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“The Kaepernick Effect:” How Taking a Knee Began a Movement

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“The Kaepernick Effect:” How Taking a Knee Began a Movement

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An interview with broadcaster Hari Sreenivasan and the author Dave Zirnin of "The Kaepernick Effect: How Taking a Knee Began a Movement."

Here they discussed how Kaepernick's activism of taking a knee in 2016 during the national anthem, as a way to silently protest the inequality and police brutality in America, ignited an entire movement of similar protests. The “Kaepernick Effect” explains how the taking of the knee during the anthem is being replicated around the nation from all ages, creating a new language for activism in the black community. The football team of Garfield High school was inspired by the new language of black activism. As a team they took the step of educating themselves on black suffrage and brutality and together took a knee and their high school games. (Zirnin, 2021). The language reached ages even younger, depicting just how strong the inspiration was to portray unity against discrimination in the country. Beaumont Texas Bulls was a youth team of 11-13 years old who felt strongly that they wanted to take a knee and proceeded to do so at games with both coach & parent support. (Zirnin, 2021). In both these instances, along with Kaepernick, there was never any regret or dejection for the actions they took, even when both teams received backlash and especially when the Beaumont Bulls youth football league was canceled. It goes without saying that The Kaepernick Effect was more than just silent activism. It was purpose and determination to portray a unified community that could speak against black suffrage in the United States.

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CHRISTIANE AMANPOUR: And now, we continue our look at the intersection of sport and politics with the kneel, as I've said, that ignite ad movement. Earlier, we talked about football star, Colin Kaepernick, who made waves back in 2016 for taking a knee during the national anthem. A silent protest against police brutality and racial inequality in America. Now. sports writer, Dave Zirin, examines the lasting impact of this moment in his new book called "The Kaepernick Effect." And here he is talking to Hari Sreenivasan about it.

(BEGIN VIDEO CLIP)

HARI SREENIVASAN: Christiane, thanks. Dave Zirin, thanks so much for joining us.

DAVE ZIRIN, AUTHOR, "THE KAEPERNICK EFFECT": Thanks. It's great to be here.

SREENIVASAN: So "The Kaepernick Effect," for perhaps our overseas audience, the book really talks about the effect of Colin Kaepernick had. But for people who might not have been paying attention over these years, what did Colin Kaepernick do in 2016 that started this all?

ZIRIN: What Colin Kaepernick did was he took the protest that was taking place throughout the United States against police violence and against racial inequity and he brought it to the National Football League. Particularly, he brought it to the National Anthem space, where he would take a knee during the National Anthem as a way to highlight the gap between the promises of the anthem and the promises of the United States and the lived reality of far too many black Americans. That's "The Kaepernick Effect." The replication of that protest in small towns and big cities around the United States.

SREENIVASAN: It was a controversial response when Colin Kaepernick did it. And what's fascinating about your book is you find these teams and these individuals, these athletes that weren't just kind of band wagoning when it was safe to do so. They were thinking about it and they were deciding to do this as well. Let's start with the story that you have of Garfield High School. I grew up in Seattle and know Garfield High School pretty well. Had to compete against them. But what happened there?

ZIRIN: Well, at Garfield High School something very interesting happened. And this goes with the broader theme of the book that what Colin Kaepernick provided for student likes the football and soccer players and softball players at Garfield was not so much an inspiration as in, let's do this for Colin Kaepernick or let's do this because Colin Kaepernick did it. What Colin Kaepernick provided was a language, was a lexicon, was a method of struggle by which athletes who were feeling in their hearts that there was something very wrong with this country. And he gave them a language by which to put those ideas and those concerns into practice. Namely by taking a knee during the national anthem. And it started with the football team at Garfield because they had a coach there named Joey Thomas who heard that a couple of the players were talking about it, and he turned it into a team issue. He said to them, wait a minute, you know, if you are going to take a knee during this anthem, if you are going to protest racial inequity, you need to know what you are talking about. And so, we're going to have a discussion about that. And then after the discussion, we're either going to do it as a team or we're not going to do it at all. And so, they spoke as a team about Trayvon Martin, the young man who was killed by George Zimmerman about 10 years ago. They spoke about a woman named Charleena Lyles who was killed by Seattle Police. And made the decision that they were going take this knee together. And they did so and it had an effect on the school where other students said, I want to do that too because I'm also upset about the balance of things in Seattle which has, you know, this reputation of a very liberal city. But they were seeing some of the contradictions with that liberalism in terms of how the small black population in the city was being treated. And when that took place, they expected to be embraced because it is Seattle. And on some level, they were embraced by a lot of people in the community for taking that step. But they also were subject to a terrible backlash. Coach Thomas found himself pushed out of his job. The tires on his car were slashed. Death threats were reported into the school. But when I spoke to the students who had taken part in it, they had absolutely no regrets whatsoever. If anything, what they felt was a tremendous amount of pride and a tremendous amount of vindication for standing up when so many people were not doing so.

