Black hair is an intimate part of an individual’s identity and being. Yet as of Saturday, the two-year anniversary of The CROWN Act, only 13 states have fully embraced the act.
The CROWN Act (Creating a Respectful and Open World for Natural Hair) is the law that “prohibits race-based hair discrimination, which is the denial of employment and education opportunities because of hair texture or protective hairstyles including braids, locs, twists or Bantu knots.”
The politics of Black hair have always been contentious. The numerous times Black girls, in particular, have been penalized for wearing their hair naturally is telling. And when embellishments such as color and extensions are added, the punishments are even greater.
In 2013, twelve-year-old student Vanessa Vandyke was bullied for her “puffy hair” by fellow students at Faith Christian Academy. Yet rather than ending the bullying, however, the school suggested that she “straighten her hair out”
In 2016, schoolgirls in South Africa were told to “fix their hair, if they were wearing them in a natural state.” So styles such as cornrows, dreadlocks, and loose braids were deemed as violations of school policy.
Hair, and the politics of Black hair, have always mattered in sports. In 2012, sixteen-year-old Gabby Douglas, the first Black Olympic gymnast to make team USA since Dominque Dawes twelve years prior, was mercilessly eviscerated in the media for not having laid edges during her routines. Embarrassingly, many of Gabby’s detractors were in fact, other Black women.
“I just made history and people are focused on my hair? It can be bald or short; it doesn’t matter about (my) hair,” said Douglas.
As a fellow Black woman, I can relate to having my hair being called into question, even by members of the Black community.
I attended a panel on the gender pay gap where a fellow faculty member, not knowing who I was, suggested that my hair in its current state (kinky twists) would hinder me from getting a job. Of course, I immediately set her straight.
Black Hair Matters
Black hair matters. It always has, no matter the venue.
With the Olympic games a few short weeks away, sports are at the forefront. But it is not without controversy due to recent decisions affecting athletes, particularly Black sportswomen.
And Black hair is once again in question.
Recently, FINA (an international federation recognized by the IOC) banned swim caps made by the company Soul Cap, a Black-owned swim brand that creates inclusive swimwear. The company was created in 2017 after the founder encountered a woman with an Afro struggling with the size of her swim cap. Since then, the brand has notably provided “40,000 swim caps to swimmers globally”.
FINA initially argued that the swim caps are unsuitable and unnecessary as they do not “follow the natural form of the head.”
This raises a number of questions.
Whose heads do the caps not “naturally follow?” Although the numbers of Black and other swimmers of color in Olympic and other international events are not substantial, we cannot deny the inroads they are making. We ignore the racist legacies that have kept Black Americans from having access, opportunity, and the resources to participate in the sport. Prohibiting Black slaves from learning how to swim, segregated pools, a lack of pools in neighborhoods of color, and prohibitive costs are just a few of the challenges Black swimmers faced and continue to face.
These histories run deep, as do the roots of Black hair.
Despite the continued rhetoric that Black people do not swim or workout because of hair care worries, athletes such as Simone Manuel, the UK’s Alice Dearing, Serena Williams, Simone Biles, and Sha’Carri Richardson are pushing back by competing and winning with their Black girl hair in a number of styles, colors, and textures. Black people, especially Black women, are competitive athletes, even in sports that have traditionally restricted access such as swimming, tennis, and gymnastics.
Black hair is personal. It is a form of identity and a source of pride for Black people. To belittle or attack it is to personally violate an individual. Yet it’s an ongoing occurrence, particularly in sports.
In December of 2018, New Jersey high school wrestler Andrew Johnson was forced to cut his dreadlocks before his match in order to compete. As a Black woman, watching the video felt like a personal assault. The trainer took the scissors to Johnson’s head as if his hair, his pride, and his feelings meant nothing.
This past April, North Carolina softball player Nicole Pyles was forced to cut her hair and remove the beads in it after her game started.
“It was humiliating,” said Pyles “Why do I have to take away from myself just to play this game where we are actually doing well? I’m embarrassed because you pick on me in front of all these people for no reason.”
Both Johnson and Pyles had worn their hair in their respective styles in previous matches and it was never a problem before. But then it was.
Black hair matters. It always has. It mattered to Gabby Douglas, Andrew Johnson, and Nicole Pyles.
And it matters to Black swimmers.
The Fight Continues
FINA’s decision to ban caps that allow Black swimmers, particularly Black and other ethnic women, to participate in one of these sports is an undeniably racist act. With so much evidence of the bias against Black hair, it’s extremely difficult to believe that the members of the committee are unaware of the harm their actions have caused.
That would, perhaps, explain why just days after their initial decision, reports from sources such as CNN are saying that FINA has decided to review the use of Afro swim caps during competition.
Though FINA originally argued that they were against the caps due to 1) them not fitting the form of the natural head, and 2) potentially being able to offer competitors a “competitive edge,” their updated statement notes that they are “reviewing the situation with regards to ‘Soul Cap’ and other similar products understanding the importance of inclusivity and representation.”
Part of me can’t help but balk at their fear that the caps would offer swimmers a “competitive edge”. This rhetoric seems similar to other language used to police Black women in sports when it comes to their athletic wear and the natural configuration of our bodies. This is an alarming trend we’re witnessing in real-time, particularly leading up to the Olympics where Black women have recently been purged from competition due to outdated rules and humiliating body casting.
FINA and other organizations need to take a really hard look at themselves and ask how they still keep falling into the same trap time and time again. We can no longer blindly ignore the intersections of race, gender, sexism, and homophobia that shape the societies in which we live and not expect to bump up against criticism.
No matter how hard institutions and individuals try to push us out of sports and society, Black women, and our hair, aren’t going anywhere
