In the summer of 1976, some American female tennis players showed up to their matches wearing shirts that proclaimed "I am a real woman." The message was aimed at Renée Richards, a 43-year-old player and ophthalmologist who wanted to participate in the US Open. Her story had been aired on television by Richard Carlson—the father of the controversial TuckerCarlson—and both the WTA and the Grand Slam organization demanded a chromosomal test to verify her sex. Richards refused. She went to court and won. The following August, she became the first trans woman to compete in the tournament. Today, nearly half a century later, she believes she shouldn't have done it.
The paradox is at the center of 'Finding Renée Richards: The Groundbreaking Story of Tennis's Trans Pioneer,' the book that journalist Julie Kliegman has just published in the United States. It is not the story of a pioneer who challenged tennis authorities; it is the portrait of a woman who has changed her mind about the battle that made her a symbol. Richards is now 92 years old and asserts that trans women who have gone through male puberty—like she did—should not compete in women's categories.
"I realized right away that this contradiction was the heart of the book, the central tension," Kliegman explains in conversation with EL MUNDO about the controversial tennis player. Richards was born in New York in 1934 as Richard Raskind. She studied medicine at Yale, specialized in ophthalmology, and was also a notable player. Before her transition, she was ranked as the thirteenth best in the United States and participated up to five times in the US Open as a man, with just a couple of victories. She got married, had a child, began practicing as a doctor, and for years tried to fit into that identity. But ultimately, in 1975, at the age of 41, she underwent gender reassignment surgery and began her life as Renée. "I knew transitioning in the 60s and 70s was difficult, but while writing the book, I discovered how hard it could be: doctors asked her at every step if she would be a 'good' woman," she recounts.
Her new reality was not easy, but tennis, her sport, offered her a way to start anew. There was only one drawback: she would also be the subject of worldwide controversy. When her past became known, the highest authorities in tennis prevented her from competing in the 1976 US Open unless she passed a test, and that's when Richards turned to the courts. The process was lengthy until Judge Alfred Ascione of a New York court ruled in her favor. The test could not be used as the sole criterion to determine a person's sex, he ruled. The decision opened the door to the tournament, although its legal reach was more limited than is often reported.
On the court, as a woman, Richards achieved several milestones: she lost in the first round of that historic 1977 US Open but reached the doubles final and later climbed to number 20 in the WTA rankings, coached Martina Navratilova, and became friends with Billie Jean King and Gladys Heldman. "Sometimes I have to remind myself and others that I was a very good tennis player, and it's okay that I was," Kliegman asserts.
Today, however, Richards attributes her desire to play among women to the "adolescence" experienced after the transition. "We know more than we did in the 70s, although still not enough," the book's author notes, expressing frustration that Richards does not connect today's attacks on trans sports with those directed at the entire community.
Her story, Kliegman concludes, allows for a comparison of two eras, although she reminds us that Richards is not "the only authority" on whether trans athletes should compete or not. In any case, the paradox remains: she won the right to play when almost no one was willing to grant it, and decades later, she no longer believes she should have claimed it.