It isn’t because I’m protesting. It’s not a boycott, though I am sympathetic to the call for one.
It’s because I’m an incest victim. And I’ve spent too many nights and too many days denying the abuse that was occurring, putting on a happy face, presenting a good show of a happy family to the world.
And somehow, it felt like I would be doing that again – playing my assigned part in the show as the well-behaved audience, agreeing that – “Nope, no suffering here.”
I could not do it. Not any more. Not again.
So tonight, while without a doubt, a most spectacular presentation is being made in Beijing, I will sit here in silence and think of the dissidents locked up, and the dispossessed, and the desperate. And I will think of all those who suffer in silence and know that we are all not so different from one another.
I admire the athletes, the purpose behind the Olympics, the vision and the great skill and artistry of those involved. But for tonight, I will marvel, not at a pageantry designed to dazzle, but the quiet and noble dignity of the human spirit that inspires because of its nature.
And no amount of money, 40 billion or 400 billion can add to its glory.
