Introduction
In the summer of 2019, at the Pan American Games in Lima, Peru, U.S. hammer thrower Gwen Berry punched her fist into the sky as she stood on the medal stand send a political message: to “stand for all of the injustices that are going on in America and a president who’s making it worse.” The previous day, U.S.
fencer Race Imboden, animated by “racism, gun control, the mistreatment of immigrants,” took a knee during the official medal ceremony. The response from the United States Olympic and Paralympic Committee (USOPC) was swift and harsh. Both athletes were placed on probation for a year. A letter from the USOPC stated they “could face more serious sanctions for any additional breach of our code of conduct” (Griffith, 2019). Both athletes competed in the 2016 Rio Olympics and were vying for spots at the Tokyo Olympics 2020.
A few months later, the International Olympic Committee (IOC) made it clear that it was in sync with the USOPC. The IOC issued a set of guidelines that forbade activism by athletes at the Tokyo 2020 Summer Olympics, expli-citly prohibiting “gestures of a political nature, like a hand gesture or kneeling” – precisely the actions taken by Berry and Imboden. The guidelines also barred
“displaying any political messaging, including signs or armbands” (IOC, 2020a, p. 3). The policy added precision to Rule 50 in the current Olympic Charter: “No kind of demonstration or political, religious or racial propaganda is permitted in any Olympic sites, venues or other areas” (IOC, 2020b, p. 90).
Because the Olympics have become a massive media and marketing event, the impact of athlete activism has the potential to reverberate globally. The episode involving Berry, Imboden, the IOC, and the USOPC is a modern- day microcosm of the long- standing dialectic of resistance and restriction within Olympic circles.
While Olympians from around the globe have used their platform to express pol-itical dissent and to stand up for what they believe in, the powerbrokers who organize and manage the Olympic Games have consistently squelched athlete activism, doggedly imposing neutrality by fiat.
The core idea animating the IOC’s guidelines (2020a, p. 2) is that “sport is neu-tral and must be separate from political, religious or any other type of interference.”
While political neutrality may be laudable on its surface, critics argue that it ripples with hypocrisy when it is mandated by the IOC. “The Olympics are pol-itical, if nothing else,” writes Harry Edwards (2017 [1969], p. 85). “The fact that all participating nations do not compete under a single flag, the Olympic flag, but under their respective national flags, heightens their political flavor.” In short, the IOC’s brand of apoliticism – replete with the trappings of nationalism – is, in fact, deeply political.
This chapter analyzes cases of athlete activism at the Olympics in order to illu-minate how the dialectic of resistance and restriction functions under the glow of the five rings. The Olympic Charter’s Rule 50 suspends athlete activists between the past and the future while denying their right to exist in the present. This reinforces the politics of the status quo, which benefits those in power. And yet from the early days of the modern Olympics, athletes have stood up and, undaunted by pressure from the top of the Olympic pyramid, taken political action.
IOC and political dissent
Baron Pierre de Coubertin, the plucky French aristocrat whose dogged deter-mination helped the modern Olympics reemerge on the world stage in Athens in 1896, often argued that the Olympics must transcend politics. In his writings and speeches, he made it clear he believed politics threatened to mar his vision of “Olympism.” He wrote (2000, p. 584): “Today, politics is making its way into the heart of every issue. How can we expect athletics, the culture of the muscles, and Olympism itself to be immune?” He then asserted, with more than a dash of wishful thinking, “the ravages that this phenomenon can cause” did not stain
“Olympism,” which “remains as steadfast as the principles on which the institu-tion is based” and safely sequestered from politics.
The Baron set the tone and subsequent powerbrokers at the IOC carried out his wish that politics be forbidden at the Olympics. For example, the U.S.
