Amongst thousands in an arena abuzz with excitement, I stood looking out over the crowd running my speech over in my head. As creative director of the ceremonies, it was my duty to put on a show that would not only enthrall the world but convince them to forget once and for all my country’s dark past.
Flags were waving proudly as people from all corners of the world made the trek to witness the celebration of human spirit. I turned to gaze out of a peak in wall of the bird's nest arena. I surveyed the city below; from the dark factories to the illuminated streets it seemed as if the city itself was gathering to watch the much anticipated spectacle. My eyes finally fell on the red wall sporting the larger than life portrait of the people’s beloved leader, Mao Zedong. The gate doors were open wide as if to welcome the world but the red walls loomed above the square casting somber shadows across the historic square.
The lights began to dim and I turned my attention back to the arena taking my seat. The arena transformed itself during my brief moment of thought. Thousands of drums now covered the floor. All was going as planned as the traditional drums now were accompanied by thousands of men donning traditional Chinese warrior robes, each claiming his own drum. Just then all the lights went dark and the only thing heard was the rumbling of the people. The noise began to grow in sound as well as speed; the rumbling triggered flashbacks of my college days.
Pushing through crowds of students in dim hallways, all trying to reach their class quickly so they could possibly stand within hearing distances of the class rooms. Hearing tales of democracy and freedom choice, our thoughts filled with hope. The students’ frustration with their environment began to grow just like the rumbling, gaining momentum and fire with every student voicing his or her opinion.


With a thunderous crack, the Fou drummers began to beat a strong and imposing rhythm. Light burst from every drum forming a living light board counting down the seconds until the ceremony started. A giant ten illuminated the arena and disappeared only to be replaced with a nine. The energy in the building growing with every passing number reminded me of the student’s frustrations growing with every passing day. Fireworks exploded from the top of the open air arena as the last lit number disappeared. The brilliant fireworks triggered a roar of applause from the enthralled crowd and I once again found myself in a flashback.


I now stood in the middle of Tiananmen Square, surrounded by thousands of other students. The mass sit in was in result of our own fireworks going off, however this time the exploding ball of fire came in the form of a death sentence. The death of our beloved leader and the secretary of state, Hu Yaobang, came as a shock and our protests now came as a reaction to finish his work. Yaobang was a friend of students, education and democracy; he worked tirelessly to move the country forward in hopes of modernizing the communist country. By protesting, we the students were trying to keep his campaign alive. For six months we held demonstrations against the government in front of our leader’s portrait, the looming red walls portrayed the height and vibrancy of our anger. The world watched as we voiced our concerns towards not only our education but the oppression and censorship of the government as a whole. News reporters caught the story and spread news of the turmoil behind the closed communist gates to the unknowing outside world.


In the arena trained performers graced the stage putting on a show for the world just as we, the protesters, had done decades before for the government. The dancers told stories of peace and triumph but we told stories of tyranny and oppression. Yet the world seemed just as enthralled with the dancers’ choreographed stories as they were appalled with the truth behind our protests. Yet since 2001 when my country was awarded with the honor of hosting the games, the only concern has been creating its persona. Building the image of a changed government on the blocks of humanitarian efforts, our officials have been so concerned with composing a suitable facade that conditions for the people in the republic sunk to even lower levels. Yet here I stand representing my country, trying to convince the world to believe the fabricated changes. It doesn’t bode right with me but yet it is my duty as a citizen and all I can do now is focus on my speech.


The lights returned and the dancers disappeared, replaced by the parade of nations. Athletes from all over the world filed in to the arena, proud to be representing his or her country in the biggest sporting event in the world. Afghanistan's four athletes proudly led the mob of athletes who seemed overwhelmed with joy to enter the arena. With smiles plastered to their faces and a camera glued to their hands 10500 paraded into the already bursting stadium to join their fellow competitors. It wasn’t until the last 13 from Zimbabwe joined the conglomerate They marched under flags just as the military advanced towards the square of protesters.


The sun beat down on us mercilessly; the students surrounding me sat on the pavement in pools of sweat but determined to not be fazed. There was movement on the horizon of the city. A wall of olive green and brown slowly drew closer. Lines of tanks led the foot soldiers, protecting the men and intimidating all opposition. It was almost a parting of the sea, the way the traffic scurried from the road. Soon the path cleared and led straight into the square. You could practically feel the tension in the air as some students began to panic. Some fled but the leaders called for all to stand their ground, the soldiers were given orders to conduct a peaceful intervention.


