A 14-YEAR-OLD TALE OF LOUD JEERS, DEEP WOUNDS, PUSH-PULL QUESTIONS, BEHIND-THE-SCENES LOBBYING, CLEVER RUSES AND THE ARC OF THE MORAL UNIVERSE
By Bill Simons
Serena did it.
She won the 2015 Australian Open, a historic triumph. As a journalist, I was neutral. Inside, I was thrilled.
After all, I’ve followed Serena since she was a 12-year old tag-along with Venus in Oakland. She’s American, and one of the greatest champions ever—one who has learned from triumph and humiliation, and danced with death and despair.
Now in Melbourne there was another night of triumph to celebrate. So I approached her coach Patrick Mouratoglou. The bright Frenchman wouldn’t give me any match quotes, but beaming with a broad smile, he gushed, “You know what, Bill, Serena’s playing Indian Wells!”
Wow, I was elated. But then I had a more cautionary feeling of deja vu. I’d danced this dance with Patrick before. Last year, he said Serena would play Indian Wells, only for her to pull out later.
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Over the past dozen years, as much as I wanted to see another elite American man emerge, more than anything I wanted to see the Williamses and Indian Wells resolve their differences, so that the sisters would go back and play where once they were scorned.
Sure I know, Serena can be vain. As for being a diva, she read the manual with care. Amply flawed, she can infuriate. Many times I’ve been stung by her sense of entitlement. Then again, she’s achieved wonders and taught us things no one else has. Is she the best ever? The debate is warm. Is she an inspiration to millions? No question.
Yes, most of our good readers insist, “It wasn’t that big of a deal at Indian Wells. Fans were simply upset because Venus pulled out of her semi against Serena. The booing wasn’t that bad, no way did race have anything to do with it, and wasn’t their father behind all the shenanigans?”
I was there. It was not pretty: neck-bulging howls, raw jeers. There were over two hours of derision, and no one intervened to call for kindness. I agree with current tournament CEO Ray Moore, who said it “was [an example of] ugly human traits.” A white woman would not have been treated that way. A white woman would not have been treated that way. There was absolutely no credible evidence that any kind of fix was in, and the doctors confirmed that Venus was suffering from knee tendinitis.
To me, it was the worst day in American tennis since the late 1940s, when the African-American Oscar Johnson entered the National Junior Championships in St. Louis and was “greeted” by an official who said, “Well, I’ll be damned. But, you won’t play here, boy.”
Yes, fans were brutal to Martina Hingis at the French Open, but the young Swiss’s outrageous moves brought on the catcalls. Serena, just 19, hadn’t done anything wrong. Clearly, that problematic afternoon exposed the uncomfortable, often unspoken rift between tennis’s largely white and affluent audience and African-American players and fans. Yet it was dismissed as just a tennis spat—no big deal.
But race remains a core issue of our society, just as it has always been. Like climate change, it impacts everything.
For me, nothing was sadder in tennis than the reality that America’s two greatest female stars felt so wounded that they refused to return to our greatest tournament west of the US Open: a rift like no other, such a symbolic gap. Many preferred to sweep it aside. Denial can be a comfort.
When the US Open Stadium was not going to be named after Arthur Ashe, most said, “Come on, just forget it. Nothing can be done, move on.” Not me.
So—again and again—for 14 years, I asked all the parties involved about healing the situation. When I spoke to the sisters about it, I’d often get a frosty response: “You gotta be kidding” scowls were commonplace. Similarly, tournament, WTA and USTA bigwigs (need I name names?) weren’t exactly thrilled to wrestle with my prickly questions when they’d rather be chatting up their latest success. At one point at Wimbledon, I mustered the courage to approach my pal, Venus and Serena’s father Richard Williams. “Hey, friend,” I began, “you’re a devout Christian. Turning the other cheek is so much a part of your… “
Forget it. The often fun-loving patriarch was livid. In a rage, he growled and let me have it. ‘Twas not pleasant.
