Have you been following the reactions to the opening ceremonies of the Olympics in France? As with everything 2024, people feel very strongly both pro and con. AP reporters thought it was “wacky and wonderful.” Meanwhile, you’ve probably read or heard that many Christians considered aspects of the ceremony denigrating to their religion. There was a segment that particularly irked: A tableau of LGBTQ activists, drag queens, and dancers arranged across a long table seemed to many to mock popular representations of The Last Supper, especially Leonardo da Vinci’s famous mural painting. A blue-painted, almost naked, fruit-adorned man representing Dionysus (according to the artistic director of the ceremonies) didn’t help matters when he emerged from under a cloche on the table. His appearance animated the drag artists behind him who danced while he sang.
I am puzzled about the centrality of Dionysus, the Greek god we associate with wine, excess, hedonism, and fertility, in this part of the opening ceremony. I mean, what’s the point? That the French make and drink a lot of wine? That hedonistic pursuits are where it’s at? With something like the Olympics, a celebration of sport and international good will that really should be available and accessible and comfortable and welcoming for all, why wouldn’t the opening ceremonies and the closing ceremonies utilize symbols that resonate broadly, that make transparent sense? I get that a libertine spirit is central to French identity. But like a hostess whose job it is to make all her guests feel welcome and at ease, why wouldn’t France do the same when it’s hosting the world with all its diversity and all its common humanity?
I didn’t watch the opening ceremonies, so I wasn’t aware of any of this until the brouhaha was well underway. I’ve only been able to find video snippets and clips from the extravaganza, so my sense of that particular moment in the festivities isn’t well contextualized. What’s been particularly interesting to me in the aftermath are the responses of those responsible for the ceremonies.
Thomas Jolly, artistic director of the Paris 2024 Olympics Opening Ceremony, explained: “Our intention was never to be impertinent or to be subversive….Our idea was simply that with this great diversity we wanted to include everyone.” He continued by saying that the French enjoy artistic freedom, and he wanted to convey values of liberty and freedom of choice through this ceremony.
Saying that you “wanted to include everyone” doesn’t mean you actually did want to include everyone, or that you considered what that might actually look like. Responses to the opening ceremonies might suggest the opposite: A lot of people not only didn’t feel included or represented, they felt dissed.
But let’s allow for the possibility that an error of judgment was made here. We’ve all had this experience: Something you thought was funny or clever or just right didn’t land like you thought it would, maybe it even offended some. So what happens next?
A grown-up apologizes. Maybe an authentic apology would nod to Thomas Jolly’s emphasis that the intention was to celebrate diversity and “to include everyone.” Uh oh. Many Christians didn’t feel included, and whether you agree or not with their assessment, if you genuinely want “to include everyone,” you’ll acknowledge that this is a big group of people to ice out. You’d probably also acknowledge their concerns and offer up a really, truly apology.
I often had to coach my children on how one offers up a genuine apology. “I’m sorry I yelled at you….But you’re such an idiot, I couldn’t help it!” doesn’t cut it.
Years ago, a friend shared with me her understanding of the Jewish template for an apology, which consisted of three parts: First, you offer a sincere apology without any explanations or add-ons. Second, you seek to set things right. If you broke a window, that’s easy enough, you pay for a replacement. If you broke a heart, that’s more complicated, but the authentic effort to put things right is still necessary. The apology isn’t complete until the third step has occurred: When faced with a similar situation, you make a different, better choice.
That was the apology blueprint that I tried to instill in my children. There’s clearly a lot more to it than simply offering up an “I’m sorry” after you’ve hurt someone and expecting a reset, a tabula rasa with no emotional residue.
That simplistic model—“I said I’m sorry!”—is what the officials responsible for the French Olympic Opening Ceremonies offered up to Christians who found parts of the ceremony degrading to their religion. We meant no harm, the tableau was in no way inspired by The Last Supper, our intentions are good because, see, we wanted to include everyone. The “apology” felt like those apologizing thought it was silly that this was even a thing. Fair enough. People are different. BUT if you’re going to lean into the idea that this was all about inclusion, you are going to have to include. In my book, with an event like the Olympics, that would mean creating opening and closing ceremonies that kids as well as adults can watch and understand; that anyone, of any religious or cultural background, can experience as meaningful; that celebrates our commonalities.
What are our commonalities? Since it’s the Olympics, an acknowledgement of our shared respect for human accomplishment and achievement in sports might be one commonality. And since we’re being inclusive, maybe some prominent representation from Paralympics athletes would be appropriate and welcome. Other commonalities include a shared dependence on the natural world and traditions of song and dance. I know that song and dance were part of the opening ceremonies. But maybe, in the interest of diverse inclusion and broad cultural celebration, we could cast that net a little wider to include more than Celine Dion and Lady Gaga and Aya Nakamura. Maybe less performance art and celebrity, more cultural depth and diversity. What about Gnawa masters from Morocco? A polyphonic Georgian chorus? Gyuto monks chanting for world peace?
Back to what might constitute a genuine apology on the part of the creators of the opening ceremonies. The apology part, if more heartfelt, might include something like, “Our intention was to include everyone, and we clearly failed at that. We’re sorry that our understanding here was off the mark, and we’ll work to include more viewpoints and voices going forward.” No explanations, no “You don’t get it. That’s not what we meant!”, no excuses.
As for setting things right, well, that’s difficult with a one-off like the opening ceremonies of the Olympic Games. Perhaps the plans for the closing ceremonies could be reviewed by some of the prominent figures who have been offended by the opening ceremonies. I’m not sure there would be time to make changes, but a good faith gesture of genuinely including those with diverse ideas might be meaningful, more so if there’s an openness to consider deleting anything that really offends.
Finally, to satisfy that third bit of the tripartite apology, the planners of the ceremonies--like Thomas Jolly--would need to pledge to strive for more complete diversity and genuine, broad-based inclusion in the planning of future extravaganzas and spectacles. And then they’d need to care enough to actually follow through and do that.
Absolutely love this. Thanks for writing it.