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Various national flags fly during the opening ceremonies of the 2002 Olympic Winter Games in Salt Lake City, Utah The British contingent parades at the opening ceremony of the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich. That year's games were marred by the murder of eleven members of the Israeli team by Palestinian terrorists. The opening ceremony of the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin, staged by chancellor Adolf Hitler to reflect a peaceful, tolerant Germany. Performers form the Olympic rings and a one-hundred number during the opening ceremony of the centennial Olympic Games in Atlanta, 1996. |
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When the Olympic Games were revived more than a century ago, they were a little different than they are today. The 1900 Paris Olympics, for instance, included events that resembled summer camp amusements more than sports. There was Olympic croquet, tug-of-war, and the obstacle swim, in which competitors had to dive under and climb over rows of boats. The games began without speeches, a parade, or a torch. There were no fireworks at all.
Nowadays, the sports have gone extreme—BMX and white-water canoeing—and the Olympics begin with puppets and pyrotechnics. The opening ceremony has become an integral part of the games. It is the Olympics, in a sense. It celebrates the ideals of the games, ideals of participation, peace, and sport for sport’s sake. When the athletes parade around the track, it is not about the winning or losing of schoolyard contests but rather about the camaraderie of nations.
Baron Pierre de Coubertin, the founder of the modern Olympics, wanted us to channel our competitive energies into nonviolent contest to display the greatness of human capability. He designed the Olympic logo—five intertwining rings—to represent the five major continents peacefully joined, and he wrote classic moral principles into the Olympic creed, such as: “The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part.” The opening ceremonies are intended to show us just that. We see everyone who is taking part—not only the international superstars, the Michael Phelpses and the Yao Mings, but also the Iranian weight lifter and the Israeli windsurfer. We see ourselves, our neighbors, and even our enemies, represented not by guerrillas or generals but by really fast runners.
Of course, as the troubled journey of the 2008 Olympic torch has proved, any spectacle that reflects our ideals must bear the weight of our flaws. The very first Olympic opening parade, in London a hundred years ago, was a political disaster. There were complaints right off that the royal family was using the ceremony as propaganda. A number of Irish athletes boycotted the games on principle. The contingent from Finland refused to march under the Russian flag. Then there was a snafu—intentional or not—that left the American and Swedish flags off the top of the stadium. The Swedes wouldn’t march at all, and when the U.S. athletes passed the royal box, they snubbed Edward VII by not bowing the Stars and Stripes. “The flag dips to no earthly king,” said American discus champion and flag bearer Martin Sheridan. He became a hero.
Over the decades, politics have continually infused the Olympic showcase, from the goose-stepping at Hitler’s Berlin games to the nationalism of the boycott years—every installment of the games from 1956 to 1988 was marked by some kind of political refusal. I remember watching Ronald Reagan open the 1984 games in a ceremony with a bombastic score by John Williams and an eagle sent soaring over Los Angeles. I was 11 years old. My feelings were not exactly colored by global amity and a belief in the glory of participation. I wanted us to win.
But sometimes the ceremonies do convey our best intentions. East and West German athletes marched and performed together 1956 through 1964 despite the heated friction at the Berlin Wall. In 1992 Barcelona successfully staged a celebration of a new era—the first post-boycott, post–cold war games. The Soviet Union was now made up of independent states marching together, but with individual flags and anthems. A racially integrated South African team took the stage for the first time since apartheid. The Catalan speeches honored local history without provoking Basque separatists or other factions. Plus there were enough fireworks, flamenco, and Disneyfied pageantry to prove, for better or worse, that Spain had shaken off the Franco years and become a modern, market-driven nation.
This year could provide a similar opportunity for China, a country that has one fifth of the world’s population and its fastest-growing economy, but is facing questions about the air quality in Beijing, the crackdown in Tibet, the government’s indirect support of violence in Darfur, and its own poor human rights record. Several world leaders, including Britain’s Gordon Brown, have already announced that they will not attend the opening ceremony. The Chinese have some work to do to turn the ceremony into positive publicity—as do the Americans, who face a diminished international reputation in the midst of the Iraq war.
Meanwhile, athletes are left in the lurch. For many, the Olympics are a dream come true. They are proud to represent their country, yet they feel the burden of being more than just fast runners—of being environmentalists, humanitarians, or social activists. Although the Olympic charter forbids the “demonstration of political, religious or racial propaganda” at Olympic venues, some athletes plan to use their global visibility to raise awareness. American softball player Jessica Mendoza will wear a Team Darfur wristband when she is not in uniform. “As much as I love this sport,” Mendoza says, “I also love other things, humanity being one of them.” Many athletes, however, feel that such activism is a distraction from the core values of the games. “The Olympics is about the Olympics,” says Mendoza’s teammate Jennie Finch, “and it’s a celebration.” Finch doesn’t want to boycott the opening ceremonies; she just wants to enjoy the show. The Chinese, after all, invented fireworks. It may be the best ceremony yet.
Austin Kelley edits the Modern Spectator, an online magazine about the culture of sports. His writing appears in the New Yorker, Men’s Vogue, and the New York Times.
Photography Credits:
1. JACQUES DEMARTHON/AFP/Getty Images
2. Popperfoto/Getty Images
3. Keystone/Getty Images
4. PASCAL GUYOT/AFP/Getty Images
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