Source: Image by Jonas Hasselqvist from Pixabay Information is a source of power, but the problem is sorting through an overwhelming flow of content in the modern world, much of which is contradictory. Further complicating things is that most of the media content we are exposed to in the United States is funded by advertising, which is dependent on viewership. As a result, providers attract and hold our attention by emphasizing the sensational aspects of the stories they cover and doing their best to engage us emotionally in the triumphs and tragedies of folks we will never meet. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the coverage of the Olympics. Once every four (or five) years, thousands of athletes converge on a host city to show their athletic prowess. After literally years of practicing, often with little to no governmental support, they are expected to win medals so their fellow countrymen/women can bask in their reflected glory.
But winning isn’t enough. If they stumble, make an error, or simply succumb to the stress of performing in front of millions of people and banks of cameras, they are accused of failing to try hard enough, being weak, or letting people down. They are also supposed to make it look easy, even if that entails traveling across multiple time zones while trying to ignore ongoing pandemics, natural disasters, personal stressors, and the inevitable political and social unrest happening outside their venues. In addition, to attract viewership, media outlets often generate and perpetuate dramatic storylines, including family crises, to create a narrative that may not correspond to the reality of the situation.
A common buzzword in contemporary sports coverage is redemption. It is thrown around as though every competitor who has failed to win the highest honors is somehow covered in shame and has to do something to redeem the error of not being perfect. This type of all-or-nothing criticism is known to contribute to depression and anxiety. Not only is it hampering our athletes, but it perpetuates the myth that only perfection is worth celebrating.
I still remember watching Kerri Strug’s dramatic vault during the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta. At the time, she was lauded for sacrificing herself for the team. Twenty-five years later, we know that she was urged to do the vault by a coach with a history of mistreating gymnasts and that she didn’t even need to do it to clinch the victory for the American team. But no pain, no gain has long been an axiom of sports and certainly contributes to the hero narrative that so easily draws our attention. Fortunately, today's young athletes, raised in a whirlpool of social media and social activism, speak up about how they are treated, paid, and expected to behave.
In the course of the Tokyo Olympics, female gymnasts and beach volleyball players have insisted that they have a say in what they are required to wear. Athletes across various sports have started questioning why sports organizations and the media have more say over their choices than they do. For example, many push back against the expectation that they spend hours talking to the media after an event rather than focusing on their next competition or simply recovering. They also maintain that their mental health and physical well-being are more important than boosting ratings or generating additional revenue and talking honestly about what it is like to perform at peak capacity in a goldfish bowl.
But it isn’t enough for them to speak up. It is on us, the viewing public, to listen and support their calls for change, for our own sake as well as theirs. It has been clearly shown that media exposure impacts our thoughts, emotions, and beliefs about the world. After watching continuous coverage of disasters, people report emotional distress, even if they had no personal connection to the event. Repeated news coverage of violence leads people to see the world as more dangerous than it actually is. If we view enough coverage about a sports star or celebrity, we may end up feeling that we know and have a relationship with them, even if we have never met or interacted with them. Such parasocial relationships can make us feel connected to others. Still, they may also result in feelings of inadequacy as we compare ourselves to carefully constructed views of people we will never meet in person.
Ultimately, identifying with athletes and other public figures can temporarily escape our own lives and live vicariously through their accomplishments. But they are under no obligation to live up to our media-hyped expectations, and we are under no obligation to compare ourselves to their carefully curated social media personas or the dramatic versions of their stories created by media outlets seeking viewers. It’s not that media content producers shouldn’t be reimbursed for their coverage, but there is no reason that we have to give them carte blanche to focus on profits.
For example, a contentious aspect of Olympic gymnastics is that competitors are not allowed to do a brief warm-up on the actual apparatus where they will compete during the event finals. This “one-touch” opportunity has been eliminated because it breaks up the flow of the competition on television. Denying gymnasts this preparatory time can literally put their lives at risk. Indeed that danger is not worth the inconvenience of coping with an extended meet time on live TV.
There is still time to reconsider the Olympic ideal. The Olympic torch is supposed to be a beacon symbolizing the value of collective effort and cooperation. It would be a shame to let it devolve into a cauldron of despair, frustration, and disappointment. Still, it is not the athletes but the media and viewers who need redemption for forgetting that athletes are still people and that their naccomplishments and failures are not ours to exploit.