Olympic Illusion or Chinese Reality?

Even considering the spectacles I’d witnessed at six previous Olympic opening ceremonies, the commencement of the Beijing Games was an unparalleled, $300 million assault on the senses. With precise, jaw-dropping concepts and choreography, thousands of performers ushered the world into China past and present.

Or was it all a contrived concoction?

After all, the pyrotechnics that the worldwide television audience saw were digitally enhanced. The relatively clear sky over the Bird’s Nest was the result of clouds and haze dispersed by rockets. Even the young girl singing solo turned out to be lip-synching, standing in for another deemed not cute enough.

None of that was inconsistent with our own ways of dressing things up, of course, and any host would spruce up for the most monumental visit it may ever have. The backdrop for the Beijing Olympics involved tens of thousands displaced for Olympic construction, censored websites in the Main Press Center and rejected applications (and even arrests for applying) for protest zones. There were reports of intensified rounding up of dissidents and classes on how to smile properly. One had to wonder what was illusion, what was reality and what the legacy would be.

Logistically speaking, as far as we could tell from our media bubble, the Games could hardly have been smoother. No one I know had any computer connection issues (other than if you tried to Google, say, “Tibet” or “Falun Gong”), key venues were marvels and concentrated together, security measures were streamlined and transportation virtually was flawless.

And while KWF colleague Linda Robertson ’07 and I were among those stranded by a misinformed report of a shuttle from the Bird’s Nest near dawn one day, the Chinese often adjusted transportation by simply adding on buses.

At every turn, there were a million volunteers trying to help. Almost always, there was a warm smile, extended eye contact and attempts to engage conversation – which leads me to my most personal experience trying to process it all.

At our media village restaurant and at cafes in the Main Press Center, I had the pleasure of speaking with several young Chinese with Western names like Jenny, Sarah and Peggy. As the last days approached, I felt a twinge of sadness about saying goodbye and likely never seeing them again.

On my last morning, as I approached the coffee machine, Sarah turned toward me and misted up. Maria burst into tears. I was touched and felt myself tear up.

“It is too hard to say goodbye,” Peggy said, “so I will just say, ‘See you.’ ”

Then I had a miserable thought, tweaked by all I’d read and heard about illusion: Could it be that they were manufacturing that emotion? I couldn’t tell what made me feel worse – the possibility that they were or the fact I thought it possible.

To me, this was at the very crux of perceptions of the Beijing Games. How naïve are we? How cynical are we? What are we supposed to believe? I believe this: No matter what was hidden, no matter what was temporary, countless Chinese and their visitors forever will view each other differently because of what we shared.

As for Peggy and Co., I know the emotion of the moment could only have been real, even if spurred more by the symbolism of Olympics’ end than any profound connection to me. Just the same, I was thrilled to get an e-mail from her the other day. She wrote: “Hello, am Peggy. How are you? ... I am so missing the day in (Media Village One), thanks to the chance worked there, know lots of friends!”