For Creed or Country?

rachelspangler • February 5, 2014

I believe in the Olympic movement.

I believe in the Olympic spirit.

I believe in the Olympic creed.

Faster, higher, stronger. That is the Olympic motto, but I would add a fourth  word, the word the Olympics always inspire in me: “Better.”

I believe the Olympics, at their heart, call us all to be better. Better than those who came before us, better than those who stand against us, better than the people who try to divide us. Better than our rulers, better than our government, better than even we ourselves have been.

Notice I didn’t use the word “perfect.” Or even “best.” Better is a quest. It’s not final or finished. Better is always a possibility. Better is a steady endless march forward.

I am not happy with these particular winter games in Sochi, Russia. I thought they were a mess from the moment they were announced. Sochi is a remote playground for the rich, and these games have been largely funded by those tycoons. Then there’s the politics of suppression that began almost immediately and have continued to silence many through anti-gay “propaganda” laws, crackdowns on free speech, human rights abuses, racial profiling, and terrorist threats. Now I hear that there’s no running water in many of the hotels and wild dogs in the streets. The whole thing is a mess, and I join everyone calling for the International Olympic Committee to review the processes they use to award the games to specific locales.

Still, I’d be a massive hypocrite not to acknowledge that Sochi is not the first Olympic host to fall short of the Olympic ideals. Most recently, China used the games as an excuse for massive human rights violations, forced labor, and the rounding up of political prisoners. Issues with the host country are not a new problem either. The Berlin games were pure propaganda for Hitler.  Mexico City was the site of major racial conflicts (remember the famous photos?).  And lest I be accused of xenophobia, America has not been some sort of shining example of modern hospitality. The Salt Lake City games were horribly mismanaged and rife with corporate scandal. The Atlanta games displaced hundreds of poor residents, and you want to talk about terrorist threats? Those games actually got bombed!

No, many, if not most, host cities have fallen short of the Olympic ideals.  Host countries have consistently misused the international good will associated with the games. Even more governments or individuals in power have used the Olympics as a chance to suppress their critics or further their own agendas.

Not perfect, not even close.

Then again, what is? I am a member of a mainline protestant church.  I hardly agree with every decision my denomination has made, and yet every Sunday I put a few dollars in the plate. I am a member of a labor union, and while I generally agree with them, they occasionally do something that really disappoints me, but I still pay dues. I am employed by a company that occasionally makes decisions based on profits more than people. That hurts, yet I’ve not joined a nonprofit. I am a citizen of America, and at times the decisions of my government have almost crushed me with grief, yet I do not renounce my citizenship.  I am a member of a family whose members sometimes advocate for things I abhor, and yet I love them anyway.

I remain an active participant in a multitude of problematic systems because ultimately I think those organizations do more good than harm.  I prefer them to the alternative, to going it alone, to isolation, to throwing the baby out with the bathwater.  I do not ignore their inherent failings or deny my part in them, but I do not feel they need to be rejected forgoing all their benefits for the sake of their shortcomings, and I feel, at least in the cases highlighted above, that supporting them while simultaneously advocating for change is the best way to make them better.

The Olympics are no exception. One of the ways these games are already helping to make things better is by shining a spotlight on Mother Russia and her recent transgressions. Do you honestly think that a gay propaganda law in Russia would have made international headlines for months were the Olympics someplace else?  Do you think corporations would have felt such massive pressure to weigh in?  Do you think there would have been this outpouring of international support for gay and lesbian Russians if not for these games? I may be wrong, but I believe most people would have seen this as just one more step by an oft-oppressive government.  What else could we expect from a country like Russia? This political crackdown is completely consistent with their history. I believe the only reason it’s made news is that the laws are inconsistent with the Olympic charter. Suppression may be a Russian ideal, but the Olympics call us to be better.

Even more important, though, than the effects the games have on Russia is the power they have to effect change on a much more personal level. You see, these Olympics don’t really belong to Russia. They belong to world. To the people. To you.  To me.  To us. While the Olympics do undoubtedly enable their hosts to wield a lot of power, they are not about their settings.  They are not about their hosts. They are not about the powerful or the rich. Once the games begin, their setting is largely irrelevant, or certainly less relevant than what they enable the global community to experience.

In this world it is very rare that we meet people from other cultures, from other countries without money or guns between us. There is very little chance for us to strive for the best without force or threat of force. There is virtually no opportunity for individuals to reach out to a fellow competitor and shake hands, to acknowledge that no matter what issues our governments have between them, you and I, we are striving for the same things. At time when drones kill from afar and money taints everything it touches, I long for more spaces to compete peacefully. I ache for more opportunities to meet the world as individuals. I cherish every change we have to look someone in the eye and say, “No matter what religion we follow, what language we speak, what color our skin, hair, or eyes happen to be, no matter who we happen to love, we are all pouring our hearts and spirits into being faster, higher, stronger.”

