This essay was originally published in March of 1994 as an OUT in Left Field column in the LGBTQ newspaper Between the Lines. OUT in Left Field ran from March of 1993 through January of 1995; Between the Lines was distributed throughout the state of Michigan, USA.

If the editors of Between the Lines ever want to get my column on time, they’ll have to come over to my house and destroy the television. Here I am as usual, way past deadline and outraged about something on the TV.

This time it’s the Olympics. I was all set to write about Tanya and Nancy when The Games themselves appeared on the screen. I couldn’t look away — it was like watching an accident in progress. From the opening ceremony, when South Africa was welcomed to the winter games without any mention of the international boycott which had barred it from previous games, to the patriarchal — OOPS, patriotic medal ceremonies…

Here’s what I was going to say to Nancy Kerrigan:

Every once in a while, the chance to transcend your usual limitations and do something that makes a difference arrives at your door. I hear such an opportunity knocking for you, and I don’t mean the chance to go for the gold. Now, now when the Olympic spotlight is upon you, you have the chance to call a press conference and deliver the following message.

“Right after I was attacked in October, I wondered, ‘why me?’ Then, I learned more about the scope and scale of male violence against women and I started thinking, ‘me too.’ The violence that I suffered at the hands of a stranger was scary and painful. I’m still shook up and I know I won’t ever feel as safe as I once did. That experience has helped me to empathize with the emotional and physical pain suffered by women like Tanya Harding at the hands of abusive partners. I refuse to be a part of Tanya’s abusive ex-husband’s plot to get back at her for leaving him. I’m tired of women fighting among themselves when the real issue is male violence against us. I believe Tanya, not the perpetrator of her abuse. I reach out my hand to her in sisterhood and solidarity in the hopes that she will join me in starting a new organization of women athletes against domestic violence. And, I’ll be donating any money I receive from endorsements gained as a result of my victimization to that new organization.”

Of course, by the time you read this, the Olympics will have passed and Nancy Kerrigan will have delivered no such message. It may be too much to hope for such a statement but its not too much to demand from someone who is allowing herself to be portrayed as a heroine. True heroism, of course, requires courage and sacrifice, neither of which is required in order to seek fortune and fame by participating in a sport you love. True heroism requires turning one’s own personal pain into a chance to end the pain of others. Nancy Kerrigan now has that chance, but I doubt that she will even notice it in her rush to race for glory.

…That was supposed to be the theme of this month’s column. But then I had what CBS might call “An Olympic Moment.” I had been alternatively brooding and raging about various aspects of the spectacle, like the special Olympics Hanes commercial, which pretends to disdain racism/nationalism by saying that people come only in “small, medium, and large” — as though by ignoring very real differences in history, culture, and access to power, those differences will just go away. Even worse, in the course of the commercial everyone is allowed a unique cultural identity (French, Norwegian, Pakistani, etc.) except the man from Africa, who is called, simply, “African.” Get a clue, Hanes — they have countries there, too.

And, while we’re at it, will somebody please tell downhill skier “Picabo” Street that it might have been cute for a small child to appropriate the name of a Native American tribe for her very own because she liked the way it sounded, but she’s all grown up now and her continued misuse of that name is arrogant and disrespectful. Europeans took Native American land whenever they felt like it — taking a Native American name with the same disregard for the people to whom that name rightly belongs adds insult to injury.

And then there are the games themselves, which reinforce the notions that there is such a thing as being “number one,” that only one person can reach that pinnacle at a time, that it’s an admirable thing to be that person, and that “gold” is the appropriate reward for such a lofty achievement. As my canine companion Zami — who steadfastly refuses to participate in dominance rituals — often says, “isn’t it all of these hierarchies that got us into trouble in the first place?”

“Racing for the gold” — wasn’t that what Columbus was doing when he invaded the Americas and proceeded to cut off the hands of any Taino Indian who didn’t collect enough of the stuff for him to take back to Spain? And wasn’t proving who’s number one what Hitler was all about?

And that’s when I had my Olympic Moment… sitting there noticing that ice dancers appeared to be getting extra points for being blonde and wondering why Asian athletes were never featured in those warm-hearted looks at the person behind the glory… I realized that it all boiled down to what might best be called “race-ism.”

There you have it, one little phrase that sums up the unspoken ideology behind the games. First, the idea that people can and should be divided into groups and that those groups can and should be ranked. Second, the idea that competition between and among those groups is both natural and good. Now, undoubtedly some of you reading this are now thinking, “wait a minute — competition is good.” To that I can only say, please, look at the research in any field — education, workplace productivity, whatever — and you’ll find that the evidence overwhelmingly shows that cooperation is the way to go.

What does any of this mean for gay men and lesbians? Well, it’s something to think about as we approach the Gay Games in New York this summer. I’ve been struggling to find a way to write about those Games which respects the positive role they can play in queer communities but which also recognizes the danger of imitating the very worst aspects of the dominant culture. I don’t want to ignore the very important contributions of queer sports teams in terms of providing social outlets, forging support networks, building a sense of community, and providing positive role models for queer youth. On the other hand, given all of the above, is “going for the gold” really a behavior we want our queer youth to emulate? Do we really need more “race-ism” in queer communities? Isn’t there some way to construct an alternative sporting structure that doesn’t depend on competition? What if we held an event and nobody “won”?

So, looking forward to the arrival of summer, I ask, “Can’t we all just go swimming without making it into a race?”