As Angel Reese and the Atlanta Dream met Golden State in the WNBA Finals, some coverage cast the team as a symbol of Black America.
An October 24 column at Swish Appeal tied Atlanta’s support for the Dream to the city’s legacy of Black achievement, resistance and pride. It also quoted a historian who connected the team to Martin Luther King Jr.’s idea of the “Beloved Community.”
There’s nothing wrong with fans seeing their city’s history reflected in a team. Pittsburgh’s Steelers, for instance, draw their name and logo from the industry that shaped the city. Atlanta supporters can find a similar connection with the Dream.
The trouble starts when backing a player becomes a measure of racial allegiance—or when criticism of her is treated as an attack on the group she is said to represent.
I saw plenty of that while covering Reese during the Finals. People who disliked my questions or columns decided I must have a problem with Black women. Somehow, assessing one player’s performance had turned into a judgment about millions of people I wasn’t writing about.
This is part of a broader pattern around Reese and Caitlin Clark. Some fans and commentators have made them symbols of Black America and White America, folding their successes and failures into disputes over privilege, discrimination and whose accomplishments count.
The two players, though, have handled that role differently.
Clark has objected when people use her name to advance racial agendas. She has also repeatedly said that basketball is her job.
After LSU beat Iowa for the 2023 national championship, Reese followed Clark around the court, taunting her. Reese made the “you can’t see me” gesture and pointed toward her ring finger.
Many people, myself included, criticized the celebration. Commentators, including ESPN’s Stephen A. Smith, argued that the reaction reflected a racial double standard, noting that Clark had made the same gesture earlier in the tournament.
There was a difference, though: Clark had directed her gesture toward her own bench, while Reese followed an opponent and performed it in front of her. That distinction got lost in much of the debate. Louisville player Hailey Van Lith later said Clark had been addressing Iowa’s strength coach, not the Cardinals.
Reese brought race into the discussion herself at the postgame news conference. Asked about the criticism on Twitter, she said people had called her “too hood” and “too ghetto.” She said the win was for “the girls that look like me” and added, “It was bigger than me tonight.”
It’s hard to imagine the same commentators who defended Reese responding just as warmly if Clark had said a championship was for “girls that look like me.”
In an August 2025 Forbes interview about her signature shoe, Reese described herself as “a visual and a voice for young Black women.” Speaking about people with experiences like hers, she said, “I’m speaking for those people, young girls, young boys.”
Reese has also said she wants to be known for more than basketball. “It’s always been both: basketball and fashion,” she told Vogue in 2025. She has attended the Met Gala in each of the last three years.
That’s her choice. She has built an audience and found ways to earn money from it. There’s nothing wrong with that, and it doesn’t mean she cares any less about winning.
Still, Reese has spoken about race for years and presented herself as a voice for Black women. So when some supporters treat criticism of her as an attack on all Black women, they aren’t making that association entirely by themselves.
During a game against Atlanta in July, Toronto coach Sandy Brondello protested a foul call involving Reese and Nyara Sabally. The broadcast caught Brondello calling Reese a “protected species.”
Brondello is Australian, and Australia’s ABC has explained that the phrase is commonly used in Australian sport to complain that officials favor a particular player. In this instance, it was about the officiating, not Reese’s race.
Brondello apologized and said her frustration was directed at the referees. The WNBA suspended her for one game. Reese accepted the apology, thanked the league for taking action and said there was “no place for discrimination or hate.” She then added, “I speak for a community that believes in the bigger picture of things.”
Brondello had been disputing a foul call, but Reese widened the conversation to discrimination. Once again, Reese herself introduced the racial framing.
Clark has been drawn into these debates as well. In June 2024, she was asked about people using her name in wider cultural arguments. She replied that basketball was her job and said she couldn’t control what people posted online.
Her response sparked another dispute. WNBA player DiJonai Carrington said people were invoking Clark to excuse bigotry and accused her of not being troubled by it. “Silence is a luxury,” Carrington wrote.
Later that day, when asked directly about racism and misogyny, Clark said, “People should not be using my name to push those agendas.” In both cases, reporters were asking Clark to address racial hostility; she had not raised the subject herself. She tried to return the focus to basketball, but that didn’t satisfy everyone who wanted her to answer for online trolls.
That’s the larger problem: Clark is expected to answer for people she neither controls nor authorizes to speak for her. The same is true of Reese. Neither player can be responsible for policing every account that claims to support her.
In a December 2024 TIME interview, Clark said, “I want to say I’ve earned every single thing, but as a white person, there is privilege.” I think the pressure she faced after trying to keep the conversation centered on basketball may have played a part in that statement. When people criticize you for staying out of an argument, it can feel as if the only acceptable response is to give them the statement they want.
The requests for Clark to say more have continued beyond her rookie season. In July 2025, journalist Nancy Armour acknowledged on a podcast that Clark had already addressed the issue, including in TIME, but said she wanted a stronger statement made on Clark’s own initiative.
In October 2026, podcaster Charlotte Wilder said Clark had spoken about online trolls several times but still needed to say “something a little more forceful.” At her season-ending news conference that month, Clark was asked about comments from teammate Kelsey Mitchell on how Fever players are treated. Clark again rejected the use of her name to promote racism, hate or discrimination.
Three WNBA seasons into her career, Clark is still being asked to clarify that she opposes racism. How many times should she have to do that?
Reese helped take Atlanta to the Finals, and she deserves credit for it. She can also be criticized for her poor performances over the final four games. Treating her as an individual allows both things to be true.
The same goes for Clark. Her play and public comments are open to criticism. But a troll who calls himself her fan does not make her responsible for his posts, and the media shouldn’t assign her that responsibility.
The players have also pushed back against the idea that they are permanent enemies. During September’s FIBA Women’s Basketball World Cup, Reese spoke positively about playing alongside Clark and building chemistry as USA teammates.
After the pair won gold, Clark was asked whether they were friends now. “We’ve always been friends,” she replied. “Don’t try to do that.”
They can compete, trade taunts and still play well together. Fans don’t have to like them equally, either.
What I reject is the expectation that choosing a favorite player also means choosing a racial side. Admiring Clark’s game doesn’t mean someone is hostile to Black women. Supporting Reese doesn’t mean ignoring fair criticism of her. Their achievements are theirs, and so are their mistakes.
Neither player should be made to represent an entire race. Root for whoever you want—but don’t turn it into a test of racial loyalty.
