On Friday, Donald Trump tweeted about LeBron James, which was nothing new. But this time he compared him to Michael Jordan, which apparently never gets old. Given his age and penchant for identifying losers, Trump could've invoked Jordan's name because he's a more familiar face and decorated winner. Or, maybe he simply deemed him a more respectable black man. Of course, all of the above is still an option.

On Saturday, Jordan responded, via spokeswoman. Choosing not to engage the president or even unravel his comments, Jordan made a simple statement. "I support L.J. He's doing an amazing job for his community." Yet for a lot of people, this was too simple. To them, the statement was consistent with the apolitical messaging he's delivered for decades, at a time when choosing sides means more than ever.

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Just like that, Trump was no longer the only target. The oldest of Jordan memes had resurfaced: the empty suit, the sellout, the private prison investor. The latest game of an endless series between—or more accurately, about—LeBron and Jordan had begun. This time it was personal.

Jordan was widely criticized throughout his playing career for a perceived lack of interest in social issues by both activists and athletes, including one of his own teammates. All of their disdain is encapsulated in a tidy and reliable quote: "Republicans buy sneakers too."

The quote itself is third-hand, thirty years old, and something Jordan himself has denied saying. But when considered alongside his silence or inaction on other matters—from rioting in Los Angeles and the NBA's lack of black coaches, to children murdering for his signature sneakers and other children in sweatshops manufacturing them—the image of a soulless capitalist became easier to project. Especially when combined with the ruthlessness he displayed on court.

This is in contrast with LeBron, who has worn a hoodie in solemn remembrance of Trayvon Martin, an "I Can't Breathe" shirt in posthumous defense of Eric Garner, and of course, most recently called the president a bum. Silent, he is not. But his most substantive and lasting contribution to social justice will undoubtedly be the I Promise school, which opened this week to much deserved applause.

Jordan hadn't just lost this one in a blowout; he'd been booed off the court of public opinion years before the game even started.

As long as there's been skin and money, there's been something uglier, more odious, about a soulless black capitalist. Fair or not, it suggests an abandonment not only of principles, but the people and lessons of what were almost assuredly more humble beginnings. If these deserters are entertainers, the desertion becomes downright nefarious. Because when a black person amasses great wealth and fame by making white people smile while ignoring their people's pleas….

Well, America is familiar with such a man, who can also be summed up in a tidy quote, "I'm not black, I'm O.J."

For some, it might be easy to conflate the two. M.J. was compared to players of old; Bill Russell, Oscar Robertson, Jim Brown, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and the greatest, Muhammad Ali, who used their voices to push attention towards civil rights in a time when they were more likely to be ignored. These were O.J.'s contemporaries. He was compared to them first. He also, for a time, was more successful than them all. Except Jordan, of course, whose platform was even bigger. As were the checks. Which unfortunately creates an illusion of choice, between principle and profits. Because they both stayed quiet.

If you ask Bill Russell—as one should, concerning such matters—it's unfair to hold Jordan to the same expectations. Russell couldn't assume he'd be welcomed at the team hotel and when he landed an endorsement, was paid no more than a background extra. Jordan opened a new frontier for the league and became the most famous man in the world. He couldn't be measured by yesterday's standards. Such an accomplishment shouldn't necessarily be measured by today's, either.

It's important to seriously consider, for a moment, the space Michael Jordan occupied. The most famous man in the world was black. He represented an entire race and his country too. Every dunk was for the red, white, and blue. Any misstep would ensure no one else who looked like him was ever afforded the opportunity to fuck such a good thing up again.

These weren't respectability politics then. They were universal truths, hard learned by generations of black folks and reinforced at every turn. No black man without vitiligo had ever been granted such universal acceptance. Many of the same things that made for a safe negro; handsome, articulate, affable; were the same things those elders wanted. Destroy that stereotype. Make us proud.

There's a distinct difference, however, between being apolitical and apathetic. To assert the latter in this case would be to ignore a great deal of history. As detailed in Roland Lazenby's biography, Michael Jordan: The Life, from the ashes of the antebellum south, Jordan's family in North Carolina embodied a quiet dignity and through generations preached economic empowerment. Two sharecropping grandfathers and working-class parents crystallized the concept of acquiring to provide. It's doubtful that the man who never forgot a slight suddenly forgot where he came from.

But if by chance he did, both Jerry Reinsdorf and Abe Pollin were there to remind him: No matter how impactful he was as a player, it didn't equate to ownership.

What Jordan has done as an owner of the Charlotte Hornets includes the most forthright statement of his public life. Calling Donald Sterling's views, "sickening" and "offensive" before proclaiming he was "outraged"? Who was this guy? Why was his statement against Sterling so much more potent than his response on Trump? Because one was quite literally his business. The other wasn't.

As one of the league's greatest players, a current owner, and the most famous black man in the world, his commentary would set the tone; shielding every black athlete and demanding compliance from every white owner. Wading into political issues cedes control to the whims of masses, benefitting no one. No matter how big his platform, it is either a pulpit in which to preach towards the choir, or a stockade in which he's attacked by hearts and minds he'll never change. But within the confines of the NBA, his words were damn near sovereign. They would be met with action.

"LeBron is an evolution of Jordan, not his binary opposite. Like Jordan, he doesn't have to make the same choices as his predecessors. Fame doesn't enable leadership. Outspokenness doesn't ensure responsiveness. But quiet or not, purposeful wealth will always ensure change."

This statement may reveal that Jordan isn't simply unwilling to speak, he's actually unwilling to relinquish control. When he maintains control, he commands it with clear purpose. Just as the highest ranking black executives within Nike work for Jordan Brand, more black executives work for the Hornets than any other team in sports, including the NBA's only black COO, Fred Whitfield.

To dismiss these words and deeds as merely taking care of friends and family, is dismissing them as sellouts too. It's saying Deloris Jordan raised a sellout and James Jordan's name is on a foundation that does nothing. That the tens of millions of dollars in scholarships his associated foundations donated have affected nothing. It is avoiding the fact that all of these endeavors and more are almost solely for the betterment of underprivileged black and latino families. It is ignoring the S.T.E.A.M. curriculum of his programs, the effective utilization of corporate sponsorships, and their striking similarity to the foundations of LeBron's I Promise school.

It is presuming that LeBron and Michael have never discussed any of this. That they aren't two men taking different routes to the same destination; the empowerment of their people. LeBron is an evolution of Jordan, not his binary opposite. Like Jordan, he doesn't have to make the same choices as his predecessors. Fame doesn't enable leadership. Outspokenness doesn't ensure responsiveness. But quiet or not, purposeful wealth will always ensure change.

The sociologist, Harry Edwards, who provided us with that tidy quote on O.J. denying what many insisted was his duty, would elaborate years later. "O.J. was saying, 'I want to be judged not by the color of my skin, I want to be judged by the content of my character and most of all, the caliber of my competence. I think I'm the greatest football this country has ever seen. That's all I want to be judged by. Don't tell me I've gotta do this because I'm black.'"

Thing is, O.J. was right. No matter how far he would stray—and even in the midst of such turbulent times—when it came to this, he was right. No one should have to speak up or act out if they're not compelled to. We respect sacrifices precisely because they are choices.

Sometimes those choices include speaking solely through action.