Over the years, “sister fatigue” set in. When I asked about Indian Wells, my press corps colleagues would roll their eyes. Officials and players seemed to quietly curse, “Not again!”
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Dr. King told us, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.” Mandela added, “Sport can create hope where once there was only despair. It is more powerful than governments in breaking down racial barriers. It laughs in the face of all types of discrimination.”
Time heals, and there are unintended circumstances. In 2011, after Serena recovered from a near-death bout with pulmonary embolism, she told Doug Robson she was so eager to get back on tour that she “would even play Indian Wells—anything to get back.”
Supposedly, it was a joke. I didn’t care. For the umpteenth time, I asked her at Wimbledon if she would consider returning.
“Oh, that was so yesterday,” she told me. “I’ve moved beyond all that.” I sighed. Okay, Serena, whatever. Then, 17 months later, Mandela died, and at the 2014 Aussie Open I asked, “You have your schools in Africa, you’ve written poignantly about the [slave] forts in Africa, and have read Mandela closely. His message was … all about forgiveness. He [told South African blacks] to work with the [largely white] Springboks rugby team for reconciliation, and he sat his prime jailer in the front row at his inauguration. Could that spirit affect your thoughts?”
Surprisingly, Serena replied, “Yeah, it actually crossed my mind a couple of days ago, after I saw the movie [Mandela: A Long Walk to Freedom].”
“Do you think you could [go again]?” I continued. “It would be such a wonderful event for American tennis and your career.”
Serena repeated, “It crossed my mind … when I went to the movie … I think Mandela was a really amazing man. I felt really honored to have a chance to meet him, to get to know him a little bit.”
Just after that press conference, I sought out Serena’s coach and pal Patrick in the media cafeteria. I’d been pursuing this for years. Finally, I had my opening and, in a lengthy conversation, I “let ‘er rip.” I told the personable Frenchman what really went on that day in the desert and encouraged him to urge Serena to return. I contended it could have as much impact as any of her wins. It would be in the spirit of Mandela and would be healing for our culture.
Voila! Four days later, almost out of nowhere, Serena’s name appeared on the Indian Wells entry list. Go figure. I couldn’t help wondering if my intervention had had any impact.
But actually showing up at Indian Wells proved to be too daunting a prospect for Serena. She withdrew. To many, it was no surprise. For me, it was a disappointment—an opportunity lost. I wrote, “Forgiveness—for all of us—is such an elusive tonic. Let’s only hope there will come a day when we can transcend one of tennis’s most perplexing chapters … Serena’s plight shows us that the often bumpy road to reconciliation is crowded with many an inexplicable twist and curious turn.”
But frankly, I’d had it. At that point I didn’t give a damn if she came or stayed home.
A year passed. Then the Ferguson, Missouri controversy flared. Serena wrote an intense tweet: “Wow. Just wow. Shameful. What will it take?” So in Melbourne, I couldn’t help myself. I asked her about the tweet, and after she gave me a milquetoast answer, I transitioned to my usual “What about coming to Indian Wells this year?” She promptly shot me one of her put-upon, how-dare-you looks—just a slightly bruising glance—as if to say, “Not this again.” Then she turned to her manager Jill Smoller and asked, “Am I on the entry list?” Jill said no, and Serena added, “I don’t know. I like my vacation time that I get at Indian Wells.”
A tad snarky, I thought. Well, there goes another year. But little did I know that the powers that be—agent Jill, Ray Moore, BNP Paribas Open owner Larry Ellison and WTA Chief Stacey Allaster had been having quiet (if Nixon can get himself to China, Serena could go to Indian Wells) meetings on how to orchestrate her return.
Then one week later Serena won the Aussie Open, and Patrick spilled the beans, telling me she was going to play.
But I wanted to hear it from Serena. After her group press conference, I approached her and said, “So I hear you’re going to play.” She again did her smooth routine: She turned and asked, “Jill, am I on the entry list?” Again, Jill said no. Serena turned to me and said, “Well, I guess I’m not playing.”
