The Olympics have a way of bringing into focus the world as it is right now. Each Games gifts us a snapshot of world history in the making.
At Tokyo 2020 we witnessed mask-wearing athletes flanked by empty stands. In the 90s we grappled with new country names like Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan following the dissolution of the Soviet Union.
The 1976 Olympics saw New Zealand at the centre of controversy following an All Blacks tour of apartheid South Africa. When the IOC refused to ban our team, 29 countries boycotted the Montreal Games in protest.
Then there was the mind-boggling show of Nazi propaganda at Berlin 1936. Whether we like it or not, sport and politics have long been inextricably linked.
The Paris Olympics are yet to provide their unique showcase of time and place. But it’s already clear the Games will take place amid geopolitical turmoil.
Athletes from Ukraine, the Middle East and elsewhere face unimaginable hardships as they attempt to qualify and train.
Ordinarily, their struggles take place out of sight. But one such athlete is the subject of a new Olympic Channel documentary – Viktoriia: Ukraine’s Gymnastics Hope.
For Viktoriia “Vika” Onopriienko, the Russia-Ukraine war is the backdrop to her Olympic journey.
While Onopriienko has earned the right to contest the upcoming Olympics, her Russian counterparts will be absent. The Russian invasion of Ukraine prompted the IOC to ban Russia from participating. Even though athletes are able to take part as neutral individuals without flags, emblems or anthems, Russian gymnasts are not planning to attend in protest against the IOC’s conditions.
Russian athletes have historically won far more Olympic medals in rhythmic gymnastics than any other nation. This time, Viktoriia Onopriienko – her name means victory – hopes to stand on the podium in Paris and provide hope to Ukrainians back home.
The film opens in Kyiv with Onopriienko farewelling her father. Dressed in military fatigues, he is returning to the frontline in Ukraine’s east. Onopriienko wipes her eyes, desperately trying to be strong as he drives away.
Soon after we see the champion rhythmic gymnast exit a stadium in Baku, Azerbaijan at the completion of the 2023 European championships. Gold-medal winning Onopriienko and her teammates hear clapping, but it’s for another team.
“Their parents are here,” a Ukrainian gymnast observes.
“And our parents are at the front,” Onopriienko says wryly.
Bombs began to fall on her city four days after the close of the 2022 Winter Olympics. Onopriienko struggled to persevere with her athletic career. But after her brother, father, cousin and grandfather went to war, the Tokyo Olympics finalist took inspiration from their courage.
“When the war started, Vika was in such an awful psychological state,” her mother Lilia Onopriienko says. “She didn’t want to exercise. She didn’t want anything. I told her, ‘Vika, you can’t get emotional. You have your own battlefield; your father has his.’ … This is how she began to cope…”
Onopriienko is now on a mission of her own. “First and foremost I am motivated by my country,” she says. “We are experiencing a giant tragedy. My country is at war. I really want to show it to the world and prove that our country is invincible.”
But the obstacles are enormous. Among the poignant moments in the fly-on-the-wall film, the gymnasts warm-up for their daily training session at Kyiv’s Palace of Sports. So far, so normal. An air raid siren sounds.
“Damn,” one gymnast says.
“Let’s go. Okay, quickly – get dressed,” a coach instructs.
They all hastily exit the gymnasium and head downstairs into a small wood-panelled room in the basement.
With creased foreheads, the gymnasts frantically tap on their phones. “I read that it’s because of ballistic missiles,” someone says.
Onopriienko calls her mother. “Was there an explosion?” she asks, visibly worried.
Afterwards, she tells the group: “Mum says it’s very loud right now above the house.”
The head coach comes down into the room. “I stood there,” she says. “And there was an air defence missile and explosions – very loud. Everyone is outside watching.”
The gymnasts can’t help but chuckle, releasing a little nervous energy.
“Why are you just sitting?” the head coach asks, suddenly remembering why they are there.
“Stand here on the steps and exercise.” She demonstrates.
The gymnasts find ways to stretch despite the cramped room filled with furniture.
Satisfied everyone is moving again, the head coach returns to the scenes outside. “And the air defence missiles took off beautifully,” she says. “Like wow, trust me. Two missiles side by side.” She motions with both arms.
Eventually a loudspeaker crackles. “Attention. The air raid alert is over.”
One by one, they make their way up the stairs returning to the cavernous gym as lights flicker back on. Training resumes, but everyone still seems rattled.
And chronically tired. “They are shelling us at night. You sleep three or four hours,” Onopriienko explains.
Earlier in the war, Banksy famously went to Ukraine and painted a rhythmic gymnast in a neck brace, balancing on top of a gaping hole in a building.
Remarkably popular in Ukraine, rhythmic gymnastics is just as much an art form as it is a sport. As such, Onopriienko’s choreography contains nods to her nation’s struggle. She has performed to the Ukrainian patriotic march – ‘Oi u luzi chervona kalyna’ – an independence song banned during the Soviet era. And it’s telling when she resolutely punches the ground at the beginning of her ribbon routine, and later intentionally mimes a yawn as she slides into front splits.
“She performs for her father’s sake,” her mother says. “For the sake of our fallen men. Her cousin was killed. My own cousin was killed. Our godfather was recently killed. She competes for them all, not only for herself, not only for her childhood dreams. She fights for them.”
Whatever is to come in Paris, the next edition of the Games will channel the hopes and dreams of a generation. And mark this moment in time.
