‘While recovering, I had to sit and do nothing. So I went on television to educate people. I went on Sunrise and Melissa Doyle introduced me as the “brainless Paul Wade”.
‘And I laughed, and said, “Yep, I’m brainless!”
‘I don’t have seizures any more. I can drive. I take medication, and my memory lets me down sometimes. But it’s a small price to pay. My body is shot to pieces, but I love coaching kids and giving them the dream that one day they can do what I did. I tell the children I coach that if they ask for my autograph, they have to give me one of theirs in return.
‘And if they play for Australia one day, they have to give me two tickets. I love my life, it’s not perfect, but it’s as close to it as you can get. It sure beats working for a living.’
The quiet man
by Giles Stratton
OLYMPIC SILVER MEDALLIST Peter Norman isn’t so much an unsung sporting hero as a sporting hero who has been totally written out of Australian Olympic history. In forty-five years, nobody has come close to equalling his time over 200 metres — yet he was the only living Australian Olympic medallist to be excluded from participating in the 2000 Sydney Olympics by the Australian Olympic Committee. His fellow medallists in the 200-metre sprint final at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics are part of the NSW Higher School Certificate Modern History curriculum, but the young runner who played a supporting yet pivotal role in that important event doesn’t even get a mention. Nor was he invited to the 1972 Munich Olympics, despite being the reigning silver medallist and having running times in the lead up that passed qualification repeatedly. For the first time since 1896, the Australian Olympic track and field selectors instead took no male athletes. When he died of a heart attack in 2006, his funeral did make the evening bulletins but, for the most part, Peter Norman was either unknown or forgotten to the great majority of his own countrymen.
It’s an obvious cliché to refer to the 1960s as turbulent times but conflict, protest and urban unrest were felt in all corners of the globe, to the extent that even the previously idyllic world of the Olympic athlete was affected. There had been a long history of the exploitation of minorities in the pursuit of Olympic medal glory, nowhere more than in the United States. Elsewhere in the nation, a young Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr had thrown the gold medal he’d won at the 1960 Rome Olympics into the Ohio River after being refused service at a ‘whites-only’ restaurant in his hometown of Louisville. The United States’ armed forces, trapped in an unwinnable war in Vietnam, was an army that was almost entirely conscripted from the minority groups, predominantly African-Americans. In short, there was a lot for a young African-American to be angry about.
Most Australians wouldn’t equate any of that with their own experience of the 1960s, but most Australians aren’t of Aboriginal heritage. Then, as today, you didn’t have to go too far outside the protection of the front yard with the white picket fence to witness what Indigenous Australians had to endure. They didn’t have full and equal voting rights, were not included in the official census and were treated as second-class citizens. According to African-American activist Angela Davis (of whom Mick Jagger wrote the Rolling Stones song ‘Sweet Black Angel’), Australia was considered second only to apartheid-era South Africa in terms of the racism inherent in the policies of its government.
Peter Norman was born in Coburg, Victoria, to parents who were heavily involved in the Salvation Army movement. Although not evangelical himself, he strongly believed in many of the tenets of his parents’ religion — particularly the idea that all human beings are equal in the eyes of the Lord. An early childhood friend was the son of Chinese fruiterers and, as a result, he never felt uncomfortable when in the company of immigrants or the original Australians. He was a knockabout bloke, with a bit of the spirit of the larrikin about him.
Originally a high and long jumper, Norman became a sprinter by accident. At a track meet with his club, he was pressed into running the fourth leg of the 4 x 100 metres relay because one of the team had failed to show up. When he was passed the baton during the race, his team were well behind, but he ran his guts out and won the race. The following week, his name wasn’t listed in any of the jumping events and he figured he hadn’t been selected. He later got a call from one of the club officials.
‘Why haven’t you crossed your name off?’ the official said.
‘Because my name wasn’t there,’ Norman replied.
‘Not for jumping it’s not — you’re in the relay team now.’