SREENIVASAN: It is always harder when you are standing up and let's say, this is an impressionable age. You are 15, you are 16 years old and when you don't have the support of your peers, when you see this kind of criticism, that is a different kind of, well, guts and intestinal fortitude for teenagers to have.

ZIRIN: And I think teenagers get such a rep - a bad rep, I'm sorry, in this country where they are derided for being apathetic, but then, when they do something, they are derided for doing something. It's like the only thing worse than apathy for a teenager in eyes of many adults is actually doing something. And I think what these students learned was that they were going to get criticism but they were also going to start conversations, and that is what they so desperately wanted to do. And what I also learned by talking to people - it didn't matter if I was talking to people in Seattle, Washington or people in Beaumont, Texas or in Upstate New York or in Florida, one of the things that they all had in common is that they were all very young, nine, 10, 11 years old when Trayvon Martin was killed. And we spoke about earlier, and when that young man was killed, it had this scarring effect on them. It had a traumatic effect on them, where they just never forgot what it felt like to be in a country where not only could you be killed as a young black kid but also the person who killed you would not face justice when it was all said and done. For these young people, it reminded me a lot of stories I read about the Civil Rights Movement and how young civil rights activists were affected by the death of Emmett Till in the mid-1950s and the pictures of his mistaken distorted body in "Jet" magazine. It was so similar, it echoed, this idea that they saw this when they were young and it just scarred them, it made them feel like they had to do something throughout their loves. And what Colin Kaepernick provided was a way, was a method by which they could express their dissatisfaction.

SREENIVASAN: You know, tell me a little bit about what was the story in Beaumont, Texas?

ZIRIN: I mean, Beaumont, Texas involved an entire youth football team that decided that they were going to kneel because - and these are like kids. And like, young kids, like 11, 12, 13 years old. And they felt like - the Beaumont Bulls felt like they wanted to kneel, I mean, partially because of the what Colin Kaepernick did felt like it was emboldening partly because their coach was willing to support them for doing it, partly because there were some parents who very supportive in them doing it. What they didn't expect was the backlash. And the backlash was so intense that not only the team but the league was canceled because of what they did. They completely kicked - I mean, it was just like OK. Rather than having anyone kneel, there will actually be no football. And this was in Texas for goodness sakes.

SREENIVASAN: Right. Where Friday night life is a religion.

ZIRIN: Yes. I mean, this would be like banning soccer in Brazil or banning pizza in New York. And this is what they did. And - but when I spoke to one of the young people and when I spoke to mother of one of the young people, I mean, again, that sense of pride. And actually, in the Beaumont Bulls' case, there were several NFL players who then donated money and equipment so they could start a new team. And so, that's a story that is really interesting because it is about solidarity and it's about the connection between the pros and what happens at the most basic level of youth sports.

SREENIVASAN: You also dived into several - the phrase is usually student athletes, but people who are performing at a very high level in college. And you picked, one of the athletes was interesting to me, was a cheerleader who decided to take steps and how she was perceived and the challenges that she faced.

ZIRIN: Yes. Sydney Stallworth at Howard University. I thought that story was really interesting because there is a lot of discussion these days about historically black colleges and universities and what they can, in fact, provide. And what Sydney Stallworth found, both at Howard and both in the broader D.C. community was a tremendous amount of support. And I thought it was interesting that they took these actions when the football team didn't take these actions. Because a lot of college athletes would not take this step not because they didn't agree with the movement, but because they really did feel like if they stepped out of line, they could get in trouble with their coach, they might get kicked off the team, college athletes in this country, their scholarships are renewed on an annual basis. So, there is a huge fear factor. And the cheerleaders didn't show that fear factor. Sydney was one of only - - with many cheerleaders that I spoke to who took part in this. And I just found that really interesting because cheerleading is often, first of all, derided as not being a real sport. And second of all, seen as ancillary to what's happening on the field. And these cheerleaders felt the send that they needed to take leadership precisely because the football team would not.

