“Strong, loud, strategic, emotional, analytical, fiercely competitive” – our kōrero on women’s sport

For people who don’t think they’re sports fans, Alice Soper would like a word: “You’re probably just not a fan of men’s sports.” The rugby journalist doesn’t blame you – she isn’t either.

She and her partner have been heckled at men’s games for being queer, and she won’t go back because it’s unsafe. The “horrible toxic misogyny” surrounding men’s rugby is “not nice. It’s not a fun experience. […] People don’t want to be a part of it.”

But guess what? That’s not all sport -that’s men’s sport (men’s rugby specifically, in this case). “If you’re not a fan, you’re just not a fan – yet,” said Alice at our online sports kōrero at the end of March. All of you [can] find a sport that you will love. It might be curling. You never know! There’s so many.”

The kōrero was an informal and lively discussion about why women’s sport is so much cooler than men’s sport – and where there may be room for improvement.

Pride in leadership (and grunge)

Chair Stacey Morrison – who was a winger in her own rugby-playing days – asked all the panellists what they were most proud of about their respective sporting codes…. All apart from AUT social sciences researcher Prof Camille Nakhid who joked “I have a very sporting relationship with my sofa, and I’m very proud of that.”

“I love that our Māori can show up first as Māori. And by doing that, we bring all of those natural leadership qualities that my mum had, my grandmother’s got, and all of our ancestors”

Panellist Mere Rangihuna (Ngāti Hine, Ngā Puhi, Ngāti Manu, Te Uri-o-Hau) is Aktive Māori Participation Manager and Event Producer of Iwi of Origin, with a history of managing performance teams such as the Māori Football Aotearoa Senior Mauri team, the Bay of Plenty Volcanix women’s rugby team, AVIS Magic Netball team (Waikato/BOP) and the Kiwi Ferns women’s league team… the list goes on. Her sporting pride is that when spaces are whānau friendly, safe and inclusive then “our wāhine Māori show up. Not as only athletes, but as cultural holders in our spaces, as strategists, kaitiaki of our team environment, like [at] the marae. […] So I love that our Māori can show up first as Māori. And by doing that, we bring all of those natural leadership qualities that my mum had, my grandmother’s got, and all of our ancestors.”

Former mountain biking champion  Kate Weatherly said she was proud that her code has a history of reasonably high gender equity, as a small and individual sport that started as “a bunch of grungy people in the bush riding their bikes down crazy things”: “From basically the start, the World Cup was really built around men and women competing together on the same tracks, on the same day. [..] So we’ve always been together in those environments. And as a result of that, things like prize money being equal, filming rights, all of those things have really been equal basically from the start.” Stacey was amazed: “what is this pay equity thing you speak of? I don’t know her.”  Kate clarified “the pay is terrible” so it’s more equally bad than equally good, but still!

Alice said she was proud of the DIY 1991 Rugby World Cup, “organised by four women who mortgaged their houses, sent out faxes, [and] pulled a world tournament together.” She showed off the event logo tattooed on her arm.

But what could be improved?

When passion is labelled aggression

Camille and her colleagues have found that where media sometimes discuss racism in men’s sport, there’s very little public acknowledgement of racism in women’s sport.

Pākehā women often “see gender as their determining factor in their identity, but that is not so for indigenous, Māori, people of colour”.

That doesn’t mean the racism isn’t there – it just means we’re letting the powers that be off the hook. “If we ignore the racism against our female athletes, it suggests that the concerns of women play a far less important role in society,” said Camille, noting that racism can be “a barrier to Māori, Pacific and Black female athletes from participating in sports”, and urging an intersectional approach that takes racism, classism and other discrimination into account, as well as gender inequities. Pākehā women often “see gender as their determining factor in their identity, but that is not so for indigenous, Māori, people of colour”. She’d like to see research into different groups’ coping strategies and also into specific potential barriers to sport such as “expense, availability, proximity to fields, safety, getting home at night, absence of role models.”

Stacey – host of TVNZ’s I’m Not Racist But – asked Mere to share some of the racism she’d seen in sport: “it can show up every day,” answered Mere. “Not always in a big, dramatic moment, but in those subtle patterns that you start to recognise over time.” Māori players are judged “more harshly for things non-Māori athletes get away with. A Māori kōhine [girl] shows up, passionate, and suddenly she’s labelled aggressive, while someone else doing the same thing is called ‘competitive’, or ‘a natural leader’. I’ve seen our wāhine Māori overlooked for leadership, captaincy roles, not because they lack talent, but because there’s an assumption about what leadership looks like. And it really affects us – them.

“Off the field, it’s more systemic. It’s in the decisions made without Māori in the room. or when tikanga, reo – simple things like correct pronouncing – are treated like optional extras. […] For our sportswomen, it means constantly having to navigate environments where they feel they need to fit in rather than be who we are.”

