The image is etched into our collective memory. Two men, Tommie Smith and John Carlos, standing on a podium in Mexico City, heads bowed, fists raised in black gloves. It’s one of the most iconic photographs of the 20th century. But honestly? Most of the context has been stripped away over the last few decades. We see it as a neat, tidy moment of "civil rights history," yet at the time, it was a massive, polarizing scandal that almost broke the Olympic movement.
It wasn't just a spontaneous gesture. It was a calculated, risky move by two elite athletes who knew they were effectively ending their careers the second they stepped onto those blocks. People often forget that there was a third man on that podium, Peter Norman from Australia, who was just as much a part of the story.
The Olympic Project for Human Rights
Before the black power salute at the 1968 olympics ever happened, there was a movement brewing behind the scenes. It was called the Olympic Project for Human Rights (OPHR). Harry Edwards, a sociologist, was the driving force. He basically wanted Black athletes to boycott the Games entirely. Imagine that. The fastest men in the world just staying home to protest racial injustice in the U.S. and the presence of apartheid regimes like South Africa and Rhodesia in the sporting world.
Smith and Carlos weren't just "protesters." They were world-class sprinters. Smith had just set a world record in the 200-meter final, clocking in at 19.83 seconds. That’s blistering. Even with a strained groin, he flew. When the time came for the medal ceremony, the boycott hadn't materialized, so they decided to use their visibility for something bigger.
The details of what they wore are actually more important than the fist itself. They went out in black socks—no shoes—to represent Black poverty. Smith wore a black scarf for Black pride. Carlos had his tracksuit top unzipped to show solidarity with blue-collar workers and wore a string of beads. Those beads weren't jewelry. They were a tribute to those who had been lynched or killed in the middle passage, people who had been "thrown overboard," as Carlos later put it.
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Why the Gloves Were Different
You've probably noticed that Smith has his right hand up and Carlos has his left. There’s a funny, human reason for that. Carlos actually forgot his pair of black gloves at the Olympic Village. It was Peter Norman, the white Australian silver medalist, who suggested they share Smith’s pair.
That’s why they each have one hand up.
Norman wasn't a bystander. He wore an OPHR badge on his chest to show he was with them. He knew what he was doing. When he went back to Australia, he was treated like a pariah, much like Smith and Carlos were in America. He was passed over for the 1972 Olympics despite qualifying multiple times. It’s a heavy price for a badge.
The Immediate Fallout and the IOC's Reaction
Avery Brundage. That’s a name you should know if you want to understand why things got so ugly. He was the president of the International Olympic Committee (IOC) at the time. Brundage was... well, he was a hardliner. He famously didn't object to the Nazi salute during the 1936 Berlin Games, calling it a "national salute." But when two Black Americans raised their fists? He called it a "domestic political statement" that had no place in the Olympics.
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He gave the U.S. Olympic Committee an ultimatum: suspend Smith and Carlos or the whole track team gets sent home.
They folded.
The two athletes were expelled from the Olympic Village. They were hounded. Back home, they received death threats. Their families suffered. Smith later recounted how his first marriage collapsed under the pressure of the fallout. It wasn't a "brave moment" that led to immediate rewards. It was a professional and personal suicide mission for the sake of a message.
Myths vs. Reality
- Myth: They were members of the Black Panthers.
- Reality: They were college students and athletes associated with the OPHR. While they shared some goals of Black empowerment, they weren't part of the Panther party.
- Myth: The crowd cheered.
- Reality: The stadium went dead silent, followed by a chorus of boos and racial slurs as they walked off the field.
The Legacy Nobody Talks About
We talk about the black power salute at the 1968 olympics as a victory now, but for twenty years, these guys were essentially erased from the record books in a cultural sense. It wasn't until the 1980s and 90s that the narrative shifted from "troublemakers" to "heroes."
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The nuance is in the sacrifice. Smith and Carlos didn't just "protest"; they gave up their peak earning years. In the late 60s, there was no Nike deal waiting for a controversial athlete. There were no social media followers to monetize. There was just a long, cold walk into the unknown.
Practical Insights: Understanding Social Protest in Sports
If you're looking at modern movements—like Colin Kaepernick taking a knee—you have to look at 1968 as the blueprint. It teaches us a few things about how the public reacts to the intersection of sports and politics.
- The "Lull" Period: Expect a 20-to-40-year lag before a controversial protest is widely accepted as "righteous."
- Institutional Resistance: Governing bodies (like the IOC or NFL) will almost always prioritize "the brand" over the individual's right to speak.
- The Power of Symbolism: The reason we remember Smith and Carlos isn't because of a speech they gave. It’s because of the visual. A single, silent image can bypass language barriers and persist for generations.
To truly honor the history of the black power salute at the 1968 olympics, start by looking beyond the photo. Read Harry Edwards’ work on the sociology of sport. Look up the 2008 documentary Salute, which was actually produced by Peter Norman’s nephew. It gives the Australian perspective that is so often ignored in American textbooks. Understanding this moment requires acknowledging the sheer loneliness those men felt on that podium while the world hissed at them.
Next time you see a highlight reel of the 1968 Games, look at their feet. Remember the socks. Remember the beads. That’s where the real story lives.