Early Forms of Protest in Sports: Subtle Acts of Resistance

The lineage of athlete activism runs deep, long before the iconic images of raised fists or kneeling figures. In the early 20th century, athletes operated in an environment where overt political expression could end careers or invite violent backlash. Protests were often quiet, personal, and symbolic—gestures that required courage but avoided direct confrontation with powerful institutions. These acts were not merely individual choices; they were shaped by the legal and social realities of segregation, censorship, and economic vulnerability. Athletes of color in particular faced a double bind: any deviation from expected behavior could be used to reinforce racist stereotypes or justify exclusion from the sport entirely.

One of the earliest recorded acts of athletic protest occurred in 1908 when African-American track star John Taylor refused to compete in a segregated meet. Though little known today, Taylor’s stand laid groundwork for future generations. More famously, Jackie Robinson broke baseball’s color barrier in 1947, but his activism extended beyond the field. He used his platform to write letters to presidents and testified before Congress on civil rights, all while enduring racial slurs and threats. Robinson’s restraint was calculated—his protest was in his excellence and his refusal to retaliate, forcing white America to confront its own prejudice. Yet this strategy came at a personal cost: the constant psychological strain of suppressing his anger likely contributed to his early health decline. Robinson’s approach represented the narrow path available to Black athletes in a deeply segregated society—use your platform but never appear angry or militant.

In the 1960s, Muhammad Ali shattered that mold. He transformed the athlete’s role from entertainer to political voice. His refusal to be drafted into the Vietnam War, citing religious and moral opposition, was a direct act of civil disobedience that cost him his boxing license and prime years. Ali’s protest was loud, public, and unapologetic—a dramatic departure from the silent gestures that characterized earlier eras. His famous line, “No Viet Cong ever called me nigger,” captured the intersection of racial injustice and imperial war, making him a global symbol of resistance. The government’s pursuit of Ali showed how far institutions would go to punish an athlete who refused to comply. He was stripped of his heavyweight title, convicted of draft evasion, and banned from boxing for three years—a sentence that would have ended most careers. But Ali’s resilience turned his punishment into a platform; his Supreme Court victory in 1971 validated his stand and inspired a generation of activists.

Symbolic Gestures and the 1968 Olympic Games

The 1968 Mexico City Olympics marked a watershed moment in athlete protest. The image of Tommie Smith and John Carlos raising black-gloved fists during the national anthem has become one of the most recognized symbols of protest in sports history. But the context matters: the gesture was part of a broader movement called the Olympic Project for Human Rights, which sought to boycott the Games entirely unless demands for racial equality were met. Smith and Carlos’s act was not spontaneous; it was a coordinated statement planned with support from other athletes and activists, including sociologist Harry Edwards. The choice of black gloves, the timing during the anthem, and the barefoot stance all carried deliberate symbolic weight—the black socks represented poverty, the gloves symbolized Black power and unity.

Their protest had immediate and severe consequences. The International Olympic Committee (IOC) expelled them from the Games, stripped their medals, and banned them from future Olympics. Both athletes faced death threats, lost endorsement deals, and struggled to find work for years. Yet their silent gesture amplified a message that words alone could not convey. It forced millions of viewers to ask why two American champions would risk everything to protest. That question itself became the beginning of a broader conversation about race and patriotism. The image circulated globally, appearing on magazine covers and news broadcasts, making it impossible to ignore the racial tensions simmering beneath the surface of American society.

Other athletes at the 1968 Games also protested. Australian swimmer Peter Norman wore an Olympic Project for Human Rights badge on the podium, standing in solidarity. He paid a steep price: Australia did not select him for the 1972 Olympics despite qualifying times. Norman’s role is often overlooked, but his sacrifice underscores how protests can ripple beyond the lead actors. It also highlights the international dimension of athlete activism—Norman was a white athlete in a predominantly white country choosing to ally himself with a Black American cause, a decision that carried its own risks. The 1968 protests taught activists that symbolic acts, though dangerous, could galvanize public opinion and force institutional change. However, the heavy penalties also sent a chilling message that would suppress overt protests in Olympic sports for decades.

The Rise of Public Demonstrations: From Individual Acts to Collective Movements

Following the 1968 Olympics, athlete protests became more organized and visible. The 1970s and 1980s saw Billie Jean King and Martina Navratilova championing gender equality and LGBTQ+ rights, often using public appearances and interviews to push for equal pay and recognition. King’s Battle of the Sexes match in 1973 was itself a protest against sexist assumptions about women’s athleticism. She leveraged the spectacle to argue that women athletes deserved not only respect but equal compensation. Navratilova came out as gay in 1981, at a time when few public figures dared to be open about their sexuality, especially in the conservative world of professional sports. Their activism broadened the scope of athlete protest beyond racial justice to include gender identity and sexual orientation, setting the stage for future intersectional movements.