He soon learned that hard work brings about good performances, and good performances have their rewards. He was a natural runner who had the ability to think outside the square in terms of improving his running times. And he wasn’t averse to a bit of psychological warfare either.
Norman liked to keep abreast of current affairs, both domestic and international, and was alarmed at the reports of violence meted out to trailblazing Indigenous soccer player Charles Perkins and his fellow university students as they conducted their own Freedom Ride bus tour in 1965 to places like Moree, to highlight the racism directed at Aboriginal Australians. The idea that policies of racial segregation, official or otherwise, were in place within his country appalled and disturbed Norman. But what could he — one bloke — do about it?
1968 proved to be a big year for current affairs. The assassination of African-American civil rights and anti-war activist the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr was almost cataclysmic. American cities burned across the continent as rage overtook peaceful protest. The other great hero of the time, Muhammad Ali, formerly known as Cassius Clay, went through the injustice of having his undisputed world heavyweight title taken off him, not by another fighter in the squared circle but by the white political hacks of American state boxing commissions.
For the African-American athletes competing to become members of the US Olympic track and field team, there was immense pressure from within their community to join the protest and boycott the Games in Mexico City, and many of them were open to this idea. Activist Harry Edwards created the Olympic Project For Human Rights (OPHR) to support African-American Olympians in the lead up to the games. The aims of the OPHR were four-fold:
To overturn South Africa’s and Rhodesia’s invitations to compete in the Olympics.
To restore the undisputed world heavyweight title to Muhammad Ali.
To bring about the sacking of Avery Brundage, chairman of the US Olympic Committee, a man who is widely acknowledged today as a racist by both the African-American and Jewish communities in the US.
To appoint more African-American coaches to the US Olympic track-and-field team.
Edwards was ultimately unsuccessful in achieving any of these aims. But he did win over sprinters Tommie Smith and John Carlos, who were inspired enough to wear the OPHR badge and to consider making some sort of statement on the dais should they win a medal. Which was highly likely.
The 1968 Mexico City Games were unusual in several ways, but for the Australians one of the biggest concerns was the altitude of the venue. Mexico City rests at 2240 metres — twelve metres higher than the summit of Mount Kosciuszko. The Americans had prepared with a lengthy training camp at altitude in the Sierra Nevada. They were convinced this was going to give them the winning edge in Mexico City. The Australians’ other concern was the artificial running surface. Traditionally tracks had been made from cinder; the new synthetic surface had been designed for horse races and its qualities were unknown.
None of the American athletes had ever heard of Peter Norman at the beginning of the competition, but as his times improved with every heat, with new personal bests, national records and even a short-lived Olympic record, they started to pay attention. Altitude seemed to be no problem and he felt the synthetic track helped him like no other surface he’d ever run on. By the time the 200-metre dash final came around, you bet the Americans knew who the little guy from Down Under was. He was a clear and present threat to their domination of the track.
Norman
ran the best race any Australian has ever run in that event. He didn’t win, but a silver medal in the company of Smith, who won gold, and Carlos, who won bronze, was an outstanding achievement, and something that has never been bettered by any Australian since. He had become a true Olympian. The joy and gratitude of a grateful nation was up for grabs, with glory and fortune sure to follow. At only twenty-six, he seemed certain to have a long career ahead.
No. He had run his last race for his country, which quickly turned on him, shunning and ostracising him. His downward slide would include battles with depression, alcohol and prescription painkillers as he disappeared into obscurity. Why? Why did the beige suits of the Australian Olympic movement kill off this man’s career, with the help of a complicit media?
