Gender Ideology Leaves Coaches With Nothing To Say

Athletes trust us to coach them responsibility. We betray that responsibility when we withhold crucial information about a player’s sex that they need and deserved to know.

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“Did anyone say anything?” “What can you say?”

A few days earlier, the issue of males competing in women’s sports stopped being an over-the-horizon concern for me. This shift occurred after 13 years of coaching and seven years since I first became involved with the issue. For the first time, I witnessed a man compete in a women’s sporting event—a semi-pro women’s soccer game. I was not merely a spectator; I was at pitch level. Not just physically close, I was emotionally close. My role with the team, though relatively brief and in an adjunct capacity, allowed me to form deep relationships with and responsibilities toward our athletes that extended beyond the CV bullets of athletic performance and injury prevention. The opposing team’s trans-identifying male player wasn’t accelerating towards other players, he wasn’t racing for loose balls against other players, he wasn’t using his male advantages to jostle, tackle, out-jump or shoulder other players off the ball. He was doing those things to our players. To my players.

During a break in our next practice, two players who hadn’t participated in that game were chatting to one who had. The latter player, “Krista,” remarked, “We kinda sucked in the first half”—it’s true, we did—“but we really figured it out and played well in the second.”

Then her voice became softer, and although I couldn’t catch her exact words, the reactions from her teammates filled in the blanks for me. “Ah shit.” “Oh no.”

“I didn't even notice when he came on,” Krista continued, “but as soon as he started talking it was so obvious.”

Before returning to the pitch for the next drill, “Emma” and “Megan” echoed the same two questions countless athletes and coaches have asked.

“Did anyone say anything?” “What can you say?”

Silence Enforced on Sports’ Largest Stage

Peter Eriksson has grappled with these questions for seven years.

As the head coach for Athletics Canada from 2012 to 2016, with an Olympic coaching career beginning in 1980, Eriksson was well-versed in the protocols surrounding speech at the Olympics.

When you go to the Olympic Games, you really sign your life away in order to be on the team. They have these confidentiality things that you have to follow. You can't just say whatever you want to say. You’re basically given this “shut up” document, and if you don’t sign it, you don’t go. You have to pick.

You never get a copy of it. You get to read it and sign it.

More salient for Eriksson than the quadrennial boilerplate from the International Olympics Committee was the one time he received a phone call from a national Olympic committee lawyer who personally threatened his career if he spoke about a specific event.

Melissa Bishop, a Canadian 800-meter runner, had an exceptional lead-up to the 2016 Olympics, winning seven of her nine races. She posted the fastest time in the preliminary rounds and advanced from the semifinals with a tactical performance.

“Everything was ticking for Melissa,” Eriksson remarked. “And she didn’t have a chance against them.”

“Them” refers to three athletes: Margaret Wambui of Kenya, Francine Niyonsaba of Burundi, and Caster Semenya of South Africa.

“We did not know if Caster could run or if the others were showing up,” Eriksson said. Heading into the Games there was still uncertainty over whether athletes with differences in sexual development (DSD) would be able to compete under the most recent version of the International Association of Athletics Federation’s (now World Athletics) rules.

“We just had to prepare Melissa, and she got better from heat to semifinal to final. You were hoping that would have been enough, but it wasn’t. And you know that when you saw Semenya start to run that she wasn’t running full out.”

Eriksson had made that observation several times before, as Semenya won her first Olympic gold medal in 2012 and her first two World Championships in 2009 and 2011. “As I saw her run through the years, she never ran full out. She ran enough to win all the time. I guarantee you she could run under 1:50 if she wanted to.”

The world record in the women’s 800m is 1:53.28, set by a Czechoslovakian athlete in 1983. The record is considered unbreakable given the extent of systemic doping in the Eastern Bloc countries at the time.

In the 800m final in Rio, Bishop set a Canadian national record of 1:57.02, yet still finished fourth. Ahead of her, occupying the Olympic podium, was Semenya, Niyonsaba, and Wambui.

“It was devastating for her,” Eriksson remarked. “I couldn’t say much to her then. We all know it was unfair. Her coach was there. He was quite sick at the time and died a year later. Much was left to him to try to talk to Melissa. But what do you say? If I say, ‘you were the first female over the finish line,’ ‘yeah, but I don’t get a medal for that.’”

Eriksson was prepared to speak out, but was immediately silenced by a legal threat from the Canadian Olympic Committee.

“When the 800 final was over, the lawyer for the Canadian Olympic Committee called me and said, ‘You say one thing about this, I’m going to make sure you’re banned for life in all sports.’”

