Do Something

Let's be there for Samuel Dalembert.

by E. James Beale

If you want to begin to understand the devastation that last week's earthquake caused Haiti, consider this shorthand: The name "Haiti" is derived from the Arawak word for "mountainous"; the country is literally built on hills. Even before the earthquake, this was a problem. Due to Haiti's extreme deforestation, mudslides and collapsing buildings are routine. For years, Haiti's basic infrastructure has been all but nonexistent. Last week, with the mountains collapsed, that "all but" is gone. There's no precise count, but the death toll is likely to end up in six figures, making the Jan. 12 quake the single most lethal natural disaster ever to hit the Western Hemisphere. The losses have been biblical.

The reason we're addressing this in a Philadelphia-based sports column, a forum one might assume has literally nothing to do with world news, is simple: Samuel Dalembert, the 76ers' center, grew up in Haiti. Dalembert lived in Port-au-Prince, the capital and hardest-hit city, until he was 14. (Several of his family members remain there.) His Samuel Dalembert Foundation has been seeking foreign assistance for Haiti since its inception three years ago. He's spent the last week alternating between openly grieving and doing his best to raise money and awareness. He appeared on Larry King Live, pledged $100,000, and promised to match donations of 76ers fans at the Jan. 15 game. On Jan. 19, he took the day off practice to fly to Haiti with a small group from Project Medishare.

The drama has taken its toll on the longest-tenured 76er. Dalembert first burst onto the scene in 2001, when he literally jumped onto the stage at the NBA draft as his name was called, shocking commissioner David Stern. It was fitting — the man is nothing if not gregarious. Coming out of the poverty that was Haiti, "It is just tough not to be happy every day," he says. "You know?" We don't.

Now, though, he looks exhausted. "It's really killing me right now," he says. As he requests that we "imagine all the people just inside, and the building just collapses," you can't help but see him doing just that. "You're going out of your mind. ... You feel like you're in a cage. You cannot move. You cannot do anything." On the one hand, he's right. We can't do anything, not really. Hundreds of thousands are dead, and nothing sports fans can do is going to change that, not even a little.

But what we can do is be there for Dalembert. If Dalembert — for better or worse, a cornerstone of the 76ers organization — feels like he's trapped in a cage, that should be our problem.

Eighteen months ago, I joined a crowd of millions and high-fived strangers as the World F. Champions marched down Broad Street. Grown men hugged; the city glowed with emotion that modern society rarely lets us show. The sports-adverse sneer at this, because they assume that emotion is nothing but the contrived response of idiots to millionaires wearing the same laundry. But being able to harness that thrill — to care about something — can be important, and harnessing it toward a tangible positive is even more so.

Here is what we're proposing: The 76ers should have a day dedicated to helping the Dalembert Foundation help Haiti. A portion — say, 20 percent — of ticket sales should go to the cause, and the team should promise to match all donations made at the door. All of the 76ers' sponsors should be asked to put together a package dependent on fan participation — for every beer you buy, a dollar goes to Haiti, for example — and the game-worn jerseys should be auctioned off immediately following the action.

The organization should, in short, make it as easy as possible for fans to give. That's the first half.

Here's the second: As of today, the Wachovia Center is the emptiest building in professional basketball. Less than two-thirds of available seats are filled on any given night. At a Help Haiti night — Monday, Jan. 25, against the Indiana Pacers, perhaps? — there shouldn't be an empty seat in the house. For one night, let's not shout like someone is about to punt our cat every time Dalembert pulls up for a baseline jumper, and let's try to celebrate the good work — on and off the court — that someone we should care about is doing at an impossibly hard time.

We await a reply, first from the 76ers organization, and then their fans.

Let's rebuild a mountain.

Support the Samuel Dalembert Foundation at dalembertfoundation.com. E-mail the author at e.james.beale@citypaper.net.