SREENIVASAN: The idea the student athlete should be compensated, that has been debated for quite some time but it seemed like it picked up more traction post Kaepernick, post George Floyd, and it's almost like if you start to write the history of that, these other events kind of had to happen for them to get a seat at the table.

ZIRIN: Absolutely. Similarly, the Washington football team, and I live in the D.C. area, they decided to change their name from what was perceived as a racial slur against native Americans post Kaepernick as well. And I've talked to a lot of indigenous activists and they all say the same thing, they said, it was the intervention of the Black Lives Matter movement that made having that name untenable for the Washington football team. And it's similarly with athletes getting paid. And it reminded me of something that 1968 Olympian John Carlos said to me. Where he said to me, you know the reason why athletic salaries went up in the 1970s with the growth of free agency? It was because I raised that fist at the Olympics and Tommy Smith raised that fist at the '68 Olympics, because it made them realize that there would be a larger revolt on their hands if they didn't loosen the purse strings. I think there's been a similar dynamic over the last five years where it just gave a lot of people in power that they felt like they were looking at a canary in the coal mine, so to speak, and realized there needed to be some kind of reform or else the whole system could implode.

SREENIVASAN: I don't think people, at least of younger generations will recognize that activism and athletics went together decades ago. But if you grew up, say, in the '80s or the '90s, you didn't really see athletes stepping out and expressing their opinion. You saw them make a lot of money. And that was the sort of end all. Wow, I want to be like Michael Jordan because look at him, he's not only a great athlete, but he's so wealthy because look at all the endorsement deals. And so - you know. But you didn't say, wow, I want to be Michael Jordan because listen to his position on apartheid.

ZIRIN: Right. That was never said about Michael Jordan. But I think we've seen such a sea change over the last 10 years. And the reasons for it to me are threefold why you have seen this huge political change in sports. The first is just the existence of the Black Lives Matter movement. Like the 1960s, having a movement off the field is critical to see political confidence ricochet on the field. The second reason is social media. Athletes being able to speak directly to their audience and feel like they can have a political influence on what happens around them. Social media has been empowering for these athletes. And the last reason, honestly is Lebron James. Because he - the basketball superstar has decided that he is going to be a political person. It started for him after the killing of Trayvon Martin. Like for these young athletes I talk about, when he posed for a photo with his Miami Heat teammates with his hood over his head, that became like the first viral sports politics photo of the Twitter age. And what Lebron James has done is basically bent the NBA and it's had a ripple effect throughout the WNBA, throughout the NFL, of course. And he bent it to say, we have the right to be political. We don't sign away our beliefs just because we can putt a ball in a hoop.

SREENIVASAN: One thing I wonder is, right now, we're also in a conversation about what does an employer have a right to ask of an employee, for example, in the case of vaccinations? So, if there is some sort of mandate that comes down from a boss that says, in this case, you are not allowed to take a knee, what happens? I mean, aren't technically employees responsible for the wins of their bosses and their organizations they work for?

ZIRIN: Well, there are a couple of very good arguments that NFL players have made and could make if they are faced with that situation. The first argument is that the place they are taking a knee is effectively public square more than a private entity. Given the amount of public funds that go into building stadiums and given the amount of public interaction. I mean, most of us don't work in front of 70,000 people. You know, that is public kind of presentation more than it is a private business. The second thing is that the National Anthem really has nothing to do with what they do on the field of play. I mean, if a player decided to take a knee on the 50-yard line in middle of a third down and six situation, then by all means fire them. But if a player does it during the anthem,something that, by the way, the NFL players didn't even have to come out for until 2007, I believe it was, as part of a connection that was made between the Pentagon and the National Football League, a financial partnership called Tribute to the Troops. If that wasn't the, sort of, surrounding politics of the event itself, then one might have a case to say that players are risking their jobs. But what they are doing is a public act of speech I would argue.

SREENIVASAN: The majority of the league are people of color. And yet, the ownership is almost all white, correct me if I'm wrong. But it was such a tougher climb to try to change the NFL, especially when you had the president at the time calling players who were kneeling names.