The threat faded when Eriksson retired. His first quasi-public comments were posted on a private Facebook group for athletics coaches. There he learned that if a federation didn’t blacklist him for speaking out, his peers would.

“I was accused of being a racist. People didn’t want to hear it because at the time it was all ‘everybody was unfair to Caster Semenya.’ They never wanted to hear the actual story. When I spoke up about it, nobody wanted to write about it or hear about it.”

Eriksson gave Canadian coach and author Linda Blade permission to reveal the threat in March 2023. Following this revelation, Reduxx interviewed Eriksson for a full length article, and that was the extent of media coverage. Broader media and sports communities remained silent.

“Nobody wanted to write about it,” he says again.

One person, however, was grateful to learn what happened post-race in Rio.

“Melissa hasn’t said anything to me except an email after this came out. She said, ‘Thank you for speaking up. I thought that I was all by myself in 2016.’ And I said, ‘Well, now you know, you weren’t. But I couldn’t do anything because then I would lose my job. And I have a family and four kids.’ She’s recognizing that somebody tried to do something for her.”

Put another way: “Did anyone say anything?” “What can you say?”

Informed Consent Is Necessary for Fair and Safe Sport

Katia Bissonnette is lucky that the coach of a rival boxing club knew exactly what to say, as Bissonnette was less than an hour away from trading punches with a male boxer who identifies as a woman.

In the world of amateur boxing, it’s common for coaches to arrange fights, ensuring a fair matchup between their athletes and handling the logistics. This approach allows teams to research their opponents and tailor their training for upcoming bouts, fostering a culture of honesty and trust within the community. Bissonnette emphasizes, “If a coach acts dishonestly, he will quickly be sidelined by opposing clubs.”

However, a unique situation arose in October 2023 during a provincial championship organized by the Quebec Boxing Federation. Unlike typical matches, the federation’s involvement meant that the usual direct communication and vetting between coaches were bypassed.

Bissonnette had previously discussed the arrival of transgender athletes into boxing, believing that such scenarios would involve clear and informed consent. Her coach, Denis Gravel, received a pivotal text message from another coach, revealing an attempt by a transgender athlete’s coach to pair up their athletes without full transparency.

This was a championship, not a weekend open with walk-up registration. With registrations closing on Monday and competitions starting on Friday, the Quebec Boxing Federation had sufficient time to verify basic stats such as age, weight class, and, presumably (or not), sex—and inform competitors about their opponents. If the Quebec Boxing Federation knew that Bissonnette’s opponent was male, they chose not to tell her, denying her the opportunity to give informed consent.

“I don’t think that should happen,” Bissonnette remarked. “Women should not have to bear the physical risks and injustice created by a trans opponent who has made a choice regarding their psychological health on a personal level. Trans people must take responsibility for the choices they make, and simply compete in the men’s category.”

The trans-identifying male athlete who Ansleigh Wilk fought in a jiu-jitsu tournament, however, was solely responsible for the subterfuge. “The organizers had no idea. When we brought this to their attention, they said they’d be changing their policy immediately.” But it was still up to Wilk to discover that her opponent was male—a fact she only became aware of after the match when she saw her opponent’s wedding photos on Instagram.

“I just recovered from a back surgery, so I’m still coming back. This competitor was a blue belt but was willing to ‘fight up.’” Wilk is a purple belt, one level above a blue. “I know my skill level, and my plan was to go in slow and work some different parts of my game.”

Most jiu-jitsu training is coed, with all weight classes and belt levels “rolling” together on the mats. Jiu-jitsu athletes typically only segregate out into sex, belt, and weight classes during competitions.

“I train with people much bigger than me all the time, including 3-5 men that I roll with on a daily basis. I pick my partners extremely carefully because I’ve been hurt so many times. There’s a mutual understanding that we’re not going 100 percent on the training mats. But in a competition you are going 100 percent.”

Helio Gracie, the founder of Brazilian jiu-jitsu, described the craft as “the triumph of human intelligence over brute strength.” Leverage, technique, and skill replace—and, in combat, overcome—strength and speed. But even for skilled practitioners of the sport, there are limits. Rener Gracie, one of Helio Gracie’s grandsons, introduced the “Boyd Belt System” to convey jiu-jitsu’s effectiveness while acknowledging its practical limitations: one belt level should enable a practitioner to neutralize an opponent 10 pounds heavier or 10 years younger.

Wilk was in the same weight class as her male opponent, and one belt level higher, yet all she could notice in that fight was how strong he was: “They were so strong, and 6’1”. I felt their strength, panicked, and went to get a submission as quickly as I could.”

