Freeman not a symbol of hope to all

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By GARY SHELTON

© St. Petersburg Times, published September 21, 2000

SYDNEY, Australia -- These are her people.

You might think it would be her place.

It is Wednesday night in Tent City, and a half-dozen Aborigines are gathered around the warmth of the Peace Fire. With the skyline in the background, they sit on large logs and talk in hushed tones, staring into the low-burning flame as if the history of their people is somewhere in the embers.

You might think the conversation is about Cathy Freeman and another fire, the one she lit on the night of the Opening Ceremonies, the one that burns some 20 miles away in Olympic Park. You might think they would compare viewpoints of the way she walked across the water, the way she lit the flame, the way she stood proudly as the fire encircled her, then rose. You might think they would talk, their voices rising with their emotions, their hearts as warm as the fire.

[Times photo: Michael Rondou] A makeshift art exhibit at the Aborigines' tent city in Sydney includes photos of prominent Aborigines.

You might think Cathy Freeman would be quite the deal here underneath the Aboriginal flag, where the tents are scattered through Victoria Park like rainbow-colored lily pads on a pond. After all, she is theirs. Shouldn't they, in turn, be hers?

But there is no talk of Cathy Freeman here. There are no T-shirts, no posters, no discussion of her upcoming duel with Marion Jones. She is forgotten. Bring up her name in a question, and it is answered with a frown.

"Cathy Freeman," says Clarrie Isaacs, an Aboriginal elder, "is irrelevant."

How can this be? Shouldn't Freeman be celebrated as a bridge between white Australia and the Aborigines? After all, she is the runner who once draped herself in the Aboriginal flag, and the runner who was once voted Australian of the year. On that perfect night in the perfect stadium, wasn't she the woman who lit a torch that seemed to symbolize that harmony was possible after all?

The answer: not to everyone, it seems.

She may be the most important person in these Games, and she may be the person with the most pressure on her. Because as Freeman kneels in her lane, the controversy will continue to rage around her. Instead of two sides embracing her, it is as if both want nothing more than to use her to deliver their message.

As for Cathy Freeman, she wants to run.

Poor Cathy. Her starting blocks, it appears, are in the middle of a battlefield. The elders of the Aboriginal tribes have pleaded with her not to compete in these Games. By some of her people she has been labeled a hero and a sellout, a role model and a pawn. Can you imagine the pressure of controversy dumped on top of the pressure of competition? Can you imagine the tug of war inside Freeman?

"People choose to symbolize me for whatever they need a symbol for," Freeman says, choosing her words carefully. "I thought the lighting of the torch was a big boost for the Aborigines. It was significant. It was historical. It was a tremendous honor for the Aborigine people."

Not everyone agrees. Isaacs, for instance, thinks Freeman, 27, could deliver a more powerful message by refusing to compete.

"The lighting of the torch was a sham," he said. "It's a political stunt to get the world to believe we have a friendly relationship, which we do not. On the night Cathy Freeman lit the torch, thousands of Aborigines went to bed hungry. Thousands of them were homeless, sleeping in the streets. Thousands of them woke up without hope of employment. The government is using her. She must know that.

[Times photo: Michael Rondou] Bianca Bright and Martha Day stand beside the Peace Fire, which has been burning since January 1998.

"If I could talk to her, I'd tell her about Marlon Brando winning the Academy Award, then giving it back to protest the treatment of the American Indian. I'd tell her about Muhammad Ali throwing his medal into the river."

Isaacs, 52, is a small, tranquil man, his shaggy gray hair shooting in all directions. He sounds very much like a professor as he talks about the shameful history of white Australia toward the Aborigines, of the mistreatment that continues. That is the reason for the Tent City, to bring the world's focus to the plight of Australia's indigenous people. That is the reason the flame was carried by foot, some 2,000 miles, a journey very much like that of the Olympic torch.

"The fire is very important to us," Isaacs said. "It burns like the spirit of our people. No one is allowed to swear around the fire. Only men, only Aborigines, can stir the fire."

Cathy Freeman could not stir the fire, even if she did not compete?

"Some things are men's business," Isaacs said. "This (the fire) is men's business."

You tell Isaacs you question his reasoning over Freeman's participation in the Games. In America, would we be better off if Jesse Owens had refused to go with a mostly white team to Berlin in 1932? If Jackie Robinson had refused to break the baseball color line in 1947? If Rosa Parks had refused to get onto the bus at all?

"I suppose I would prefer for her to win," Isaacs said. "But I wouldn't walk down the street to watch it on TV. But if she won the race, then came down here to her people, that would be great."

Perhaps. But wouldn't that, too, be a political message? Which makes you wonder. Is this really about Freeman, or is it about choosing sides?

"I suppose the thing is this," Isaacs said. "If all of the Aborigines said they wanted something from Cathy Freeman, what would she deliver to them? We live in poverty. Can she help that? Our people die in custody in large numbers. Can she help that? All of the judges are white judges. Can she help that? What can she deliver in material things? What can she give these people other than hope?"

Ah, you say. But isn't hope a very good thing?

"Not if it is false hope," Isaacs said.

Isaacs is not alone. Recently, a professor of genocide at Macquarie University in Sydney was quoted this way: "Cathy Freeman is the greatest thing that ever happened to white Australia because this happy, delightful, fun-loving young lady looks as though she is the representative of all black womanhood. But she is not. She is an aberration."

Given the history of white Australians and Aborigines, it is easy to understand the demonstration of Tent City. It began with six tents. There are now 200, and some 400-500 people. Indigenous artwork is scattered throughout the park. There are signs such as this one: "Give Australia Back Its Pride; Stop the Bloody Genocide."

Still, there is a difference between leading a political movement and dragging someone inside it. If Freeman cannot stir the flames in the camp, should she obligated to stir them outside?

It is not as if Freeman has been blind to her people. When she wrapped the flag around herself after winning the 400 meters at the Commonwealth Games in 1994, she was rebuked by her team leader. She has criticized the government for the so-called "Stolen Generation," the abductions of Aboriginal children to be raised by white families. She has talked of her pride in her heritage and urged Aboriginal children to think of being doctors or lawyers.

For now, however, it is the Olympics. Freeman does not wish to give speeches. She does not wish to be a symbol. She wishes to run. What else can people expect of her?

There is a time on the track, she will tell you, when it is just her and her lane, when everything else is shut out. "It feels like everything around you isn't going on," she said. "It's this big jelly thing, full of noise and color."

For Cathy Freeman, that is the way of her world. Outside the lane, everyone seems to want her to say something, to do something, to be something. Only inside is there sanctuary.

There, all she has to do is run.

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