By Ullrich Fichtner in Beijing
Throughout his life, until he disappeared, Ji worked as a legal advocate representing ordinary people in the countryside along China's east coast. He took 50 to 60 cases a year, helping his clients write letters, meet with government officials and appear in court. His clients included farmers defrauded of their land, families relocated without compensation, migrant workers suing their employers for their wages and village mayors fighting industrial plants. Mr. Ji advised them all.
His clients were beaten and harassed, said Mr. Ji, and they were denied justice. They were punished for daring to open their mouths, for standing up for themselves and their lives, and, said Mr. Ji, for wanting to improve China. "It is not a single case that has prompted me to protest," he said, " but the entirety of cases, the entire system, which must change."
When he read in the newspaper, in late July, that the government planned to allow public demonstrations during the games, his mind was quickly made up. He would go to Beijing, he decided. He would present his case. And he would, finally, in full view of the world, speak his mind.
Ji didn't care that his family and friends were against the idea, or that he was ridiculed at home in Fujian, in his city Zhangzhou. He would achieve nothing, people said, even those he had persistently helped, in word and deed, over the years. They were afraid for him, convinced that he would only get himself into trouble. But Ji's response was always the same: "I am up against great forces. But I am not alone. We are many."
On the evening before his last trip to the police station, Ji watched Olympic water polo matches. He had a ticket for the Yingdong swimming stadium, where he sat in section 102, row 19, seat number 18. He watched Germany lose to Serbia, and the Australians prevail over Greece. In the last match of the day, the US team beat China 8:4.
Mr. Ji, sitting in the audience, was disappointed. He wanted his national team to win the match and wanted China to succeed. In fact, that was what he had always wanted for China -- success and progress -- and not just in sports. His convictions led him to hope that Jacques Rogge's power would be sufficient to improve China, to stimulate reforms. Mr. Ji hoped that the IOC's "silent diplomacy" would succeed.
But there is no sign of -- or comment from -- Rogge, not on Tuesday, not on Wednesday and not on Friday. All attempts to gain access to his schedule fail. The photographers from the Getty Agency, who are occasionally allowed to accompany him, reluctantly produce a few photos, which merely prove that Rogge is actually in Beijing. The news agencies are also in the dark about his schedule. A daily visit to the office of Emmanuelle Moreau, the other IOC spokeswoman, develops into a comedy.
Where is the president today? "Watching the swimming." And after that? "Watching gymnastics." And what will he do then? "He will be in meetings." With whom? "With sponsors." And who are they? "That is difficult to say at this point." And what will he be doing tomorrow? Or what did he do yesterday?
"You know," says Moreau, an elegant Swiss woman from Lausanne, looking almost as if she were wearing a costume, in her sporty red Olympic polo shirt, "the calendar is really no great secret." In that case, could she produce it? "Of course," says Moreau, and she repeats the same promise four times during the course of the week, "of course. I'll send you everything by e-mail." But the promised e-mail never arrives. Rogge remains a phantom.
He is a hunted man, and anyone intent on hunting him down can indeed find his tracks. During the games, he meets with the head of BOCOG every morning at 8:30 a.m.. Then the long, complicated chain of his obligations begins. The major sponsors want to see his face close-up, CEOs want to shake his hand, talk to him and introduce their sons and daughters to him.
Rogge makes the rounds, from Coca-Cola to Johnson & Johnson, from Kodak to Lenovo, from Omega to McDonald's, from Visa to Panasonic, and in this first week he hears many complaints. The Olympic Green, a 1,135-hectare (2,803-acre) sports campus surrounding the Bird's Nest, consistently seems almost empty. The 50,000 people who supposedly have daily access to it can easily get lost in the vast complex, and far too few are finding their way to the corporate pavilions.
The sponsors are unhappy about the fact that the buildings and stadiums have been only half-full in the first week, leading the Chinese to bring in busloads of stand-in audience members, even though all 6.8 million tickets to all of the events are supposedly sold out. The sponsors paid for a festival. But a festival is not what China and the IOC are delivering, at least not in the first week, the week before the beginning of the track & field events.
Rogge must appease the "Beijing partners," like VW, Sinopec, Adidas and Bank of China, massage the souls of the "Beijing sponsors," like Haier, Budweiser, Tsingtao Beer and UPS, and keep his exclusive Olympic suppliers and equipment providers happy, companies like Snickers and Greatwall Wine, sock maker MengNa and air-conditioning equipment supplier Aggreko.
All of them invite him to gala dinners, demanding Rogge's presence, insisting that he say a few words, write dedications and hold up their products. His days are long and filled to the brim, he is everywhere and nowhere, always behind closed doors, in meetings and at parties that are closed to the public, invisible to the world, on the move in the catacombs of power, where he has no time for Mr. Ji.
But Mr. Ji could very well spoil the games, and at the end of the first week, it seems as if the IOC is underestimating that risk. It wants nothing to do with political problems, and instead is intoxicated by the perfection of these games, and for good reason.
Hardly ever has this global athletic festival been so perfectly organized. The giant fleet of shuttle buses is always precisely on schedule, and the organizing committee has experienced nary a glitch in housing, feeding and caring for more than 10,000 athletes, 20,000 members of the media and thousands of VIP guests, statesmen and corporate executives, in luxury hotels to functional Olympic quarters. All are well taken care of, and all are moved by the eager friendliness of the 70,000 voluntary helpers, each of them an outstanding ambassador for his or her country.
But since last Monday, the diminutive Mr. Ji has cast a long shadow over all of them. His case has created an ugly, dark stain on the flawless surface of the games. His disappearance begs for an appearance by Jacques Rogge. But the IOC president is the second of the two men who has gone missing in Beijing in recent days.
Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan
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