The WNBA Has A Mission Problem

The league's priority is split between becoming a successful sports league and a social justice club.

In just one month of her professional WNBA career, Caitlin Clark, former Iowa Hawks NCAAW Division 1 superstar, and the No. 1 WNBA draft pick in the 2024 class, has brought an unprecedented fanfare to the league, the likes of which has not been seen in decades. Despite her Indiana Fever team’s slow start in the league, Clark’s presence has already broken WNBA viewership records, sold out arenas, set the highest attendance record for regular season WNBA games, and made the WNBA the focal point of sports media on a weekly basis. But the league does not seem prepared or as interested as it ought to be to embrace Clark and this moment as a pivotal period in the league’s 28 years of existence.

Record numbers between Caitlin Clark’s Indiana Fever and the Washington Mystics

Prior to being drafted No. 1 to the Indiana Fever, Clark faced sharp criticism from current and previous WNBA players about her play style, whether she legitimately broke certain records in the NCAAW, and the unlikely chance that her game would immediately translate to the league. The critiques, often slyly couched as concern for Clark’s development by active and inactive WNBA players, hinted at a deep-seated jealousy that some players may have developed for an incoming rookie who’d just signed a lucrative, 8-year $28 million deal with Nike (an astronomical figure compared to the average annual salary of a WNBA player), landed a signature shoe deal, and was prematurely heralded, by fans and the media, as the player who’d save the WNBA.

Clark’s debut in the WNBA didn’t quell all the noise nor did it shift the conversation from a negative slant. In fact, it worsened. On the court, she was aggressively tested (par for the course, in some instances) and faced criticism for wanting referees to make fair calls on plays that involved blatant fouls. But players often indirectly addressed and mocked her grievances during press conferences and on social media, often sharing a collective sentiment that “this is a grown woman’s league — it’s physical.” Off the court, articles such as USA Today’s Lindsay Schnell’s “Women's basketball needs faces of future to be Black,” printed a few months prior to the season’s debut, as Clark’s buzz hit a crescendo during the NCAAW Final Four tournament, served as the backdrop to the conversations that materialized around the amount of attention Clark was commanding in the media. Many players in the league, including former WNBA players and analysts in the media, believed there were other players who deserved just as much media attention as Clark. While others believed that Clark was only getting nationwide attention strictly because of her race, “pretty privilege,” and sexuality. It was clear that no amount of viewership, attendance records, broadcasting opportunities, or casual fans that Clark was drawing to the league on a nightly basis, at home and on the road, seemed to matter to WNBA players, analysts, and even some of the league’s coaches, who often murmured about Clark’s disproportionate media coverage. The message was clear: she wasn’t truly welcome.

It’s mystifying to think that a league whose players have unceremoniously made a public case for the WNBA pay gap, the desire for fans to buy enough tickets to fill seats on game day, the need for charter flights instead of commercial flights, and the desire for more coverage in the media, would display so much animus toward a player whose style of play and success at the collegiate level has finally brought all of the above, and more, to the WNBA. It’s hard not to think that there’s more beneath the surface than petty jealousy within the league. But when you encounter a recent assessment by writer, activist, and author Kim Tran, Clark’s treatment as an outsider, and the hostile energy she’s had to face both on and off the court, in her first month as a professional basketball player, quickly begins to make sense.

“The WNBA is an activist league. Clark's silence is out of place because Cameron Brink and Paige Bueckers are the norm.”

In a recent Twitter/𝕏 post, Tran, scolding Clark, argues that “the WNBA is an activist league.” She continues, “Clark's silence is out of place b/c [sic] [Cameron] Brink and [Paige] Bueckers are the norm.” “In the W,” she says, “players demanded police accountability before Kaepernick knelt. Entire teams protested white supremacy. There's a Social Justice Council fighting anti-trans laws. No one is asking anything special of [Clark]. They're asking her to be a part of… this [activist] league.”

Kim Tran comments about the WNBA

This is groundbreaking, if true. The assessment offers a conclusive answer to the fundamental question that media personalities and new fans alike have been speculating about regarding Clark, over the past month: Why is there so much animosity toward her? We now seem to have a clue — she does not wear her identity or politics on her sleeve (a position that is antithetical to the other WNBA players). Although seemingly benign on the surface, this revelation actually represents the lens through which every key decision and inaction by the league, thus far, can be filtered. Additionally, it gives credence to an insidious initiative that has been sweeping across American institutions over the past few years: the infamous Diversity, Equity, & Inclusion (DEI).

According to a recent exposé published in The Free Press, Yale’s Department of Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry openly adopted a DEI “Rubric” into their hiring criteria which tests for molecular scientist candidates’ commitment to promoting and developing detailed plans for advancing DEI through teaching. Surely, advancing DEI has no bearing whatsoever on the capabilities, merit, and scientific accomplishments of a molecular scientist. But that’s not stopping one of the most prestigious educational institutions in the world from implementing their discriminatory policy. Similarly, one could argue that advancing social justice causes has no bearing whatsoever on the impact that a basketball star is able to have in a sports league. But that would not explain why WNBA players, veterans, and analysts have incessantly resisted any discussions that invoke Clark—one of the league’s most prized player in decades—as the face of the league, or the sole player currently responsible for making the league widely relevant again on the big stage. The league’s actions, time and time again, confirm that its priority leans more toward social justice causes and narratives, even if it is at the detriment of the league’s ability to grow. During a recent appearance on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, ESPN analyst and former Georgetown Hoyas basketball player Monica McNutt, in defense of the WNBA, shared that “Race, culture, and gender are things that the women of the WNBA have never shied away from.” She continues, “there are all these -isms that have made the WNBA beautiful for 28 years, including this season. And even the WNBA has had to have its arc in terms of growth and leaning into who they are and who these women are both on and off the court.”

