This past Saturday, history thundered down the stretch at Churchill Downs, Golden Tempo’s come-from-behind thrill fest stunning pundits and fans alike, holding off favorite Renegade to be yet another longshot winner, and making Saratoga Springs native Cherie DeVaux the first woman to train a Derby winner. The cries of “It’s about time!” positioned DeVaux as a pathbreaker, ensuring that the moment carried the weight of something larger, an instant landmark in one of America’s most tradition-bound and male-dominated sports, yet another long-overdue crack in the ceiling.
Some 60% of all horse trainers in the United States are female, yet they remain historically underrepresented at the elite level -- only 25 women are to be found in the most recent global ranking of the top 500 trainers. DeVaux was only the 18th female trainer to start a horse in the 152 years of the venerable race; Shelley Riley grabbed second place in 1992 with Casual Lies.
But in the midst of the celebration -- and seeing DeVaux basically hyperventilate her way through her first post-race interview was magic -- I had a question for horse racing: Who will be the second woman to grab some roses in Louisville? How long will it take for this historic first to turn into real visibility?
Stories of “she’s the first” in sport should not, cannot, just focus on the pathbreaker, but also on whether or not a conduit exists for others to follow. It only takes a glance in the rearview mirror to see how often a first can become a comforting endpoint if institutions are not pushed to make it a beginning.
The first, please remember, generally means the only. Too often, moments like this one are packaged as evidence of progress while the systems that made them extraordinary remain largely unchanged. The real measure of DeVaux’s achievement will not be found in headlines declaring that history has been made. Rather, it will be found in whether the path behind her deepens, with more women receiving the ownership support -- and the elite horses that go along with it -- to compete at the sport’s highest level.
Horse racing, with all of its pageantry and mythology, is yet another space featuring entrenched hierarchies: power concentrated in the hands of wealthy owners (including 23 women, such as Golden Tempo’s co-owner, Daisy Phipps), legacy trainers, and institutions slow to imagine leadership outside the familiar mold. At its most visible levels, in the winner’s circle and in the record books, women are almost always exceptions rather than equals.
Fun fact: only six women have ever ridden in the Kentucky Derby.
DeVaux’s victory matters because it forces a revision of racing’s mythos. It places a woman squarely in the sport’s most celebrated space, yet another piece of visible proof to refute the idea that certain corners are not built for women.
And then there is the harder context, the one no responsible celebration of the Kentucky Derby can ignore: horse racing is increasingly darkened by profound ethical questions regarding animal welfare. The terrifying footage of Great White, a giant of a horse standing at 17 hands, bucking his rider moments before entering the gate, served as a stark reminder of just how dangerous this sport is. Catastrophic breakdowns, medication controversies, fatalities, overbreeding, the use of the racing bat, and so on have left many fans deeply uneasy, ensuring that the grandeur of the Derby exists alongside growing public skepticism. Add to that the discomfort that should come every time “My Old Kentucky Home” -- a song that originated on the 19th century minstrel stage -- is played as the horses walk toward the starting gate, the reality that accompanies DeVaux’s breakthrough is complicated at best.
Should it erase her accomplishment? Absolutely not.Breaking barriers matters, even, perhaps especially, in flawed institutions. Representation, as she said in her first post-victory moments, matters, even in spaces that should be undergoing a moral reckoning. (And my goodness, are we in a moment of a whole lot of moral reckoning or what?)
DeVaux’s Derby victory, without question, deserves celebration. It is a genuine milestone, long-overdue, in one of sport’s most stubbornly old-fashioned arenas. But history needs to create momentum, making it imperative that this moment is not just remembered as that of one woman breaking through, but rather the start of a larger transformation, one that should bring with it equity and accountability, making the sport worthy of the majesty it claims to signify.
Amy Bass is professor of sport studies and chair of the division of social science and communication at Manhattanville University. Bass is the author of One Goal: A Coach, A Team, and the Game that Brought a Divided Town Together, among other titles. In 2012, she won an Emmy for her work with NBC Olympic Sports on the London Olympic Games.
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