business tycoon Avery Brundage, who headed the IOC from 1952 to 1972, stated at the opening session of the 1968 Mexico City Games, “We must never permit the Olympic Movement to be used as a tool or weapon for any ulterior cause nor the Olympic Games to be a forum for demonstrations of any kind.” Brundage added, “Let us all continue to work together with concord and strive to keep the Games clean, pure and honest, and free from politics and dollar signs.”1
Even before Brundage became president of the IOC, Olympic plenipoten-tiaries were writing rules to nix politics. For instance, the 1933 Olympic Charter demanded that National Olympic Committees (NOCs) avoid political nation-alism. “To fulfill their duty,” NOCs “must avoid any political or other influence and when called upon to take a decision be actuated only by general interest without taking into consideration local questions or the desire to favour national competitors” (IOC, 1933, p. 12). The 1946 Olympic Rules featured a passage on the “Examination of the question of the nationalisation of sports for political aims.” After commending governments for cultivating sports programs that fed
the Olympic movement, it warned against “certain tendencies which envisage above all a national exultation of success achieved rather than the realization of the common and harmonious objective which is the essential Olympic law”
(IOC, 1946, p. 27). Politics in the form of nationalism was to be scrupulously avoided. The 1950 Olympic Charter clearly affirmed an anti- politics stance:
National Olympic Committees must be independent and autonomous. They must avoid any political, commercial or religious interference, and, consider when decisions have to be taken only the general interest of the Olympic movement and without being swayed by local questions or by the desire to favour their athletes.
(IOC, 1950, p. 8) In 1955, the IOC’s preoccupation with politics pivoted from straight nation-alism toward political activism; the group introduced language similar to what eventually ended up as today’s Rule 50. In a section called “Information for Cities which desire to stage the Olympic Games,” the IOC (1955, p. 31) asserted:
Invitations must state that no political demonstrations will be held in the stadium or other sport grounds, or in the Olympic Village, during the Games, and that it is not the intention to use the Games for any other purpose than for the advancement of the Olympic Movement.
By 1974, the Olympic Charter read:
No political meetings or demonstrations will be held in the stadium or other sports grounds, nor in the Olympic Villages, during the Games, nor in the preceding or the following week. The candidate city will officially confirm that it is not its intention to use the Games for any purpose other than the interest of the Olympic movement.
(IOC, 1974a, p. 51) In a section called “Questionnaire for Candidate Cities Staging the Games,”
the IOC (1974a, p. 54) asked, “Can you guarantee that no political meeting or demonstration will take place in the stadium, or any other sports ground or in the Olympic Village during the Games?” The minutes from an IOC Executive Board meeting in October 1974 show that one amendment suggested adding this line to the Charter: “Every kind of demonstration or propaganda, whether political, religious or racial, in the Olympic areas is forbidden and shall be firmly suppressed by the Organising Committee” (IOC, 1974b, p. 31). In the end, the Executive Board adopted the amendment but deleted the phrase “and shall be firmly suppressed by the Organising Committee” because IOC president Lord Killanin believed “that it was not fair to ask the Organising Committee to be responsible for suppressing propaganda” (IOC 1974b, p. 11). The following year,
the IOC Charter directly stated, “Every kind of demonstration or propaganda, whether political, religious or racial, in the Olympic areas is forbidden” (1975, p. 35). The spirit of this rule sits at the heart of today’s Rule 50 banning political dissent at the Games.
Olympian dissent
Despite the IOC’s wishes and strictures, athlete dissent appeared at the Games from nearly the beginning. At the 1906 “intercalary” Olympics in Athens, Irish track athlete Peter O’Connor punctuated a memorable performance on the track with an unforgettable act of political dissent at the medal ceremony.2 O’Connor, the son of a shipbuilder, was a working- class clerk for a solicitor. Not only was he a star track athlete, but he was also a fiery Irish nationalist who loathed the notion of having to compete as a British athlete. But Ireland was ruled by Westminster at the time, and the English Amateur Athletics Association (AAA) was keen to lure O’Connor and his fellow Irishman Con Leahy to compete for Great Britain.
Although O’Connor was 34 and approaching the twilight of a successful track career, the British believed he and Leahy could increase their medal count.
However, O’Connor and Leahy had other plans; they were determined to com-pete for Ireland, to go out in a burst of Irish green (Quinn, 2004).
O’Connor and Leahy traveled to Athens with two other Irish athletes – John Daly and John McGough – and their passages were paid by everyday Irish people who wanted to see Ireland represented at the Olympics. The Irish athletes had made it clear to Olympic powerbrokers their desire to represent Ireland. But to their great dismay, upon their arrival they learned – by reading Olympic sou-venir programs – that they were listed with the British delegation.3 To compete at the 1906 Athens Games athletes were required to be affiliated with a National Olympic Committee. Because Ireland was still governed from Westminster, it had not yet formed such a committee. O’Connor wrote an appeal but was promptly denied by Olympic organizers (Lennartz, 2002; Quinn, 2004).
