I’ve just returned from two weeks in the US with my colleague Dr May Tan-Mullins. Each day we read reports of the passage of the beleaguered Olympic torch on its inappropriately named ‘journey of harmony’. And even as I write this, protestors have clashed with the authorities in Seoul. In cities across the globe we saw diversions, protests, and heavy-handed ‘torch guards’ man-handling people out of the way. In my last blog I was talking about China’s role in Sudan and Darfur. The issue now is Tibet, although it’s often wrapped up together with China’s broader human rights record at home and abroad. 

The Tibet issue is complex, but is seen as an internal issue with many Chinese supportive of their state’s stance on Tibet. When I was in the US various head of state pulled out of the Games’ opening ceremony. Hardly outright condemnation, but a symbolic gesture nonetheless. Others have called for a boycott of the Olympics to shed light on China’s occupation of Tibet.

Darfur protests in Washington. Photo: May Tan-Mullins

The call for a boycott is coming from a wide range of groups, including US Senators, Hollywood actors, international journalists, Tibetans in exile, Burmese activists, and Taiwanese political parties. They all use China’s human rights abuses domestically and internationally as the reason and believe a boycott would highlight these and shame China into reform as well as hurting China economically through lost revenue. But would a boycott work?

First, we need to look at the interests and agendas of some of these groups. For some in the US, while the headline is human rights abuses, there is list of other misdemeanours which go beyond human rights and are about US strategic interests (e.g. China’s support of Venezuela’s left-wing President Hugo Chavez, China’s blocking of sanctions against Iran in the UN Security Council, and the fact that China has allegedly been ‘spying’ on the US). And some sections of the Taiwanese Olympic boycott lobby have deeper political roots going back to China’s ‘One China’ policy and its denial of the legitimacy of Taiwan. So, in looking at a potential boycott let’s also look at the geoeconomic and geopolitical motives behind the proponents.

Second, history suggests that Olympic boycotts (in 1956, 1976, 1980 and 1984) haven’t achieved much, and often don’t achieve what they set out to do. If the issue is human rights abuses then how can anyone know that a boycott will lead to democracy in China and more ethical foreign policy? In the Tibet case an international boycott might only strengthen the Chinese peoples’ stance on Tibet, so more international dialogue might be better of the kind advocated by the Dalai Lama. Overseas, China’s role in the world is mediated bilaterally and multilaterally so how would a boycott of a sporting event work alongside these other, more lasting political institutions and relationships? A boycott might be a useful tactical device at a time of international attention on China, but if it is not part of a wider strategy then it’s unlikely to work.

Third, there is also an argument that beyond the high level state agendas and lack of apparent reforms that the Olympics have in fact led to a political and cultural shift in urban China, with a blossoming of civil society organisations that have been critical of the state. So, if we look at the actual political changes, as opposed to those represented in Western media, it may be that China is changing as a result of the Olympics.

Finally, there is the hypocrisy of scapegoating China to serve western agendas. If we are serious about boycotting China then similar public actions need to be taken against all rights abusers and not just China. Once again, singling out China in this manner serves to reinforce the spurious democratic credentials of many western governments. Moreover, the western firms who are heavily involved in the Olympics (e.g. GEC, Visa) are wary about upsetting a lucrative market and so would not support a boycott.

About the author

Giles Mohan is a senior lecturer in development studies. He teaches on the Open University’s development studies programme as well as in geography. Giles’ research examines politics in Africa, particularly ways in which rural communities access the government as well the role of diasporas in national politics.

For our May 2008 book, Stephanie Forward introduces a novel set in the days of the Eisenhower presidency.

Revolutionary Road was published in 1961, to critical acclaim. Richard Yates was hailed for producing a penetrating anti-suburban, anti-marriage novel, although he has denied that this was his intention.

Rather, he saw his book as an indictment of American life generally in the nineteen-fifties. He has explained that he was disturbed by the desire for conformity, and wanted to voice his feelings about the Eisenhower administration and McCarthyism.

When Yates had the idea for Revolutionary Road, the first part that came to mind was actually the ending. He had to construct the novel to lead up to the striking denouement he had envisaged.

The book begins with a performance by a local drama society, which seems appropriate because it sets the scene for the role play that takes place throughout.

Frank and April Wheeler appear to be a model couple, raising their two youngsters in Connecticut. In truth, however, they are both frustrated by their circumstances. Frank feels stifled in his career, and April is a dissatisfied housewife. She suggests a solution: a new life awaits them in Europe, so she urges Frank to move to Paris.

Whilst Yates was writing the book, the character of John Givings occurred to him. John is a patient in a mental hospital, but his observations about the Wheelers hit home. The reader witnesses their descent, as their plans crumble away. In an interview, Yates said that his novel was supposed to be about "a series of abortions, of all kinds".

The forthcoming film of Revolutionary Road will star Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet.

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