What are the 2008 Olympic Games in Beijing about?
"This is China's party. They spend a lot of money, transform Beijing, and show off to the world for a month before getting dirty again."
"The Chinese government relocated business, homes, people and did anything and everything to insure a successful Olympics no matter the cost or moral turpitude. This was the ultimate example of the autocracy that still exists in China."
"Beijing and China are so polluted Western athletes were forbidden by their coaches from practicing outside. The environment is still on the back burner in China."
"Chinese athletes-- look at those female weight lifters--are doping. That's why they have so many golds."
Chinese athletes aren't doping, but they are kidnapped as children and then enslaved, beaten, and "trained" until they are gold medal-winning machines."
"Liu Xiang is a punk."
"Tibet."
There's a significant amount of cynicism and negativity surrounding the Olympics this year, that's for sure.
But one memory will remain, for me:
Plaza 66, a shopping mall on Nanjing Xi Lu. A huge projector TV hangs over a velvet red dais-platform showing the gold metal match of womens' 75kg Judo. A Japanese woman and Chinese woman tug, push, pull; hold the jokes about whether they are gals or guys because, honestly, they were more like bears.
No less than 60 people crowded around on the dais in the mall, watching intently. Japan has a 10 point lead. There is one minute left in the match. They grapple, with that big Chinese woman red faced, vainly tugging at her equally tired but game opponent. She pulls her down! She has a chance, but she can't flip her Japanese opponent for points, instead feeling the weight of adversity on her back and shoulders. They stand again, sweaty and exhausted, and I remember Rulon Gardner beating that undefeated, scary Russian Dude by basically laying around and being unmovable. In Judo, just as with Greco-Roman wrestling, the same factors applied: Too much weight, too tired, too late. The match counts down to 10 seconds, and the Japanese woman slaps away the hands of the Chinese on her way to the gold medal. The shopping mall crowd, who had been worriedly watching and voicing concerns, are now silent with nary a "Jia You!" to be heard.
And then Tong Wen threw Tsukada Maki and every one of those 60 people erupted. I saw one young woman with her face in her hands, shaking her head like she couldn't believe it and wanted to cry. Two old bald men laughed and hugged. I felt in that moment that the jubilation I was witnessing could only from Chinese, from people who follow their country with unwavering passion, whether right or wrong, just or unjust, good or bad, their pride in countrymen and then I thought about their hard daily lives, about the rail thin men peddling miles and miles every day with their huge burdens dragging behind them, thought about the soot covered grandmas looking for bottles to collect for a little bit of money.
When I saw that young woman with her face in her hands, shaking her head like she couldn't believe it and wanted to cry, I turned to the screen. And onscreen Tong Wen cried with joy, her coach jumping into her arms like a little child. Somehow these spectators were there, too, in the Judo champions huge arms, hugging the life out of her in a joy that was pure and real.
This is China's party. In that moment in a nondescript department store mall I felt inspiration and emotion mix together among strangers. It warmed them like hot congee soup. It settled in their bellies and made them smile. And it made them, in that moment at least, family. I think that's what the Olympics are about: moments like that one, stretched out over an entire month.
No comments:
Post a Comment