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To really answer that question, I need to share with you some of my personal history.

When I was in high school, I was an athlete on the fencing team. Now, if you are new to the sport, allow me to tell you a bit about it so you can understand the impact of what happened to me. There are three different styles of fencing associated with the weapon: sabre, foil and epee. Sabre is fought by hitting the opponent with either the side or the point of the blade anywhere above the waist, including the head. Foil fencers use only the tip of their weapon to score points in a region covered by a stupid vest. And, epee is a bit of a free-for-all, hitting anywhere on the body, using just the tip of the weapon.

Traditionally (and at that time—the 1980s), women were primarily fencing foil, with the handful or two fencing epee. But it was the rare girl/woman who took on the sabre because it meant that she would be competing against men.

I enjoyed everything about the sport, even if it meant coming home with red, throbbing welts on my legs because some boys decided to hit me “off target” to teach me a lesson. But, my male teammates and the coach were supportive and kept at it with me because they believed that I could do it. I also spent weekends hauling my 20 lbs of equipment on the bus into New York City to learn from and compete with athletes from the New York Fencers Club (home of some Olympic fencers including medalist Peter Westbrook). However, I did know that I was an oddity because there weren’t many opportunities to compete against other women.

In my junior year, right after the fencing season started, one of our competing teams discovered that there was a girl on the sabre team. We were already one match into the season, and I had just earned my position on the varsity sabre squad. This team refused to let me fence their boys, except in a humiliating “exhibition” bout. I won that bout, and word spread that I could fence, but wasn’t going to be allowed to compete.

The state of New Jersey argued that since there was an “equivalent” girls’ team (they meant the girls’ foil team), that I should not be competing on the sabre team. I tried to educate the state officials on the differences between sabre and foil, but they turned a deaf ear to my pleas.

I did not want to sue for my Title IX right to fence on the team, especially since, at the time, there was a girl wrestler and a girl football player who won their cases, but sadly were more interested in making a point than becoming good enough athletes to keep their spots on their respective high school teams. Consequently, they were ridiculed and wound up setting the battle back a bit.

At my wits end, I consulted a friend whose mom was an active and high-ranking member of the N.J. chapter of the National Organization of Women (NOW). It turned out, she worked for then-governor Bill Bradley (you may remember him from the 9/11 commission). She connected me with Bill who gave me the best advice. He said, “Deb, don’t fight your case in the courts, fight it in the papers.” Little did he know, he would be giving me solid career advice as well — I later became a journalist and editor.

My NOW mentor called the Newark Star Ledger, the primary newspaper in New Jersey, who reported on my story. It was carried by the Associated Press, and published in many, many publications. In my 15 minutes of fame, I was even interviewed on National Public Radio. My brother, then a student at Rutgers University, found out about my battle with the state via an article in his school paper, the Rutgers Targum!

The photographers took many pictures of me, which my mother collected, fencing at various “exhibition” events and matches where the schools took a dim view of the state decision, and let me fence.

By the time the state was shamed into granting me a waiver to fence, the season had ended. In the meantime, I had been competing in New York and building my skills. Come senior year, I earned a varsity letter again, and helped the team earn a 10-2 record, which got us to the statewide competition.

At the States competition, I’d never felt like a bigger outsider in my life. People stared and pointed, but my wonderful teammates and loyal coach kept checking in with me. We had the sort of unity that a team needs to be successful. I am grateful to my fellow fencers for their support because it kept me going — they believed in me before I believed in myself.

Later, I continued to make history by participating in the first women’s sabre competition at the Nationals. It was exciting to be competing against women from all over the United States. And, I became the hope for another high school girl in Ohio who fought her state to fence sabre as well.

What feminism means to me is that my gender should make no difference in anything I take on, whether it’s fencing, writing, editing or anything else in my life. It also means that sometimes I have to fight for what is right and fair, even if I go home with welts.

Best regards,
Deb S., New Jersey

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 13th, 2007 at 5:59 pm by Guest and is filed under Feminism, Guest Bloggers. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.