Kellen Reeves, For The Minnesota Spokesman Recorder
I love the Summer Olympics. Every four years, the world comes together to compete in every sport conceivable. From those games played in seemingly every village and hamlet on earth to those you can’t even find an AAU league for.
Regardless of the popularity of their chosen event, these athletes compete. They do so by loudly and proudly wearing the flags and colors of their home nations.
The Olympics are the one time in which national pride is displayed in a way that isn’t blatantly or dangerously political, although the 1972 Munich Games may be the exception.
Blacks gravitate towards the games, and rightfully so, for entertainment and as staunch patriots. It’s no secret that historically and currently, it is hard being Black in America. In fact, it’s hard being Black in most of the world. But Black Americans have a unique relationship with the nation we call home.
Chris Rock once said that for Black folks, America is like the uncle who paid for you to go to college… but abused you. Most of us are grateful for America. Most of us don’t want to live anywhere else. But we’ve been abused, battered, and broken by this place. It makes for a confounding relationship with home.
America is such a fraught place for Black folks that the presence of the American flag itself on someone’s clothes or car often means we should steer clear. The symbol stated to represent freedom and opportunity is often used to represent exclusion and hatred.
Being an American isn’t enough. To quote a line from the movie “Civil War,” released earlier this year, the question is, ‘What kind of American are you?’
That is why I love the Olympics. Despite all the hurt and pain we’ve suffered at Uncle Sam’s hands, Black Americans show up to the Olympics with that flag plastered across their chests. Unashamed and undaunted, they wear it. And we cheer. We root without hesitation for the boys and girls in red, white, and blue.
We watch as melanated Americans compete and dominate in events that, generations ago, we weren’t even allowed to play. It’s a beautiful thing. No matter how many people, factions, or entities attempt to make us feel like lesser Americans because of their hatred, greed, prejudice, insecurities, or any other agenda, we’re still around, standing, shining, and excelling!
The Summer Olympics occurs every four years, normally in the same year as the U.S. presidential election. They’re athletic competitions that have very little impact on the world other than the economic effects for the host country, sponsors, and networks involved. It’s not an international summit between world leaders. We’re not solving world hunger or working towards the greater good of humanity here.
Still, this means something to us. In truth, the Olympics can’t be separated from the Blackness radiating throughout the games at this point. We’re too intertwined. Despite this nation’s hateful history toward Black people, two of the most iconic moments of American Olympic history are directly related to Black resiliency and liberation.
Tommie Smith’s and John Carlos’ raised fists, clad in black gloves during the 1968 games in Mexico City, is perhaps the most well-known Olympic-related image ever and serves as the image most related to Black power.
To stand on that stage, at that time, after dominating the world on the track to take home the gold and bronze, was Black excellence at its highest form. Some would argue that a moment even more impactful on the world stage was that of Jesse Owens absolutely obliterating the rest of the world to win four gold medals in 1936, a time when Black lives were constantly at risk from white fragility and hate.
Owens did this, of course, in Berlin of all places, under the assuredly furious eye of Adolf Hitler, who intended for those games to be affirmations of the superiority he claimed his Aryan race held over the rest of the world.
He also did this after being labeled as “un-American” by politicians for daring to float the idea of a boycott of those games due to the already clear racism of the Nazi party. The image of Owens standing on the highest podium saluting with “USA” across his chest while those beneath him presented their Sieg Heil Nazi salute was displayed worldwide.
We are Americans. More than any other time, the Olympics allow us to wear that pride on our sleeves. We will tense our muscles as Sha’Carri Richardson explodes off the blocks. Feel our hearts jump as Noah Lyles rounds the curve. Hold our breath whenever Simone Biles’ feet leave the mat. Pump our fists for Coco Gauff aces.
We’ll shout when LeBron does something he should be too old to do or when Napheesa Collier dominates. These are our people. This is our country. Despite anything and everything that’s been done to us, we’re still Americans and just as patriotic.
Kellen Reeves is an educator and freelance writer based in Charlotte, NC. He is also the son of the legendary MSR community editor and civil rights activist, the late Mel Reeves. He welcomes reader comments to kr.kingdomdreamer@gmail.com.