Wu Guangqiang

    THE moment 29-year-old Li Na kissed the women’s singles trophy at Roland Garros, she became immortal both nationally and globally. Even though she was so close to a grand slam singles title when she lost to Kim Clijsters in the final of the Australian Open early this year, her victory in the French Open was still unexpected because she had little clay court experience.

    Invented in England and long dominated by Western players, this monopoly had been taken for granted until Li Na broke it. Her win will surely inspire millions of Chinese children to pick up a racket.

    Li Na enchanted spectators and TV viewers at home and abroad alike, not only with her display of power and accuracy on the court, but with her charisma. Unlike most other Chinese athletes who have limited English, she can do interviews in fluent English, sometimes bringing down the house with brilliant responses and jokes. To many Chinese, she is a maverick. She has a tattoo, has dyed her hair many different colors and has even been known to yell at her husband in public. At the 2008 Beijing Olympics when her fans got too vociferous in their support during every point she played against Russia’s Dinara Safina, she yelled “shut up.”

    Perhaps because of her outgoing and rebellious personality, she has won over foreign fans as the new image of young Chinese women. Like China’s fast-changing, multi-faceted and diverse society, Chinese people are increasingly open-minded and cosmopolitan.

    Li Na’s miracle reminds me of another talented female tennis player, whose name is long forgotten: Hu Na.

    Like Li Na today, Hu Na was a household name in China 30 years ago. Born and raised in a tennis family in Sichuan, Hu was made for tennis. While still young, she swept to victory in Chinese tournaments and won Asian championships as well as becoming the world junior champion.

    Hu was a national darling and received every conceivable honor and privilege from the State and the populace. But in July 1982, during a Federation Cup match in Santa Clara, California, the United States, Hu disappeared, defecting from the Chinese team. One year later, she asked for “political asylum” and stayed behind so that she could play professional tennis. The incident led to a diplomatic crisis between China and the United States. As a result, sports exchange between the two countries was suspended in 1983.

    Years later in July 2003, Chinese journalists interviewed Hu Na, who had settled in Taiwan, working as a tennis commentator and chairperson of the Hu Na Tennis Club. Speaking of her motive to defect, she said she simply wanted to represent China on Center Court at Wimbledon. As such a promising player, she was agonized over not having the chance to play professionally. At that time, Chinese athletes seldom played internationally, much less in tournaments such as Wimbledon.

    She expressed how much she regretted her recklessness, blaming it on her youth and immaturity. Her road to realizing her professional dreams was tortuous and rough. Injuries kept her from regular training and playing. She did not enter a professional match until 1985 when she entered Wimbledon and the U.S. Open at age 23. She reached the third round at Wimbledon and her highest-ever professional ranking was 50th. She bid farewell to the court in 1992 at age 29 because of recurring injuries.

    The different experiences of Hu Na and Li Na reflect China’s gradual and profound changes. In fact, only a short while after Hu left China, Li Xinyi, Hu’s doubles partner, was allowed to receive training in the United States. Before long, China’s door was wider open and its athletes were as free to play international matches as their foreign counterparts. No more players should have to go to such extreme lengths to pursue their dreams.

    China’s advancement is also reflected in Hu’s later experience. Instead of being regarded or treated as a traitor. Years later, she was allowed to return to the Chinese mainland and shuttled between China and America and between the mainland and Taiwan to promote tennis.

    Hu Na’s early story must be beyond Li’s imagination. If Hu Na had had Li Na’s opportunities, it could have been Hu Na who won the Grand Slam titles. But even the most optimistic predictions could not have foreseen an ordinary Chinese player like Li Na having everything a Western player had: personal coaches, backup teams, hefty winning bonuses and even fatter sponsorship deals after succeeding.

    Both Hu Na’s story and Li Na’s show a simple moral: individual success depends on the fate of the nation.

    (The author is an English tutor and a freelance writer. He can be reached at jw368@163.com.)