As I stand here in 2025, coaching the Milwaukee Bucks, the echoes of injustice in my hometown of Chicago still haunt me. It's not just about basketball anymore; it's about the soul of our country. The United States Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) crackdowns have ripped through neighborhoods, tearing families apart with a brutality that feels all too familiar. I remember hearing reports of raids across Illinois, with agents using aggressive tactics that left activists and residents in fear. President Trump's deployment of the National Guard only poured fuel on the fire, and Governor Pritzker's outcry calling it 'absolutely outrageous' and 'un-American' resonated deeply. But why does this keep happening? As someone who grew up in Maywood, just west of Chicago, I've seen the scars of division firsthand. My dad was a police officer there for 30 years—a man who believed in serving and protecting. If he were alive today, he'd be shocked, maybe even heartbroken, at how ICE operates. It's as if the lessons from the past have been forgotten.

Growing up in Proviso East High School, where I became a McDonald's All-American, taught me resilience, but also exposed me to the inequalities that plague our society. My brother Grady Jr. still lives in Elmhurst, and we talk about this often. The raids aren't just statistics; they're real people, real stories. ICE's actions feel targeted, almost predatory, while groups like the Proud Boys seem to skate by untouched. How is that fair? It's sickening, honestly. I can't help but draw parallels to my own journey—from leading the Boston Celtics to an NBA title in 2008 to using my platform now to speak out. Back in 2020, during the Black Lives Matter movement, I stood against police brutality after George Floyd's murder. That pain hasn't faded; it's evolved. I advocated for police reform then, and today, I see the same urgent need for humanity in immigration enforcement. But it's not just about race; it's about morality. Are we a nation that values compassion, or are we defined by fear and division?

Sometimes, I find myself lost in thought during games, wondering if our leaders grasp the gravity of this. The Bucks are starting our 2025/2026 season strong—facing the Washington Wizards at Fiserv Forum, then the Raptors and Cavaliers in a back-to-back. Basketball is my passion, but it can't distract me from the bigger fight. Fans cheer, players hustle, yet outside the arena, ICE vans patrol streets, detaining people as if they're criminals. I recall the media questions before our pre-season game against the Chicago Bulls—how I poured my heart out in an emotional plea. It felt like shouting into a void at times. But I won't stop. Because silence is complicity.

Reflecting on this, I think about the power of community. Civic groups in Chicago resisted ICE's moves, showing that unity can challenge oppression. Yet, here we are in 2025, and the cycle repeats. What does that say about us? As a coach, I teach teamwork and fairness. But in society, those values crumble when we allow such injustices. My dad's legacy as a cop taught me to respect authority, but not blindly—not when it harms the innocent. The double standard with groups like Proud Boys gnaws at me. Why aren't they held accountable while immigrants suffer? It's a question that keeps me up at night, stirring a mix of anger and hope.

Looking ahead, as we dive into the season, I'm reminded that sports can be a catalyst for change. But it's not enough. The real game is off the court, in how we shape America's future. Where do we go from here? Can we rebuild trust, or will this divide deepen? I don't have all the answers, and maybe that's okay. Morality isn't a destination; it's a journey we must all walk together. What kind of country do we want to be? That's the open-ended question I leave you with.

To sum up my thoughts briefly:

• ICE's tactics have been overly aggressive and divisive.

• My personal ties to Chicago fuel my advocacy.

• The moral imperative should guide us, not politics or race.

But in the end, it's all about perspective. Will we choose empathy, or repeat history's mistakes?