Written by Dom Davis

"All are welcome" is not the same as "all are welcomed."

“Let's keep politics out of the outdoors.” 

“I climb to escape.”

“Just shut up and climb.”

These phrases have been thrown around the comments section of every outdoor account that dares to go against the monochromatic grain our dirtbags are comfortable with. 

Climbing and the climbing industry are growing rapidly; we even graced the Olympic stage this year. There has never been a larger spotlight on this community, and more eyes gazing toward climbing means more choss will get discovered. Believe it or not, it’s not all sends and perfect weather in the climbing /outdoor industry. 

There are 585 climbing gyms in the United States, according to market research reports. Of those 585, only three are Black-owned, and only one of those three is owned by a Black woman. (Shoutout to Coral Cliffs, Beast Fingers, and Memphis Rocks; they broke the beta!)

Now, is this because ‘Black people don’t climb’? Or does it have more to do with rock climbing not being as inclusive or accessible as the outdoor industry wants us to believe? Turns out, you need more than shoes and chalk to begin your climbing journey. 

This sport is dominated by white cis-hetero, able-bodied men, which is a byproduct of the era that climbing was developed. During the time that the Fred Becky’s and Yvon Chouinard’s of the world were logging FAs, Black folks weren’t allowed in National Parks. We were taking Freedom Rides, escaping lynch mobs, marching on Washington, fighting for our right to be treated as equals, and trying to have access to education. So, it's safe to say that scaling a mountain in a place where we weren’t even allowed to be was not on the list of our priorities.

While Black folks are now allowed in National Parks and schools are integrated, there are still real barriers to access in climbing, and this episode shines a light on some of those—representation, for one. When you aren’t seeing people that look like you doing the thing you are interested in doing, it creates this idea that it is not for you, that there is no space for you, and that you don’t belong in that community. Then we layer on the cost of equipment, day passes, memberships, travel expenses, and transportation to get to gyms and crags…not to mention, no real initiatives to engage with the Black community, and a predominantly white member base and leadership team. Eventually, you exclude entire demographics from being able to participate. These things may not be intentional barriers (anymore), but ‘intention’ is irrelevant in 2021. Instead, we have to focus on the impact of these actions. 

Now, before you start in with: 

• “Nobody is stopping Black people from climbing.”

• “Everyone is welcome at the crag.”

and let’s not forget the war cry of our hueless counterparts, 

“Nature doesn’t discriminate!” 

Take several seats. You’re right: there aren’t signs at trailheads that say “no Black people allowed.” Nature may not see the color of an adventurer’s skin, but those that recreate in these spaces (as well as the organizations and industries that uphold and profit off outdoor adventure) most certainly do. They use those quips to avoid having the conversation of how systemic racism affects the outdoor recreational industry. For an individual or a company to conduct themselves this way is to be complicit and accepting of how things are, all the while ignoring a pervasive problem.

The outdoor industry doesn’t get exemption from the racial inequities that plague our society, and the disappointing truth is that the outdoor industry’s DEI efforts are on par with inviting someone to a party but not giving them the date, time, or address. Sure, you were told you can come…but do you feel welcomed? The door may be open, but is there a clear path to entry?

There is a difference between simply saying ‘everyone is welcome’ and purposefully creating a space where the most marginalized communities feel safe and included. When spaces such as rock climbing gyms aren’t created with inclusivity and accessibility as governing forces, underrepresented communities then have to assimilate or code-switch to feel “a part of.” And even that is only an option for those that possess that skill set or feel comfortable doing so. See, not every Black person feels safe being the only Black person in any given situation—nor should they have to. Code-switching in the workplace for Black people is something we have been accustomed to because typically, in a corporate environment, we can’t be our authentic selves due to social constructs that have labeled the Black culture as “unprofessional.” So we assimilate, drop the AAVE, bring our voice down a few decibels, and leave our soul and vibrance at the door—all so we can be more palatable and employable for white America. 

We are supposed to be able to be ourselves freely in nature when we are recreating, but unfortunately, that isn’t always the case. Being a Black climber especially in the South, you are acutely aware of your own conspicuousness; from the gyms to the crags, you can count on one hand the number of other Black climbers you see on a regular basis. 

The Black community doesn’t get to leave politics out of climbing; our existence is political. A confederate flag bumper sticker on a car parked at a trailhead, or a Trump flag flying on a house we drive past on our way to the crag may cause our white belaytionships to scoff and roll their eyes. It doesn’t stop once you get to the crag either; you are then faced with racist and discriminatory route names when you open your guidebook. Seeing that imagery as a Black person is not only triggering but a threat to our safety. It also sets the standard for what level of racism is acceptable in the climbing/outdoor industry.

We as a community can keep pretending that “nature is the great equalizer.” Or, we can accept the sobering reality that when you are Black, the cost of outdoor recreation may in fact be your life. We shouldn’t have to tell you the inherent dangers that come with being Black in nature, especially not after last year. 

On February 23, 2020, Ahmaud Arbery, was gunned down while out on a jog—a jog in a neighborhood two miles away from his home. He was pursued by three white residents of Satilla Shores. Why? They believed this 25-year-old Black man was responsible for theft. So without any proof of a crime and without any jurisdiction, they murdered Ahmaud in broad daylight on a residential street, while he was out on a run. 

This tragedy just confirmed what we already knew: that when you are Black in America, that is enough to get you killed. You can’t drive while Black, shop while Black, sell lemonade, sell CDs, or walk home. You can’t even enjoy nature while on a run in your own neighborhood. 

Nature has been a place of refuge and healing for the Black community, and contrary to the stereotypes, we do love the outdoors. So when the outdoors doesn't feel like a safe space for us, that not only impinges on our freedom but takes away our ability for a reprieve from the injustices and generational trauma our community has carried for centuries. We deserve that same freedom, that same “escape”. 

How is diversity and equity in this industry supposed to improve if the organizations and corporations that represent the outdoors are only made up of white people? 

We need you (striving allies) to be vocal. We need you to take action. We need you to be acutely aware of the injustices we face in the outdoors.  Now is not the time to sit idly by. We need you to stand for Black lives, we need you to listen to us. We need you to do more than what you’ve been doing because it isn’t even close to being enough. 

Talk to your gyms. Support brands that actually support Black people. Amplify the work being done by Black outdoor advocates. Get loud about injustice, and back initiatives that strive to create a more equitable outdoors for marginalized communities. Also, be aware when a lane isn’t for you. We need you to get uncomfortable. 

A more diverse outdoors benefits everyone. The larger our community is, the more investment we have in ensuring the protection and stewardship of the land so we can continue to enjoy these beautiful places. And Black folks bring an extra loud voice to outdoor advocacy.

-Dom