OPINION: Sophie Cunningham’s Trans Athlete Comments Show Why We Can’t “Just Play Basketball”

I was recently having a conversation with a close friend about Indiana Fever guard Sophie Cunningham’s recent comments—the ones where she claimed she wants to “protect young girls in locker rooms and sports from having to compete against ‘biological men.’” By now, you’ve likely seen the endless news cycles, social media debates, and retorts.

My friend sighed and casually said, “I wish we could just play basketball. All of this is just so divisive.”

For a split second, I agreed. Good lord, wouldn’t we all love to step back from the cultural division? Wouldn’t we love to remember what it feels like to simply play a game, laugh, compete, and have fun?

But we don’t live in that world right now. And we cannot simply turn our eyes away just because we are exhausted by the conversation. In our current political climate, lives are literally at stake.

Cunningham brought her bias, transphobic commentary, and personal prejudice right out onto the basketball court for the whole world to see in a now viral interview with ESPN. By claiming she needs to protect women from competing against “biological men,” she didn’t just express an opinion—she used a harmful transphobic framing designed to invalidate trans women’s identities. As much as I love basketball, the sport does not exist in a vacuum, isolated from a culture that is increasingly hostile toward transgender people. It is not okay to sweep this under the rug just because talking about it makes us feel divided.

The reason this is such a major issue is that Cunningham has a massive platform. When someone with millions of eyes on them repeats the lie that trans women are “biological men,” it feeds directly into a dangerous, manufactured narrative: that women and young girls are unsafe in the presence of transgender women in sports and locker rooms.

To make Cunningham’s comments even more absurd, there are currently no openly trans women playing in the WNBA. And her refusal to apologize only underscores the hypocrisy of claiming she isn’t transphobic while actively implying that trans women are a danger to her teammates and fans.

Transgender women are women. Period. Science and major medical organizations continuously affirm that biology is far more complex than just anatomy at birth; gender identity itself has deeply rooted biological components, meaning trans women are not “biological men.”

Everyone has a right to their opinions in this country—no matter how misinformed or erroneous those opinions might be. But when you have millions of followers, including young boys and girls who look up to you, and you use that megaphone to promote transphobia and repeat debunked talking points, you are the one driving the wedge between us.

The claim that trans women pose a threat to cisgender women is not grounded in reality. Statistically, the vast majority of physical and sexual violence committed against women and children is perpetrated by cisgender men. Transgender women aren’t even a blip in those crime statistics. So in reality, women and girls are comparatively safer in the presence of trans women than almost anyone else.

Yet, this fearmongering has been the core tactic of anti-LGBTQ+ campaigns for decades. Demagogues weaponize fear against marginalized groups because vulnerable populations are easy targets. It’s fascism 101: isolate a small minority, paint them as abnormal or dangerous, and turn them into a political scapegoat. Once that group is successfully marginalized or erased, the goalposts move to the next target—gradually expanding until power is completely consolidated at the top, typically in the hands of a ruling class that demands total conformity.

Right now, hundreds of anti-LGBTQ+ bills are working their way through state legislatures, overwhelmingly targeting trans people. This isn’t just policy; it’s an intentional campaign of rhetoric designed to convince the public that a marginalized group is grotesque, perverse and needs to be erased.

The consequences of this rhetoric are devastating. Transgender individuals—a tiny fraction of the population who just want to live their lives—are four times more likely to attempt suicide than cisgender individuals due to constant bullying, harassment, and societal rejection. They also face disproportionate rates of physical assault and murder simply for existing.

As a masculine-appearing butch lesbian, this playbook is painfully familiar to me. I’ve dealt with homophobia my entire adult life. Walking into public restrooms, I’ve felt the icy stares and overheard the whispered comments. I’ve seen mothers visibly grab their young daughters and pull them close, treating me like a threat just because of how I look. Believe me, I have never entered a women’s restroom for any reason other than to use the facilities—and I guarantee you that a trans woman is entering for the exact same reason.

I grew up in Oregon during the 1990s, watching Lon Mabon and the Oregon Citizens Alliance try to strip away the rights of lesbians and gay men. Their rallying cry back then? “Protect Our Children.”

They weaponized people’s natural instinct to protect children, pointed at us, and claimed that queer people were coming to corrupt their youth. The ballot measures eventually failed, but the damage was done. Homophobia was everywhere, and as a butch woman who couldn’t—and wouldn’t—hide who I was, I was painted as the threat.

Decades later, the playbook hasn’t changed; only the target has. Today, politicians and commentators use that same fearmongering to turn transgender people into monsters. It’s an absurd tactic, but it works. And it leads directly to moments like Cunningham using her platform to perpetuate hate. It also serves as a convenient distraction—a way for politicians to keep the public outraged and looking away from real issues and scandals.

Ultimately, commentary like Cunningham’s inflicts real harm on the transgender community, especially on young trans kids who love sports and look up to professional athletes. They just want to play basketball. But according to Cunningham, they’re only allowed on the court or locker room if they fit her narrow definition of what it means to be a woman. So unfortunately, we can’t just “play the game” while our teammates, fans, and friends are being pushed out of the arena entirely.

Shaley Howard is the author of “Excuse Me, Sir! Memoir of a Butch,” which received the IPPY Silver Award for excellence and Next Generation Indie Finalist Award for LGBTQ+ Non-Fiction. She’s also a small-business owner and activist in Portland, Oregon.

The opinions expressed in this piece are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of Go Magazine or its editorial staff.