The enlightening HBO documentary "Fists of Freedom" will be rebroadcast for the final times Tuesday and Friday. Those who haven't seen it should. Those who have seen it should see it again.

When you understand the subplots, personal pressures and social climate that led to the dramatic raised-fist gestures by Tommie Smith and John Carlos on the victory stand at the '68 Summer Games in Mexico City, you understand they weren't just gestures by two men, but an entire track team that cared about more than just itself.

That's the point Brent Musburger and many of the journalists who covered the event couldn't or wouldn't understand. Musburger, then a columnist for the Chicago American, criticized Smith and Carlos, calling them, "black-skinned storm troopers." Interviewed earlier this month by The New York Times about what he had written 30 years ago, Musburger said his words were, "a bit harsh," but went on to belittle the act of protest by saying, "Did it improve anything?"

It's startling that such a cynical response would come from someone who makes a handsome living covering black athletes. Perhaps since Musburger is not "black-skinned" he fails to understand that the "Fists of Freedom" were, as Smith said, "a plea for racial justice," not only on the athletic field but in American society.

For that, Smith, Carlos and the entire '68 track team should be praised even if it comes 30 years after the fact.

"Did it improve anything?" Perhaps not to the eye that's unwilling to see improvement. Certainly, not enough black athletes have become owners, general managers and coaches of professional sports teams. But many have. The black athlete of today is not like the black athlete of the '60s, who was for the most part forced to do what he or she was told.

To protest meant being banned. The black athlete of today is more inclined to confront any hint of racial injustice, though the perpetuated notion is that they never do enough.

When Tiger Woods and Serena Williams can win professional golf and tennis tournaments in the same weekend and prosper in careers established under their own terms, that's improvement.

When black athletes can command major dollars in personal contracts and endorsements, that's improvement.

When an African-American can be the president of baseball's National League, or become the president of the NFL Players' Association, or command the kind of power that Michael Jordan has from basketball, that's improvement.

All are reaping the fruits in some fashion from what the black athletes did in the '68 Summer Games, a courageous stand personified by the raised, gloved fists of Tommie Smith and John Carlos.

The HBO documentary tells us the gestures came from the black athletes yearning to make a statement amid the turbulent social and political climate of that era.

Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated, there were protests over the war in Vietnam, there were riots in the streets. We learned that the athletes had discussed boycotting the Olympics before deciding to make their own individuals protests.

Some wore black socks, some wore black arm bands, others wore black shoes. But it was the raised fists of Smith and Carlos that proved most powerful and provocative. "People thought the victory stand was a hate message, but it wasn't," Smith said. "It was a cry for freedom."

To the members of that '68 team, Mexico City remains a endearing period in all of their lives.

"It was a wake-up call for me that it was bigger than track and field," said Larry James, a sprinter and gold medalist on the team. "You couldn't straddle the fence, either. You had to pick a side. But all the guys were special in their own right. I wouldn't trade the experience for anything."

After holding a reunion in 1988, members of the '68 team decided to form an organization called the International Medalist Association. The organization consists of black and white Olympians whose primary objective is to motivate and give wisdom to youth.

"Being Olympians, we talk to youngsters about life skills," said IMA President Ron Freeman. The organization is based in Baltimore, but its influence reaches all the way to Africa, where clinics are held for young track and field hopefuls.

"We felt there were needs that haven't been met with respect to utilizing one of the best resources in the world to fight low self-esteem, drugs and poverty, which is the Olympic athletes," Freeman said.

Freeman said the roots of the organization began in Mexico City, because the idealism is the same.

"It's about human rights," he said. "It's about caring about your fellow man."

Freeman was a member of the gold medal-winning 4x400 relay team in '68. Carlos is actively involved in the organization, as is sprinter Lee Evans and James.

They can be reached through their website, at www.internationalmedalist.org.

"The '68 team is together, white and black," Freeman said. "People from that '68 [team] have had an impact on succeeding teams by giving them tips and support."

Said James, now the assistant dean of students and director of athletics at Richard Stockton College near Atlantic City: "There are 7,000 Olympians in this country and 2,200 have medals. Each of them have a story of how they got there. And they've gone on to have other careers and make contributions to society."

So did the raised fists of John Carlos and Tommie Smith improve anything? Every single day.

reprinted from the New York Post

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