Koreas’ ‘special moment’
North, South march under 1 flag, unified in spirit at opening ceremony
PYEONGCHANG, South Korea — They marched in perfect formation, row upon row, side by side, synchronized, uniformed, heads straight, eyes forward, arms swinging, boots stomping, goose stepping. Oh, wait, sorry. Wrong parade. That was the one 100 miles north in Pyongyang a day earlier. This one was in Pyeongchang, on the southern side of the planet’s most heavily fortified border. North Koreans were marching too, but they weren’t in formation. There were no Hwasong-15 intercontinental ballistic missiles rolling past on transporter erector launchers with nine axles.
The athletes parade Friday at the opening ceremony for the Winter Olympics occurred in a 35,000-seat stadium tucked into the mountains of Gangwon Province.
North and South Koreans entered as one, arm in arm, laughing, smiling, dancing. One guy was on the shoulder of two others, slipped off and was picked up again. Each carried a tiny white flag with a light blue silhouette of the entire Korean peninsula, without a Demilitarized Zone snaking across its midsection like a surgical scar.
The other nations had a single flag bearer. Korea had two, one from the North, one from the South, grasping the flagpole together, waving it vigorously as they strode forward.
It was the kind of magical, emotional moment that only the Olympics can deliver, a gesture of hope and reconciliation amid separation and conflict, a chorus of harmony in discordant times, a crackling fireplace on a frigid night.
“A very special moment for Korea,” said bobsledder Won Yun-jong, one of Korea’s flag bearers. “It is special that we are here, peaceful and together.”
Speaking with the Korean athletes immediately behind him, like a general backed by his troops, International Olympic Committee President Thomas Bach said: “United in our diversity, we are stronger than all the forces that want to divide us.”
On and on it went, the images, the words, the music. The message.
The two-hour ceremony followed the journey of five children through time and space “on a quest for peace.” South Korean President Moon Jae-in, the son of North Korean refugees, earnestly shook hands with members of the North Korean delegation as their athletes circled the stadium floor below.
One North Korean and one South Korean member of the unified women’s hockey team climbed the stadium stairs together and jointly handed the torch to figure skating gold medalist Yuna Kim to dramatically light the caldron while gliding across an elevated sheet of ice.
Four Korean singers belted out John Lennon’s “Imagine” while 1,000 residents from Gangwon Province — the only one that straddles both sides of the border — formed a giant dove of peace around them with candles flickering in the dark night.
The noble idea of the interlocking rings untangling political conflict is rooted in the Olympic Truce of ancient Greece, engraved on a bronze discus and stored in the Temple of Hera that guaranteed safe passage to Olympia for the Games.
North and South Korean athletes joyously marched as one at the 2000 Summer Games in Sydney, and what did that get us? Less than two decades later, relations are as chilly as ever.
A day earlier in the North Korean capital of Pyongyang, Kim Jong Un watched soldiers march past his viewing stand in a massive military parade, moved forward this year — what a coincidence — from its usual April date.
It was held at the same time as a North Korean delegation to the Olympics was attending a welcome reception.
The North and South Koreans will play nice on snow and ice for the next 16 days, joining to form a single women’s hockey team that will lose games and melt hearts. People will cheer. People will hope.
The Olympics still represent a powerful ideal, but they are also an increasingly corrupt movement, unable to stem the scourge of doping, unwilling to prevent the Games from becoming financial behemoths that render their hosts insolvent. They no longer may be stronger than all the forces that divide them.
Pyeongchang Olympic Stadium was built exclusively for opening and closing ceremonies in the Winter Games and the Paralympics that follow. With no future use for a large facility in a remote, mountainous region, it is constructed of metal bleachers and modular seats and surrounded by temporary tents.
The program called it “a space for interaction, friendship and peace.” After the flame is extinguished at the Paralympics next month, the space for interaction, friendship and peace will be dismantled.