Among his many beliefs, Norman felt a medal winner at the Olympics had earned the right to use his or her short time on the dais any way they saw fit. Smith and Carlos had decided to use their fifteen seconds to protest against what they sincerely and firmly believed to be racial injustice and inequality within their country. The two African-Americans thought it only fair that they forewarn the Australian, who had earned their respect with his spirit and wit. The African-Americans in the US team had received death threats prior to and during the Games. There were rumours that snipers were positioned around the stadium to gun down any athlete who attempted to launch any sort of protest. According to Fairfax journalist Martin Flanagan, they ‘asked Norman if he believed in human rights. He said he did. They asked him if he believed in God … he said he strongly believed in God.’
Smith and Carlos had no illusions about what they were about to do and realised there would be ramifications but, as African-American men, they felt they had absolutely no choice and were prepared for a backlash. There was fear in their hearts as they walked out into the stadium. But Norman had the choice to distance himself from the protest. It wasn’t his fight.
Instead, he looked at his fellow athletes and said simply, ‘I’ll stand with you.’ He even managed to get an OPHR badge from one of the American rowers, which he pinned onto his tracksuit.
Smith and Carlos had agreed among themselves to wear black leather gloves on the dais and raise their fists but Carlos had forgotten to bring his pair. It was Norman who made the suggestion that they share Smith’s gloves, one to each man, and they raised them in what became known as the ‘Black Power Salute’, though to those on the dais it was more a ‘cry for freedom’. Without this input, the scene that LIFE magazine declared to be one of the twenty most influential images of the twentieth century may never have happened.
As they mounted the dais, a very nervous John Carlos looked at Peter Norman, expecting to see fear in the eyes of the Australian. Carlos later recounted, ‘I saw love. Peter never flinched.’
The protest divided the American team on race lines; most of the white members of the team were completely aghast and, irrespective of the issues, believed Carlos and Smith had tarnished the Olympics. The white men from Australia heartily agreed. They failed in their attempts to drive Cathy Freeman out after she ran with the Aboriginal flag in Canada in 1994 but they managed to kill off the athletics career of Peter Norman. Nobody would ever have the courage to own up to it on the record, but Norman was reprimanded and prevented from competing in the 1972 Munich Olympics. Norman never competed at another Olympic Games. Did he whinge, moan, complain or institute legal action? No, he just smiled.
In 2000, the US team were so shocked that Norman had been given no official role whatsoever at the Sydney Olympics that they flew him up from his home in Melbourne and feted him as a hero in the history of American athletics.
In 2003, San Jose State University, the alma mater of both Tommie Smith and John Carlos, unveiled plans for statues of the two standing on the dais in Mexico City, with raised fists. When Carlos realised there was to be no statue of Peter Norman, he was outraged. However, the sculptor (who goes by the name Rigo 23) revealed that he wished to leave Norman’s podium vacant so that anybody could stand up there, together with the statues of Smith and Carlos. Norman’s response to Rigo 23’s concept, according to author Dave Zirin, was, ‘I love that idea … anybody can get up there and stand up for something they believe in. I guess that just about says it all.’
The day of his death, 9 October 2006, was declared Peter Norman Day by the US Track and Field Federation. Both Carlos and Smith flew out from America to act as pallbearers at Norman’s funeral. As Carlos said in his eulogy to his friend and idol: ‘Go and tell your kids the story of Peter Norman.’
On 11 October 2012, Federal Parliament passed a belated motion of apology to the late Peter Norman and his family, instigated by Andrew Leigh, the Member for Fraser. With Norman’s 91-year-old mother, Thelma, in attendance, Leigh ended a passionate and eloquent address to Parliament supporting his motion with these words: ‘Every Olympic Games produces moments of heroism, humanity and humility. [The Olympic] motto is “Citius, Altius, Fortius” — Swifter, Higher, Stronger.
‘In 1968, Peter Norman exemplified this. Swifter — because of his record, that still stands. Higher — because he stood tall that day. Stronger — because of the guts it took to take a stand.
‘He showed us that the action of one person can make a difference. It’s a message that echoes down to us today. Whether refusing to tolerate a racist joke or befriending a new migrant, each of us can — and all of us should — be a Peter Norman in our own lives.’
