Asha Henry Henry 1

Whitney

AP Language and Composition

11/22/19
Micro-Minority, Macro-Reality

Since age 12, fencing has been central to my identity. Intense training has nurtured my

athleticism and competitive nature and developed the techniques specific to an Olympic sport

with origins going back half a millennium. When people learn that I am a nationally ranked

epeeist, the response tends to be: “But that is a rich white person sport.” My usual reply is a

weak smile and a shrug; a response that illustrates my own conflicted feelings. It is true that

black athletes frequently are associated with basketball, football and track. It is also true that

fencing—despite some diversity gains—remains overwhelmingly white. In fact, less than one

percent of USA Fencing’s members are black. The sport’s first black Olympian, Peter

Westbrook, did not medal until 1984, 93 years after American fencing was sanctioned.

Day-to-day, the state of African-Americans in fencing isn’t at the forefront of my mind.

Looking around my diverse club, I see Korean-, Chinese-, Arab- and African-American faces

and hear snippets of Polish, Turkish, Mandarin and French. Yet national competitions are a

literal sea of white: as many as 5,000 fencers, dressed in the traditional head-to-toe white, with

their mostly pale faces floating above. The data supports this visual. At a November tournament,

my mother encouraged me to examine the field. Of 294 women epeeists in the 13–17 ages event,

I counted just nine black women, including me. My heartbeat quickened as I searched the

convention center in hopes that other weapons and events featured more athletes of color. They

did, but not by much. Head spinning, I shared the numbers aloud. I felt overwhelmed and slightly

shocked, despite what my eyes saw and had always seen. My mom only shrugged.

Recollections across nearly five years came flooding back. Fencing has ritualized systems
Asha Henry Henry 2

Whitney

AP Language and Composition

11/22/19
of chivalry, like shaking hands and acknowledging opponents and referees, yet there are still

biases from off the piste that make their way into it. Most often these are not blatiant acts of

discrimination, but rather microaggressions that one might overlook. Black female fencers are

labeled as more “aggressive” and “scary” by white fencers and parents, or coaches complain that

we “hit harder” or are “stronger.” (Reminder here that fencing is a contact sport featuring actual

swords, and is derived from training for the battlefield.) Other times a competitor might step in

front of you in the weapons check line as if you’re not there, or not make eye contact during

salute. I have had referees assume that I have no knowledge of the sport’s rules, although I am a

certified referee myself. As with all microaggressions, it often is hard to know if they are pointed

and directed at me or simple oversights. Other times, the intended offense is more clear. Once,

on the medal stand, a Russian fencer refused to shake my hand, but she shook the hands of the

non-black competitors. This is more than just rude, in fact, if she had done it during a bout, she

would have been given a black card and been thrown out of the competition. These experiences

underscore how much of a micro-minority black fencers are, which can feel isolating and

demoralizing. Sometimes the microaggressions make me feel unwelcome and wonder if the

fencing community is the place for me. How much disrespect should I take, just to fence?

Then I remember those nine black faces. Young women like me: smart, hard-working,

tenacious and fierce. Some of us are shy and reserved, while others are outgoing and boisterous.

Whether from the coasts, the midwest or the south, we have a kinship. It didn’t happen all at

once, we are opponents after all. Slowly, through our parents talking to each other, meeting

friends of friends, or just “the nod,” these small gestures have developed into a sense of
Asha Henry Henry 3

Whitney

AP Language and Composition

11/22/19
community where geographic distance and infrequent encounters don’t matter. With some I just

exchange smiles and engage in small talk when given the chance, but with others, I am finally

able to drop the code switching and be my true self. We root for each other, always hoping that

one of us reaches the podium. And even when we meet each other on the piste, there is a rare

joyousness, as if we can just fence, rather than represent or prove. Each year, a few more of us

push past the microaggressions and stick with the sport, and we thrive. A recent epee event

ended with five of the top eight medalists being black women, and Peter Westbrook—our first

black olympian—watched the medal ceremony with tears in his eyes.

There are similarities between fencing and school, which includes microaggressions from

peers during class discussions or after they learn of my acceptance to a summer program. Also

Blair’s upper level classes are hardly diverse, and whether it is a CAP class, AP Chemistry or

French 5, I find myself facing that familiar sea of white. While I have a kinship with the few

black students in my classrooms, we are all struggling to stay afloat while finding ourselves. At

age 16, most of my time is dedicated to academics and fencing, and it can be hard to navigate the

same social issues and barriers in each area. Additionally, both worlds lack examples of how to

be a flourishing, happy and authentically black young woman. It makes me wonder how much

more successful I could be if I didn’t always feel like I was forging my own path and having to

tamper parts of my identity to make that path a bit easier.