Ringette an Unknown Sport, Void of Colour: exploring Racism in sport in Canada
Being the only racialized player on a sports team is as overwhelming as watching Biden and Trump’s first debate. But hey, we do it anyway.
BY: MALIKA DAYA
Photo via Nepean Ringette
For starters, no, this sport is not at the Olympics. And no, I did not just make it up. As someone who grew up playing this sport, I cannot tell you the number of times people either look at me with that deer in headlights look or make assertive claims (usually the sport junkies afraid to seem uncultured) like “oh it is horseshoeing, curling, hockey!” (If you guessed the latter, you are pretty much right, minus a few minor alterations).
But let’s start with the basics: what is ringette, and why has no one heard of it before?
Before we begin I think there is something you need to know about me. I grew up in Calgary, Alberta, a city that lives winter for eight out of the 12 months in a year. Also a city where it is usually a tradition for parents to get their children on skates super early, I for one, started skating when I was three. The natural progression of this, of course, was to either play ringette or hockey. Take your pick? Well kind of. Oh and just a little preamble, ringette is not a racialized person’s sport.
But here is my ten-second explanation: Ringette is hockey, but without the blade at the end of the stick and is played with a ring instead of a puck.
You’re probably still like—what the fuck are you going on about. So watch this very cheesy video instead. And before you go off with the roasts, don’t waste your breath, I’ve heard them all.
For those of you who would prefer that I just do a better job at explaining, let me try again.
But to do so, a quick history lesson. There is this white, British, dude named Sam Jacks who was an “inventor” (yes, the title under his name on Google is inventor). He’s the man who also created Floor Hockey—a multi-talented guy truly. One day in 1963 he had a light-bulb moment and Ringette was born.
His invention consisted of two teams of women with six players each, including the goalie, on the ice at a time. Like hockey, the goal is to score on the opposing team's net. But the differences lie in the fact that the sport is faster paced and is based on play-making.
For all the hockey fans out there who are like “Oh we are fast and make plays.” Sure you do. Except the rules of hockey don’t force you to pass at every blue line. Or that only three defenses and three offenses can be in the end zones at the same time. The nature of this game means faster skating, more collaboration, and of course, strategy.
As if it wasn’t intense enough already, in 2000, the 30-second shot clock was added in. Basically, as soon as a team gains possession of the ring, they have 30 seconds to shoot on the opposing team's net. If the ring is intercepted or checked and stolen by the other team, the shot clock resets. If the team doesn’t take a shot on net in 30 seconds, well then the ring goes to the opposing team.
Photo courtesy of Ringette Ontario
So here is a semi-complex sport that resembles hockey. Ringette is played, according to Ringette Canada, in Canada, Finland, Sweden, the United States, France, Slovakia, Russia, the Czech Republic, and very surprisingly Abu Dhabi.
Surprising for me at least, because in my ten plus years of experience playing ringette I was one of the only People of Colour playing the sport. And I am not lying or fabricating the truth. For some years I was the only racialized person playing on my team, other times there was another brown girl playing with me. The two of us.
And obviously in our early years of playing ringette, even though we had name tags on our helmets, our names would constantly be mixed up. We were read for the colour of our skin, grouped together, like we were one body. In fact, we both played defense, so that didn’t really help our case.
The feelings of alienation and isolation that come with being one of the only People of Colour on a team, or in any space really, shapes the way one views the world and acts. I spent years focussing on bettering myself as an athlete to make my own name count in a space. For people to acknowledge me, know me, see me.
It becomes an internal game, where you are constantly working your ass off to receive the validation of those around you to feel “good enough.” This is the perfect environment for people-pleasing attributes to develop and thrive. It’s actually kind of messed up.
But on the other side of the same coin, athletes of colour learn resilience and perseverance. You learn grit. You learn to not give up on the game and on yourself. And you also learn how to play for yourself. You learn how to let your skates cut the ice as an ode to your strength and as a promise to yourself. A promise that you’re good enough to be here.
Racism in sport is not new. Looking at hockey for a moment, a sport we all know to be predominately white, has a history of exclusion. In the past, racialized folk were not allowed to play in white hockey leagues, so Black communities in the Maritimes created their own hockey league in 1895 till the 1930s called the Coloured Hockey League (CHL).
Photo courtesy of The Canadian Encyclopedia
The CHL was responsible for creating monumental moves that are used in the National Hockey League (NHL) today, like the infamous slap shot and butterfly goaltending technique. But that often goes unknown, made invisible intentionally by the dominant race.
And it doesn’t end there.
In 2018, a First Nations Elites Bantam AAA hockey team of boys ages 13-14 were subjected to blatant racism playing in a tournament in Quebec. While playing against a white team, the boys on the opposing team were mimicking a “war cry” and hitting their mouths with their hands. Their parents and coaches were also calling the boys savages, telling them to go home.
Last year in Windsor, a 21 year old Pakistani-born, Canadian Muslim, Talha Javaid, a hockey player and community youth league coach, received this text from one of his player’s parents:
“I’m not racist or anything.” Yeah okay there bud. Javaid tweeted this and it blew up with over 54.1K likes and 12.2K retweets, as people responded in rage.
None of these examples are one-off experiences. In fact, type in “racism in sport” in Google and you’ll have a never-ending list of news pieces to read. But what does this mean for a racialized folk? Should we put our gear away and not play?
For some of us, yes. Racism in sport holds a high emotional cost that oftentimes is honestly just not worth it. And there is nothing wrong with choosing not to be in those spaces.
At the same time, we have a right to play.
When I think back to why I played for so many years, I think about it as my fight to take up space. But as a child, I wasn’t focused on that, I just loved my sport. I enjoyed the fresh mind I got after playing a game, a place to release personal tension, and a space for my competitive spirit to thrive. At the time I didn't really know how to verbalize or make sense of the racial tensions in the locker room or on ice. I was a kid just trying to have fun playing a sport.
Obviously, as I grew older I was more aware of racism on ice and off. I was less sheltered from it by my parents. But I kept playing in a predominately white space. Perhaps for the same reason Talha refused to step down as coach, or why the First Nations AAA team continued to play, or why the CHL was created in the first place.
Because, it’s as much ours, as it is yours.
And if racialized folks don’t play, then these spaces will always remain white and exclusive. We aren’t making it any easier for the generations to come if we allow things to continue as they are. Our presence challenges the system, and our talent and grit are evidence of it.
“Nothing has transformed my life more than realizing that it is a waste of time to evaluate my worthiness by weighing the reactions of the people in the stands.” - Brené Brown