For the first time in Olympic history, Athens featured a “March of Nations,”
which resembled modern- day opening ceremonies. Foreshadowing their subse-quent dissent, the Irish athletes wore bright green blazers embossed with golden shamrocks on the left breast and ornate golden braids along the cuffs and collars, along with matching green caps emblazoned with a shamrock. The athletes straggled behind the rest of the British contingent, conspicuously distancing themselves from the pack and ignoring the English AAA’s demand that they don Union Jacks on their sports coats (Guiney, 1996; Mallon, 1999; Quinn, 2004).
Once the athletics began, O’Connor continued to express his passionate per-sonality. While participating in the long jump, O’Connor argued that Olympic official Matthew Halpin – who doubled as event judge and the manager of the U.S. team – officiated in biased manner. According to O’Connor and others, Halpin allowed U.S. long jumper Myer Prinstein to leapfrog ahead in the jumping order, thereby allowing him to run on a smoother, faster track. Halpin also called
O’Connor for fouls on two of his jumps. O’Connor later told the Limerick Leader,
“I was enraged … I was half insane over the injustice.” He even said if he were not restrained, he “would have beaten Halpin to a pulp” (Quinn, 2004, p. 183).
O’Connor swiftly submitted a written appeal but, given that he was gaining a reputation as a troublemaker, he was again denied. Still, he won the silver medal (Mallon, 1999).
During the medal ceremonies, the iconic act of dissent transpired. When officials hoisted the Union Jack up the flagpole to mark his silver- medal perform-ance, O’Connor sprinted over to the pole and shimmied up it. Atop the flagpole he unfurled a large green flag bearing and a golden harp the words Erin Go Bragh, or “Ireland Forever.” Below, his teammate Con Leahy waved a similar flag and fended off the Greek police, giving O’Connor more time to show his Irish pride (Quinn, 2004). O’Connor later reminisced,
When I climbed a pole about 20 feet in height and remained aloft for some time, waving my large flag and Con waving his from the ground underneath the pole, it caused a great sensation … I was an accomplished gymnast in my youth and my active climbing of the post excited the spectators.4
O’Connor’s great grandson Mark Quinn (2004, p. 184) later wrote, “The Irishman’s points might well be accredited to Great Britain, but the flying of the Irish flag left none in doubt as to where O’Connor’s true allegiances lay.”
Quinn told me, “Events dictated that he become political. To not become polit-ical would be to submit to British authority.”5 Rosemarie O’Connor Quinn, the granddaughter of the dissident Olympian, added, “Over 800 years of repression and dominance of a colonial power certainly inspired Peter O’Connor to pull down the British flag.”6
Although Olympic officials were displeased with O’Connor’s defiant act of pol-itical dissent, they did not expel him from the Games. He went on the win gold in the “hop- step- and- jump” event, known today as the triple jump. When Leahy won a gold medal in the high jump, they reiterated their flag- waving protest, this time from the ground (Quinn, 2004). O’Connor and Leahy demonstrated how nationalism could be a political lever against colonial oppression in the context of sport. They also showed how Olympic rules and regulations could generate dissent. Moreover, they were a lively precursor for future acts of athlete activism at the Games.
Decades later, Czech gymnast Vera Čáslavská also showed how resistance to imperialism could manifest at the Olympics. Čáslavská, the most successful Czech gymnast in the history of the Olympics, took a political stand on the medal stand that challenged Soviet aggression against Czechoslovakia. Two months before the 1968 Mexico City Olympics, the Soviet Union invaded Czechoslovakia to crush the “Prague Spring,” the inklings of democracy that tried to loosen Soviet control of the country. The Czechoslovak National Olympic Committee came close to withdrawing from the 1968 Games, as the incursion made training
nearly impossible for athletes and major transatlantic airlines were no longer departing from Prague. Less than a month before the Games’ opening ceremony, Czechoslovakia decided to persist and sent a 100- member Olympic team to Mexico (Hamilton, 1968). Inspired by politics, Čáslavská vowed not to be bested by Soviet gymnasts; her aim for the Games was to “sweat blood to defeat the invaders’ representatives” (Reynolds, 2018).
