By Fuvi Kloku | SankofaOnline
The Tokyo high jump final of 2021 did more than crown Olympic champions; it exposed a truth our society has spent decades running from.
Mutaz Essa Barshim and Gianmarco Tamberi had fought gravity, injury, and the limits of human endurance to reach a deadlock at 2.37 meters. The world expected a jump‑off, a gladiator duel to satisfy our obsession with watching one person triumph and the other fall. But Barshim asked the question that detonated the entire mythology of competition: “Can we have two golds?” And when the official confirmed it was possible, the two men sealed the deal with a handshake that shook the foundations of a world addicted to rivalry.
They didn’t split the gold; they multiplied it. They didn’t diminish excellence; they redefined it. And that is precisely why the moment was revolutionary and why so many people quietly resented it.
We live in a society that worships scarcity like a religion. From classrooms to boardrooms, from politics to community life, we are conditioned to believe that success is a limited resource. Someone must lose for someone else to win. Someone must be pushed down for someone else to rise. This is the Scarcity Myth, the ideological poison that convinces us that collaboration is weakness and shared triumph is naïve. Barshim and Tamberi shattered that myth in five seconds. And the world, so accustomed to conflict, didn’t know how to process it. Their handshake was not just sportsmanship; it was rebellion. It was a direct insult to the systems that thrive on division, ego, and the illusion of exclusivity.
The truth is simple: shared success terrifies people who benefit from hierarchy. When two athletes chose to rise together, they exposed how unnecessary most of our rivalries are. They showed that excellence is not a pie to be sliced thinner and thinner until some are left starving. Excellence expands when shared. It grows when celebrated. It becomes more powerful when it lifts more than one person at a time. But that idea threatens the gatekeepers, the ones who need us fighting each other so we never notice the structures that keep us small.
Barshim and Tamberi understood something our leaders, institutions, and communities refuse to grasp: the person standing next to you is not your enemy. They are a fellow traveler, a fellow struggler, a fellow survivor. Both men had endured injuries that nearly ended their careers. They recognized each other’s scars. They saw themselves in each other. And in that recognition, ego dissolved. Respect took its place. Imagine if our workplaces understood that. Imagine if our politics understood that. Imagine if our communities understood that. But instead, we cling to the jump‑off mentality, fight, compete, sabotage, dominate, because we have been taught to fear a world where everyone can win.
The Tokyo handshake was a mirror held up to humanity, and the reflection was uncomfortable. It asked: Why do we cling to systems that demand we destroy each other? Why do we worship competition but fear collaboration? Why do we insist on standing alone at the top of the mountain when the view is clearly better with company? The bar was raised that day, not by clearing it, but by lowering it just enough for two people to rise together. And that is the irony that should haunt us: two athletes showed the world how to win without ego, without violence, without scarcity , but the world still prefers the jump‑off.
This is the uncomfortable truth: we are not held back by lack of opportunity. We are held back by lack of imagination. Barshim and Tamberi imagined a world where victory is shared. The question now is whether we have the courage to imagine it too. The bar is set. The choice is ours. And yes, if we dare to break the Scarcity Myth, we can all win gold.
