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Olympics in Chains

China Loses Control of the Games

By SPIEGEL Staff

Part 3: The Boycott Taboo

But, in its ardor, the party leadership committed a fatal error. It believed that it could keep politics out of its Olympic gala, all the while busily exploiting the games for its own ends. When human rights activists, environmentalists and the Tibetans also began using the Olympics as a forum for their own interests, the Chinese leaders were totally flabbergasted and outraged. That was when they started calling for the games to be apolitical.

But their change of heart came too late. Any international solidarity Beijing enjoyed earlier was lost in Lhasa, long before the athletes arrive in August. If the games were to be re-awarded, Beijing probably wouldn't stand a chance. Still, hardly any nation truly wants to miss out on the "Festival of Youth," and staying away would probably achieve very little. In fact, as experience has shown, boycotts tend to trigger defiant, nationalist reactions rather than improved human rights records.

In the run-up to the Nazis' 1936 Berlin extravaganza, the US Amateur Athletic Union considered a boycott, but, with a narrow majority, decided to participate after all -- despite the open racism of the Nazis, with slogans such as, "Negros have no business attending the Olympic Games."

The Nazi Party, both despite and because of massive opposition abroad, staged a propaganda spectacle of unheard-of proportions, complete with Leni Riefenstahl films that exaggerated the Aryan athlete's physique. But one of the most lasting memories of the 1936 Olympics was of Jesse Owens, the US's phenomenal black athlete, who went down in history as the superstar of the Berlin games.

'Slap in the Face'

In 1980, entire nations boycotted the Olympics for the first time, because the host nation, the Soviet Union, was occupying Afghanistan at the time. The then US Secretary of State Cyrus Vance said that he would not send any US team to "a nation which is currently engaging in an aggressive war," and that "to hold the Olympics in any nation that is warring on another is to lend the Olympic mantle to that nation’s actions."

Together with the West Germans, 41 national Olympic committees joined the US boycott, 24 others took the opportunity to refrain from attending for financial or athletic reasons, or they simply left the invitation unanswered. But many athletic organizations defied their governments, only making concessions to the boycott by skipping the opening ceremony or marching without their national flags. The Soviets only pulled out of Afghanistan in the late 1980s -- and they took their revenge by staying away from the Los Angeles Summer Olympics in 1984.

In each case, however, those most strongly affected by the boycotts were the athletes who, after years of training and preparation, had to stay at home. Nothing was achieved politically. With these experiences in mind, the German athletic community was initially hesitant when it came to discussing a Beijing boycott. Athletes were relieved when the German Olympic Sport Federation announced its opposition to a boycott. "The Olympic Games are the ultimate event for athletes," said hammer thrower Markus Esser, adding that a boycott would be like "slap in the face."

Until recently, Olympic officials had been doggedly silent on the events in Tibet, repeatedly citing the old and misguided argument that the Olympics and politics are two separate issues. IOC President Rogge on Monday, though, said that he was very concerned "with the international situation and what's happened in Tibet." Athletes, however, have been more willing to take a stance.

Possible Exclusion

Anna Battke, a pole vaulter from the western German city of Mainz, announced her plans to protest in Beijing, saying that she considers it her obligation "to draw attention to injustice." Imke Duplitzer, a fencer, plans to skip the opening ceremony because it reminds her "a little of 1936," when "a regime was also presenting itself to the world at the Olympics."

But athletes have very little latitude when it comes to protesting. According to the IOC charter, expressions of political views are taboo within the Olympic facilities. Offending athletes face the threat of disqualification and revocation of their medals. This restriction prompted the German water polo team, one of the favorites for a gold medal, to hit upon the idea of wearing orange bathrobes to mimic the color of Buddhist monks' robes. Other Olympic athletes support the human rights portal "netzathleten.de" and plan to wear armbands imprinted with the words "Sports for human rights." Tibet cannot expect more than these restrained displays of solidarity from athletes anxious not to jeopardize their careers.

Anyone who violates the ban on inadmissible propaganda "can be excluded immediately and following an assessment of the individual case," Walther Tröger, the German IOC representative, said late last week. "Of course," he added, "anyone who does not wish to take part in the Games for reasons of conscience is free to make that choice."

Was Tröger encouraging athletes to stage individual boycotts? It would be the right moment and opportunity to influence China. It is clear that China's concept of sleek self-promotion is no longer working. Neither a stupendous opening ceremony nor anything else will cancel out the memory of Tibet's brutal repression.

Dispatching Inconvenient Souls

Prior to last month, the future had seemed rosy for the rising world power. With its skyscrapers and stylish airports, and with its representatives negotiating their way through international markets and trade shows with as much ease as in a noodle restaurant at home, buying their way into investment funds and multinational corporations, China now comes across as a modern, capitalist country. Its citizens have never been as well off as they are today. They are permitted to become wealthy, travel, buy apartments, study at Harvard and do many of the things they wouldn't have dreamed of doing only 30 years ago. Nevertheless, anyone opposed to the system still risks severe penalties.

The Communist Party maintains an elaborate system of government-run farms and psychiatric clinics, re-education and labor camps, prisons and "legal schools," all places to which the Communists can dispatch inconvenient souls. According to victims' reports, pre-Olympic China is still a place where prisoners in police custody are beaten and tortured. The law, if it even exists, is bent and stretched. The practice of holding all family members liable for the crimes of one family member is commonplace, as in the case of Hu Jia, whose wife Zeng Jinyan lives under constant surveillance.

Judges are not needed to send petty criminals, prostitutes, drug addicts or the followers of banned religious organizations like Falun Gung to re-education camps for up to four years. The police have the authority to make such decisions. More than 300,000 prisoners are currently being held in 310 of these camps. And judges are not needed when an official decides to extend a delinquent's sentence by a year because he has not demonstrated sufficient remorse.

Law enforcement officials also have the right to detain suspects in jails for weeks, often refusing to allow suspects access to an attorney. Dissident Hu was interrogated for hours at night. To prevent his wife from talking to journalists, the police threatened to take her daughter away and said they would only return her to be nursed.

Sharp Tone

Many Chinese jurists feel that the omnipotence of the police goes too far. The government is also beginning to consider moderating the country's draconian criminal code. One proposed reform calls for limiting "re-education through work" to a maximum sentence of 18 months, as well as giving suspects the right to an attorney. Because more and more criminals, some of them innocent, have been executed in recent years, the Supreme People's Court established new chambers to review all decisions by the provincial courts. But this is only done on the basis of written records. Witnesses are not heard. Nevertheless, experts report that fewer criminals are being executed than in the past. Although the number of executions remains a state secret, estimates for 2007 ranged up to 6,000. This is still a larger number than in all other countries where the death sentence is practiced combined.

Only a few hours after the conviction of Hu Jia, American John Kamm is sitting on a beige sofa in room 402 at the Renaissance Hotel in Beijing. Kamm, the founder of the Duihua Foundation (Duihua means "dialogue"), visits Beijing once every three months.

In discreet talks, Kamm attempts to secure the release of political prisoners, or at least to improve their situation. This time he also plans to deliver a list of political prisoners to the Chinese. "The mood in Beijing is tenser than I've felt it since 1989," says Kamm, straightening his glasses. Although his reception by government officials was amiable, their tone was very sharp. "There are no signs that the Chinese will come around based on international public opinion."