Nike's Poetry Slam

Get ready for some of the most manipulative, cliche-ridden and sickeningly sweet media in a long while. It's time for the Olympics. I'm not talking about stunning shots of awesome athletic performances. There's nothing like watching the Olympics for the simple fascination of seeing inordinately strong, fast and focused individuals battle their own past accomplishments, or the thrill of new phenomena such as women's hockey teams. The Olympics are a great excuse for the most jaded TV hater to indulge in a couple of weeks on the couch. Unfortunately, the experience comes with more and more high-sugar, high-fat, junk-food television. If CBS's coverage is anything like NBC's during the Summer 1996 Olympics, viewers will have to suffer through overwrought made-for-TV minimovies milking every possible off-slope, off-rink human drama o' the minute.

But the biggest offender this winter might be Nike. As local readers of The Progressive may already know, the ubiquitous athletic-wear titan known for its dramatic commercials _ and increasingly, for its despicable use of sweatshop labor in Third World countries _ has been planning a new advertising venture into hipness-for-the-sake-of-money. As Progressive editor Matthew Rothschild reported in January, Nike's advertising agency apparently approached several poets, including Mart¡n Espada (an English professor and member of The Progressive's editorial advisory board), whose work is distinctly political, about participating in an ad campaign for the Olympics.

The ad agency, Goodby, Silverstein & Partners of San Francisco, hoped to "celebrate the poetry of competition and athletics by using your words." Espada faxed PitchWeekly a copy of Goodby, Silverstein's proposal: "This year's Winter Olympic Games in Nagano, Japan will be unlike any before. Women will compete in greater numbers, and in more sports. And for perhaps the first time, a large number of female competitors will be athletes who grew up feeling empowered, supported and equal to their male counterparts when it came to athletic opportunities, facilities and training."

"We would like to celebrate four of the most remarkable of the new women athletes in a series of commercial films that will run during the Olympic telecasts. And we'd like to do it through the eyes of artists like yourselves. You each have a voice, outlook and perspective on the world that we feel mirrors in some fashion, the spirit these athletes possess." "Read the accompanying biographies of Picabo Street, Dawn Staley, Cammi Granato and Mia Hamm. Watch the videotapes. If you don't know these athletes now, we feel sure you'll soon find them unique: uniquely committed to the rigors of sport at the highest levels, uniquely aware of their roles in history."

"Then write about them. Or each of them. Or all of them at once. It could be about their roles in the world of sports, their individual styles, the significance of their contributions."

That was the pitch. It was quickly followed by the hitch: "(Y)ou are free to write anything you want. We will not censor your thoughts or opinions or feelings. You don't have to write about shoes or even mention Nike... (For legal reasons, you should not include references to the Olympics, Games or medals. And keep in mind TV network standards and practices regarding content and language.)"

"It must be possible for your poem to be read out loud in less than 30 seconds. (Otherwise, we may have to edit your piece for time.) Unfortunately, the mechanics of commerce outweigh the demands of art in this instance."

Espada's response, which he also faxed to PitchWeekly, succinctly articulated all that's wrong with Nike and its insidious advertising. "I could reject your offer based on the fact that your deadline is ludicrous (i.e., ten days from the above date)," Espada wrote. "A poem is not a Pop-Tart."

"I could reject your offer based on the fact that I would not be free to write whatever I want... since I must 'keep in mind TV network standards and practices regarding content and language.' You clearly have no idea what the word 'censorship' means. Where, as you put it, 'the mechanics of commerce outweigh the demands of art,' then de facto censorship will flourish."

"I could reject your offer based on the fact that, to make this offer to me in the first place, you must be totally and insultingly ignorant of my work as a poet, which strives to stand against all that you and your client represent..."

"I could reject your offer based on the fact that your client, Nike, has through commercials such as these outrageously manipulated the youth market, so that even low-income adolescents are compelled to buy products they do not need at prices they cannot afford."

"Ultimately, however, I am rejecting your offer as a protest against the brutal labor practices of Nike. I will not associate myself with a company that engages in the well-documented exploitation of workers in sweatshops...(T)ake the $2,500 you now dangle before me and distribute that money equally among the laborers in an Asian sweatshop doing business with Nike."

I don't know whether any of these ads will actually air during the Olympics (the producer at Goodby, Silverstein who'd approached Espada was out of her office the week of my deadline). But that's not the point. What's so disgusting _ beyond the slimy manipulation of women athletes _ is the ad agency's obvious misunderstanding of concepts such as art and censorship, and its assumption about how readily the services of artists can be purchased to help Nike sell its swoosh. The more one knows about Nike labor practices, the harder it is to watch Nike ads. And knowing how Nike's ad agency works is almost enough to make one read a book of poetry instead of watching the Olympics.

Permission to republish this article was granted by C.J. Janovy. She can be reached via e-mail at:cjanovy AT pitch.com
Originally published in Kansas City's PitchWeekly.