As America grapples with conversations about representation and equity in sports, Clareesa Shields’ story begins in Flint, Michigan. In the city that over the last decade became synonymous with crisis, the young black woman, who became the first American to win back-to-back Olympic gold medals in boxing, was raised.
However, even Olympic gold could not guarantee equal treatment. In a scene from the new film The Fire Inside, Shields looks wistfully at cereal coated with images of Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps while shopping for diapers for her nephew. Despite his historic success, Shields struggled to win sponsorships after his Olympic victory. “It’s a lot harder with female athletes,” a potential sponsor tells Jason. “Then you amplify it when they excel in a sport that people don’t expect to see women in.”
This disparity reflects a larger reality for black women in sports. The next film, the directorial debut of Fruitvale Station cinematographer Rachel Morrison from a script by Moonlight director Barry Jenkins, makes no explicit reference to the water crisis, but it comes close much in the film along with the systemic barriers it faces. “Ever wonder why they call it Flint?” Shields’ coach Jason (Brian Tyree Henry) asks Shields (Ryan Destiny). “…It’s rock hard Flint, and it’s strong as hell. Does this remind you of anyone?”
Shields’ life, in the film, is affected by poverty, abuse and homelessness with boxing becoming his only refuge. However, as more success came with boxing, so did problems. The third act of the film is dedicated to showing how Shields struggled financially despite winning her first Olympic gold medal in 2012.
The conversation about pay inequality in women’s sport goes far beyond boxing. In one interview as of 2023, Shields noted that while she earned $1 million, becoming the first woman to achieve such a feat, it was still only a third of the $3 million boxers typically earn masculine
In The Fire Inside, Shields fights for a monthly stipend of three thousand dollars, an increase from the meager thousands of dollars a month USA Boxing offered while training at their facility. “This isn’t just about me,” Shields tells USA Boxing over the phone, “you all have to raise the pay for all the women.”
The struggle extends beyond compensation to representation itself. Shields expresses her frustrations to a USA Boxing representative about expectations to maintain a flawless image, after another female boxer was shown to be dressed provocatively during a photo shoot. “I won this gold medal by being me,” he says. “Now to get endorsements and shit you say I have to be someone else?!”
Even in Shields’ telling of the story, the pressure to make black female athletes more palatable to mainstream audiences persists. Very little screen time is devoted to Shields’ athleticism. Destiny as Shields is a bloodless and bruised fighter, emerging from every fight with nothing but unkempt hair and the sheen of a few beads of sweat. Shields’ boxing scenes are over so quickly that one wonders if you, as an audience member, could have been KO’D.
Instead, the story indulges in the clichés of an athlete’s humble beginnings to a heavy degree. This familiar framing, focusing on trauma and adversity rather than their athletic prowess, reflects how the stories of black athletes are often packaged for mainstream consumption. When the film touches on deeper complexities, such as when Shields reconciles with her mother after being kicked out, or when her father returns from an inexplicable stint in prison, these moments remain unexplored, suggesting a reluctance to engage with a more nuanced reality beyond the familiar tropes of adversity and redemption.
It’s easy to see why the film was originally titled Flint Strong. Like the Michigan town in which it is set, Shields’ legacy runs the risk of being reduced to a story of its trauma, stripped of vitality and nuance. The film shows glimpses of this complexity in the father-daughter dynamic between Henry and Destiny, their warmth driving the film. It’s the love and care between Jason and Shields that gives him the strength to carry on.
The film ends as they share one last conversation before she boards a bus to the Olympic training facility. “That first gold medal, it was for Flint,” Jason tells him. “But your next one, this one’s for you.” The question remains: In a system that still struggles with equity, will individual excellence ever be enough?
Hannah Phifer is a journalist and critic based in Charlotte, North Carolina.