Čáslavská had already established herself as a world- class gymnast. At the Tokyo 1964 Games she won three gold medals and a silver. She had also demonstrated willingness to be an athlete- activist who was willing to speak out; in April 1968, she signed onto the Manifesto of 2,000 Words, which protested Soviet dominance in Czechoslovakia. Four months later, the Soviets invaded and Čáslavská fled into hiding where she trained under suboptimal conditions. Stress abounded. But with this political backdrop, Čáslavská thrived in Mexico City, winning four gold medals and two silvers. She outperformed archrival Soviet gymnasts, to the ebul-lient cheers of local spectators, and not simply because she selected the “Mexican Hat Dance” as the accompaniment for her final floor performance. To top it off, Čáslavská made a political statement on the medal stand, if a somewhat subtle one, dipping her head in silent protest during the Russian national anthem. Čáslavská was clearly motivated by politics. “I am a Czechoslovak citizen,” she later said. “We all tried harder to win in Mexico because it would turn the eyes of the world on our unfortunate country” (Cady, 1969, p. 36). She paid a price for her principles.
The Soviet- compliant government in Prague forbade her from traveling abroad or from competing in gymnastics. But years later, with another significant shift in the political winds – the fall of communism and the rise of Vaclav Havel in 1989 – Čáslavská would become the head of the Czech National Olympic Committee as well as the eighth woman coopted as a member of the IOC (Guttmann, 2002).
Čáslavská’s action on the medal stand occurred days after what is arguably the most iconic act of athlete activism in the history of the Olympics. On October 16, 1968, Tommie Smith and John Carlos stood in their socks on the medal stand and thrust their black- glove- clad fists toward the sky as they bowed their heads while the U.S. national anthem played. The athletes, who had won gold and bronze in the 200- meter dash, were protesting pervasive poverty and racism in the United States and the wider world. Their shoeless feet and black socks signified poverty. The black gloves symbolized black pride. Carlos’s open jacket represented his working- class roots. Both men fastened human- rights buttons onto their track jackets. Silver medalist, Australian Peter Norman, wore a button in solidarity. Carlos later wrote,
We decided that we would wear black gloves to represent strength and unity.
We would have beads hanging from our neck, which would represent the his-tory of lynching. We wouldn’t wear shoes to symbolize the poverty that still plagued so much of black America. On the medal stand, all we would wear on our feet would be black socks.
(Carlos & Zirin, 2011, p. 110)
This act of dissent spotlights how activist movements in wider society carve space for moments of athlete activism. Carlos and Smith were not only participants in the Civil Rights Movement, but they were also part of an athlete- driven group that was fighting for justice and dignity through sport: the Olympic Project for Human Rights (OPHR). Tommie Smith stressed that the organization’s name highlighted “human rights, not civil rights – nothing to do with the Panthers or Black Power – all humanity, even those who denied us ours”
(Smith & Steele, 2007, p. 161). Among the OPHR’s central demands were the
“Removal of the anti- semitic and anti- black personality Avery Brundage from his post as Chairman of the International Olympic Committee,” the “curtailment of participation of all- white teams and individuals from the Union of South Africa and Southern Rhodesia in all United States Olympic Athletic events,” and
“the addition of at least two black coaches to the men’s track and field coaching staff appointed to coach the 1968 United States Olympic team” (Edwards, 2017 [1969], p. 53). These demands demonstrated the broad nature of athlete concern, from specific sport- based issues to matters of geopolitical justice.
IOC President Avery Brundage was incensed by their medal- stand stand. He insisted that the U.S. Olympic Committee suspend the athletes from the team and dismiss them from the Olympic Village. The USOC obliged, releasing a statement that labeled their dissent “untypical exhibitionism” that “violates the basic standards of sportsmanship and good manners.” The USOC then pivoted toward intimidation: “A repetition of such incidents by other members of the U.S. team can only be considered a willful disregard of Olympic principles that would warrant the severest penalties.”7 IOC member Lord David Burghley echoed this threat: “I will not countenance such actions again. I’ll refuse to hold a victory ceremony if any such attempt is made again” (Daley, 1968). Brundage received an abundance of mail about the incident, a mix of supportive letters that backed his anti- politics stance and letters that were critical of his efforts to suppress dissent (Boykoff, 2016, pp.105– 109).
Mainstream media backed the Olympic officials, adopting a shut- up- and- play stance that sent a clear message to Olympians who might like to follow the
Mainstream media backed the Olympic officials, adopting a shut- up- and- play stance that sent a clear message to Olympians who might like to follow the