: Don’t step out of line.
Sanders was used by the owners of the NFL to send a message. When a confident, talented Black man with a bold father dares to defy expectations, the system will find a way to humble him. His public humiliation sends a warning that speaks volumes: This will be you should you get out of line.
People defend this behavior by insisting that NFL coaches want to win, so they wouldn’t pass over talent for personal reasons. But they did. Instead of admitting it, they gaslight us, pointing to Sanders’ “character” as the issue. Yet players with criminal records were selected over him. To some, Sanders came off as an unruly Black man—too bold, too outspoken, too much like his father. They wanted to strip away whatever he inherited from Deion Sanders. Pride is the very trait that belies what whites say about Blackness. The white ownership class used this as an opportunity to send a signal, just like they did when Kaepernick took a knee. Back then, they told Black players, directly and indirectly, not to show allegiance to their community. Some disobeyed, but many obeyed. And now, once again, the NFL is demonstrating what will happen if you are too proud. Speak out or speak up—it will happen to you too.
This proves something that many refuse to accept: merit and capabilities alone will never be enough, and racism is far from dead. In fact, what the Sanders case reveals is that the goalposts have moved. The scrutiny now extends beyond talent. It includes “character,” a conveniently vague term that is used to disqualify Black men who don’t conform. Commentators like Matt Walsh and Charlie Kirk claim Sanders’ character hurt him, but when you look at his actual record, there’s no evidence of poor behavior. In reality, our Black boys are not judged by merit, capability, or character. Their futures depend on white perception.
Some people argue that the NFL owners didn’t conspire to keep Shedeur Sanders out of the early rounds. They say there’s no secret meeting, no organized plan. But that argument is naïve. We’ve seen how corporations and governments fall in line together. Hence: COVID.
Whether conscious or not, systemic racism is often less about overt conspiracy and more about consistent outcomes shaped by bias. The truth is, white Americans spent over 265 years telling themselves that Black people were less than human. Even if they knew it was a lie, they believed it was necessary to keep Blacks in chains. So yes, owners could absolutely act—consciously or unconsciously—to make Sanders an example. At the end of all this, it’s clear this is really not about Sanders. It’s about reminding every young Black athlete what happens if you’re too confident, too proud, or too Black. The message is clear.
What makes it worse is the fractured response from the Black community. Some say he got what he deserved. Others dismiss racism entirely. A few acknowledge it, but only with disclaimers and excuses. No one wants to confront the reality that systemic racism hasn’t ended—it’s just adapted. We rally around low-cost causes, like boycotting Target, because those don’t require real sacrifice. But when it comes to standing together against actual injustice, we crumble.
The fight against racism today demands sacrifice. It demands that Black people—especially those with cultural and economic power—take risks. If the Black players in the NFL, who make up more than half the league, stood up for Shedeur, they could have disrupted the system. They could have stood up. But they are not going to make that type of sacrifice. Instead, they would rather buy T-shirts and baseball caps from Sanders' online store. They could have demanded accountability. Instead, the message stands: merit isn’t protection.
“I’m an African-American quarterback. That may scare a lot of people because they haven’t seen nothing that they can compare me to.”
This isn’t just about the NFL. It’s happening in corporate America too. There, it shows up as one Black person “holding the line” while leadership insists promotions are based on talent and merit. When Black candidates are passed over, it’s always chalked up to a “lack of qualifications.” And even if those qualifications are met, the unspoken rule remains: too many Black faces in one space means someone must be made an example. Someone always becomes the Willie Lynch figure, passed over or punished to keep the power structure balanced.
America is headed toward a reckoning. As minorities grow to outnumber whites in more communities, the response has been to use every tool of influence and power to restrain Black people. When a Black person speaks truth or challenges authority, they’re labeled aggressive, rude, or insubordinate. Even among our own, some are quick to shrink back in fear, clinging to respectability.
We can act like what happened to Shedeur Sanders was normal. Or we can stop and confront this behavior. Black players in the NFL should protest—not just for Shedeur, but for every Black man who has been punished for standing tall. Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr., Sojourner Truth, Young Thug, ASAP Rocky, Jay-Z, Bill Cosby, Michael Vick, and even me—we all carry pieces of this struggle.
Meanwhile, organizations like the NFL insist their decisions are objective, that character matters more than anything else, and that all players are treated the same. But we know that isn’t true. We saw the truth when Shedeur Sanders was passed over—not because of his talent, but because of what he represents. He became the example. A cautionary tale used to remind Black players that there are limits to their pride, their visibility, and their power.
The tactics have evolved. The chains have changed. But the system—the need to control, to punish, and to humble Black men—has never gone away. It’s just been rebranded.
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© 2025 Jacqueline Session Ausby. All rights reserved.
This post and all original content published under DahTruth are the intellectual property of Jacqueline Session Ausby. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