In the 1990s, Craig Hodges, a Chicago Bulls guard, presented a list of demands to President George H.W. Bush during a White House visit, calling for economic justice and reparations. His activism cost him his NBA career—he never played again after that season. Hodges’s experience illustrated the risk of moving from symbolic protest to direct political confrontation. Team owners and league executives often punished athletes who stepped too far outside the boundaries of “acceptable” expression. The NBA’s response to Hodges—blackballing him despite his championship pedigree—sent a clear message that political activism beyond carefully circumscribed charity work would not be tolerated. This chilling effect kept many athletes quiet through the 1990s and early 2000s.

The 2000s brought a new wave of protests tied to the war on terror and civil liberties. Toni Smith, a Division III women’s basketball player, turned her back on the flag during the national anthem to protest the Iraq War in 2003. She faced harassment and threats but remained steadfast. That individual act paved the way for the more widespread protests of the 2010s, particularly around police brutality and systemic racism. Smith’s protest, though at a smaller stage, demonstrated that the anthem itself could be a powerful site of dissent. It also showed that women athletes were leading the way in reclaiming the flag as a symbol of protest rather than unquestioning patriotism.

Colin Kaepernick and the Kneeling Movement

The modern era of athlete protest is indelibly marked by Colin Kaepernick. In August 2016, the San Francisco 49ers quarterback began sitting, then kneeling, during the national anthem before NFL games. Kaepernick explained that he could not “stand and show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses Black people and people of color.” His protest was initially met with confusion and hostility from fans, teammates, and league officials. But Kaepernick persisted, and soon other athletes joined him—first a few 49ers teammates, then players from other teams across the league. The shift from sitting to kneeling came after a conversation with former Green Beret Nate Boyer, who suggested kneeling as a gesture of respect for military members while still registering dissent—a tactical compromise that made the protest more defensible to critics.

The kneeling protest sparked a national firestorm. President Donald Trump escalated the conflict by calling for any “son of a bitch” who kneels to be fired, turning the anthem into a political litmus test. The NFL initially resisted, but in 2020, under pressure from players and public opinion after George Floyd’s murder, Commissioner Roger Goodell admitted the league was wrong for not listening to players earlier. Meanwhile, Kaepernick remained unsigned after the 2016 season, despite being a starting-caliber quarterback. He filed a grievance against the NFL for collusion, which was settled in 2019. The settlement included a confidential payment, but Kaepernick’s career never resumed. The league’s refusal to hire him, even after the settlement, revealed that the price for protest could be permanent exclusion from the profession.

Kaepernick’s protest was different from earlier ones in several ways. First, it used the anthem—a symbol of national unity—as the site of protest, forcing fans to confront discomfort during a ritual typically viewed as apolitical. Second, it leveraged social media to bypass traditional media gatekeepers. Kaepernick and his supporters could directly communicate their rationale, countering negative narratives. Third, the protest became a movement, with athletes from other sports—soccer’s Megan Rapinoe, basketball’s LeBron James, and tennis’s Naomi Osaka—adopting similar tactics. The act of kneeling spread globally, used by athletes in the UK, Germany, and Australia to protest racism and inequality in their own countries. The movement also inspired the creation of organizations like the Players Coalition, which works with leagues to fund social justice initiatives.

Modern Strategies: A Multichannel Approach to Activism

Today’s athlete protest tactics are more sophisticated than ever. They blend on-field gestures with off-field organization, digital campaigns, and direct advocacy. Athletes are no longer content to be silent symbols; they demand to be agents of change. This shift reflects broader societal changes in how activism works in the age of information. The risk-reward calculus has also shifted: while career consequences still exist, social media allows athletes to build independent followings that can mitigate the financial impact of public backlash. Endorsement deals are increasingly tied to players’ social justice stances, with brands seeking to align with activist athletes to reach younger, more progressive audiences.

Social Media as a Force Multiplier

Platforms like Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok allow athletes to speak directly to millions of followers without filter. When LeBron James tweets about voter suppression or Naomi Osaka wears masks with the names of Black victims of police violence during the US Open, the message reaches audiences far beyond the sports section. Social media also enables athletes to coordinate and amplify each other’s actions. The #BlackLivesMatter movement saw massive engagement from NBA and WNBA players, who used their accounts to share resources, organize walkouts, and push for police reform legislation. The rapid spread of video evidence of police killings further galvanized athletes, making it harder for them to remain silent.

