Revisiting the Rumble in the Jungle, with an Eye toward Human Rights

Associated Press On the 35th anniversary of her dad’s legendary fight, Khaliah Ali travels to the Congo, seeing that humanitarian conditions have worsened.

Thirty-five years ago, on Oct. 30, 1974, Muhammad Ali regained his title as “the world’s greatest” boxer at the Rumble in Jungle, his legendary championship fight against George Foreman. As a conscientious objector and advocate for black nationalism, Ali’s triumph, which took place in Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo), was celebrated at home as a civil rights victory. The fight holds an honored place in American popular culture: Legendary journalists Hunter S. Thompson, Norman Mailer, and George Plimpton reported on the event. The Rumble has been the subject of an Academy Award winning documentary, “When We Were Kings,” and serves as the climax of the Will Smith biopic “Ali.” Sports buffs still debate whether Ali’s "rope-a-dope" strategy, which ultimately won him the Rumble, was indeed planned, or the result of fatigue from the sticky, near-equatorial humidity that baked both fighters.

“This was the first time in my life really seeing a malnourished child,” says Khalia Ali of her trip to the Congo. “As a mom it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever looked at.”

What’s been less examined is the Rumble’s long-term significance for the Congo, the country that hosted the fight. This week, to commemorate the Rumble’s anniversary, philanthropist and fashion designer Khaliah Ali, one of Muhammad Ali’s seven daughters, is traveling in the Congo to raise awareness on behalf of humanitarian agencies fighting exteme poverty, with a special focus on the challenges facing women and girls. “My job is to listen, learn and observe,” Khaliah Ali told The Daily Beast. “I do have my 10-year-old on this trip with me, and he’s accompanied me through everything that was appropriate. It is a family visit.”

Today’s Congo is a war-ravaged nation, much moreso than it was in 1974. The exploitation of the land for its metals and minerals—primarily cobalt, copper and tantalum, used to manufacture cellphones and computers—continues, and the frequency of rape against women in eastern Congo, where rebel and government militias face off, is reportedly the highest in the world.

“This was the first time in my life really seeing a malnourished child,” Ali said. “It is the most senseless thing I’ve ever seen. I saw a baby lying listlessly on the ground. I was not sure if he was alive. As a mom it was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever looked at. I’ve volunterered and worked in the South, the Appalachians, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, and I’ve never witnessed poverty like this before.”

Khaliah’s trip harkens back to a statement her father once made, in a November 1975 interview with Playboy. "Wars on nations are fought to change maps, but wars on poverty are fought to map change." What’s discouraging for advocates is the extent to which the map of poverty has not changed in the Congo since the Rumble in the Jungle. What’s clear, though, is that while today’s philanthropists agree that empowering women and girls is key to improving quality of life on the continent, feminist issues certainly weren’t at the forefront of anyone’s mind during the frenzied planning that led up to the fight.

In 1974, an ex-numbers runner turned event promoter from Cleveland, Don King, was looking to capitalize on the "black is beautiful" tide washing across the U.S., and struck gold in the Ali-Foreman fight. Ali was remaking a name for himself after losing his heavyweight championship—and America's adoration—for refusing to serve when drafted for the Vietnam War. Meanwhile, Zaire's president, Joseph Mobutu, was looking to legitimize his regime, which had overthrown and assassinated anti-colonial leader Patrice Lumumba with the aid of the United States and Belgium. Western interest in Zaire's mines enriched Mobutu, allowing him, in turn, to enrich King. Mobutu put up the prize money for the fight: $5 million for each competitor. For Mobutu, it was a $10 million public relations investment to win the favor of black Americans, who were aware and disapproving of his U.S. government-backed overthrow of Lumumba.