John Carlos & Tommie Smith give Black Power salute at 1968 Mexico City Olympics medal ceremony
When the medals were awarded for the men’s 200-meter sprint at the 1968 Olympic Games, Life magazine photographer John Dominis was only about 20 feet away from the podium. “I didn’t think it was a big news event,” Dominis says. “I was expecting a normal ceremony. I hardly noticed what was happening when I was shooting.”
Indeed, the ceremony that October 16 “actually passed without much general notice in the packed Olympic Stadium,” New York Times correspondent Joseph M. Sheehan reported from Mexico City. But by the time Sheehan’s observation appeared in print three days later, the event had become front-page news: for politicizing the Games, U.S. Olympic officials, under pressure from the International Olympic Committee, had suspended medalists Tommie Smith and John Carlos and sent them packing.
Smith and Carlos, winners of the gold and bronze medals, respectively, in the event, had come to the ceremony dressed to protest: wearing black socks and no shoes to symbolize African-American poverty, a black glove to express African-American strength and unity. (Smith also wore a scarf, and Carlos beads, in memory of lynching victims.) As the national anthem played and an international TV audience watched, each man bowed his head and raised a fist. After the two were banished, images of their gesture entered the iconography of athletic protest.
"It was a polarizing moment because it was seen as an example of black power radicalism," says Doug Hartmann, a University of Minnesota sociologist and the author of Race, Culture, and the Revolt of the Black Athlete: The 1968 Olympic Protests and Their Aftermath. “Mainstream America hated what they did.”
The United States was already deeply divided over the Vietnam War and the civil rights movement, and the serial traumas of 1968—mounting antiwar protests, the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy, the beating of protesters during the Democratic National Convention by Chicago police—put those rifts into high relief. Before the Olympics, many African-American athletes had talked of joining a boycott of the Games to protest racial inequities in the United States. But the boycott, organized by sociologist Harry Edwards, never came off.
As students at San Jose State University, where Edwards was teaching, Smith and Carlos took part in that conversation. Carlos, born and raised in Harlem, was “an extreme extrovert with a challenging personality,” says Edwards, now emeritus professor of sociology at the University of California at Berkeley. Smith, the son of sharecroppers who grew up in rural Texas and California, was “a much softer, private person.” When they raised their fists on the medals stand, they were acting on their own.
Among the Games athletes, opinions were divided. Australia’s Peter Norman, the winner of the silver medal in the 200-meter sprint, mounted the podium wearing a badge supporting Edwards’ organization. Heavyweight boxer George Foreman—who would win a gold medal and wave an American flag in the ring—dismissed the protest, saying, “That’s for college kids.” The four women runners on the U.S. 400-meter relay team dedicated their victory to the exiled sprinters. A representative of the USSR was quoted as saying, perhaps inevitably, “The Soviet Union never has used the Olympic Games for propaganda purposes.”
Smith and Carlos returned home to a wave of opprobrium—they were “black-skinned storm troopers,” in the words of Brent Musburger, who would gain fame as a TV sportscaster but was then a columnist for the Chicago American newspaper—and anonymous death threats. The pressure, Carlos says, was a factor in his then-wife’s suicide in 1977. “One minute everything was sunny and happy, the next minute was chaos and crazy,” he says. Smith recalls, “I had no job and no education, and I was married with a 7-month-old son.”
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Black with no apologies.

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This is my favorite scene of Bob’s Burgers ever.

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one of the worst things about becoming educated on social issues is when people are like ‘you used to have a sense of humor’

no i used to have internalized prejudices which i’ve worked really hard to overcome and i realize now that your jokes are shitty

Always reblog this because becoming more socially aware makes you dislike a lot of people

This is why I don’t have friends anymore

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"Hey, you shouldn’t eat that. It’s not good for you."


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"Do you know what a mandala is?" 
"Um, those are those round Buddhist art things." 
“The Tibetan monks make them out of dyed sand laid out into big beautiful designs. And when they’re done, after days and weeks of work, they wipe it all away.” 
"Wow, that’s, that’s a lot." 
"Try to look at your experience here as a mandala, Chapman. Work hard to make something as meaningful and beautiful as you can. And when you’re done, pack it in and know it was all temporary. You have to remember that, it’s all temporary.” 

one of my fav scenes

I really need to keep this in mind for the next couple months.


Michael Brown’s dad before the burial. 
The emotion and all of the sweat…. shit is hard to look at, even if its only a picture

I didn’t want to reblog this because it’s hard to look at, but people SHOULD see it.
We SHOULD see a father mourning his teenage son.
We SHOULD see how a killing like Mike’s can take a toll on not only a community, but a family.
It’s as easy for young black men to become martyrs as it is for them to become victims. They can never just be humans. 
We can never just be.