To play without shrinking: A Te Tiriti -based mana wāhine sporting authority

What would a non-racist sporting system look like? “When we talk about what a Te Tiriti -based mana wāhine sporting authority could create, honestly the picture is powerful,” said Mere. “Imagine spaces where our Māori sportswomen don’t have to negotiate their identity just to play. Where we’re told Māori isn’t something they bring in from the side, but the foundation the system is built on. A place where wāhine and kōhine Māori leadership is normalised, not the exception.”

“Stop calling it a lack of cultural competency, it’s racism”

Decision-making and power would be genuinely shared. There would be “pathways designed to uplift Māori kōhine from the start, not retrofit them later. Our sportswomen would have access to culturally-grounded support from hauora approaches to coaching that actually understands the realities of being Māori and being wāhine. And most importantly, they’d be able to play, lead, and excel without having to shrink any part of themselves. They could be strong, loud, strategic, emotional, analytical, fiercely competitive, you know, all of it. without being misread or racialised.”

Mere went on: “That’s what mana looks like when it’s backed by systems that honour Te Tiriti. So for me, you know, it’s our wāhine Māori walk into any sporting environment and feel: ‘this place was built for me’.”

How do we get there? Pressure has to be maintained, says Alice, who pointed out “backsliding” has already happened on recommendations to combat racism made to Black Ferns administration just four years ago. For example, a recommended cultural lead position has already been abolished. “Stop calling it a lack of cultural competency, it’s racism,” said Alice. “Racism isn’t always just yelling a slur at someone, it is just a lack of understanding or a lack of curiosity, often, in order to make these spaces fit-for-purpose.”

One of the reasons Alice (Pākehā) has always been outspoken – even when she was playing in the domestic league – was that she was more allowed to be. “I knew that my whiteness always would provide me with more security than it would some of my teammates,” she said. With privilege comes responsibility.”

“They were my community first”

As a trans athlete, Kate has faced a different kind of discrimination, being ineligible to continue her professional mountain-biking career since 2023, when international trans-exclusionary rules came in.

“That was really powerful for me because as a young person […] I was able to have these people to lean on who loved me and cared for me.”

But it was heart-warming to hear how supportive the mountain-biking community was in general, when she was a teenager, “and going through the process of figuring out my gender identity,” she said. “I never really had that hard a time. They were my friends, they were my community first. And so when I came out to people, it was this thing that I was really anxious about and no one really cared. They kind of were like, ‘oh, okay, that’s a bit weird. Sure. Whatever.’ [..] And that was really powerful for me because as a young person […] I was able to have these people to lean on who loved me and cared for me. And that has built up so much confidence that I’ve been able to take through the rest of my life.”

By the time she swapped to the women’s races, she had been transitioning for several years. Later, when she started getting some better results in races, she got “nudged” by the national governing body letting her know she was eligible to compete at an international level. “And it wasn’t until that point that I really started dealing with some of that backlash and the lack of understanding around [the trans eligibility rules].”

“Our Black Ferns are about to be outpaid by the NRLW next year, at base level”

She wishes the scrutiny on trans sportswomen had led to more positive outcomes for women’s sport (leaving unspoken the idea that of course it hasn’t, because the scrutiny is not in good faith, but driven by cloaked patriarchy). The energy “that has been focused on trying to stop men competing in women’s sports” could instead be going towards equal funding, equal coaching programs: “I wish we could apply that [energy] in a way that is uplifting everyone, not trying to remove a specific group.”

More women in coaching would be a start. “I am forever and a day an advocate of quotas,” said Alice. “People hate them because they f**king work.”  And better pay and conditions: “Our Black Ferns are about to be outpaid by the NRLW next year, at base level”.

We have power to flex

To get financial and cultural respect – to achieve any vision – politics are required, and working together is required.

“see who’s missing and bring them in and feed them”

Alice again: “Sports and politics absolutely mix for me […] I’ve seen them mix the whole time I’ve been involved in this space.” She sees the need for both the radicals and the diplomats, using the UK suffragists as an example: “You had a woman that was willing to throw herself in front of a horse to make a point, and then you had a woman who was willing to go around and have a bunch of cuppa teas. […] We have so much more power than we like to flex, and I think that’s the first thing we need to do is understand that we actually do have a vote in this conversation.”

Mere agreed. “When I’m in my spaces, I’m quite intentional and deliberate about being the system change, when I’m there, in the roles that I hold […] You mirimiri it and massage it and all of a sudden we’re making these changes while we’re in there. […] We all have a responsibility, regardless of the spaces that we hold […] rather than waiting for somebody else.”

That could be talking to politicians, or it could be buying boots for someone you think is a great talent, said Alice. Or if you’re involved in sport, suggested Camille, look around you “see who’s missing and bring them in and feed them.”

Or – for the not-yet fans out there – it could be turning on the television and watching women run after a ball, or a curling stone, or a runaway mountain bike, and enjoying their joy, and celebrating their success.