It’s easy to imagine the glowing reception that Clark would’ve garnered thus far within the league were she a player who typically espoused social justice rhetoric and habitually denounced her “whiteness” and “white privilege” each time she appeared before a mic, as many social justice “allies” are wont to do. It’s also easy to imagine how much she’d have been championed by her greatest critics if she’d only spent less time trying to be great on the court and instead spent more time heaping praise, out of her “white guilt,” onto the black players in the WNBA. Indeed, it is these types of vacuous, public displays of penance that activist Tran alluded to when she cited “Clark’s silence”—to what exactly? No one knows—in comparison to the Los Angeles Sparks’ No. 2 overall Draft pick Cameron Brink and University of Connecticut’s Paige Bueckers.

Brink in a recent interview, checked the “social justice ally” box when she spoke about her mission to make the league even more iconic than it already is: “I will acknowledge there’s a privilege for the younger white players of the league… there is a privilege that we have inherently, and the privilege of appearing feminine,” she says. “Some of my teammates are more masculine. Some of my teammates go by they/them pronouns. I want to bring more acceptance to that and not just have people support us because of the way that we look.” Tran praised this statement as “the norm” in the WNBA, and accuses Clark for being “out of place.”

To Tran, Clark must atone for her sins of bringing viewership and attention to the struggling league in such a way that eclipses the low viewership numbers set by WNBA players before her. And for her transgressions, Clark would have to be forcefully converted into a social justice ally by delivering her own version of a virtue-signaling, self-hating speech that would appease activists like Tran, as well as Clark’s WNBA league mates.

At the 2021 ESPY’s, Paige Bueckers, star point guard for the University of Connecticut women’s basketball team (and soon-to-be WNBA player), took to the stage to give her acceptance speech after being named the best college athlete in women’s sports. Like Brink, she too, checked the “social justice ally” box, choosing to dedicate her speech to black women: “With the light that I have now, as a white woman who leads a black-led sport and is celebrated here, I want to show a light on black women. They don’t get the media coverage that they deserve,” she says. “They’ve given so much to this sport and the community and society as a whole and their value is undeniable,” Bueckers added. “In the WNBA last season, the postseason awards, 80 percent of the winners were black, but they got half the amount of coverage as the white athletes. Everyone who voted, thank you, but I think we should use this power together to also celebrate black women.” Within organizations that are primarily driven by commitments to social justice, this habit, of self-flagellation as advocacy, is common and often the norm. It is celebrated, cited as exemplary, and often used as a cudgel with which to condemn others who do not conform, as Tran does in her Twitter/𝕏 post. Outside of these social justice bubbles, however, Bueckers’ sentiments sound repulsive and out of touch, like television informercials filmed for the purpose of raising funds and charity for starving children in remote areas of the world. But she is not to blame. This is simply what social justice movements often call for: that participants primarily see the world as a place where everything must be filtered through the lens of race, gender, sexuality, and the myriad of other identity fragmentations that exists. This worldview, of identity politics, unbeknownst to its adherents, ultimately does more harm than good. It reignites a victimhood cycle, perpetuates a state of helplessness, transfers accountability to outside forces instead of having one confront one’s own shortcomings, demands the total submission and humiliation of one group of people in favor of another, and normalizes an environment where social justice sentiments are rewarded over merit-based achievements. This seems to be the world that the WNBA is interested in building within its league, and its no surprise why the brand has failed to connect or grow in popularity in nearly 30 years.

In many ways, there’s an argument to be made that the WNBA—and its affiliate media personalities—has a criteria or vision in place for the candidate that the organization prefers to proudly showcase as the “face of the league.” And that criteria or vision most certainly does not prioritize the capacity to sell out arenas, increase attendance, increase viewership and ratings, increase merch sales, increase league pass subscriptions, and increase league revenue. If it did, Caitlin Clark’s unparalleled impact in just one month of playing as a professional would be highly celebrated, embraced, and studied to be replicated. Instead, her impact on the league is almost always begrudgingly addressed, tacked on as an addendum or side-note to what the league and its media personalities prioritize most: the feelings, race, and ego of players who preceded Clark. Analyst Monica McNutt exemplifies this sentiment when she says, “I think just to say ‘[put Caitlin Clark on the limited US Olympic roster] because of the money [and exposure she can generate],’ is disrespectful and unfair to the women that have gotten this league to this point.”

The league and its players do not know what they want. Or perhaps, they know exactly what they want, but the person who’s jolted the league back to life does not fit the limiting, social justice worldview they’ve adopted. Either way, the incompetence is rampant. But they have to make a choice. And soon, before fair-weather fans realize that the league does not have a single clue or interest in managing its superstars or delivering a product that is entertaining to its fanbase. The choice is simple: Relevance or obscurity? Sold out arenas or empty seats? Prime-time media coverage or zero awareness? Worldwide interest in the league’s past, current, and future superstars, or niche, national league interest? Better training facilities, personnel, and resources or inadequate facilities, personnel, and resources? Competitive and sustaining player salaries or moonlighting in Euro leagues in the offseason for extra pay? Charter flights or Commercial flights? Exponential league growth or managing social justice initiatives?

To embrace Caitlin Clark’s presence and the value she brings to the league is to affirm that you are unquestionably invested in the advancement of the WNBA as a rising, competitive league. To shun her, discount the amount of impact she is having, or demand that she denigrate herself, her work ethic, and her achievements in the name of activism proves that all of the calls by players for a “more visible WNBA” was nothing more than empty rhetoric.

---