Growing up in the 60s and 70s, I was surrounded by contradictory messages of independence and subordination, confidence and submissiveness, and fairness and discrimination. For instance, as a child, I remember watching a news report about two black athletes — Tommie Smith and John Carlos — who had competed in the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City. Smith broke the world record in the 200-meter dash finals and won a gold medal, while Carlos won the bronze. The men demonstrated pride in their achievement on national TV by raising their arms and clenching their fists. This salute became known as a symbol to express Black Power – translation, Cultural Pride.
The sight of those two inspiring, young Black men with clenched fists — as pronounced as exclamation marks — was a powerful visual for me as a young girl. Although I was only eleven years old, I understood their actions were a symbolic statement for our race. It announced to the world that we were, in fact, equal and proud, despite the restrictions that had been placed upon us as Black Americans. A new door of opportunity swung open and these men were standing at the threshold. It was indeed a marked moment in American history.
Unfortunately, Smith and Carlos were ostracized for allegedly “politicizing” the Olympic Games. They were also immediately suspended from the team and banished from the Olympic Village. Afterward, they received numerous death threats. Ironically, there had been no such reaction to Nazi salutes during the Berlin games. What Smith and Carlos had hoped would be a positive demonstration of pride in their wins was rejected by many, including the media and some Black Americans.
Why weren’t people celebrating, rather than criticizing them? I wondered. After all, my schoolteachers and other prominent leaders often talked about the great opportunities the Civil Rights Movement of 1964 provided for Blacks in America. So why did these two men receive so little respect and so much ridicule for their superior agility and success?
To my surprise, my grandmother and mother didn’t share my sentiment. Their responses to my questions offered little in the way of comfort. They disapproved of the men’s’ actions, to say the least. My mother viewed them as troublemakers and their actions as ignorant. Public opinion seemed to mirror my mother’s views because the young men were overtly reprimanded by the United States sporting establishment.
When they returned to the U.S., the men were criticized by mainstream White America. Eventually, I learned there were others like me who admired Smith and Carlos as heroes. We considered their actions a message of courage and liberation. Many of us still feel that way today.
In Search of Courage
In 2007, I was really struggling to find the courage to go public with my philosophy of self-permission. While searching through some of my personal belongings, I came across a picture of Carlos and Smith. I believed hearing first-hand what stirred these iconic athletes on that fateful day at the Olympics would somehow help me find the courage I needed. So I decided to contact them.
John Carlos responded and agreed to spend a day with me. I met him in Palm Springs, California, where he lived at the time. Palm Springs is a place that most would describe as a small piece of paradise. Despite the scenic utopia of his surroundings, I quickly realized Carlos remained emotionally scarred by the consequences of his actions decades prior.
Carlos, greeted me with a nice, firm handshake and a welcoming hug. In his smile, I noticed a certain excitement about our visit. Although he was willing to talk about life since the Olympics, he was visibly burdened. It seemed the weight restricted the very essence of this man, who I considered a hero. As I sat with him that day, I hung on to his every word, yet noticing through his facial expressions, body language, and intonations just how scarred he still was.
As our conversation unfolded and Carlos became more comfortable with sharing aspects of his experience, I learned how pain, disappointment, loss, regret, and bitterness had become recurring emotions in his life. He had hidden them behind superficial smiles. But Carlos’ words, which were now soaked in sorrow, and the pace of his voice, which had slowed to that of a runner trying to finish the last mile of a marathon, forced me to look beyond the physical man that sat across from me, to see the soul of the man struggling to let go of the traumatic experiences that had haunted his life.
For John Carlos, the momentary act of self-permission that took place in 1968 — an act he confesses he really didn’t think would create such negative consequences — cost him more than he could ever have imagined. My heart ached for his broken spirit, and I remembered a Scripture I once read that states, “The human spirit can endure in sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear?” (Proverbs 18:14). The man I grew up admiring as the “exclamation mark” of strength and courage, was now a vivid picture of the emotional shackles a person sometimes acquires when he or she is demoralized by the opinions of others.
On the drive back to Ocean Side, California, where I was living at the time, I felt a bit melancholy. Journeying into Mr. Carlos’ pain had left its residue on me. I was happy to have met him, yet saddened by the lingering negativity that had devastated his life. I wondered if he had ever considered giving himself permission to learn from “it.” By “it” I mean the pain, regret, bitterness, or hostility we commit to our long-term memory after a major setback. If we’re not careful, “it” will ultimately restrict the effectiveness of our very existence. This is what I sensed was happening to John Carlos.
We Are Like Travelers
I didn’t find courage during the time I spent with John Carlos. What I did find, however, was another person like myself in some ways — living in the shadows of inhibition, fear, and a hurtful past. I’m not saying this to judge or criticize Carlos’ mental and emotional state of being at that time. I say it because he too is a traveler, like so many of us, longing for the inner freedom necessary to live out our full potential.
As I sit here years later writing this book, I am considering that maybe, just maybe, courage is not something you find or acquire from some external source; it’s innate. In other words, it’s something we just have. And if it’s innate, then maybe courage only shows up when we are actually doing the thing we are destined to do. Maybe we have to attempt something larger than our current abilities, faith, and resources before courage kicks in. Perhaps the real challenge is not in obtaining courage, but in disarming the years of learned inhibitions and emotional restrictions that suppress it.
Of all the things Carlos told me that day, one thing continues to echo in my spirit: he wasn’t really conscious of his actions or the far-reaching implications that would ensue. I now realize how important it is for each of us to be not only conscious, but also intentional, in our actions. We must be intentional in the choices we make, the paths we follow, and the people we choose to interact with most.
Of the many lessons I learned from him, however, the one I contribute most to my discovery of self-permission is the realization that I could no longer give people and circumstances power over my destiny. For most of my life, I had allowed the opinions of other people to have greater authority over my life than I did.
Regaining Your Authority
When we give something or someone authority in our lives, we give it or them permission to influence and control our decisions. Outside of God and ourselves, nothing and no one should have that type of power. God gives us free will and choice, so why do we allow others to take liberties over our lives that God Himself won’t violate. Think for a moment, who or what primarily has contributed to the choices you’ve made in life?
Ask yourself — do your thoughts and conversations still reflect pain, disappointment, or unusual stress? Do you start off talking about something that recently happened and end up talking about something negative that happened in your past? If you answered “yes” to either question, you have given something or someone else control over your destiny. It’s time to take back the authority you have given away.
In retrospect, I realize that as far back as childhood, I had given my authority to my mother. Not that we shouldn’t have respect