*TW: This post mentions abuse by the USA Gymnastics’ former doctor Larry Nasser. There are no detailed descriptions of said abuse included, but one link in the first paragraph referring to McKayla Maroney’s broken foot provides more details which may be disturbing and which some readers may want to avoid.
Like many, the Olympics were a rare but monumental part of my childhood. To my dad’s chagrin, I was never much into sports -- but I loved the Olympic games, especially the more well-known events like swimming and gymnastics. I watched Michael Phelps, Shawn Johnson, and Ryan Lochte with awe. Something about the entire spectacle was more akin to a TV drama -- an epic battle for glory -- rather than just another competition of egos.
This fascination was, in part, because of just how many sacrifices Olympic athletes were willing to make. We idolized them for their discipline and commitment to a medal that felt almost inhuman. Made a misstep that you know will cost you the gold, silver, and bronze? Finish the event. Broke your foot? Finish the event. A family member is sick? Finish the event. Long after their Olympic runs ended, I watched the performances of Olympians I idolized on YouTube. Watching them after the world learned Harry Nassar’s name, though, these feats weren’t spectacular -- they were gruesome examples of children and young adults being pushed harder and expected to sacrifice and withstand more than they ever should have been.
The Olympics -- and the internet landscape that makes them readily accessible around the world -- have changed tremendously in the last decade. Featured sports have come and gone, regardless of athletes’ best efforts and undoubtedly worthy skill levels; investigations into the sexual assaults of USA Gymnastics’1 athletes culminated in many of the most powerful players in the organization remaining whereas the majority of athletes have stepped away from the games; the symbol of a divided and xenophobic America won the presidential election; and a global pandemic thrust the world into a new, harsher reality -- one where not all persons, households, populations, or even countries were treated equitably.
The 2020 games were postponed because of COVID-19, but the rescheduled event commenced this summer despite the fact that the pandemic is nowhere near over.I’ll be honest, the fact that the world is still holding the Olympics right now feels a little Hunger-Games-distract-the-complacent-masses-y to me. Tokyo itself had a disappointing vaccination rate of 8% as of June 2021 leading up to hosting the games. The International Olympic Committee (IOC) brushed aside local concerns about the pandemic -- they wanted a return to “normal,” economically and socially, and the Olympics was their way of attempting that.
Enter social media, where previously ill-spread critiques of the games exploded.
This social media campaign was particularly popular in Japan amongst nurses and other medical staff. The Japanese Nursing Association was asked to recruit 500 nurses to assist the Olympic Games, and their hashtag response translates to “nurses opposed to being dispatched to the Olympics,” according to this Teen Vogue article.
This post’s caption reads, in part: “There are 71 days until the Olympics. Japan is still in a state or emergency. Only 2% of the population is vaccinated. Over 80% of people in Japan believe the Olympics should be cancelled or postponed. (Japan Times) The Olympics has cost at least $15 billion of mostly taxpayers’ money. (Asahi Shimbun) The current hospital bed occupancy rate across Japan is estimated to be 107%. (Stopcovid19.jp) Cancel the Olympics.”
Tokyo residents were able to make their discontent heard to a global audience on a variety of platforms like Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok with much more public, international traction than residents were receiving from the IOC. It obviously didn’t halt or modify the committee’s plans this year, but it was one of many online movements that complicated the over-idealized image of the games that has so often prevailed in global discourse. And rightly so, because the Olympics have never been a place of unequivocal international support, unity, and inclusivity as it is often portrayed by mainstream sports media.
There are really cool aspects of the games, though. The Olympics has often been a source of protest, activism, and worldwide recognition of social justice campaigns, largely when athletes’ support gains traction within the host city’s committee as something to be celebrated -- for example, LGBTQ+ representation was largely celebrated in Tokyo this year. The Olympic Committee’s inclusivity was covered by mainstream TV networks commenting on the games often, and this promotes international conversations with real value and impact for queer people around the world. But this simplistic, uncomplicated idea of the Olympics as a progressive, “socially aware” institution is often perpetuated by networks in a way that rejects its more complicated reality. Olympic facilities often displace low-income residents of their host city; just as often as they are forces for change, Olympic host cities have perpetuated incredibly harmful narratives of queer athletes in the past; and the Olympics in recent years have been at the forefront of the debate over Trans athletes, and not always in a positive way.
