Athletes as heroes in the struggle against racial injustice

In what seems like eons ago, at the beginning of the pandemic, I questioned why our society tends to worship professional athletes as heroes. For me, the title seemed more fitting for health care professionals, teachers and the thousands of people working to keep us fed during a public health crisis.

Lately, my thinking has changed. I’m more inclined to confer hero status on athletes, too — especially those who are taking direct action in the fight against racial injustice. That fight should involve all of us, including athletes.

Last week, I noted that the Milwaukee Bucks boycotted Game 5 of the NBA playoffs following the shooting of Jacob Blake, a Black man, by a White police officer in Kenosha, Wis. In a statement, the team said, “Despite the overwhelming plea for change (on issues of police accountability, brutality and criminal justice reform), there has been no action, so our focus today cannot be on basketball.”

Other professional sports teams have followed suit with similar protests.

Even tennis players got in the game — by refusing to play. Naomi Osaka, a young tennis star, skipped her semifinal match at the Western & Southern Open. She tweeted, “I don’t expect anything drastic to happen with me not playing, but if I can get a conversation started in a majority white sport, I consider that a step in the right direction.”

If you’re thinking that the professional risk to these athletes for taking a seat is quite small, I’d have to agree. At face value, they don’t seem like heroes.

Yet actions by athletes do have consequences. In 1968, runners Tommie Smith and John Carlos won gold and bronze medals, respectively, at the Summer

Olympic Games in Mexico City. The two athletes organized the Olympic Project for Human Rights, viewing the games as an opportunity to advocate for better treatment of Black athletes — and Black people in general — all around the world.

When they accepted their medals, Smith and Carlos each lowered their heads and raised a gloved fist skyward. A hush befell the stadium, followed by racist jeers. They were suspended by the U.S. team and kicked out of the Olympic Village. They returned home to death threats, and their futures seemed uncertain. The anger later turned to acceptance, however, and both athletes went on to enjoy careers in professional football.

Writing for History.com, Erin Blakemore noted that the consequences of the Olympic protest were more severe for a third — and sometimes forgotten — man. That overlooked athlete was silver medalist Peter Norman of Australia. Norman wanted to support Smith and Carlos, having witnessed racism and intolerance in his own country. At their suggestion, the Australian wore a badge for the Olympic Project for Human Rights at the medal ceremony.

Because of this simple gesture, Norman returned to Australia a pariah. He never ran in the Olympics again, despite qualifying. He eventually retired from the sport and suffered from depression and addiction. When Norman died in 2006, Smith and Carlos were pallbearers at his funeral. Posthumously, the Australian government apologized for Norman’s mistreatment.

What about how Colin Kaepernick was treated? The former San Francisco 49ers quarterback made a career-ending decision on

Aug. 26, 2016, remaining seated as the national anthem played at a preseason game. Kaepernick was protesting police brutality and racial injustice. Then, on Sept. 1, Kaepernick knelt during the anthem instead of sitting down, as a sign of respect for military personnel. At the end of the season, he opted out of his contract. But no other NFL team would sign him. Kaepernick’s outspokenness, which continues to this day, led a reporter to describe him as one of the most admired people in sports — and most hated.

Some people think that athletes should just shut up and play. Nick Saban, coach of the University of Alabama football team, couldn’t disagree more. Recently — in an action I would have thought impossible postkaepernick) — Saban marched with his players to protest racial injustice. Saban believes that players should use their platform to become leaders who effect positive change. As for the vociferous anger directed his way, Saban graciously said, “I don’t have an opinion about everyone else’s opinion.”

Bravo. That’s the definition of heroism: taking action on behalf of something you believe in, regardless of the consequences.

In 2000, Peter Norman told The New York Times, “I won a silver medal. But really, I ended up running the fastest race of my life to become part of something that transcended the Games.”

In the all-important game of life, this is what “winning” looks like.

Dinkin is president of the National Conflict Resolution Center, a San Diego-based group working to create solutions to challenging issues, including intolerance and incivility. To learn about NCRC’S programming, visit ncrconline.com