Oblivious to the ruse, I couldn’t help myself, so I used a cheery endearment and said, “Sweetheart, it would be so wonderful if you came. People would give you such a great reception, why don’t you just do it?”
She laughed a knowing laugh.
Thirty-six hours later, on the plane home, I reflected on the questions that had long circled. Just how central an element was race in all of this? Should officials have done more to mute the rage of the crowd in order to urge them to be respectful? Should they have done more to get the sisters to come back? Should Venus and Serena have buried the hatchet long ago? Should the media have done more? And what would happen if they ever did return?
Two days later, jet-lagged to the max, I stumbled into my office and got the joke.
Serena had just begun an elaborate, smoothly orchestrated rollout to announce she’d be playing. She posted a well-produced, long-in-the-works video which included a sophisticated (“Come hit with me in Indian Wells”) charity promotion that supports a group seeking justice for prisoners and low-income defendants.
Plus there was a thoughtful essay by Serena in Time magazine, in which she remembered that at first she and Venus “were outsiders.” As a black tennis player, she wrote, “I looked different. I sounded different. I dressed differently.”
She recalled that she and Venus scored early wins at Indian Wells, and it held “a special place in my heart.” But “nothing could have prepared me for what happened in the final. As I walked out … the crowd immediately started jeering … Throughout my whole career, integrity has been everything to me … The false allegations that our matches were fixed hurt, cut and ripped into us deeply. The undercurrent of racism was painful, confusing and unfair … At one of my most cherished tournaments, I suddenly felt unwelcome, alone and afraid … When I was booed … by what seemed like the whole world … doubt became real. I didn’t understand.”
Serena wrote that what happened haunted her and Venus, but “most of all, it angered and saddened my father … [who] had to sit and watch his daughter being taunted, sparking cold memories of his experiences growing up in the South.
“Thirteen years and a lifetime in tennis later, things feel different. A few months ago, when Russian official Shamil Tarpischev made racist and sexist remarks about Venus and me, the WTA and USTA immediately condemned him. It reminded me how far the sport has come, and how far I’ve come too. I have thought about going back to Indian Wells many times … I said a few times that I would never play there again … It scared me. What if I walked on court and the entire crowd booed me? The nightmare would start all over.
“It has been difficult for me to forget spending hours crying in the Indian Wells locker room … driving back to Los Angeles feeling as if I had lost … a bigger fight for equality. Emotionally it seemed easier to stay away. There are some who say I should never go back … [Others] say I should’ve returned years ago. I understand both perspectives very well and wrestled with them for a long time. I’m just following my heart on this one.
“I’m fortunate to … [now] play for the love of the game. And it is with that love in mind, and a new understanding of the true meaning of forgiveness, that I will proudly return….
“I was raised by my mom to love and forgive freely. ‘When you stand praying, forgive whatever you have against anyone, so that your Father … may also forgive you.” (Mark 11:25) I have faith that fans … have grown … and know me better … Indian Wells was a pivotal moment of my story, and I am a part of the tournament’s story … Together we have a chance to write a different ending.”
There are few second chances in life. Let’s hope this scar has healed, and that this time we get it right. We can even imagine the Indian Wells crowd giving Serena a standing, welcome back ovation to honor willingness to forgive. And if they did that, it could be, as writer Chris Bowers noted, “a massive moment in the evolution of human dignity.” But it’s even more than a matter of dignity. Sounding like Arthur Ashe, Michael Eric Dyson contended in The Nation that “Serena’s decision suggests the majestic arc of forgiveness in black life that has helped to redeem America. Without such forgiveness, America may have well flowed in the blood of recrimination … Instead black folk have consistently proved to be moral pillars of American conscience, from Martin Luther King Jr. to [Trayvon Martin‘s mother] Sybrina Fulton. Black athletes in particular have carried the water of grievance for black life … and have represented the heartbeat of black resistance to racism.”
