A few days ago, I watched part of the Opening Ceremonies of the Winter Olympics in Sochi. While I was watching the retelling of the history of Russia I was tweeting about what I saw as the glaring omissions. There was no Revolution, no Lenin, no communism, no Soviet Union, no Stalin, no Cold War. While some of my tweets were poking fun at their expense, many left a bitter taste in mouth. Except for Tchaikovsky, whom I love.
Yet sitting half way across the world in my adopted country where the trajectory of Russian/Soviet history had landed me, I couldn't help but feel a little affronted. I was being denied the piece of Russia that had been imposed on me.
I've never been a very big fan of the winter games. So it was by mere coincidence that I watch speed skater Olga Graf become the first Russian olympic medalist of these games. Later, and once again by accident, I saw the team skating competition. The Russian ice dancers performed to Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. It was beautiful. It was uplifting. It was a crowd pleaser. And it was amazing. And with President Putin watching, the Russian won their first gold medal in the team competition.
When Evgeni Plushenko thanked the president for bringing the olympics to Russia, there was something reminiscent of Soviet era, state sponsor athletics and propaganda machines at work. But I know that these games also belong to the people of Russia; the ones that never defected and survived from the inside of the Iron Curtain. They are the ones who ultimately deserve this moment.
In reality, the omissions of the opening ceremony were there, in me. And the history is there in every shot of Putin and in all the coverage of Sochi. I just need more time to forget the revolution and enjoy the ballet and the games.