Despite all the things, real or imagined, that divide us, the Olympics reminds us we are all ultimately just trying to be better.

I am boycotting Russia in a way I suppose, but not the Olympics. I do not think I will watch the opening ceremonies of these Olympics. That will be hard for me because I love them so much, but that’s the part of the games that are not really the games. That is the time when the Russian government will lead the show, and I cannot support Russia right now.  But once the games truly begin, I will not miss a minute. Once the people take to the ice, the mountain, the podium, it really could be any ice, any mountain, and any podium. Those moments, those dreams, they are human and they are universal, and I believe every time we come together to recognize our commonalities we are all made a little better.

Follow your own hearts regarding these Olympics. Watch, or don’t. Boycott, or celebrate what you chose. I cannot condemn either course of action. But to me the Olympics are not about being perfect. They never are. Their unifying creed reads, “ The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win, but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph, but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered, but to have fought well.”

Choose your own path. For me, I will take part.

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Facebook memories reminded me that we are approaching the 1 year anniversary of my stem cell donation. On June 1st of 2021, after five days of injections, I underwent a medical procedure to donate stem cells via a line in my chest. Those cells were then transferred into a cancer patient somewhere in Ohio. In addition to feeling like a high tech medical miracle, it was also a huge, awe inspiring experience for me personally, and I’ve spent the time since then feeling so proud and honored to have been in a position to so something so powerful. Then about two weeks ago I received a phone call that my recipient had passed away. I’m gutted. The news has ripped at me in ways I could not have anticipated. This is, in effect, the death of a stranger, a young woman in a different place, whose name I have never known. And now I will never know it. In some ways I don’t feel entitled to this level of grief. In so many ways she’d only ever existed for me as an idea. But we were not nothing to each other. I have prayed for her every day for almost a year, and now I pray for her family. I have wondered and worried over her. I have woken up in the middle of long nights and on Christmas morning thinking about her. Every time I notice the little scar on my chest where the line went into my body, I have felt her with me. Still, I did not know her. And I never will. When the transplant coordinator called, she broke the news quickly, then she said that she needed one more thing from me. She wondered if I might release my remaining stem cells to researchers. I was still a bit rocked back from the start of the conversation, and this request confused me. She explained that there were some cells left over after the transfusion, and they still belonged to me. Legally and ethically, those cells, even after they left my body, are a part of me, and no one can do anything to those extensions of my body without my releasing them. I thought about asking her if anyone had mentioned that to the Supreme Court, but I was too sad in the moment. The anger would come later, but as I’ve pondered that fact, it has helped me at least contextualize the level of grief I am feeling: A woman died with a part of me inside of her. I have tried to temper the dramatic impulse to surrender to the idea that if she died with a part of me inside her, a part of me has died as well, but I’ll admit I have gone there a time or two. What I have leaned on more frequently, though, is that despite not knowing anything other than her rough age and gender, we shared something more fundamental than names or letters. We shared stem cells, the very building blocks of what makes us who we are on a cellular level. With those cells I sent my hopes, my best impulses, my health, my love, the pieces of my blood and bones that allow me to live such a wonderful life in the hopes I could sustain her with those things. Turns out I could not. It has been two weeks of wondering if I could have done more. Fearing that my body, which I have always had a problematic relationship with, has failed me again, and this time betrayed someone else in the process. Worrying someone else paid the price of my insufficiency. Remembering loved ones I have lost to cancer, feeling that pain anew. Imagining the anguish of those who loved her as deeply as I loved the people I lost, and almost crippling empathy for the pain they are living in right now, pain I couldn’t save them from even though I tried. It’s been dark in my brain. My emotions have overwhelmed me often. Sadness ruled the first week. I burst into tears several times at inopportune moments, and cried until my face hurt. This past week anger took over. I will admit, other than a general sense of the injustice of it all, I didn’t understand where the anger came from. Then in session this week, my therapist explained that anger is a common outlet for a sense of helplessness. 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She smiled like she knew that, then gently pushed. “If one year ago someone had told you, there’s a woman in need and you will never know her. She needs the very base of your body’s building blocks, it will be a grueling process over several days that will take more out of you physically and emotionally than you had imagined, and all it will give her is 11 more months. 11 months to say what she needs to say, to hug loved ones, to try to make peace. One more Christmas, one more birthday, one more fall, and winter, and spring, but that’s all. She will be gone, and you will live on with the questions, and a connection most people will never comprehend. Would you sign up for that? The answer was yes. It is yes. If I got the same call tomorrow, the answer would be yes that day and every day after. It will always be yes. I suppose that is the through line. That’s the story. 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