It is difficult to gather a word or a feeling from the athletes who came second behind the Chinese in the synchronized diving. Chaperoned, they went through the competition like their international season: in near silence.
An Olympic moment: two nationals of the Democratic Republic of Korea on the box. We showed up on Wednesday, July 31, at the Saint-Denis Aquatic Center, for the women’s 10m synchronized high diving, to snatch something from the two Chinese superstars of the discipline, Yuxi Chen and Hongchan Quan, three-time reigning world champions whose victory was as certain as the sunrise. And we came across one of those blind spots that belongs only to the Olympics, which the follower cherishes as surely as the vision of a South Korean colleague sautéing veal at 6:30 in the morning in the press room, because he works and lives in time with the media that employs him: North Korean medalists.
We had to open our eyes wide because North Koreans Kim Mi Rae (23 years old, already seen in Rio in 2016) and Jo Jin Mi (19 years old) were not there to dwell on the Olympic ecstasy. “We don’t see them on the world circuit,” explained French diver Jade Gillet. “Twice this year, in fact: at the world championships in Doha in February, because we had to go get an Olympic quota, and today.” We have thus come to the last thing that globalized Instagrammed sport can offer us today: mystery. Escorted by a chaperone and a member of the North Korean team who introduced herself to us as a “doctor,” the two divers hurtled down the mixed zone at the speed of light. It’s not easy to escape, though.
Great perplexity
They are at the Games, required to do a minimum. A tall Westerner working for an Asian media group hooks the chaperone, brings up an enigmatic visit to the National Center in Pyongyang two winters ago, and the little troupe stops. Jo Jin-mi is pushed aside by the chaperone. But Kim Mi Rae will never really have her: the chaperone translates the questions into English for the athlete, before retranslating the diver’s answers from Korean to English with a multiplier of four (three words stammered by the young girl become a sentence or two). Still, the tall Westerner makes a strong statement: his question aimed at knowing if Kim Mi Rae “finds kimchi [chou fermenté, ndlr] “in the Olympic village” threw his interlocutor and the translator into great perplexity. Dialogue:
“What feelings grip you?
– I’m happy.
– Money after the Chinese team, isn’t that a kind of victory?
– I don’t know. We’re not competing against China. We’re competing against ourselves.
– The fact that North Korea did not send any athletes to Tokyo three years ago [officiellement pour échapper au Covid, ndlr] Did it hold you back in your development?
– I don’t know.
– Why do you organize your invisibility on the circuit? To better surprise at the Games?
The chaperone takes the hand: “Here, it’s me who answers. We were supposed to go to Doha to get the Olympic quota. Then, there was no more competition until the Paris Games. That’s it.”
Cosmic attack
Of course, but Kim Mi Rae and Jo Jin Mi could have come out before Doha. It must still be understood that the North Koreans have raised in a laboratory a duo that, barely aligned, garnered a silver medal in each of the two most competitive competitions of the year. It’s like growing a moustache in one night. The face-off ended there. But there was still one test. And not the least: the press conference of the medalists, in front of an international audience of journalists and a translation provided by the organization, therefore infinitely more reliable. A South Korean colleague launches a cosmic attack: the personal story, the journey, the heroes who build childhood, the sensations.
Slumped in her seat, completely in her own world, North Korea’s Jo Jin Mi doesn’t move. “This is our very first medal [olympique] and we are very happy, answers Kim Mi Rae. We did our best but we didn’t win gold. Thank you.” Her medal, after her fourth place in Rio: “I was very sad eight years ago. Since then, we have been subjected to rigorous training. In North Korea, we do our best and there, it’s silver, anyway! Thank you.” We are burning to go and find Jo Jin Mi on her planet, wherever she is: in her country, the emotion of her first Games, the Olympic village, the kimchi, anything. A question targeted at the young girl finally falls. “These are my first Games and I am happy. I will do better next time. Thank you.” An Olympic dream has passed. The presents did not leave with much but however little we take, we take anyway.
