It’s one of the most recognizable images in the history of the world. Two men, Tommie Smith and John Carlos, standing on a podium in Mexico City, heads bowed, black-gloved fists thrust into the air. It’s a moment of defiance that defined a generation. But if you walk onto the campus of San Jose State University today, you’ll find the 1968 Olympics black power salute statue, a massive bronze tribute to that exact moment.
Look closer. There is an empty space.
People often think the sculptor just forgot the third guy. Or maybe he wasn't important? Honestly, the truth is way more interesting and a little bit heartbreaking. The third man on that podium was Peter Norman, an Australian sprinter who took the silver medal. He’s not in the statue because he specifically asked not to be. He wanted visitors to stand in his place, to feel what it’s like to support a cause bigger than themselves. He didn’t want to just be a witness to history; he wanted you to participate in it.
The Night Mexico City Shook
October 16, 1968. The air in the Olympic Stadium was thin and electric. Tommie Smith had just shattered the world record for the 200m, clocking in at 19.83 seconds. John Carlos took the bronze. Peter Norman, a relatively unknown Aussie, had surged past Carlos at the finish line to grab silver.
But the race wasn't the story.
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Smith and Carlos were members of the Olympic Project for Human Rights (OPHR). They were tired. Tired of the systemic racism in the U.S., tired of the treatment of Black athletes, and tired of the world pretending sports existed in a vacuum. They decided to protest.
They had a plan, but it was kind of a mess in the beginning. They only had one pair of black gloves. That’s why Smith wears the right one and Carlos wears the left. They wore no shoes to represent Black poverty. Smith wore a black scarf for pride; Carlos unzipped his jacket to honor working-class folks and wore beads to commemorate victims of lynchings.
Then there was Norman. A white guy from a conservative country. He saw what they were doing and didn't flinch. He asked them for an OPHR badge so he could show his support. He wore it right over his heart. When the "Star-Spangled Banner" began to play, the fists went up. The stadium went silent. Then the boos started.
Turning Bronze into a Movement
Fast forward to 2005. San Jose State University—where Smith and Carlos were students—decided it was finally time to immortalize the moment. They commissioned the artist Rigo 23 to create the 1968 Olympics black power salute statue.
It's huge.
The figures of Smith and Carlos are 22 feet tall. They aren't made of traditional smooth bronze; the texture is rough, almost like fabric, created by thousands of hand-painted ceramic tiles. It feels alive. When you stand at the base of the monument, you feel small. That’s the point. The scale reflects the weight of the sacrifice these men made.
Because make no mistake: they were destroyed for this.
The International Olympic Committee (IOC) president at the time, Avery Brundage, went ballistic. He deemed it a "domestic political statement" unfit for the Games. Never mind that Brundage hadn't objected to Nazi salutes during the 1936 Berlin Olympics. Smith and Carlos were suspended from the U.S. team and kicked out of the Olympic Village within 48 hours. When they got home, they faced death threats. Their families suffered. They struggled to find work for years.
The Mystery of the Empty Silver Pedestal
So, why isn't Peter Norman there?
If you visit the statue at San Jose State, the second-place spot is just a flat platform. You can walk right up the steps and stand where Norman stood.
Actually, the decision was Norman’s. When the project was being planned, he was consulted. He told the organizers that he didn’t want his likeness there because he wanted the focus to remain on the Black struggle. He also loved the idea that a student, a tourist, or a passerby could stand on that podium and "take a stand" alongside the two legends.
It’s a powerful piece of interactive art. It transforms the viewer from an observer into a participant.
But there’s a darker side to why Norman isn't more famous. While Smith and Carlos eventually became icons in America, Norman was treated like a pariah in Australia. He was snubbed for the 1972 Olympics despite qualifying repeatedly. He was virtually erased from Australian sporting history for decades. When he died in 2006, Tommie Smith and John Carlos flew to Australia to be pallbearers at his funeral. They never forgot him, even if the world did for a while.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Protest
There’s a common misconception that this was a "Black Panther" salute. It wasn't. It was a human rights salute.
The Olympic Project for Human Rights wasn't just about Black Americans. They were originally calling for a total boycott of the Games unless South Africa and Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) were uninvited due to their apartheid regimes. They wanted Muhammad Ali’s heavyweight title restored. They wanted more Black coaches.
The statue captures the gesture, but it can’t fully capture the complexity.
Take John Carlos’s glove, for instance. He forgot his pair at the village. It was Peter Norman who suggested that the two Americans share the one pair Smith had brought. That’s why Carlos’s hand is the left one—he was making do with what he had. It was a moment of improvised solidarity.
The Technical Artistry of Rigo 23
Rigo 23 didn't just want to make a "statue." He wanted to make a statement about time.
The faces of Smith and Carlos on the monument are incredibly detailed. You can see the tension in their necks. The way the bronze is treated makes the "clothes" look like they are rippling in the Mexico City wind.
Interestingly, the 1968 Olympics black power salute statue isn't the only tribute to this moment. There's a stunning mural in Newtown, Sydney, and several other smaller installations around the world. But the SJSU monument remains the "home base" for the legacy. It sits in the middle of a bustling campus, surrounded by students who weren't even born when the 1968 games happened.
Why This Statue Matters in 2026
We live in an era where "athlete activism" is a daily headline. Whether it's taking a knee or wearing a specific jersey, the bridge between sports and politics is shorter than ever.
The San Jose statue serves as the blueprint.
It reminds us that there is a cost to conviction. Smith and Carlos didn't do this for a Nike deal or a social media following. They did it when it was dangerous. They did it when it meant losing everything.
How to Experience the Monument Properly
If you're planning a trip to see the 1968 Olympics black power salute statue, don't just snap a selfie and leave.
- Walk the Perimeter: The statue is located near Tower Hall. Walk all the way around it. The perspective changes drastically depending on whether you are looking up from the front or side.
- Stand on the Second-Place Spot: This is the most important part. Don't be shy. Walk up the steps. Stand where Peter Norman stood. Look out at the "crowd" and imagine the sound of 50,000 people booing you. It changes how you feel about the word "courage."
- Read the Plaque: There is context provided near the base that explains the OPHR and the specific symbolism of the scarf, the beads, and the socks.
- Visit the Smith-Carlos Sculpture at the Smithsonian: If you can't make it to California, the National Museum of African American History and Culture in D.C. has a powerful exhibit dedicated to this moment, though the SJSU one remains the only large-scale outdoor monument where you can physically stand on the podium.
The 1968 protest wasn't just a moment in time; it was a pivot point for the world. The statue ensures that the silence of that podium remains loud enough for everyone to hear.
Practical Steps for History Buffs and Activists
To truly understand the weight of this monument, you should dig into the primary sources. Watch the original grainy footage of the 1968 ceremony. Listen to the way the commentators reacted—they were confused, even angry.
Read The John Carlos Story or Tommie Smith’s autobiography, Silent Gesture. These books dismantle the idea that this was a spontaneous "stunt." It was a calculated risk by men who knew they were ending their careers to start a conversation.
Finally, look into the Peter Norman Commemoration Day. Australia finally apologized to Norman’s family in 2012, admitting they did him a massive injustice. Understanding his role—the man who isn't in the statue—is the key to understanding the full scope of what happened in Mexico City.
The statue doesn't just honor two men; it honors the idea that even when you are standing still, you can be moving the world forward.