ZIRIN: Yes. I mean this was a very difficult dynamic for players in the National Football League. First and foremost, the average NFL career is only three years and the contracts are not guaranteed. So, if you lose your place on a roster, I mean, you are probably not going to find your way back on to one. So, there is a tremendous amount of risk involved, particularly given the sums of money at play. And NFL owners, and I chart this on the basis of political donations, tend to be extremely right wing in their politics. Yet, they can't just come down on players and say, we're going to kick you all out of the league for doing this, because then they wouldn't have players in and of themselves. So, I would argue that the NFL ownership structure has undergone a very carrot and stick approach to these protests. You know, the carrot has been they put slogans on the field like end racism. Players can put Black Lives Matter decals on their helmets. That is something new. They've started social justice coalitions of players in the league. All of that is the carrot. But the stick is that Colin Kaepernick, never able to find his way back onto a team. His two cohorts, both of whom I interview in the book, Eric Reid and Kenny Stills, are free agents right now. They don't have a place on NFL roster. And these players are used as ghost stories by management as a way to say to young players, don't step out of line or you could end up on the outside looking in. So, it's been a very carrot and stick approach by the National Football League.

SREENIVASAN: Has there been any measurable impacts on the revenue and viewership of sports? Because one of the critiques from the right and from Former President Trump has been, oh, look. Look at the ratings, they are so horrible now because of all these athletes taking a knee.

ZIRIN: I'm so glad you asked that question because that's been one of the biggest canards over the last five years that fans would be driven away by athletes protesting. It is true that sports ratings dropped dramatically during the first year of the pandemic. And a lot of folks rushed to that conclusion, oh, it must be the politics that is pushing people away. And yet, Marist College did a very helpful and very in-depth poll. And what they found was people weren't watching sports because of the pandemic. I mean, sports are about fun and play. Like Sports Writer Jane McManus said, sports are the reward for having a functioning society. And without society functioning, there was just far less of a thirst to actually know, particularly an election year, to actually know who was, you know, winning the A.L. East. It just - it was far lower than people's priority lists. So, it was less politics and more this once in a century pandemic.

SREENIVASAN: Is it safe now to protest? Is it safe now to take a knee?

ZIRIN: It depends on the situation. I mean, I would say no. And the fact that it is not safe is precisely what gives it its power. I mean, ironically, in some places, particularly in English soccer, you see a lot of players taking a knee and it is kind of a team activity. And that, I would argue, is less effective precisely because it is safe. So, it's when you are willing to rebel, it's when you are willing to make people uncomfortable that it actually has use value for a movement.

SREENIVASAN: The book is called "The Kaepernick Effect." Dave Zirin, thanks so much for joining us.

ZIRIN: Well, thank you so much.

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"The Kaepernick Effect:" How Taking a Knee Began a Movement

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CHRISTIANE AMANPOUR: And now, we continue our look at the intersection of sport and politics with the kneel, as I've said, that ignite ad movement. [...]

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Jemele Hill: An Uphill Journey through Sports, Journalism, Politics, and Pain

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Jemele Hill: An Uphill Journey through Sports, Journalism, Politics, and Pain

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In this discussion, Jemele Hill, an award-winning journalist for the Atlantic and co-founder of Lodge Freeway Media, opens up about her journey in the world of sports media and journalism. Jemele jumps into the start of her career, talking about her first job at ESPN as a Sports columnist and dabbling in television appearances, leading her to compare journalism then and now. She talks about the true meaning of being a journalist and how the field has drastically changed for the worse. Furthermore, she says that we are in a period of misinformation as the media is not doing its job and broadcasting propaganda. Additionally, she touches on the fact that many media outlets are trying to appeal to a certain type of viewer using extremism while losing credibility and its core audience. Later on in the podcast, Jemele discusses the importance of belonging in such a male-dominating career that also had few African Americans. This led to the discussion of the lack of minority representation in Pro Sports in which Jemele conveys that many think the idea of leadership and a thinking man’s position do not correlate with African Americans. Another controversial subject touched on was the difference in cancel culture, in which Jemele talks about the importance of accountability culture. To end the discussion, Jemele furthermore discusses the importance of using one’s platform to advocate for change. (UT Martin Webcasting) Overall, Jemele touches on a lot of topics about social problems tied in with the changes in journalism. Through this video, she helps her audience realize why journalism is not the same as it was back then, tying it to controversial topics and how they are being reported online.

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Jemele Hill: An Uphill Journey through Sports ,Journalism, Politics, and Pain

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John Carlos and Tommie Smith raising their fist to represent defiance and unity. 