Social media discourse -- this year especially, when there is such an egregiously obvious example with Japan’s handle on the pandemic vs. the insistence that the games will continue -- has largely rejected this simplistic image. Substantiated critiques abound from Tokyo residents and the broader international followers of the games.
It’s not like social media unequivocally vilifies the games, either. Support -- particularly for the individual athletes regardless of country and/or association -- has also exploded online. Take, for example, Simone Biles, the god of gymnastics, marketed by ESPN and USA Gymnastics as an unstoppable force. She is the only women’s gymnast that survived Nassar’s abuse to still be competing at the Olympic level. USA Gymnastics has always infamously pushed its gymnasts, presenting larger than life figures -- who were largely silent. So, Biles presented a huge shift from this narrative when she withdrew from the team final earlier this month, transparently attributing her mental health as the primary factor. She was open about the pressure she was feeling after her long history of dominating in the sport, and about the prioritization of her health, safety, & personal life given that a loved one passed away shortly before the games.
In a workplace culture where performance, sacrifice, and silence -- one where the default was somehow not to pull an athlete when it was clearly in the interest of her individual well being -- Biles took matters into her own hands, and social media users did what USA Gymnastics would not. They offered overwhelming support, compassion, and empathy for the 24-year old woman’s decision.
The warm reception of an audience towards a competitor who has become a household name is affirming, but not necessarily unique to these Olympic games. What is a marked shift is the extent to which Biles’ narrative was elevated over ESPN’s, NBC’s, and USA Gymnastics’ through social media. There was a time when the governing association’s formal statement and mainstream sports commentary’s discussion of “America’s loss” would be all that was largely available to the public. But support for “Biles’ gain” was elevated within Olympic viewers’ Twitter, Instagram, and Tiktok accounts. Her courage, her instance on creating boundaries between her sport and her life, and her very human-like vulnerability with millions of people all dominated the online conversation. There’s no data supporting this yet, but I have to wonder if this explosion of public support changed the narrative of mainstream sports commentators as well. At least anecdotally, sport platforms appeared to focus on Biles’ withdrawal from the standpoint of “Simone-Biles-the-person” rather than “America’s-gold-medalist.” That is unique to these Olympics.
Casual viewers were largely engaged with the Beijing Olympics in 2016 because of physical feats, such as Michael Phelps adding five medals to a historical record of 28 before his retirement. These were technical accomplishments, celebrating Phelps as a machine of swimming technique and talent. Casual viewers are largely obsessed with this year’s Games because of viral sensations like rugby player Ilona Maher and because Suni Lee is an absolute angel not afraid to be a human and cheer her opponents on.
Social media platforms like Twitter and TikTok have largely filled the admittedly eerie void of a Games marked by zero spectators in the physical stands. Support for the athletes is widespread and thoughtful, and is largely because these games have renewed within the public a sense that Olympic athletes once again -- if not for the first time -- actually seem like “real people.”
Which is great because, of course, they are. Our athletes cry, they fail, they quit. They aim to advocate and are often silenced by broader institutions. They have real mothers and fathers and aunts and siblings. They have interests and skills and lives that exist outside of what is, really, one isolated moment every four years. There is also the increasing online awareness that the Olympics as an institution are not always humane. Its history is mired in racism, misogyny, and transphobia, and at its heart the modern games exist (like so many other things) to make money.
I’m not saying we will or should get rid of the games -- please go back and re-read about how I love the Olympics -- but I am saying that the “2020” games (which is going to throw me off for the rest of my life) are a powerful example of the cultural reckoning that will hopefully continue every four years they’re held.
Athletes should not feel their silence is a prerequisite for olympian success. Residents should have a say when a series of games poses very real threats to their well-being. Global unity should not consist of a literal performance every four years, even in the midst of mass global suffering. Social media alone won’t solve these contradictions inherent in the games, but that they call attention to these issues in solidarity with those most affected is a promising first step.
When I talk about USA Gymnastics as a title in this article, I’m referring to the governing body for, among other things, the women’s team at the Olympic level -- not the team of athletes themselves.