Skating my way through race and class divides

How does one find role models, acceptance and identity as a person of color in a historically white and upper-class sport like skating?

Growing up, I was the only South Asian person in my figure skating club. And I felt it.

I was the only one who wore black opaque tights with a long sleeve dress. I was the only one who had rotli for a snack. And I was the only one who never skated on Fridays because I had to attend prayers.

I was aware that I looked different, and I think everyone else was aware, too. It was not just that I had brown skin. I had thick, unruly black hair. Thick, unruly eyebrows. I usually came in like a hurricane, running late because I came from a single-parent household. I always brought my own snack, which was undoubtedly something Indian (rotli, dhokra, chilla, samosa) that my mom chucked at me in the car ride, and I never used the vending machines.

I didn’t have any friends in my club except the other person of color, a Chinese skater who also brought her own Chinese snack from home. There were definite cliques and not a great deal of comradery. Maybe that was because, essentially, we were each in competition with each other. But I have a sneaking suspicion that it was something else.

Figure skating’s origins are in Scandinavia, where skates made of animal bone were a popular mode of transportation. It was popularized amongst Western aristocrats in the 1700s. Jackson Haines, an American ballet dancer, is credited with modernizing the sport. Like other sports played by the aristocracy, figure skating is essentially a product of white privilege, and its history is rooted in centuries of racism. The earliest figure skating clubs in Europe, America, and Canada did not permit Jewish people, people of color, or lower-class people, and it seems that the sport unintentionally continued to develop in this manner.

Is it this legacy that creates such divides? Is it simply the standard Eurocentric preference for those who are blond-haired, and blue-eyed in the West? Or is it the stark economic divide, given the expensive nature of the sport, that embeds racial disparities?

The intersections between race, socioeconomic class, and gender are obvious, and this becomes more apparent when it comes to figure skating. In a sport that caters to wealthy, white, feminine participants, I always felt out of place. But I never let this stop me from participating.

I loved the freedom the ice gave me. Gliding along swiftly, dancing melodically, or racing in circles just for the adrenaline — it was an extraordinary feeling. Something to look forward to. Something that was only mine. There was no one here from school. There was no one here from the mosque. It was all mine. My happy place.

But looking back, how happy was this place? Though I admired several skaters, I realize now that I always had to be my own role model. There were no figure skaters of South Asian descent and a limited number of skaters of color. I struggled with finding myself and who I was as a skater and performer. There was the “me” I was at school, and the “me” I was at mosque. But who was I here? This seemed like a mold I just could not fit into.

Did I even belong there? Was I crazy? Was my mother crazy? Was my coach crazy? Quite literally, these questions would run through my mind as I looked around, chugging water along the boards. Suffice it to say that my suspicions were confirmed when I looked at the professional world of figure skating.

Skating offers precious few role models for people of color

When I think of professional skaters of color, I immediately think of French figure skater Surya Bonaly, who infamously skated a flawless program at the 1994 World Championships and placed second. And it makes me wonder: once you’ve made it, have you really made it? Whether Surya Bonaly’s second-place score was a result of unconscious bias, a poorly-designed scoring system, or simply how she skated, we may never know.

What we do know is that she is an icon. She is a phenomenal figure skater. A three-time World silver medalist, a five-time European champion. And she is not only a figure skater, but a Black figure skater, and a dark Black figure skater at that.

There is always a greater level of acceptance for people of color who are fair-skinned and/or white-passing. This undoubtedly affects how people are perceived in the world, and the figure skating world is no exception. This is why, maybe as a bit of a ‘f*** you’ to the establishment four years later because she knew she would not medal, Surya Bonaly performed an illegal backflip when she landed on one blade at the 1998 Olympics.

Eleven-year-old me was in shock. It was a moment I will never forget. I think I understood that she was different, and she didn’t care. I had learned figure skating is a sport where you can be different, but not too different. This moment would prove to be pivotal to me and how I would navigate my life as a skater. This was also a moment the world will never forget. Surya Bonaly was making a statement as a Black athlete in a very white sport. She made history. And in doing so, she created spaces for other women of color in a sport that is so often out of reach for us.

Skip ahead 24 years, I just recently watched Tara Prasad debut at the Four Continents Figure Skating Championships this past January. Her dream is to represent India at the next Olympics, a feat no Indian figure skater has ever accomplished. Watching her skate at the Four Continents Championships was a delight. She features her Indian heritage throughout her program, whether it be by costume, music, or choreography.