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#3 Visualization: Fists of Furry: John Carlos and Tommie Smith

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#3 Visualization: Fists of Furry: John Carlos and Tommie Smith

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In this photo, John Carlos and Tommie Smith's shoes are off to represent the poverty they and many others like them have faced. Their heads are down and not at the audience nor the flag, showing their disappointment and defiance to those who do not see the racial segregation. Lastly, their untied hands with black gloves, showing the unity and representation within their community.

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P-score Distribution of Media Users from Global Sports Activism Article

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In the article Global Sport Protest Activism is Exclusive to the Global Elite: A Case Study of #boycottqatar2022, the authors calculated the P-score for the users who mentioned the #boycottqatar2022 account. They then conducted an

independent t-test to compare the P-score differences between the users who used the hashtag and a randomly selected user of the same platform and when comparing the 111,172 users who used the hashtag to the random users, they proved to be significantly more liberal and that was demonstrated by the t-test results (Samuel-Azran, Hayat, Galily 87). For some context, a P-score is essentially the probability that a given event will occur or can also be considered a representation of how significant something is in a statistical test. A t-test is a statistical test used to determine whether or not there is a statistically significant difference between the means of two different populations. In this case, the t-test showed that there is a significant difference between the means of the populations (users who used the hashtag vs. random social media users), which directly correlated to a difference in how liberal these groups are; this is important because it also shows that political status is a major player in sports activism. (Priyanka)

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#5: Suggestion Questions for Topic of Activism 

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#5: Suggestion Questions for Topic of Activism 

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1. Activism -> Athletes Career -> How does an athletes participation in protest affect their safety both within the positions they are playing and within their everyday lives?

The article about Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf's protest discussed the amount of backlash Mahmood Abdul-Rauf faced after protesting silently as the national anthem was being played during a basketball game.  Within this article, Mahmoud’s torment is depicted as aspects in his everyday life were threatened and destroyed, such as a white supremacy group burning down his house in response to his protest.  Based on the premises of many of the other experiences of athletes and activism, one could correlate athletes' use of free speech and expressing their beliefs with the destruction of their life based on the reaction from those who disagree with the athletes actions.  Something one could ponder on is how gravely the backlash differs from athletes vs non athletes once a protest has taken place.  Do non athletes risk the same level of backlash as athletes do when engaging in forms of activism and protest? How could athletes' free speech become better protected ?

2. Activism → Social Activism → How can social activism assist with battling social challenges?

Chapter 7 of "Public Interest Communication" focused on Advocacy and Activism in the arena of social challenges. They discussed specificities like the categories of activism, what activism achieves, and what happens when, through activism, their goals aren't reached. This specific book includes matching quizzes, short clips, and statistics to provide a substantial well rounded research on activism and advocacy. https://uq.pressbooks.pub/publicinterestcomm/chapter/advocacy-and-activism/

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Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf might have gone down as a footnote in NBA history had Colin Kaepernick and other modern athlete-activists not resurrected his relevance. Two decades before Kaepernick, Abdul-Rauf's refusal to stand for the national anthem - he called the flag "a symbol of oppression, of tyranny" before the NBA suspended him in 1996 - resulted in eventual banishment from the league.

But he lost so much more. The dream home he built in his home state of Mississippi was burned down by the Ku Klux Klan. He wouldn't eat out at restaurants for fear of his food being poisoned. He got divorced from his wife. His bank account, once bolstered by $19.2 million in career earnings, was whittled down to zero. His reputation was in tatters, with no clear path toward recovery, financially or otherwise.

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Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf's protest cost him an NBA career, but 'I'd do it again'

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Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf might have gone down as a footnote in NBA history had Colin Kaepernick and other modern athlete-activists not resurrected his relevance. Two decades before Kaepernick, Abdul-Rauf's refusal to

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Global Sport Protest Activism is Exclusive to the Global Elite: A Case Study of #boycottqatar2022

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Global Sport Protest Activism is Exclusive to the Global Elite: A Case Study of #boycottqatar2022

