SINCE the passing of Elizabeth Windsor the country has been subjected to what can only be described as a tirade of patriotism and jingoism.

Central to this period is the notion that one can only protest against the existence of the monarchy and the desire for a socialist republic at what are deemed to be appropriate times and in ways that are considered respectful and, indeed, respectable.

Of course, many brave people have chosen to ignore the police and population-enforced restrictions.

Some acts of protest go down in history while others are ignored or forgotten.

One of the most famous acts of protest, now part of popular culture, is the black power salute from the podium of the 1968 Mexico Olympic games by the legendary figures Tommie Smith and John Carlos.

However, four years later, at the Munich Olympics, mostly remembered for the killing of two members of the Israeli team and the hostage taking of nine others, another act of protest has been largely forgotten.

Last week marked the 50th anniversary of the moment when Vincent Matthews and Wayne Collett won gold and silver respectively in the men's 400m sprint.

During the playing of the US national anthem the two athletes shared the top tier podium.

Normally the podium would have been reserved for Matthews as the gold medal winner. However, breaking strict Olympic protocol, the two stood together.

They then turned away from the US flag, chatting casually as the anthem played.

Matthews rubbed his chin before folding his arms. Collett stood barefoot, jacket open with hands on hips. As they departed, Matthews twirled his medal on his finger while Collett raised a black power salute into the air.

The International Olympic Committee’s (IOC) response was venomous.  

In a letter to the US Olympic Committee, IOC president Avery Brundage slated the athletes for what he called a “disgusting display” before banning them both from the Olympics for life.  

The IOC allowed Matthews and Collett to keep their medals, but Brundage warned that: “If such a performance should happen in the future... the medals will be withheld from the athletes in question.”

The lifetime expulsion from the Olympics was extreme but typical of Brundage who had been dubbed “Slavery Avery” by black athletes during the 1960s, in the midst of the civil rights and black power era.

But what in 1972 was an extreme penalty looks more like a blatantly racist double standard today.  

After all, only a few days before Matthews and Collett took action, middle-distance runner Dave Wottle inadvertently wore his hat on the medal stand after winning the 800m race.  

Wottle, who is white, was not rebuked by the IOC. Matthews was 24 at the time and Collett just 21, they had the potential to win more medals if not for the ban.

When anti-racist activist Professor Harry Edwards teamed up with top-flight athletes to create the Olympic Project for Human Rights in 1967, their demands included the “removal of the anti-semitic and anti-black personality Avery Brundage from his post as chairman of the International Olympic Committee,” and the “curtailment of participation of all-white teams and individuals from South Africa and Rhodesia in all US Olympic events.”

In the wake of the hostage situation at the games, Brundage insisted that “the games must go on.” In Brundage’s official statement, he conflated the horrific attack with a successful campaign to keep the Rhodesian Olympic squad from participating in the Berlin games because of the country’s racist policies.  

Under pressure from numerous African nations, black athletes and their allies, the IOC withdrew its invitation to Rhodesia on the eve of the games. “The games of the XX Olympiad have been subjected to two savage attacks,” Brundage stated. “We lost the Rhodesian battle against naked political blackmail.”

In his memoir, Matthews wrote, “For me, not standing at attention meant that I wasn’t going along with a programme dictated by Number One: those John Wayne types — ‘my country right or wrong.’”

Although the athletes suggested they were not carrying out a protest — just like Wottle when he accidentally wore his cap on the medal stand — both expressed dissatisfaction with the way black people were treated in the US.  

Collett said of the national anthem, “I couldn’t stand there and sing the words because I don’t believe they’re true. I wish they were. I think we have the potential to have a beautiful country, but I don’t think we do.”

While Smith and Carlos have become part of protest folklore and are even recognised by the IOC itself as “legends,” Matthews and Collett have been ignored.

Edwards made the point in a recent interview that the timing of protests can sometimes be even more important than the message.

He said that by 1972 radical social movements were experiencing a decline, certainly in the US, and that a racial backlash was in full force.

He said: “There was no broader context for protest that they could use to frame up what they were doing,” making their act of dissent largely illegible to most journalists of the time, particularly because so few of them were African American.

The treatment of American Football star Colin Kaepernick for taking a knee six years ago during the US national anthem is also instructive about what can happen if you protest at what is regarded by some as the wrong time and in the wrong way.

Kaepernick was protesting the escalating violence and murder of black people in his country. Since his protest Kaepernick has been blocked by the club cartel from continuing his career.  

Yet we are led to believe, after the brutal murder by the police of George Floyd in Minneapolis, that black lives are supposed to matter. A refrain you could barely miss across the globe alongside what became for many the photo opportunity of taking a knee.

Although Collett died in 2010 and Matthews avoids the press, the 50-year anniversary of their medal-stand action is the perfect time for the IOC, and indeed many others, to express regret and to make amends.

Most of all it’s worth remembering that those who oppress us never think there is a good time to protest at their behaviour. The choice of when and how to protest must always be ours.

Roger McKenzie is a journalist and general secretary of Liberation.