The quote from Martin Flanagan was taken from the article ‘Runner’s Salute: “Go and tell your kids about Peter Norman”’, written by Flanagan and published in The Age on 10 October 2006.
Norman’s response to Rigo 23’s concept was published on the website CommonDreams.org on 20 October 2005.
From refugee to Ronaldo: Football United
by Amanda Shalala
ON 12 JULY 1998, France took on Brazil in the final of the FIFA World Cup in Paris. As sport often does, it produced a fairytale that day, as the host nation downed the defending champions three–nil to win football’s ultimate prize.
It was at that moment Anne Bunde-Birouste realised the sport’s capacity to touch people’s lives in the most prophetic manner, and the wheels were set in motion for a football revolution down under. ‘When they won, immediately the country spilled out into the streets, [and stayed there] all night long, and [that euphoria] lasted for years.’
Anne grew up in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and after finishing college she joined the Peace Corps in Africa. From there she moved with her husband to France, where she was instrumental in health promotion. Her work eventually brought her to Australia to join the University of New South Wales (UNSW). It was here that Anne’s dream was soon realised and her unwavering determination saw Football United (FUn) started in 2006. Anne says, ‘It wasn’t anything more than a vision that football could be a really powerful, positive vehicle to bring people together and help newly arrived humanitarian settlers.’ FUn was designed to provide organised sport for recent immigrants, who otherwise wouldn’t have had access to it due to a number of barriers, including financial hardship, cultural differences, and transport difficulties. Anne’s goal was to provide development through sport, rather than the development of sport. It wasn’t about producing Socceroos or Matildas, but using football to create social inclusion.
She was adamant that her program would be a success: ‘I knew, because I had seen too much of this power.’ The power that saw hundreds of thousands of French men and women transform the Champs-Élysées into a living shrine; the power that took a poor boy from Três Corações in Brazil, and turned him into one of the greatest players of all time; the power that produced a still tangible wave of euphoria across Australia when John Aloisi slotted that penalty against Uruguay … That power was proof enough for Anne that football was the answer.
And through her hard work, dedication and incredible joie de vivre, she has nurtured countless young people and used the beautiful game to ultimately reach her goal to ‘make peop
le’s lives better’.
FUn provides weekly training sessions across a range of sites in New South Wales, the Australian Capital Territory and South Australia. These are predominantly run in areas with high migrant populations, in conjunction with local high schools or Intensive English Centres (IECs), or as community programs. Participants also engage in activities outside of purely playing, including coaching courses, youth leadership programs, and even documentary filmmaking.
While Anne is the mastermind of the operation, her staff members match her passion and commitment to deliver FUn’s mission. She notes, ‘We’ve got a very specific personality, the soul of Football United, and because of the way we work, it’s a very special connection, and a very sensitive and intuitive group of people.’
One of those people is community coordinator Assmaah Helal, herself a top-level footballer, who’s helped FUn develop from just two schools in Sydney with basic football activities to what it is today. ‘It’s about empowering young people to take initiative, to organise their own tournaments, to coach their peers, to speak in public, to gain these amazing life skills that they probably wouldn’t have gotten outside of football. I think Football United has provided them that comfortable platform to learn more about themselves and gain confidence and do things they probably thought they could never do.’
That’s most evident through the youth leadership program run by Stuart Meney, who’s also head coach at three sites in Sydney. The majority of FUn’s youth leaders were once participants themselves, and the program’s aim isn’t just to develop better coaches, but better people. Stuart says, ‘We’ve developed a set of life skills, based on a UNICEF idea that we’re embedding in our football coaching activity. [These include] diversity, decision-making, critical thinking. And the people delivering that are our youth leaders. You can see them becoming more comfortable with life, with managing groups of people. Most of them are working, or attending university or TAFE, and they’re engaging in their community in different capacities, not just with Football United.’
ABC Grandstand's Unsung Sporting Heroes Page 14