Thousands of flashing lights captured my attention. I gazed up to see a young woman rising from the middle of the arena. Spectators tried to preserve the sight by capturing her on camera. Only being held by an acrobat harness, she rose until she reached the circle where the ceiling should be. She began to rotate, fully displaying the magnificent flame she held in her hands. The fate of the flame rested solely in her hands as her circle of rotation became wider. Soon she was running her way around the edge of the ceiling; the flame was positioned ahead of her as she made her way towards the great cauldron sitting atop the entrance of the arena.


As the fleet of tanks approached the square, a business man stood in their path. He faced the tanks, staring down the barrel of the gun. Like the acrobat; he stood alone. The staring match continued until the tanks could no longer progress forward without harming the man. Not budging, the man stood as our only barrier from the firepower. The news crews from around the world perked up and the cameras started rolling. They captured the emotionless military storming toward the square, the determination of the protesters, the courage of the solo man, and the army of the people supposedly for the people losing patience.


The acrobat reached the cauldron and arena became a strobe light from the amount camera flashes. The crowd erupted in cheer as a brilliant flame burst from the cauldron. The luminosity cast a warm light on the athletes and spectators creating an almost kindred atmosphere. Goosebumps began to form on my arms as I gazed at the flame. The larger than life element’s flames stretched up and seemed to be caressing the stars. I wondered if the blaze could be seen from the city below, I hoped that the citizens below could also behold the magnificent symbol. It was then I realized that through this fire my country’s image was reborn. Yet it was through fire that our image was destroyed.


One decision; that is all it took. A split second of frustration killed thousands. The tank driver’s obstruction soon became no more as he decided to press forward. He spilled the first drop of blood onto the concrete. The entire military followed suit. Within hours the commotion in the square died and revealed an eerie silence. Only a few survivors remained to be witnesses to the brutality. I was lucky enough to be spared from the mobs being carted to the jails. I sat there on the outskirts of the square looking at the bodies of my companions. The shock of seeing the bloody carnage kept me in a daze, my mind couldn’t fathom that our government turned on us in such an unforgiving way. Days past as I watched the news reporters being escorted from the square by military soldiers. I watched as one by one the fallen protesters disappeared, multiple at a time being carted away. With the bodies gone, the only reminder of the massacre was the blood left. It was the blood of the people which painted the concrete square. The vibrant red ground matched the looming red walls somehow confirming the actions and intent of the communist government. Red was a symbol of violence yet it is that color which represents the People ’s Republic. I eventually left the square and the world all too soon forgot the massacre. Yet the red walls still stand in the square as a constant reminder that the government has not changed.


The sweet sound of song caught my attention as soon as the first notes rang out. I turned my attention to a little girl singing in center of the stage. She looked like the epitome of innocence, something only a child may capture. Her voice rang out loud and clear. I looked at the people around me only to see that they were all together enraptured by the little girl. I then smiled to myself. As creative director of the opening ceremonies, only I and a select few knew the truth about the small girl. She was hand chosen for her pure aura. Little did anyone know that another girl was chosen, this time not for looks but for talent. The less entrancing girl would be used to give voice to the little performer. Staring now at the fake singer, I chuckled to myself at the absolute hypocrisy of my country. China bid for the Olympics in the hopes of proving to the world that the communist country changed its ways for the better, yet here they were blatantly flaunting how little it has transformed.


When my name was announced, I stood ready to make my speech. As I made my way to the podium something dawned on me... Even though my country was being deceitful, I was also a hypocrite. By helping China cover up its past I was turning my back on everything I once believed in. As a college student I protested for change but now by directing the ceremonies I was helping my government become even more set in their cruel ways. By allowing China to hide behind a fake facade I had enabled them to not change but yet gain acceptance thus showing the government that it was ok to treat its citizens with no respect or an ounce of humanity. My musings were cut short when I became aware that thousands of eyes were staring at me, awaiting my commencement.


I took a deep breath and started.
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“Hello and welcome to Beijing, China for the games of the 29th Olympiad, for 16 days please be our guest.
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Tonight we will open our doors for all to see... One world one dream!”
At my conclusion the stadium burst into applause. Their joyous faces showing nothing but admiration and acceptance. I couldn’t help but wonder if they had simply forgotten China’s past or if they were just couldn’t see the blood that stained Tiananmen Square was simply painted over.