The Serena Williams Debate
23 grand slams titles.
4 Olympic Medals.
The founder of Serena Williams Clothing. “Strong, sexy and sophisticated.”
The effortless dancer in Beyoncé’s Lemonade. “She told me to dance and be free.”
The American who would take interviews at the French Open in the nation’s native tongue, effortlessly.
The guest star in Drop Dead Diva and Law and Order.
The empathetic UNICEF GoodWill Ambassador.
The mom.
The author of Queen of the Court.
The first African-American women to own part of an NFL team.
The star of the five-chapter documentary series Being Serena.
Cheat.
I am going to bring us back to the saturation of coverage surrounding a certain famous tennis match with a certain famous tennis star. Unsurprisingly, the weekly plethora of fist fights between male soccer players and abusive slurs towards referees were never mentioned amidst this coverage.
The US Open is synonymous with drama. From the fluctuation of rankings to never-ending tie breakers, Williams has often been at the centre of it.
But never like this.
This year, in a match against twenty-year-old Naomi Osaka, Umpire Carlos Ramos argued that Williams had violated rules by receiving coaching direction during the match. Warning one. She smashed her racket. Warning two. The third warning? She called him a thief for deducting points.
One game lost.
Williams has been called “hysterical.” Ramos, sexist. Williams, an attention-seeker. Ramos, unempathetic.
Opinions surrounding the match are diverse and contentious, and I have no issue with this. Debate is healthy and encourages us to engage with polarising views and strengthen our understanding of situations. But for those looking for an “answer,” there is no answer here. It is not binary situation. It is not a matter of who is wrong or who was misunderstood.
As an athlete, I have lost my shit during competitions before. I have had tantrums when I have had a bad race or when my coach and I made a tactical error. And I’ve regretted it. I have screamed at my teammates for a bad leg of a relay. And I’ve regretted it.
But I was given the space to walk into a corner and cry. I was given air to breathe before making the decision on whether or not I would scream again. Williams was going to lose the match irrespective of the fine. The fine is irrelevant. But her character was maligned. The athlete, the mother, the philanthropist, the author was reduced to a cheat.
Watching the match, I don’t have a desire to provide insight into who was in the right or wrong. What I can say is that away from the court, the red carpets, the book deals and the cameo roles, Williams is human.
And humans throw things. They scream. They cry.
And we all eventually move on. Last week, I cried when I got home after a three-hour class. Was I “hysterical?” No.
Should I ever be called hysterical? No.
Have I been labelled hysterical for an emotional response? Of course.
I hope that people react to my emotions as human emotions, not as “women’s emotions.” Yet, I cannot say with certainty that they always do. My reactions to events, whether it be a race or a bad night out, are visceral. They are tears, they are tantrums, and they are metaphorical racket smashes. But they aren’t hysterical, and they aren’t especially crazy because I am a woman. They are that glorious and human thing. They are emotions.
By Sophia Parvizi-Wayne
Duke Student, leader of national campaign on mental health, Cross Country All-ACC, fashion alchemist, Huffington Post writer, and all-around world-runner