When the Olympics Became a Stage: Berlin 1936 and the Politics of Sport
-Vani Mishra
The Olympic Games are usually characterized as a celebration of human spirit, athletic talent, and international unity. They are supposed to rise above political conflicts and cultural divisions, at least on an ideal level. History, however, instructs us that sports are never completely severed from the societies and power relations in which they are embedded. Perhaps no episode in recent history illustrates this more vividly than the 1936 Berlin Olympics. What transpired in the capital of Germany was not merely a lavish sporting spectacle but a meticulously choreographed political drama—one in which sporting competition, propaganda, ideology, and resistance converged.
As I went back and read through descriptions of these Olympics, I was not only struck by the sporting victories and the moments we can still recall, but also by the eerie subtext of how politics crept into every aspect of the Games. This was not merely a question of who had run the quickest or leaped the highest—it was a matter of what the world wanted to see, what it chose to ignore, and what it subsequently remembered.
A Carefully Crafted Spectacle
By 1936, Adolf Hitler and the Nazi government had already put their machinery of repression into motion. The world was aware of the tide of fascism rising, although perhaps not entirely aware of how dangerous it was. The decision to stage the Games in Berlin had been taken years before, before Adolf Hitler rose to power. However, once under their control, the Nazi regime viewed the Olympics as a possibility—a possibility to show Germany not as an aggressive and intolerant nation but as a restored power with order, beauty, and discipline.
The city itself was remade for the purpose. Berlin was decked with flags and emblems, stadiums rebuilt and newly constructed, and the whole production was shrouded in pomp. The opening ceremony itself was a record-breaker. Marches, music, and precision mirrored the Nazi government’s fixation with bigness and spectacle. It was hard for most foreign visitors not to be awed.
But beneath the banners and torchlit processions was something much more ominous. The Games were used as a propagandistic device, a carefully constructed show to cover up discrimination and persecution. Anti-Jewish propaganda was eased in the short term. Prohibitive signs against Jews in public places were taken down out of foreign sight. For a brief period of weeks, the bleaker truths of Nazi Germany were hidden behind a veneered facade.
Athletes and Ideology
The most vivid feature of the Berlin Olympics was the way athletes were complicit unwilling players in a grander ideological spectacle. To Hitler and his authorities, the Games were intended to present the dominance of the so-called “Aryan race.” German competitors, dressed in uniforms bearing national insignia, were lionized as representatives of racial vigor and purity. Wins were read not only as personal triumphs, but political evidence.
But often, history is not cooperative with propaganda. In the stadiums and stadia, runners from across the globe shattered the image the Nazis had wished to present.
The most celebrated instance is Jesse Owens, the United States’ African American track and field legend. Owens took home four gold medals, breaking records and embarrassing the Nazi ideology of Aryan superiority. His performances—long jump, 100 meters, 200 meters, and 4×100 relay were flashes of sheer brilliance. What is human about his tale is not so much his triumphs, but the silent rebellion they represented. Owens was not competing against any other competitor; he was competing against an ideology that deemed him inferior.
And yet, the irony cuts. While Owens had become a symbol of resistance to Nazi ideology overseas, at home in America he was still confronted with the harsh realities of discrimination based on race. He came back to a nation where segregation was a law, and where recognition was thin. The Owens story thus becomes not merely one of sporting triumph, but a reminder of the multiple, painful hypocrisies of the period.
The Forgotten Stories
Owens’ wins are the most well-remembered, yet there were many other athletes whose tales ought to be remembered.
Think about the Jewish sportspeople who struggled to represent themselves alongside the shadow of Nazi regimes. Germany only represented one sportsperson of Jewish origin, Helene Mayer, a fencer. She had spent time abroad but was permitted to compete to provide a pretence of equality. When accepting her podium, Mayer gave the Nazi salute, a sign of survival maybe, but one that continues to generate controversy about compromise, duress, and survival in oppressive regimes.
There were colonized athletes, too, of whom many represented the colonizing power’s flag rather than their own. For these, the Games were bittersweet—moments of national pride colored by acknowledgments of subordination. Indian athletes, representing the British flag, had to contend not just with opposing athletes but also the burthen of colonial identity. The Berlin Olympics then became a site at which several tiers of power—race, empire, ideology converged on the field.
The Power of Images
No discussion of Berlin 1936 can be complete without noting the power of images. The Games were the first to be televised, although only to viewers in and around Berlin. More significantly, film maker Leni Riefenstahl produced the documentary Olympia, one of the greatest-looking sport films ever produced. With its panoramic shots and experimental techniques, the film transfigured the Games into myth.
But Riefenstahl’s mastery cannot be divorced from intention. Her work immortalized the Nazi ideal of strength and beauty, situating the athletes within the look of fascist propaganda. It is hard, even now, to view Olympia without struggling with its disturbing brilliance—how art may be used for ideology, how beauty can be used as a weapon.
A World Looking Away
In retrospect, the most chilling thing about the Berlin Olympics is how many world leaders and institutions let themselves be won over by spectacle. There were threats to boycott the Games, especially from Britain and the United States, because of Nazi persecution of Jews and political dissidents. But the boycotts never came on a mass scale.
The International Olympic Committee justified its move, claiming the Games must be “apolitical.” But to require apoliticism in the face of open propaganda was itself a political act. In retrospect, the willingness of countries to attend lent credibility to the Nazi regime. It was an opportunity lost to challenge fascism before it descended into the atrocities of World War II.
Legacies of 1936
The Berlin Olympics of 1936 left a legacy that is uncomfortable and complicated. While they took sports culture forward in organization, presentation, and media, they established new benchmarks for Olympic spectacle, some of which still exist today. They also exposed international sports to political powers’ manipulation.
More significantly, they compelled the world to face the unpleasant reality that the Games can never be completely divorced from politics. It could be the athletes who bear the burden of representation, the hosting countries that influence global opinion, or the media that constructs narratives—the Olympics are always a reflection of the world in which they take place.
Human Reflections
As I look back at Berlin 1936, I am reminded of the dual nature of human existence it portrays. There is the wonder of sporting achievement, the excitement of contest, and the loveliness of sport that soars. But there is also the stern reminder of how power can taint, how even something as untainted as racing a race can be used as an instrument of ideology.
What makes this tale human is not just the political lessons it imparts, but the lived lives of the athletes themselves—Jesse Owens sprinting past prejudice, Helene Mayer torn between survival and complicity, numerous nameless participants whose personal dilemmas were buried beneath great narratives. These were human beings before they were athletes, and symbols only through the power of circumstance.
The Berlin Olympics remind us that history is not just made up of battles and treaties, but of games, performances, and spectacles. It informs us that sport is never “just sport.” It is culture, politics, identity, and humanity itself, side by side on a track, sometimes clashing, sometimes soaring.
Conclusion
The Berlin Games of 1936 were not just an athletic competition-they were a moment when the values of the Olympic ideal met the exigencies of politics and propaganda. They are still a warning about the perils of spectacle, the obligations of international institutions, and the strength of human beings who transcend efforts to confine them.
When I consider Berlin 1936, I do not simply think of medals and records. I think of the pall of tension that hung in the air, the awkward silences, the wry smiles of competitors who understood that their triumphs were about more than sport. I think of the eyes upon the world, awed but blind, and of the lessons still whispered by history: that even in the fields of games, humanity must ever prefer conscience to spectacle.
