Freestyle skier Hunter Hess told reporters that wearing the American flag on his uniform doesn't mean he stands behind the country he's representing — and the response from fans and officials was swift.
Hess, a Team USA freestyle skier competing at the Winter Olympics, publicly distanced himself from the Trump administration and U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement operations. Fellow freestyle skier Chris Lillis reportedly did the same, though no specific statements from Lillis have surfaced.
Hess's comments, in particular, struck a nerve:
"It brings up mixed emotions to represent the U.S. right now. It's a little hard. There's obviously a lot going on that I'm not the biggest fan of, and I think a lot of people aren't. If it aligns with my moral values, I feel like I'm representing it — just because I'm wearing the flag, doesn't mean I represent everything that's going on in the U.S."
The reaction online was not subtle. Calls to remove Hess from the team flooded social media. Presidential Envoy for Special Missions Richard Grenell weighed in directly:
"Privileged Gen Z from Oregon hasn't traveled much. He's representing the greatest country in the world…move to Canada if you aren't proud of wear USA."
There's a particular kind of audacity in accepting the resources, training infrastructure, and global platform that come with representing the United States — and then treating the flag on your chest like a disclaimer you can annotate in real time.
Nobody forced Hunter Hess to compete for Team USA. The Olympic selection process is voluntary. Athletes who qualify can decline. They can compete independently in some sports. What they shouldn't do — what grates on millions of Americans watching from home — is accept the honor and then hold it at arm's length the moment the political climate doesn't suit them, as Breitbart reports.
Hess wants the uniform without the commitment. He wants the stage without the solidarity. He wants the flag when it suits his "moral values" and a press conference to distance himself when it doesn't.
One person on X captured the mood plainly:
"If he doesn't like the flag and what it represents, he is welcome to find another country. We don't care."
The Olympics already face a viewership challenge in an era of fragmented attention and streaming fatigue. Athletes publicly souring on the country they represent doesn't help. One commenter put it bluntly:
"I'm thinking the Olympics TV ratings aren't going to be phenomenal."
Another went further, saying they didn't plan to watch the Olympics at all, adding that "the other reason is it is just mostly boring."
There's a lesson here that sports leagues have learned the hard way over the past decade: audiences don't tune in to watch athletes litigate domestic policy. They tune in to watch competition, national pride, and human excellence under pressure. The moment the broadcast becomes a venue for political grievance — from any direction — casual viewers reach for the remote.
The NFL learned this. The NBA learned this. The lesson cost billions in lost revenue and fan trust. Whether the Olympic broadcast apparatus absorbs the same hit depends on how many more athletes decide their personal politics deserve top billing over their country's flag.
Hess's complaint is vague by design. He referenced "a lot going on" without specifying what, exactly, he objects to. The article's context points toward ICE enforcement and broader Trump administration policy, but Hess didn't name a specific action, a specific case, or a specific policy he finds unconscionable.
This is the hallmark of performative dissent. It costs nothing. It risks nothing specific enough to be debated on the merits. It simply signals to the right people that you're one of the good ones — that you wear the flag ironically, with the proper asterisks attached.
Grenell's response, whatever its tone, identified something real: the gap between privilege and perspective. Competing at the Winter Olympics for the United States of America is one of the most extraordinary opportunities a human being can receive. The training pipeline, the national governing body support, the diplomatic apparatus that makes international competition possible — all of it flows from the country Hess finds difficult to represent.
Americans enforce their immigration laws. Every sovereign nation does. The idea that routine enforcement of existing law creates a moral crisis so profound that an Olympic athlete can't wear his own country's flag without a caveat — that tells you more about the athlete's bubble than about the country.
Chris Lillis reportedly shares Hess's discomfort, though no direct quotes from Lillis have been published. If additional statements surface, the backlash will likely intensify. The pattern is already set.
What's striking is how one-directional these gestures always run. Athletes distance themselves from enforcement, from border security, from the elected administration — never from the funding streams, the institutional support, or the national anthem played when they medal. The flag is only complicated when the cameras are rolling, and the right audience is listening.
Millions of Americans would give anything for the chance Hess has — to stand on a world stage draped in their country's colors. They don't have mixed emotions about it. They just don't get asked.
