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this quarter there was no call made on the Bush administration to
heave into the Olympic Games question, seeking to obstruct the selection
of Peking for the 2008 site. The problem for the United States was
now as the problem had been for nine years on another theater: Do
we take official action to protest China's violation of human rights
— or do we take unofficial action?
Novitiates
should remind themselves that we went through exactly the same question
when the Soviet Union applied for the role as host for 1980. In
the late '70s, we heard the identical things we hear today, and
the naysayers were as persuasive as they were in the last few months
against Peking. Most frequently, back then, the Olympics of 1936
were brought up. That was the year in which Adolf Hitler strutted
his stuff in Berlin and handed Leni Riefenstahl the material for
the great movie drama featuring German athleticism and, however
indirectly, racial purity.
Outstanding
among the critics of Olympics-in-Moscow was Sir Arnold Lunn, the
British mountaineer, essayist, historian, and athlete (he invented
the slalom). His arguments have not grown old, and are eloquently
put forward today by, e.g., the editors of The Weekly Standard.
They are that every means by which nations can objectify their displeasure
with human-rights abuses should be taken. You rule out war against
a country that denies human rights, especially if that country has
nuclear weapons. Having done that, apply every other pressure you
can think of. And denying sponsorship of the Olympic Games is one
such. Hitler lusted for them, so did Brezhnev, so does Jiang Zemin.
Inasmuch as the United States was not a member of the committee
that made the decision, all we could have done was use our (considerable,
but not irresistible) influence. Would we have lightened the burden
of those in China who suffer?
Probably not,
because saying no on the Olympic question wasn't something that
gave to Peking a probationary period in which to show that it was
getting a lesson. When in 1993 President Clinton had to rule, by
congressional notice, that human rights in China were better . .
. worse . . . unchanged . . ., we got into the habit of closing
our eyes to syllogistic formulations. Yes, human rights were bad;
yes, we have the alternative to alter our trade policies — therefore?
Therefore we did nothing.
We have got
ourselves a little consolation prize. In anticipation of Peking's
selection by the Olympic Committee, we tell ourselves that Peking
has to be careful not to risk its victory by an act of aggression
similar to that of Moscow. When the Soviets invaded Afghanistan
in December 1979, President Carter announced a boycott of the Olympics.
That boycott
worked in part, but was not popular with the American people. What
preempted public concern during the pre-Olympic months of 1980 wasn't
the plight of the Afghans facing an aggressive Soviet army. It was
the plight of a few hundred 20-year-olds who had labored four years
to develop prowess in their sports. In most cases, they would not
live to fight another day. It was then or never that they'd run
the half-mile course. The competitive sportsman's license to play
is short-lived.
A lesson for
the United States in 2008: If Peking decides, six months before
the games, to act as Moscow did — invade a country — we had better
prepare to resist with other weapons than the boycott of the Olympic
Games. The idea that Peking, if it is bent on military aggression
against Taiwan, would be deterred from doing so for fear of an Olympic
boycott is inherently preposterous. Whatever remaining influence
Karl Marx has on China's leaders, probably the neo-Marxists still
concur that great historical moments are unmoved by the site of
the Olympic Games.
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