Who is a patriot? Who is a traitor? What makes someone a hero or a heroine? 

The questions are compelling and the answers are not easy. 

A few days ago, I saw a documentary about the well-known African-American athlete Tommie Smith, who won the 200 meters race at the Mexico Olympics in 1968 (“With drawn arms: a conversation with Tommie Smith”).

What made him famous—and also infamous—to many people, was a simple but powerful gesture. It happened when Smith and the also African-American athlete John Carlos got on the podium to receive their medals. Smith, for his first place. Carlos, for his third place.

As the national anthem of the U.S. was played, both athletes stood, eyes cast downwards, and raised black-gloved fists into the polluted air of Mexico City. 

Their intent was to call attention to the bad treatment that Black people, not only in the U.S., but all over the world, have historically been forced to endure. 

Their peaceful call for a better understanding was met with a heavy backlash.

The very next day, Tommie Smith and John Carlos were sent back to the U.S. by the U.S. Olympic authorities. To many, their gesture was an insult to their country, almost a traitorous thing. A well-known white broadcaster even called them “black-skinned storm troopers,” comparing them to hated Nazi guards. 

Unpatriotic, ungrateful, cowards.

Athletes were supposed to run with their legs and not run their mouths. 

For many years afterwards, they suffered dire consequences, such as the loss of jobs and marriages. In the documentary, Smith even blames himself for the death of his mother. He believes that her worrying about the way he was treated after that day in 1968 caused her a fatal heart attack.

That was pretty much the same treatment that the former San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick is receiving today, for first sitting and then kneeling while the national anthem was played before football games. Kaepernick was also protesting the treatment that Black and Brown people suffer at the hands of the police. Obviously, little has changed between 1968 and 2020. 

Some have already said it: “Racism is so ingrained in the DNA of the U.S., that when people criticize racism, they are accused of criticizing the country itself.”

Then, my thoughts jump back to the late 1800’s. To Chile, my country of origin.

About 20 years ago, my late mother wrote to my son, Roque, answering his inquiries regarding a high-school homework assignment on our family genealogy tree. 

When my son shared her letter with me, I discovered an amazing story about my maternal great grandfather. This is what she wrote:

“Leandro González, your great-great grandfather was—most likely—an illiterate “campesino.” Why do I tell you about him? Simply because he was a pacifist. A natural pacifist. When he was a young “campesino,” already a father of a young daughter, a war started: Chile, against Perú and Bolivia.” (Note: Known as The War of the Pacific 1879/83. Considered by many a fratricidal war, largely instigated by Chilean elite classes and Great Britain). “Since Chile had a small Army, they went to search in the countryside, looking for young men to recruit and force them to fight against Peruvians and Bolivians. He (Leandro) did not want to go and declared that he would not think of killing his brothers up north over lands that nobody used…and if the military and the generals wanted to use their weapons, they should just kill each other. He was declared a coward and had to run away and hide for a large portion of his life in the nearby hills. He had little contact with his daughter Margarita, but she always defended him, understanding well what her father felt and all that he suffered in defense of his ideas.”

I believe that there is a strong connection between the largely symbolic but powerful actions taken in the U.S. by Tommie Smith, John Carlos and Colin Kaepernick and what my great-grandfather did in Chile, in 1879. 

First, they were all attacked, rejected or hunted by those in control of their respective countries, who pretended to silence them, ignore them, erase them from history.

They all stood, sat, or hid in the name of a better understanding between people.

They all risked a great deal in the process, but their ideals compelled them to carry out their actions. 

With the passing of time, Carlos and Smith have become—generally speaking—positive examples in the history of the struggle of Black people, all over the world.

Kaepernick, although still denied a job as a quarterback of any football team, has emerged as an admired leader (a kind of quarterback) in the socio-political struggles of today. To me, all three are real heroes, real patriots.

As per my great grandfather Leandro González, he is also a true hero, a true patriot. Not a coward. Not a traitor. In the perceptions of all of his descendants, he is an ancestor who informs us about some of the best of our family DNA.

In a country as divided as the U.S. is today, the difference between a patriot and a traitor will continue to be argued. Maybe forever. 

At the end, one thing is foremost in my head: patriotism should not imply a blind allegiance to any country.