Wilk’s level of skill enabled her to submit—twice—a much stronger male opponent, demonstrating the truth of Helio Gracie’s claim. The quick action of the North American Grappling Association helps ensure that sex does not become another input to the Boyd Belt System.

“It’s obviously not just about me. This is about the future of girls in sports—seeing the little me in someone else.”

Like Bissonnette, Bishop, “Emma” and “Megan,” Wilk simply wanted somebody to say something.

“I believe trans athletes should be transparent about their identity and their trans status. I should have received an email, and an option to say yes or no. Instead, I had no choice in the matter.”

Following the incident, Wilk learned that one of the athletes she coaches had gone up against this male athlete earlier this year. Like her coach, this athlete did not know that she was competing against a male. “She was competing with a broken toe. She did the best she could do, but she had two things going against her.”

After learning what happened and that her coach had submitted this trans-identifying male athlete twice, Wilk’s student said “Oh my God, I had no idea. Thank you for avenging me!”

Coaches Need the Freedom To Say What They Need To Say

After our season ended, I asked Megan (“What can you say?”) for her thoughts on how we as sports people can talk amongst ourselves about trans-identifying males in women’s sports. Megan, who played Division I soccer and currently coaches girls' soccer at one of Houston's most prestigious high schools, shared her insights.

I believe thoughtful solutions can only come from environments where people can discuss topics freely, openly and without fear. The fact that your first question about this topic includes 'if we can talk about this' is alarming. We live in a country where freedom of speech is a right. All opinions on this topic should be heard and discussed respectfully. Only then, can the sports community make appropriate decisions for its athletes.

I believe we should always be able to talk to our fellow coaches about transgender athletes competing in sports. We need to create an environment where coaches, parents and especially athletes are not afraid to speak up and be heard... Ethically, we have the responsibility to create safe spaces for women to compete and thrive without fear for their safety.

She concluded, “As a coach, a former athlete and, most importantly, as the mother of a little girl, I feel I have a responsibility to speak out on this issue.”

Another early-career female soccer coach expressed her approach:

If [we were playing] a team who had a trans-identifying male, I would ask the girls and parents if they wanted to forfeit or play, then take it up with the athletic director (AD) in that state. Ask them how they don’t understand the biological differences and why they think it’s OK to take opportunities away from girls.

Nobody has ever said a trans-identifying male can’t play in the boys category. If anything, they need to make the boy’s or men’s category the “open” category. It’s the only way things would be fair.

She believes she’s not alone, despite sensing that coaches with similar views are being silenced.

I’m sure there are other coaches who agree with us, but have been told to be quiet by their ADs. If the AD told me I would have a [trans-identifying male] on my team, I would fight it. I would work with the coaches on the boy's side to get them to welcome this [trans-identifying male], or I would not play the [trans-identifying male]. I’m sure that would cause problems, but I would not want to take away from my female athletes.

This firm stance contrasts with the advice and empathy from Peter Eriksson and other veteran coaches I’ve spoken with. They believe, sometimes based on personal experience, that the odds are never in your favor.

Most coaches will never experience the unique pressure of being threatened by a national Olympic committee member. However, the need for such direct intimidation is diminishing. Mechanisms like SafeSport have institutionalized intimidation, affecting athletic directors, administrators, coaches, and staff at all levels. Eriksson elaborates:

[SafeSport] is very important to take away the bad apples that have existed through the years. But you can also get accused of racism. You can be accused of whatever. If you say something about a transgender person and you have a family, a mortgage and kids, who is going to help you out? Nobody. Nobody would help you out.

And that's the problem with SafeSport. Anybody can accuse you of anything. I have examples of that. How many people have lost their job because they spoke up about fair sport for women? What do you say?" [there it is again] "How much do you like your job, and can you manage without this job? Do you have enough money in the bank to protect yourself legally? Because you don't get any support.

Go to your boss... if he's not supportive of your thinking, you're screwed. If he is, maybe he can contact the club or the coach of this athlete and say, this is the rumor we're hearing, is this true? Then, he can maybe give advice on what you need to do.

But if you just go out on your own as a coach and you have the best intentions, there will be somebody there that thinks that you're wrong and they're right.

Our athletes trust us to coach from a position of responsibility. They don’t know and shouldn’t have to care about who wields authority—the authority to take away our job, career and reputation—over us. But they are made to care when they step onto the pitch, the track, the pool deck, the mat, or the ring and realize we’ve withheld crucial information they needed and deserved to know. That’s when they begin to question whether anyone truly cares for them or their sport.

They are made to care when coaches are forced to fail them.

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