A Timeless Gesture: How Tommie Smith's and John Carlos' fists made a statement

It shows the medal ceremony for the 200 meter finals in the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City. Smith and Carlos, wearing black socks and no shoes, have their heads bowed.

Smith, who had set a world record that would stand for 11 years and won a gold medal, wears a black scarf around his neck to represent Black pride and raises his right arm with a clenched fist in a black glove.

Carlos, the bronze medalist, wears a beaded necklace he said was “for individuals that were lynched or killed and that no one said a prayer for, that were hung and tarred.” His track suit is unzipped to show solidarity with blue-collar workers in the United States. His left arm is raised and his fist is clenched tightly with the other black glove given to him by Smith.

The two had raised their fists as soon as “The Star-Spangled Banner” began.

“It was one of most iconic visions of athletic activism [ever taken]. You have two Black athletes at the height of their profession representing their country but yet still felt on the biggest stage that they [had to] represent the things that they saw. They were talking about poverty, segregation when it comes to housing … they caught a lot of heat for it,” said Jenkins, a safety for the Philadelphia Eagles and a civil rights activist.

“Fast forward to 2018, I raised my fist [during the playing of the national anthem] because people know what that means. We’ve seen it before. I’ve had an opportunity to talk to Tommie Smith and John Carlos. They are a huge influence on athletes of today.”

While it has been generally regarded as a Black Power salute, in his autobiography, Smith refers to it as a human rights salute.

All three athletes wore Olympic Project for Human Rights badges. Norman was a critic of the former white Australian policy that barred people of non-European descent from immigrating to the country.

“1968 was an especially tumultuous time in America,” recalled Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall-of-Famer Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, who then was known as Lew Alcindor. “There were widespread rallies across the country, protesting the Vietnam War, supporting the Women’s Movement, and advocating for civil rights. It was also the year Dr. King was assassinated. The feeling among many, especially the youth, was that the country had fundamentally strayed from the promises of the Constitution in order to support wealthy special interests who made money and maintained power by marginalizing others.”

A few months before the Olympic games, sociologist Harry Edwards met with a group of Black athletes to discuss racial segregation in the U.S. and racism in sports in general, and how they could use their platform to address the problems.

They wanted all Black athletes to boycott the 1968 Summer Olympic Games unless four conditions were met:

South Africa and Rhodesia — both under white minority rule — were uninvited to the Olympics.

Muhammad Ali’s world heavy weight boxing title was restored.

Avery Brundage, who they believed was a racist, would step down as president of the International Olympic Committee.

More African-American assistant coaches would be hired to the U.S. Olympic team.

“We never thought there would be a uniformed Black boycott because we knew where the Black schools were coming from,” Edwards said. “We knew if we didn’t talk boycott, [the Olympic committee] would’ve done anything to stop [any] demonstration.”

Abdul-Jabbar, then considered one of the most talented young basketball players in the U.S., chose not to try out for the Olympic team.

“A lot was going through my mind,” he said. “Within five years, four of my heroes — Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and Bobby Kennedy — had all been assassinated. It was hard to understand the country’s aggressive reluctance to extend the same rights and opportunities to all its people … Playing basketball on the Olympic team seemed like an endorsement of those policies of war and social injustice.”

Smith and Carlos, who been been training the games, chose to participate and make their public protest.

As they left the medal stand, the athletes were booed. The intense reception was just the beginning. In response to their actions, Brundage ordered that Smith and Carlos be suspended from the U.S. team and banned from the Olympic Village. The U.S. Olympic Committee initially refused, but Brundage threatened to ban the entire U.S. track team and the committee gave in.

“I was not surprised [at the protest], especially by Tommie,” Edwards said. “I was surprised at the immediate reaction by the Olympic Committee. I thought they would at least allow them to get home.”

The price Smith and Carlos paid for their protest was steep. There were death threats and periods of unemployment. Depression became an unwanted and constant companion. But no matter how tough things became, Smith and Carlos never regretted their decision.

Norman became a pariah in Australia. He was not selected to represent his country in the 1972 Olympic Games in Munich, Germany, and wasn’t recognized when the 2000 Summer Olympics were held in Sydney, Australia.

If he could do it again, Edwards said, there is one thing he would change: “I would have included women. I would’ve brought women more deeply into it.”

At home, Abdul-Jabbar felt pride in Smith and Carlos.

“They had the courage to express their patriotism in such a bold and risky manner,” he said. “They knew there would be serious repercussions and that they were risking their livelihood as well as their lives. But that is the essence of love for one’s country, to be willing to take risks in order to defend what it stands for. That’s something their detractors never understood: they did it out of love, not hate. Love for what the country stood for, but frustration in those people who disgraced the country by going against its principles of equality for all.”

In time, many started to share Abdul-Jabbar’s feelings. Smith and Carlos became celebrities. They were honored by many organizations, including their alma mater. In 2005, San Jose State University dedicated a statue of them made by political artist Rigo 23. Missing from the statue is Norman’s silver medal position. At Norman’s request, it was left vacant so visitors could pose for photos in solidarity with Smith and Carlos.

“What happened that day was something special,” Jenkins said. “I wasn’t around when it happened but I have read and studied about it. It’s an event that means something to me. And to many others.”