October 16, 1968. Imagine the heat in Mexico City. The air is thin. The tension is thicker. Tommie Smith and John Carlos had just decimated the world record in the 200m sprint. They stood on that wooden podium, socks showing, heads bowed, and fists raised high in the air.
Most people see the photo and think they know the story. They don't.
The Mexico City Olympics Black Power salute wasn't just a spontaneous "moment." It was a calculated, dangerous risk that cost these men their careers, their safety, and almost their sanity. It's the most famous protest in sports history, but the nuance is usually stripped away in favor of a clean, heroic narrative. Honestly, the reality was a lot messier and more painful than the history books let on.
The OPHR: Not Just a Couple of Guys with Gloves
The protest didn't start at the podium. It started with the Olympic Project for Human Rights (OPHR). Harry Edwards, a sociologist with a voice like thunder, founded it. He wanted a full-blown boycott of the games. You've probably heard that the athletes were just "angry," but the OPHR had specific, logical demands. They wanted South Africa and Rhodesia uninvited because of apartheid. They wanted more Black coaches. They wanted Avery Brundage—the then-president of the IOC who had a history of white supremacist leanings—out of power.
The boycott fell through. Athletes couldn't agree. Many had trained their entire lives for this one shot at gold. But Smith and Carlos decided that if they were going to run, they were going to speak.
People forget about the socks. Both men wore black socks and no shoes to the podium. Why? To represent Black poverty. They wore beads to remember the victims of lynchings. They weren't just "protesting for rights"; they were mourning.
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That "Other" Guy in the Photo
Look at the photo again. You see the two Black men, but look at the white guy on the silver medal spot. That’s Peter Norman. He’s the Australian sprinter who should have been the hero of his own country after running a blistering 20.06 seconds.
Instead, he’s the "forgotten" man of the Mexico City Olympics Black Power moment.
Norman didn't just stand there. He actually suggested that Smith and Carlos share their pair of black gloves because Carlos had forgotten his at the Olympic Village. That’s why Smith wore the right glove and Carlos wore the left. If you look closely at Norman’s chest, he’s wearing an OPHR badge. He asked for it. He wanted to show solidarity.
Australia treated him like a pariah for it. He was bullied by the media. He was passed over for the 1972 games despite qualifying multiple times. When he died in 2006, Smith and Carlos were his pallbearers. It’s a heavy, beautiful, and somewhat tragic example of what happens when you stand up for something that isn't "your" fight.
The Immediate Fallout was Brutal
Brundage was livid. He thought the Olympics should be "apolitical," which is a funny thing to say about an event where everyone marches behind national flags. He pressured the US Olympic Committee to suspend Smith and Carlos. When they hesitated, he threatened to ban the entire US track team.
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They were kicked out of the Olympic Village within 48 hours.
When they got home, it wasn't a hero's welcome. It was death threats. It was the FBI watching them. It was Carlos’s wife struggling with the pressure, which contributed to her eventual suicide. We like to sanitize these stories now, but at the time, a large portion of the American public—including many Black Americans who feared the "backlash"—thought they had gone too far.
Why 1968 Was Different
The world was on fire. Martin Luther King Jr. had been assassinated in April. Robert F. Kennedy in June. Tlatelolco Massacre happened in Mexico City just ten days before the Olympics started, where the Mexican government killed hundreds of student protesters.
The Mexico City Olympics Black Power protest wasn't happening in a vacuum. It was the culmination of a decade of blood and tired feet.
Common Misconceptions
- They were members of the Black Panthers. Nope. They were influenced by the movement, but the protest was under the banner of the OPHR.
- The crowd cheered. Actually, they were booed. Loudly. The stadium turned into a wall of sound that felt like a physical weight on the athletes' shoulders.
- It ended their athletic lives. Sort of. They both tried pro football. Smith played for the Bengals for a bit; Carlos played in the CFL. But their "prime" as global track stars was effectively murdered that day in Mexico.
The Long Tail of the Raised Fist
It took decades for the narrative to flip. Now, there’s a statue of them at San Jose State University. They are icons. But the lesson here isn't just "protest is good." The lesson is that the cost of shifting the needle on human rights is usually personal destruction for the ones doing the shifting.
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When you see Colin Kaepernick or modern NBA players taking a knee, the blueprint was drawn in 1968. The reactions are almost identical: accusations of "disrespecting the flag," calls to "shut up and play," and the eventual, slow-motion realization by the public that the athletes were right all along.
History is a circle.
Actionable Takeaways for History Buffs and Activists
If you want to truly understand the impact of the Mexico City Olympics Black Power movement, don't just look at the photo. Do these things to get the full picture:
- Read "The John Carlos Story." It’s raw. It talks about the financial ruin and the personal toll in a way that sports documentaries usually skip.
- Research the Tlatelolco Massacre. To understand the vibe of Mexico City in 1968, you have to realize the government was literally cleaning blood off the streets when the athletes arrived.
- Watch "Salute" (2008). It’s a documentary directed by Peter Norman’s nephew. It gives the Australian perspective on the protest and shows the cost of being an ally.
- Analyze the 1968 "Olympic Project for Human Rights" Manifesto. Look at the list of demands. You'll realize that most of the issues they were fighting for—representation, fair treatment, and the removal of biased officials—are still being debated in sports today.
- Look for the symbols. Next time you see the photo, find the badge on Peter Norman's chest. Find the unzipped jacket on Smith (representing blue-collar workers). Find the missing shoes. Every single inch of that podium appearance was a word in a sentence they were screaming at the world.
The 1968 protest wasn't a PR stunt. It was a career suicide note written in the name of dignity. Understanding that distinction is the difference between being a fan of history and actually learning from it.