Prasad splits her time between America and India. The only family she has with her in America is her father, while the rest of her family remains in India. Both her parents and even her extended family financially contribute to her figure skating as she continues to seek sponsors. She decorates her competition dresses herself and incorporates fabric and sequins from India — she even does her own choreography due to lack of funding.

This comes as no surprise, as skaters who have represented India nationally in the past have had parents take out loans on their homes in addition to crowdfunding. The income discrepancies between the Global North and South, a direct result of colonialism and racism, is mind-numbing. Though I am extremely fortunate to have never had to resort to such lengths to do the thing I love, it reminds me of the many times I struggled in such an elitist environment.

Figure skating is notorious for its high cost, which adds an additional barrier for many working-class people of color. Between coaching (which can include multiple coaches for various disciplines and skills, choreographers, access to music), ice time, equipment/costume, and competition/travel, it adds up quite quickly. As a young widow, my mom made many personal sacrifices so that I could participate in this elite sport, and I know she still feels the ramifications of those sacrifices today. Like most single moms, my mom was very resourceful. She got great deals on attire, accepted hand-me-downs, carpooled, and replaced my blade instead of my entire skate.

My mom rarely socialized with the other mothers at the rink who stayed for their daughter’s sessions, praising their landings and critiquing their falls. In a mad rush, she would drop me off in between picking up or dropping off my brother at his activities, and for many years, I skated before school. The ice time is cheaper then. My coach dropped me at school so that my mom could go to work — a unique arrangement, I’d say. Was I missing out on something because my mom was not there, or did this give me the freedom and independence I needed to excel? Would the other white stay-at-home moms have accepted her and her unapologetic, working-class immigrant background?

I distinctly remember the first time my mom dropped me off at the rink. As soon as I stepped onto the ice, I was immediately told that I needed to purchase skin-tone tights rather than the opaque black tights I was already wearing. I felt humiliated. I was the only person there with black tights. I really stuck out in a sea of white legs. I felt like everyone was staring at me, even if they weren’t. I was sad, because I was really excited about my outfit, too. We got it at a fancy boutique. I picked the black tights and the matching long-sleeve black dress with pink hearts myself. It also had a matching scrunchie, which I thought was incredibly cool and sure to garner compliments and acceptance. It became glaringly obvious I was wrong. Apparently, South Asian modesty had no place in figure skating. Evidently, neither did South Asian skin tones, as I learned when I went shopping the next day for the correct tights.

A figure skater’s appearance and how they present themselves are critical and often indicate their socioeconomic status. Costume is a major factor in the sport, and my limited wardrobe and knowledge of what is fashionable definitely made me stand out from the other skaters. Figure skating is one of the only sports where you have to look pretty while asserting your athleticism. It may even affect your score in a competition. Throughout history, women skaters have been subject to a myriad of rules regarding their attire. Though this has changed in recent years, it is hard to break from tradition. But the hard truth is that this tradition is patriarchal, racist, and classist.

After years of reflecting on these traditions and how they impact me and other skaters, I came to understand that this is why I am skating. This is what I need to change. This is what the women of color figure skaters before me were trying to change, and what the women of color figure skaters after me are going to change. I also came to understand what my culture meant to me and how this may ground my skating and performing. I came to not only accept who I was, but embrace it. Why is there a “school me” and “mosque me”, and now, a “figure skating me?” I learned to use the ice as a place of discovery and expression, and it came to represent joy and peace. There is nothing quite like it. This feeling replaced any I had of anxiety and fear, allowing me to experience figure skating truly and simply.

Genuine acceptance and pure excitement eventually led me to explore the world of synchronized skating. Although it was just as white and just as expensive, this is where I excelled. Maybe that is because on my team of 16, there was another girl of Indian descent who was half Indian and half Caucasian. Is it any surprise that we gravitated to each other? What a time we had. Not to mention my mom fit right in. Everyone loved her.

This was an era. An era I will quite literally never forget. An era that came to an end when I entered university because to be honest, it cost just as much, if not more.

Navigating the world of figure skating as a South Asian woman with isolating experiences was not easy, but I would not be the person I am today had I not had that opportunity. The sport itself gave me something I could not get anywhere else: self-acceptance, self-love, and self-confidence.

Though I am no longer a skater, I will continue to challenge its racist and classist origins by sharing my own experiences and uplifting and supporting other skaters of color so that the sport may one day be accessible and welcoming to everyone. Women like Surya Bonaly, Tara Prasad, and many other skaters of color challenged and continue to challenge these traditions and institutions. I would like to think I challenged those institutions, too. And my mom challenged those institutions.

There are always going to be obstacles in this realm, but as a community, we are ready to face them.