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In the article Global Sport Protest Activism Is Exclusive to the Global Elite: A Case Study of #boycottqatar2022, the social media profiles of people using the #boycottqatar2022 on a variety of different platforms is studied in an attempt to explore social media sports activism from a globalization theories perspective. Essentially, the authors aim to gain a better understanding of the demographics of the individuals who are protesting this issue on social media platforms that include Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. Furthermore, they want to determine if this movement is truly global and what the movement says about the Global North-South Divide. For some context, the Global North-South Divide refers to the stark contrast between developed nations like America, Canada, Western Europe, Australia, etc. and developing nations in regions such as Africa, Asia, Oceania, South America, etc. Samuel-Azran, Hayat, and Galily write "Eighty-two percentage of the users who used the #boycottqatar hashtag (n=91,161) were from either the United States or Western Europe. Furthermore, the interactions among these users took place mainly on Twitter (88% of the interactions) and the remaining 12% took place on either Instagram of Facebook" (Samuel-Azran, Hayat, Galily 87). To elaborate, the research data clearly shows that the majority of the users who used the hashtag were solely from the "Global North," which is quite indicative of the fact that activism as a whole, but more specifically sports activism and sporting culture politics are more accessible to wealthier individuals from more socioeconomically developed nations, and they can afford more time to partake in these matters and stomach any potential repercussions that they might face for their participation. Furthermore, the authors also reference the work of several others and say "From a global perspective, taken together, the findings strengthen the notion that global action is mostly taking place as “global elite” conversation (Schlesinger, 1999; Thussu, 2018). Hence, Sparks (2002) notes that under globalization a new form of a global elite which is disproportionately upmarket is indeed interested in global action but it is an exclusive audience centered in the West. Similarly, Schlesinger (1999) notes that transnational action reaches a very small audience, which can be described as a 'global elite conversation.' The findings also further strengthen the argument regarding that Global South–North divide (Odeh, 2010; Steffen et al., 2015), showing that the argument is germane in the context of sport and protest as well" (Samuel-Azran, Hayat, Galily 89). To elucidate, this demonstrates how the Global South-North divide is very much present in sports activism and sports politics and how despite a lot of these conversations being about developing nations, the actual conversations and actions tend to take place in developed, wealthier nation which the authors term as being a "global elite" conversation. (Priyanka)

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#1: Activism - Sources from Reading List

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#1: Activism - Sources from Reading List

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Beige and White Be Yourself Square Pillow

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1. Chiang, Casey. “‘The Kaepernick Effect:’ How Taking a Knee Began a Movement.” PBS, Public Broadcasting Service, 8 Nov. 2021, www.pbs.org/wnet/amanpour-and-company/video/the-kaepernick-effect-how-taking-a-knee-began-a-movement/.

2. Layden, Tim. “John Carlos, Tommie Smith: 1968 Olympics Black Power Salute - Sports ...” SI, 3 Oct. 2018, www.si.com/olympics/2018/10/03/john-carlos-tommie-smith-1968-olympics-black-power-salute.

3. Performance by Jemele Hill, Jemele Hill: An Uphill Journey through Sports ,Journalism, Politics, and Pain, UT Martin, 21 Feb. 2023.

4. Johnston, Jane and Gulliver, Robyn. "Public Interest Communication." The University of Queensland, 2022. https://uq.pressbooks.pub/publicinterestcomm/front-matter/introduction/

5. Samuel-Azran, Tal, et al. “Global Sport Protest Activism is exclusive to the global elite: A case study of #boycottqatar2022.” American Behavioral Scientist, vol. 67, no. 10, 29 Aug. 2022, pp. 1179–1193, https://doi.org/10.1177/00027642221118299.

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In 1968, Jean Carlos and Tommie Smith protested by standing on the olympic podiums in which they won the spots for and raising a fist while wearing specific items that each represented something different for their protest of racial injustice.  Jean Carlos and Tommie Smith faced much backlash that ultimately led to the diminishment of their careers potential yet the questioning of how much activism and free speech should be able to impact an athlete's career.  After the protest, Smith's mothers home was vandalized and Carloss faced poverty for years.  Carlos and Smith spoke about the situation differently yet agreed that the protest was necessary.  Neither of the protestors had any regrets (Layden 2018).  In the athletes' protest of racial inequity, they were both nervous of the protest but ultimately knew what the protest would do and the power in which their protest holds.  They helped wake people up to who they represented as athletes who are black men and to the injustices that needed more awareness.  Although the athletes are not the best of friends and rarely interact, they came together for a great cause and used their platform for good.  Jean Carlos and Tommie Smith are united through struggle and protest (Layden 2018).

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This story appears in the Oct. 8, 2018, issue of Sports Illustrated. For more great storytelling and in-depth analysis, subscribe to the magazine-and get up to 94% off the cover price. Click here for more.
Start with the image, a still life of protest. It captures a vital moment in history, yet its meaning evolves, as time measures what has-and has not-been learned.

