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Minority athletes hope their Olympic journeys will influence intolerant hearts and minds

Before she took to the skies on the world’s biggest sports stage with dizzying, gravity-defying moves, Logan Edra, aka B-Girl Logistx, kept herself sharp.

With her brow furrowed and hands on her hips, Team USA’s youngest breaker looked more serious than some of her competitors at this year’s Paris Olympics. This wasn’t just a competition for the 21-year-old daughter of Filipino immigrants, but a pressure-filled opportunity to infuse her cultural heritage into a traditionally American art form for all to see.

Representing both Filipinos and immigrant families in general was “the most overwhelming part” of her breakthrough on the Olympic stage, said Edra, who called it “another layer of love.”

As the attention turns to the Paralympic Games, athletes like Edra carry not only the hope of winning gold for their country, but also the responsibility of representing their identity and culture, which is increasingly being paid attention to by spectators.

Edra didn’t make it past the quarterfinals in the Paris B-girl competition, but her Olympic journey and current world No. 10 ranking are a clear testament to her skills. When an athlete excels at this level, she said, stigma and judgment often give way to respect.

“If someone does a crazy move on their elbows and they turn on their head — that clearly requires a lot of human strength. You can’t deny that,” Edra said.

However, this effect of positive exposure can unravel when a minority athlete starts speaking out politically. It’s a real dilemma: voicing opinions on a sensitive topic can jeopardize the reach of their influence, but staying silent can feel like betraying their true self. Navigating this balance between embracing authenticity and maintaining respect is a constant challenge.

‘I’m becoming a Muslim too’

Social scientists call this dynamic the “parasocial contact hypothesis,” which suggests that prejudice can be reduced through positive exposure to athletes or other members of marginalized or stigmatized groups.

Researchers tested the theory by examining the influence of football on Islamophobia in British culture. After Egyptian striker Mohamed Salah, known for his on-field prayers, played a key role in Liverpool’s decisive victory, viral videos showed British fans celebrating with chants of “If he scores a few more goals, I’ll become a Muslim too” and “Mohamed Salah, a gift from Allah. He always scores; it’s almost boring.”

Researchers analysed 15 million tweets and hate crime data from 25 police departments and found a 16% drop in hate crimes in the Liverpool region and a halving of anti-Muslim tweets by Liverpool fans after Salah joined the team. Surveys showed that Salah’s Muslim identity increased belief in the compatibility of Islam with British values.

Salma Mousa, a political scientist at the University of California, Los Angeles, who specializes in prejudice reduction and co-authored the 2021 study, pointed to the limits of this influence. She said that at the time, Salah took a “completely apolitical” stance on controversial issues.

Carrying the load

“In practice, this puts a burden on minority players,” said Ala Alrababah, another co-author of the study and a political scientist at Bocconi University. “As a Muslim player, as a Black player, as an LGBTQ player, as another minority player, knowing that playing well can improve attitudes or playing badly can make attitudes worse — this adds to the pressure. This is tough.”

Whether they intend it or not, participants in the minority Olympic games become emblematic figures for entire ethnicities or religions.

Gabby Douglas and Simone Biles have sparked waves of black participation in gymnastics. Sunisa Lee, who became the first Hmong American and the first Asian American to win gold in the women’s all-around competition in Tokyo, sparked a surge in Google searches for “Hmong” and “What is Hmong heritage?” And when Lee began battling an incurable kidney disease after her 2021 win, she raised awareness about the high rates of kidney disease among Hmong Americans.

Biles waited until she won her sixth gold medal in Paris before posting a reference to the U.S. presidential campaign on X, writing, “I love my black job.”

“All sports go way beyond what happens on the field, but the Olympics go way beyond that,” USA Gymnastics spokeswoman Jill Geer told The Associated Press.

Inspiring change

Some community organisations are recruiting minority athletes as ambassadors for prejudice reduction campaigns. Show Racism the Red Card — the UK’s largest anti-racism education charity — offered a 53-page guide on “using the Olympics and Paralympics to teach against prejudice” to teachers in England, Scotland and Wales.

Gilberto Lopez-Jimenez, a 21-year-old sports fan from El Paso, Texas, had more than just medals in mind when he cheered on Dominican-American gymnast Hezly Rivera and Mexican gymnast Alexa Moreno.

“Mexicans are often associated with laziness, but Alexa Moreno has been super resilient,” said the first-generation Mexican-American. “Because she’s won so much, she’s admired not only by Mexicans but by the gymnastics community in general, and I think that’s definitely reduced some of the stereotypes and racism.”

The specter of racism hangs like a dark cloud over the world today. Anti-migrant and anti-LGBTQ rhetoric is a fixture of politics in Europe and the US. But the mere presence of minority athletes on stages like the three black Olympic gymnasts this year can advance conversations about race and inclusion, shift perceptions and ultimately bring about change.

“In Latin American cultures, there’s this pride. We’re not used to seeing ourselves on the big stage. We’re not used to reaching the podium. So when we do, it’s a big event and it brings our country together,” Lopez-Jimenez said. “These athletes — what they do is very important.”

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AP journalist Noreen Nasir in Paris contributed.

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