The inspiration for Blood and Gold began with a realization: while many books have been written about the Palestinian struggle, few have ever reached mainstream American audiences. Over the past fifty years, I’ve found that the only people truly familiar with the Palestinian experience are those from the Middle East. Even more surprising, 99% of the people I’ve spoken with had no knowledge of the 1972 Olympics—let alone the injustices that unfolded there.
Our American athletes were robbed of their rightful medals due to racism, Nazism, geopolitical maneuvering, corruption, and the Cold War. I watched those athletes compete. I also watched as Issa, the leader of the Palestinian fedayeen, communicated with German officials. In the years since, I have come to realize how the world’s focus, along with the attention of the International Olympic Committee, shifted entirely. Instead of addressing the injustices faced by our athletes, a macabre fascination with the media’s version of the events of September 5th and the early morning of the 6th took center stage.
This distortion of history—this selective storytelling—demanded to be corrected. For decades, the true story of the 1972 Olympics has remained fragmented, shaped by political agendas and journalistic failures. Blood and Gold is my attempt to rectify that, offering the first book based solely on facts.
At the heart of this work is Eddie Azzouni.
Eddie’s story is one of resilience, loss, and a fight for dignity that mirrors the struggles of so many Palestinians. I met him by chance—when my Fiat X1/9 broke down and needed repairs. From that first encounter, Eddie became more than a mechanic. He became a mentor, a second father, and the person who opened my eyes to the truths hidden beneath decades of historical revisionism.
His life had been torn apart in 1948, when his family’s land—once a sprawling estate built from his father’s hard-earned fortune—was seized. His brother was captured, tortured, and sent to a concentration camp. His family, once among the most prosperous in Jerusalem, was left with nothing. Even decades later, when Eddie tried to honor his parents’ final wish to be buried in Palestine, he encountered relentless roadblocks. The struggle to reclaim even the smallest fragment of his past was met with systemic resistance.
Through Eddie, I came to understand the full weight of what had been lost—not just for him, but for an entire people. He also helped me see the 1972 Munich Olympics in a way I never had before. The young men who carried out the mission at Munich weren’t nameless, faceless ‘terrorists’—they were men who had grown up in refugee camps, stripped of their homes, their families, their dignity. Their desperation, their need to be heard, was born out of a history the world refused to acknowledge.
Eddie’s pain, and his unwavering strength in the face of injustice, left an indelible mark on me. His friendship and the stories he entrusted me with made Blood and Gold possible.
This book is my attempt to honor his legacy. To tell the story the world has ignored, the truth it turned its back on, the history the media manipulated to ensure it was never fully told.” To challenge the narratives that have shaped our understanding of both the Munich Olympics and the Palestinian struggle.
While a few American athletes saw their dreams come true, the majority witnessed the death of their dreams—losing medals stolen through deeply entrenched corruption. The U.S. earned only 33 gold medals—its second-lowest Summer Olympic total since the end of World War II, with only the 1956 Melbourne Games yielding fewer. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union secured 50 golds and East Germany, just beginning its Olympic ascent, claimed 20. This was also the first year of primitive doping tests—some results weren’t disclosed until months later. Even when results revealed violations, the International Olympic Committee refused to reassign medals, denying the rightful winners their moment of triumph. The weight of this injustice has never fully lifted. For many of these athletes, the emotional toll lingered long after Munich, leaving behind a quiet but lasting legacy of betrayal—and in some cases, a silent suffering that would echo as a form of unresolved PTSD.
With love and light,
Christie.