It tells the story of a battle fought, in a war neither won nor lost, but ongoing. Of a place and a time, not so different from here and now. Of sports and division, it was fifty years ago this month. "Fifty years! Can you believe that?" says Tommie Smith, a man of 24 in the image, a much older man of 74 today. Fifty years.

In the scene, Smith stands on the top of the Olympic podium, the number 1 painted beneath his feet, which are purposefully sheathed only in black socks, with a single black Puma sneaker also perched on the platform. He is a black man wearing a black scarf beneath his red, white and blue USA sweats, and a black glove on his right hand, which is thrust skyward, his arm so straight, it looks as if he is trying to reach into the grey overcast and bring rain. This was on the evening of Oct. 16, 1968, in Mexico City. A Wednesday.

Neil Leifer

Many Americans saw this scene on square black-and-white televisions while eating dinner. Smith had won the gold medal in the 200 meters. It hangs from his neck as "The Star-Spangled Banner" plays. His head is bowed, his face intense. Behind him, facing the medalists' flags, is bronze medalist John Carlos of the U.S., then 23. The two men were training partners of a kind in California, but not close friends. Carlos is also shoeless in black socks, a sneaker on the platform. Beads hang from his neck, behind his medal. He has a black glove on his left hand, which is raised. His arm is slightly bent, his pose more casual than Smith's, but no less forceful and eloquent.

There is a third man in the image, silver medalist Peter Norman, a 26-year-old Australian. He is wearing the green uniform of his country and, like Smith and Carlos, a white button pinned to his chest. Norman is looking up at the flags, smiling. Fifty years.

That is the singular moment, one of the most iconic-and important and controversial-in sports history. This is a story about that moment, but just as much about the moments that followed, laid end-to-end, repeated, until they span months and years and decades, and encompass lives and legacies. Smith and Carlos were young black men protesting racial inequality, using the platform of the ceremonial playing of their national anthem at a sports event. Where they raised their fists, a half century later Colin Kaepernick would take a knee. "We're trying to recapture terrain that we thought was once conquered," says Harry Edwards, the septuagenarian sports sociologist who as a 25-year-old instructor in 1968 organized the movement that led to Smith's and Carlos's protest.

The moment defines Smith and Carlos, as Kaepernick's defines him, and always will. It extracted a cost-opportunity lost, money never earned, families tested and broken. They were heroes to some, pariahs to others, lauded and threatened and belittled. Smith, as sweet a mover as ever set foot on a track (Lord, to have seen him race Usain Bolt), ran a few races after the Olympic final. Carlos ran until 1970, ranking first in the world in both the 100 and 200 meters.

Both men only found footing in society many years after Mexico City and, ever so gradually, gained acceptance as leaders. In 2005, a 22-foot statue depicting the scene on the medal stand was dedicated at San Jose State, where both had been students and competed. Three years later ESPN awarded Smith and Carlos the Arthur Ashe Courage Award, and in September 2016 they were recognized at the White House by President Obama with members of the '16 U.S. Olympic team. Yet now they grapple with the state of race relations in their country, which some days makes them wonder what they accomplished 50 years ago. "Many struggles are not final victories," Edwards says.

And each wonders alone. Both men have family and friends and the hard-earned respect of millions, but they do not have each other. Smith is a sharecropper's son, raised picking cotton in California's San Joaquin Valley, serious and dutiful. Carlos was born and raised in Harlem, with the soul of a hustler. They have never been close. "Oil and water," says Smith's wife, Delois. The protest and all that followed did not bring them closer.

Smith and Carlos see each other on occasion-at various reunions of the 1968 Olympic team, or for paid speaking gigs. They are a set of two, keen to experiences that no other human-except perhaps Kaepernick, who has met with both men-can understand. Yet they are not a pair. They are one, and one.

It is no simple matter to gain access to Smith or Carlos to talk to them about their story. They know how its meaning has evolved, and how it is acutely relevant. But their reticence is understandable. Both are weary. Carlos is as game as ever to take on the system (you'll see); Smith, as ever, is more cautious (you'll see).

Eric Schweikardt

I started asking in late February, with emails and calls that went unanswered. I asked mutual friends to help. Nothing. Smith and Carlos speak in public regularly and sometimes together, but rarely these days sit for media interviews.