The 2020 NBA bubble in Orlando became a laboratory for athlete activism. After Jacob Blake was shot by police in Kenosha, Wisconsin, the Milwaukee Bucks refused to play their playoff game, sparking a league-wide strike. Players held meetings, negotiated with team owners, and demanded that NBA arenas become polling stations. The strike was a collective, high-stakes tactic that shut down a billion-dollar enterprise to force a political point. It demonstrated that modern athlete protests are not just symbolic but can disrupt business as usual—a tactic that echoes labor union strategies. The strike also showed the power of collective action: no single player could have halted the playoffs alone, but unified, the players forced immediate concessions, including commitments to use team facilities as voting sites and to run voter registration drives.

Symbolic Clothing and Gestures

In addition to kneeling, athletes have used uniforms, warm-up shirts, and shoes to send messages. During the 2017 NFL season, dozens of players wore “#IMWITHKAP” gear. In the WNBA, players wore shirts that read “Black Lives Matter” and “Say Her Name” in support of Breonna Taylor. The league fined players initially but later reversed course after public pressure. In 2020, the NFL agreed to allow players to wear social justice decals on their helmets. These symbolic acts, while sometimes criticized as minimal, serve as visible markers of solidarity and keep issues alive in public discourse. They also create a visual record of protest that can be shared widely, normalizing the idea that athletes can use their bodies and equipment as canvases for political expression.

Policy and Institutional Engagement

Modern athletes are increasingly moving beyond gestures to become policy advocates. Colin Kaepernick founded the Know Your Rights Camp, which provides legal education and resources to marginalized communities. LeBron James founded the More Than a Vote initiative, which registered thousands of voters and fought against voter suppression in 2020. Megan Rapinoe and the U.S. women’s national soccer team used their lawsuit for equal pay to raise broader awareness about gender discrimination in the workplace. These efforts tie athlete activism to concrete political outcomes, making it harder for critics to dismiss them as “just entertainment.” Athletes are also increasingly collaborating with established civil rights organizations like the NAACP and the ACLU to channel their influence into sustained advocacy rather than one-off statements.

The evolution of protest tactics has prompted responses from sports leagues and governments. After Kaepernick, the NFL instituted a policy requiring players to stand or remain in the locker room during the anthem—a move widely seen as retaliation. However, public backlash led the league to suspend the policy in 2018. The NBA has been more supportive, with Commissioner Adam Silver openly backing players’ right to speak out. The IOC maintains a strict rule (Rule 50) prohibiting protests at Olympic Games, but athletes have increasingly challenged it. In 2021, the IOC loosened the rule slightly, allowing protests in certain areas, but continued to ban podium gestures. The Rule 50 debate reflects the tension between the Olympic ideal of political neutrality and the reality that athletes are citizens with moral convictions.

Outside the United States, athlete protests face different constraints. In authoritarian countries, any political gesture can lead to imprisonment or exile. Iranian athletes have used the podium to protest the regime’s treatment of women, risking arrest. In 2019, Algerian soccer players raised the Hirak protest flag during matches. The disparity in consequences highlights the privilege and responsibility of athletes in democratic societies—a privilege that many have used to call for global solidarity. International athletes often face harsher repercussions, making the solidarity gestures of athletes from free societies even more significant as a form of moral support.

Conclusion: The Future of Athlete Activism

The evolution of athlete protest tactics—from silent gestures to public demonstrations, from individual acts to coordinated movements—reflects a broader shift in how society understands the role of athletes. They are no longer seen as mere entertainers, but as influential voices capable of shaping public opinion and policy. The risks remain real: Kaepernick is still out of the NFL, and athletes who speak out face harassment, lost endorsements, and career damage. Yet the momentum is clear. Younger generations of athletes, raised in an era of social media and activism, are more willing to use their platforms. The normalization of protest in sports means that leagues are increasingly forced to respond rather than crush dissent. The 2020 NBA strike, the WNBA’s consistent advocacy, and the spread of kneeling across global sports all indicate that athlete activism is not a passing trend but a permanent feature of the modern sports landscape.

Looking ahead, we can expect further innovation. The use of cryptocurrency and NFTs to fund social justice initiatives, the integration of activism with brand partnerships, and greater collaboration between athletes across sports and borders all point toward a more interconnected protest landscape. The key lesson from history is that athletes who protest are not distractions from the game—they are part of a long tradition of using visibility to demand justice. Their gestures, whether silent or loud, remind us that sports are not separate from society but rather a reflection of its most urgent struggles. The next generation of activists will likely build on these foundations, finding new ways to challenge injustice while navigating the ever-changing relationship between athletes, leagues, and audiences.

Sources: History.com - 1968 Black Power Salute; ESPN - Timeline of Colin Kaepernick's Protest; Britannica - Muhammad Ali and Vietnam; New York Times - 2020 NBA Strike; Washington Post - Rule 50 and Olympic Protests.