
Issue No 66		11 August 2000

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The Soapbox

Away for the Games

By Peter Lewis

SYDNEY: September 23, 1993. It's the night the city's been waiting for and I'm one third of the anti-Olympic movement. Now it's our moment of truth. We've done our best to stop the Bid, gingering up dissenters, seeking allies and taking the piss out of that horrible theme song - "The spirit of the dream, the spirit we all share". It's been a tough grind, the then Fahey government and the Sydney media smearing the brown matter over our collective chops, as we elevate Samaranch to deity and beg him for his favour via our expressive young emissary Tanya Blencoe.

That night we've put a documentary to air on public radio. We present a water-tight case against the folly - on economic, social and environmental lines. But like so much that is true, there's no-one's listening. The program rates about a five - listeners that is. Meanwhile Sydney converges on the Harbour waiting for the IOC to deliver salvation and make us whole.

Round Chippendale there's none of the pizzaz. The Whitlams play to a couple of dozen pissed hangers on at the Lansdowne Hotel. They're a struggling three piece - only one of whom has lived to see the big event. Freedman sings his anti-Olympic anthem for the first time - 'you gotta love this city for its body not its brains'. But the ending is different from the one you hear today. I leave the bar and head downtown to feel the sense of communal loss as we inevitably fail to those shifty Chinese.

Down at the Rocks it's pumping; thousands of real Aussies - "Sydney to win, fuck Beijing" they chant. Hooning across the median strip and almost taking me out. I raise the finger but my anger is misplaced. It's packed in down here, all vantage points to the giant video screens taken, as the ugly little man comes on the screen murmurs a few platitudes and like a B-grade star on Logies night reaches for the envelope.

'And the Winner is .... SID-O-NEE'

I don't actually hear the announcement, I've been pushed too far around the cove. What I do hear is this eerie silence, then an explosion of noise, cheers, car horns and the obligatory fireworks all melding into this one big racket. Which is a pretty apt way to celebrate something like the Olympics. As I crumble into a foetal position I make this vow: to play no part in this circus, to get out of town, to shove the spirit right where it belongs. And like my manic and sometimes irrational hatred of McDonalds, the monorail and Super League I've stuck to my guns.

Over the intervening years I'm gathered resources and planned my escape. Like many of you, I thrilled at the demise of leapin' Johnnie Fahey and the wry slapstick of his reincarnation as federal Finance Minister. I marvelled at the trials and tribulations of Mad Micky Knight and the way he speaks ... softer ...and ... slower ... the bigger ... the porky ... he has ... to tell. From the marching bands to the ticketing fiasco Knight's flame has burned until there's nothing left but a very moist wick. Wonder if he'll be heading to Athens with the rest of SOCOG?

As for the IOC their emergence as gold medal junketeers has been sport at bits most breathtaking; holidaying with Phil Coles then learning about the real spirit of the 'Olympic family' with Kev and Sophie, has been a heartwarming experience. If the Aussie athletes are nearly as committed to self-fulfilment as our homegrown officials and it will be a gold, gold, gold fortnight in September.

And then there's Sydney, a city who's entire economy has been based on building sporting venues over the past decade. Can't help thinking what would have been the returns if the same resources had been invested into, say, high-tech start-ups. After the two weeks of madness we'll have some of the world's largest mausoleums to remind us of our over-enthusiasm for international events. People are whinging sure, but more about the traffic and the difficulty in getting tickets, than the fact that we are investing all this energy in a series of contests to see which surgically enhanced athlete can run faster, jump highest, swim , ah, synchronised-est.

Enough. For these reasons, and oh so many more, I'm gone, six weeks before the craziness hits, wishing you who stay all the luck you'll need to make it through. While away, I hope to see a bit of what Sydney will miss in the midst of the madness, a bit of perspectives about Australia and its place in the world. By targeting Europe, I'm looking at one of the few alternatives to American money - of which the Games is but a symptom. Who knows what I'll find? But by the time the last medal is rewarded, I hope to have cleansed myself of the nagging feeling that if the Five Rings are the pinnacle of human achievement, then there must be something sadly amiss with all of is. If the Olympics are one model of the global village, I'm banking on finding an alternative.

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Issue 66 contents

Interview: Shifting Sands
Michael Crosby Joint Director of the ACTU Organising Centre talks to Workers Online about the changing nature of union power, 'use it or lose it' coverage and how the ALP will have to deal with a transformed union movement.

Unions: Mission Possible
From Cambodia to Kyrghyzstan, from Malawi to Mozambique, this is one nurse who accepts certain missions where life is on the edge, and she loves it.

Economics: A Progressive Alternative
Andrew Scott outlines a policy approach for an ALP Government that aims to deliver social as well as economic progress.

International: Unions Back International Seafarer Deal
Shipping union representatives from 56 countries have decided to back a pioneering international collective bargaining agreement with ship employers.

Politics: Apolitical Myth
Over the last ten years one story about public interest in politics has found resonance, especially in the US. It suggests that people are no longer interested in political issues. Researchers from the Demos Foundation put this claim under the microscope.

Satire: Elaine Nile retires citing victory in "War on Masturbation"
There were emotional displays and many tributes paid today as Elaine Nile, Christian Democrat MP of 12 years standing, announced her retirement from the Parliament.

Review: Pure Shit
The 1970s Aussie drug classic, Pure Shit - a 70s Australian style Trainspotting - is being dusted off for a one-off showing at the Chauvel.

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» Saloon Doors Flap as Wealthy Owner Walks

» ACOSS Slams Job Network

» Scrap HECS Say Nurses

» Fahey's Flog Off Fiasco

» Things Go Better With a $100 a Day Extra

» Shopping Centre Silent Over Greedy Grab

» Selley's Workers Stick to Union

» Taxi Incentive Needed to Avert Olympic Shortage

» Sneaky Chubb Forced to Pay Redundancy

» Seaforth Picket Marks a Year With Picnic

» Road Rage! Air Rage! WORK RAGE!