TOKYO — The morning I left for Japan my horoscope read, “Travel plans will suddenly change today. Stay flexible!” And while I’m only a casual follower of astrology I’ve decided to take that as my mantra for the next three weeks.
The Olympics are a challenging assignment in normal times. Dozens of sports spread through a city often unhappy to be hosting. Language and custom barriers, incomprehensible rules and protocols, buses, buses, and more buses. And lots of unpredictability.
But an Olympics during a pandemic is quite a different adventure. This Olympics is proving to be as illogical as its moniker: “TOKYO2020” is plastered all over this city, giving the impression of an event whose relevance is already in the past.
Which it might be. The Olympic brand has already been weakened over the decades by corruption and commercialism and spiraling costs. But the forced COVID-lympics may deliver a body blow to any lingering romantic notions about the Games.
For all the accredited participants — athletes, coaches, media, support — who made it here, the logistical nightmare started long before departure. There were endlessly redundant forms to fill out. Covid Liaison Officers to be appointed. Activity plans to be approved. Apps to download and QR codes to scan. Two negative COVID tests to be certified by the Japan Ministry of Health. All the information went into a black hole somewhere in Tokyo with very little response coming back out. Many of us boarded flights not knowing if we’d be let into the country.
On the plane to Tokyo, visitors were required to sign a written pledge, basically ceding our independence and rights while in Japan. When we landed, all holding Olympic credentials were last off the plane. Once off, we were separated by athlete/coach (important) and media (not so much). The skateboarding team, including the sport’s superstar Nyjah Huston, soon disappeared from our view, as we were forced into playing an odd game of musical chairs. We crept our way forward — folding chair by folding chair — through a long terminal finally reaching a table where we were given the OK to be tested. On the bright side, we were given tiny origami storks.
One by one, we were led into a small room and asked to spit into a vial. You might not realize how hard it is to come up with 1.5 ml of saliva after a nine-hour airplane flight, but it is. There were pictures of lemons on the wall to help. And a helpful video instructing us not to urinate into the tiny saliva receptacle.
And then we, the wretched media of United 837, were led into a lounge to wait. And wait. And wait. Three hours later our group was released and allowed to go through immigration, baggage claim, and to a spot outside security to wait for a bus that would take us to a cab that would take us to our hotel. By the time, I got to my room it was more than eight hours after the plane had touched down.
Since then, there have been more saliva tests — toss your registered vial into that overflowing bin with the spit of the world. More apps to record our temperature and (lack of) symptoms. A security guard sits by the entrance of my hotel, ostensibly to prevent anyone from breaking “soft” quarantine, but I’ve never seen him speak to anyone.
We aren’t allowed to share cabs or go for walks but are packed like sardines onto buses and crowded into massive workrooms and food courts. Good luck with contract tracing a media bus to see Simone Biles. No one asks about vaccinations, but we do have plenty of hand sanitizer.
It all feels like, forgive the expression, Kabuki theater. All done for show. To check government boxes and give the impression of very actively, very earnestly, trying to halt a pandemic’s path, of trying to corral a virus that can’t be contained.
Meanwhile, outbreaks are happening. The “soft bubble” has broken. There are positive cases in the village, and elsewhere in the Olympic circle. On Thursday the Tokyo Organizing Committee announced 12 new cases among accreditation holders, including two athletes in the village. Some Olympic dreams have already been derailed. There’s no predicting how many more will be.
Thomas Bach, who is president of the International Olympic Committee but not an epidemiologist, said there was “zero risk” of COVID spreading due to the Olympics. Denial seems to be his primary strength: The IOC also banned its media accounts from showing any images of athletes participating in peaceful protests, before abruptly reversing course Thursday after an international outcry.
Meanwhile, the normal Olympic absurdity continues. Tokyo officials continue to fall in disgrace. The latest was the director of the opening ceremonies, fired Thursday for making a Holocaust joke in 1998. His departure follows those of a composer who resigned for bullying and two other top officials who stepped down for horribly sexist remarks. And, oh yeah, a brown bear is on the loose near a venue.
As the circus gets underway, the citizens of Tokyo are going about their business in this city, which is somewhat muted under a state of emergency. There are no visible protests, but the displeasure is clear. It has been measured by polls that show how opposed the public is to these Games. Perhaps the most damning development is that Toyota pulled all its Olympic-related advertising in the country. One of the most important corporations in Japan doesn’t want to give any implication of endorsing these COVID Games.
The oddest sight of the week wasn’t even in Tokyo. It was beamed in from Brisbane, Australia where people gathered to cheer the news that they had “won” the right to host the 2032 Games, even though no one was bidding against them.
Tokyo’s message to the Brisbanites: They might want to pass on this honor.
Ann Killion is a San Francisco Chronicle columnist.
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