You cannot put a price on principles, but there have always been plenty of people willing to try.
In the 1980s, when the sporting boycott of apartheid South Africa was holding relatively firm, the casino operators of Sun City would try to lure global sports stars to play one-off exhibition matches that broke the ban. John McEnroe, then at the height of his rebellious powers, turned down one such paycheck, aged 24, with the memorable observation: “I’ve got better ways of earning a million bucks.”
In the context of the money commanded by today’s stars, the bribe offered to McEnroe might sound trivial. It is worth remembering that in 1983, the single million-dollar evening’s work would have been 10 times what he banked for winning that year’s Wimbledon.
There were, of course, plenty of players willing to take the cash, such as McEnroe’s rivals Jimmy Connors and Ivan Lendl, who went for US$400,000 and US$300,000 respectively.
Arthur Ashe, the black US tennis legend and anti-apartheid campaigner, would try to dissuade anyone offered what he called Sun City’s “guilt premium.” One group was always the hardest to convince, Ashe recalled: “Golfers have their heads in the sand, all of them. They’re all 5-foot-11, blond, right-wing Republicans. They don’t give a damn.”
When, as in the past couple of weeks, there has been talk of sporting boycotts on political grounds, it is the example of the South Africa ban that is most relevant, not least because of those life-changing incentives that were rejected.
The apparently disturbing treatment of the tennis player Peng Shuai (彭帥) since her allegations of sexual abuse against a leading Chinese Communist Party official has personalized the horrific human rights abuses of the Chinese government, just as the world’s broadcasters prepare to kowtow to Beijing’s hosting of the Winter Olympics in February.
In the context of the general reluctance to sanction the biggest market on Earth, the Women’s Tennis Association’s (WTA) determined stance to boycott tournaments in China until the safety of Peng Shuai is properly established is a rare example of an organization willing to put its money where its mouth is. The WTA’s protest could cost it many millions of yuan in sponsorship.
It also makes the International Olympic Committee, which appeared all too willing to take Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) at his word over staged interviews with Peng, look predictably craven.
Such is the poisonous love triangle between global sport, global money and repressive governments that comparable ethical conflicts are routinely built into the sporting calendar. One of the questions facing all athletes and competitors is: Which battles are worth fighting?
Lewis Hamilton has been among the most vocal of sporting heroes in promoting Black Lives Matter. In Saudi Arabia on Sunday, he raced for the F1 world championship wearing a rainbow colored helmet in support of LGBTQ+ rights in a country where same-sex relationships can carry the death penalty.
That loud and proud commitment is admirable, but it has also been notable that Hamilton, one of the world’s elite influencers, has so far had nothing to say about his Mercedes team’s new sponsor, Kingspan, the industrial insulation manufacturer that has been implicated in the ongoing inquiry into the Grenfell Tower fire, which killed 72 people in 2017 and was one of the UK’s worst modern disasters.
Hamilton has in the past expressed his support on Instagram for the Grenfell survivors, many of whom feel understandably betrayed by his team’s lucrative association with Kingspan. No doubt, if he does come to address the issue, Hamilton would suggest that he has little control over which names Mercedes opts to plaster over his car (and, if he started down that route, he might add, he would certainly have cause to examine the history of Petronas, his team’s principle sponsor).
However, his silence on Kingspan invites critics to call him a hypocrite.
British Secretary of State for Levelling Up, Housing and Communities Michael Gove was not slow in making that charge against Hamilton’s team, demanding that Mercedes reconsider its deal. It is, again, telling which culture wars the politicians choose to wage.
While Gove might have found the time to make insinuations about the double standards of perhaps the highest-profile black sportsman in the UK, he had nothing at all to say when faced, for example, with the news that the murderous Saudi Arabian royal family were buying up Newcastle United FC (no doubt sensing, in silence, an easy win for his “leveling-up” plans).
Such is the ubiquity of sport, such is the attraction of “sportwashing” to toxic regimes and dubious corporations, that no armchair fan is quite immune to these kinds of ethical dilemmas. How many season tickets have been returned to Newcastle’s St James’ Park in the name of the murdered Saudi Arabian journalist Jamal Khashoggi? Or, on a lesser scale, how many Christmas stockings will contain replica shirts that make every fan a walking advert for offshore betting companies?
Every sports fan has principles until an oligarch throws money at their team. It is usually at that point that they voice the argument that sport should not be the single blunt instrument with which to hold rogue states or corporations to account. Or, rather, that it represents a priceless source of soft power or “quiet diplomacy.”
There is merit in those arguments, but it is also worth holding in mind that these were the same formulations used by those who went to apartheid South Africa — the golfers and the tennis players and the rebel cricket tourists — just as they were pocketing their “guilt premium.”
In an age of gesture politics, one thing the past couple of weeks has emphasized is that, at the very least, ethics do not always need to dissolve in the face of financial penalty. Sport has come to enjoy the grand political gesture almost as much as the sponsors’ millions.
Taking the knee is one laudable thing, but taking a hit in your own or your organization’s pay packet to protest about something you believe in always carries a more powerful weight. Sometimes, as the WTA has tried to say, as John McEnroe and Arthur Ashe once said, genuine symbolic power lies in simply insisting: “Our principles are not for sale.”
Monday was the 37th anniversary of former president Chiang Ching-kuo’s (蔣經國) death. Chiang — a son of former president Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石), who had implemented party-state rule and martial law in Taiwan — has a complicated legacy. Whether one looks at his time in power in a positive or negative light depends very much on who they are, and what their relationship with the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) is. Although toward the end of his life Chiang Ching-kuo lifted martial law and steered Taiwan onto the path of democratization, these changes were forced upon him by internal and external pressures,
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus whip Fu Kun-chi (傅?萁) has caused havoc with his attempts to overturn the democratic and constitutional order in the legislature. If we look at this devolution from the context of a transition to democracy from authoritarianism in a culturally Chinese sense — that of zhonghua (中華) — then we are playing witness to a servile spirit from a millennia-old form of totalitarianism that is intent on damaging the nation’s hard-won democracy. This servile spirit is ingrained in Chinese culture. About a century ago, Chinese satirist and author Lu Xun (魯迅) saw through the servile nature of
In their New York Times bestseller How Democracies Die, Harvard political scientists Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt said that democracies today “may die at the hands not of generals but of elected leaders. Many government efforts to subvert democracy are ‘legal,’ in the sense that they are approved by the legislature or accepted by the courts. They may even be portrayed as efforts to improve democracy — making the judiciary more efficient, combating corruption, or cleaning up the electoral process.” Moreover, the two authors observe that those who denounce such legal threats to democracy are often “dismissed as exaggerating or
The National Development Council (NDC) on Wednesday last week launched a six-month “digital nomad visitor visa” program, the Central News Agency (CNA) reported on Monday. The new visa is for foreign nationals from Taiwan’s list of visa-exempt countries who meet financial eligibility criteria and provide proof of work contracts, but it is not clear how it differs from other visitor visas for nationals of those countries, CNA wrote. The NDC last year said that it hoped to attract 100,000 “digital nomads,” according to the report. Interest in working remotely from abroad has significantly increased in recent years following improvements in
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