I’ve been hesitant to write this. To write anything on the topic of Black Lives Matter. Because I’m white.
And even now that I’m putting pen to paper I worry about how my words will be interpreted, dissected, and judged. This is not a feeling I often experience when writing. I’m typically fairly confident when I write and publish, knowing that I’ve done my research, I’ve been thoughtful about my words, and I have important things to say. It is only recently I’ve come to realize that a big part of the confidence I carry when writing, speaking, working, and living, is a result of the privilege into which I was born. The hesitation and worry I’m experiencing in writing this is uncommon and uncomfortable for me. And it’s a discomfort that I need to sit with for a while. Because I now better understand that discomfort is something that people of color in this country have to live with every day of their lives.
In May, when George Floyd was murdered, when protests began in Richmond and all around the country, and when many of the issues around race were given a new level of attention, my colleagues and I at the CSL began having conversations around what our role should be in this. I doubt very seriously there is an expectation that a graduate program take a stance. But the more we thought about our alumni, our current students, and our future students, the more we realized it would be inappropriate for us to stay silent and sit this one out. Worse than that, saying nothing would say so much. So, we did what any good educators would do…we read, we listened, and we discussed. We brought together a group of our alumni of color to hear what they had to say, to ask them for feedback and to reflect on their experiences. To help us not only make a statement and take a stance, but to help us find a path forward. To hold us responsible for doing better. To ensure we live up to our core values in all that we were doing. And that starting point, this platform for our alumni to share their voices, has me reflecting on my own responsibility.
I have long had a recognition of the lack of diversity in the sport industry. A lack of women, a lack of people of color, a lack of LBGTQ+, a lack of people with disabilities. Basically anything other than cisgender white men. Many have pointed out how especially egregious the lack of African-Americans in leadership positions in sport is, given that America’s two most revenue producing sports are predominantly African-American.
At the collegiate level, for example, 64% of college football players are persons of color, while 82% of head coaches are white. In basketball, 77% of athletes are persons of color, while 69% of head coaches are white. These numbers don’t change much if you look at the professional ranks, and they are even more unbalanced when you look to administrators (athletic directors, general managers, etc.). Both critics and supporters of sports have questioned the ethics behind white men making money off black athletes (I’m simplifying the argument here, but that’s the gist of it). The recognition of this imbalance is why I, why we, the CSL, have made conscious efforts over the last decade to admit more students of color, to increase our program’s overall diversity, to bring in guest speaker and mentors that represent a spectrum of what the sport industry should look like, and to build leaders who believe in inclusive practices.
But I’m now admitting to myself, and to anyone reading this, that my belief in devoting efforts to diversity, equity, and inclusion have been a result of seeing a need in our industry for more diversity. I saw it as an industry issue, as a leadership issue. I now recognize that it’s a human issue. That this lack of diversity in our industry is a result of systemic racism. And seeing it this way makes it an even more salient issue for me – one in which we, the CSL, have a role to play.
There have certainly been times when I’ve unintentionally failed. When I, a white woman, was not sure the right thing to say so I just didn’t say anything when our students were struggling with issues around race. When I felt there were others better suited to provide advice and support. Or when I said things from my position of privilege, overlooking how that might come across to others. Looking back, there are things I would have done or said differently. I’m currently finding myself in a re-learning process. Unexpectedly. I consider myself open-minded, one who embraces diversity and the beauty that comes from different perspectives and cultures, someone who loves others for who they are regardless of race, gender, social class, sexual orientation, etc. But I’m now recognizing that those things are not enough. They may be a head-start, but there is still so much work for me to do around my unconscious bias, my privilege, and my white fragility.