In late May, I received a reply from Delois, who handles most of Tommie's affairs. (She is his third wife; they have been together for 21 years.) The email: "Call me tomorrow," and a phone number. When I called, Delois talked about the many times her husband had signed the cover of the May 22, 1967, issue of Sports Illustrated, which featured the 22-year-old Smith uncoiling from starting blocks in gold sweats, next to the headline: blazing quarter-miler. (He did not enter the 400 in Mexico City.) She also asked, "Is this a paid interview?" I told her that it was not. "I am going to grant you this interview with Dr. Smith," Delois then said, cheerfully.

Tommie Smith has lived in a modest, two-story brick house in Stone Mountain, Ga., since 2005, when he retired after 27 years as a teacher and coach at Santa Monica (Calif.) College. We talked in his basement, which is a staggering monument to not just the evening of Oct. 16, 1968, but also to his remarkable (and remarkably short) track career, to his life, to a vital era in track and field, to the Olympics and to activism. The room is alive with memories. An Olympic flag, swiped by Smith from the Mexico City Olympic Stadium before the protest, decorated with the signatures of U.S. teammates Jim Hines, Al Oerter, Jim Ryun and others. A framed Newsweek cover from '68 with the headline, the angry black athlete. A picture of his childhood home in rural Lemoore, Calif. Another of his junior high basketball team, with Smith towering over his teammates as a 6' 2" eighth-grader. Dozens of black-and-white action photos of Smith setting some of his 11 world records between '66 and '68. And several shots of the medal stand protest, some signed by Carlos and Norman.

Smith settles into a lounge chair and leans forward, engaged. "I don't talk to everybody," he says, "because I don't want to fight what's going on now in the country. I only want to talk about my belief in what I was doing." When, in the course of a two-hour interview, the subject turns to today's racial climate, Smith speaks slowly and carefully. He knows who he is and understands the power of his name. "I have to make all my words count," he says. "Have things changed in fifty years? Not as much as I hoped they would. At times it's as bad or worse than it was in the '60s because there are more things to become agitated about. And the people to fight those negatives are fewer because black folks don't have that leadership, black or white, like Dr. King or the Kennedys."

Minutes later he resets, seeking an uplifting turn: "It's moving in a positive direction."

When I ask him if he approves of President Trump (and his policies), Smith says, "His tenacity, but not where it's going. Nobody thought he would be here, so you have to admire. . . ." Smith stops and points his finger at me. "Now don't you say Tommie Smith likes Trump. Any leader needs to be strong, but not to the point where he becomes a tyrant. Like Putin. Putin is a tyrant."

Carlos lives 20 minutes south of Smith. Fifty years after sharing the podium, they could shop at the same Kroger and both fly out of Hartsfield. That has not brought them closer. "People said we would be joined at the hip," says Smith. "That has not been the case. We're totally different people. I'm quiet and reclusive; he says what's on his mind. I'm an introvert; he's an extrovert. I count to 10 before I throw a rock and then maybe I throw a Wiffle ball instead. He throws the rock."

Between February and late June, I called Carlos half a dozen times and sent an equal number of text messages. Colleagues who know Carlos told me that he was finished doing interviews. Forever. After leaving Smith's house, I made one last call, and Carlos answered. Then he threw some rocks.

"Tim!" he shouted into his phone. "What the hell do I have to do to get you to stop calling me? I've been talking about this s--- for fifty years, and ain't nothing changed since Mexico City in 1968. Nothing! I've spoken and spoken and spoken, and it ain't gonna make no difference. It ain't enough. I could die and come back in another life, and things would be the same. You have to agree with that."

I suggest that a story might amplify his message. "You write your article in Sports Illustrated," says Carlos. "You think that evil is defeated because people read that s---? That ain't gonna happen, my brother."

At 73, John Wesley Carlos is a proud and passionate man, unfiltered. A few weeks later I talked with the oldest of his three children, Kimme, who is 52. "My father is a private person," she said. "But if you do talk with him, he will speak from the heart. It's all on the table." I spoke with John for 17 minutes. His initial response- it ain't gonna make no difference -sounds at first like resignation, but it's actually anger. Where Smith is careful and largely muted on social media, Carlos posts and shares furiously on two Facebook pages. Where Smith assiduously avoids the bullring of public discourse, Carlos seeks it, on his terms, advocating change. Last May he posted a 347-word criticism of the NFL's anthem policy and the President's support of that policy.

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John Carlos and Tommie Smith, 50 years later

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Fifty years after their protest in Mexico City at the 1968 Olympics, John Carlos and Tommie Smith have endured as symbols of dissent, even as their paths diverged