BY KATIE DERER
Piper Klemm recently wrote something that has long been living rent-free in my head, too. Her piece, Sport is a Privilege. Respect is a Privilege, wrestles with a text message that distilled a brutal truth: “Sport is a privilege. It’s not a right. If it’s outside of someone’s means then in my opinion, they need to alter their expectations until they can afford or put themselves is the right position to succeed or meet their own goals.”
Klemm calls this “true and brutal.” She acknowledges the financial reality of our sport while refusing to surrender to the pessimism it implies. She points to the magic we’ve all witnessed, the underdog who broke through, the community that lifted someone, the education and hard work that carried a rider “far past where they ‘ought’ to be.”
I read her piece and felt seen. But I also felt something else: the need to push back, just slightly, on where she lands.
The Problem with “Glimmers of Hope”
Klemm writes that because we’ve seen “glimmers of hope,” most of us are “unwilling to succumb to the pessimism of the dismissal that Sport is simply a privilege for only those who can afford it.”
I understand this. I’ve clung to those glimmers myself. The story of the working student who catches a break. The amateur turned professional too early because I couldn’t save enough over a decade to dream of buying a horse. The trainer who mentors someone with more grit than money.
But here’s what I’ve learned after years of battling stereotypical banter in an industry built on financial elitism: glimmers of hope are not a system.
They are exceptions. And exceptions make for terrible policy and terrible comfort.
Klemm herself acknowledges that our sport is “very far from a meritocracy.” She notes that USEF pushes down the floor to raise the ceiling, that the governing body seems more invested in gold medals than in grassroots access. She names the cronyism, the opaque leadership, the sense that respect is demanded rather than earned.
So I want to ask: If the system is broken, why do we keep telling ourselves that the exceptions prove it works?
Privilege as Input, Not Output
Klemm’s piece focuses on structural failure: the governing body, the leadership, the allocation of resources. I agree with her critique entirely.
But I also want to linger on the personal dimension of privilege, because that’s where so many of us live and where the word does its deepest damage.
I was once called privileged by a fellow rider who saw me in an arena and assumed I’d been handed my place. They didn’t see the seven jobs, the scholarships that ran out, the anxiety of a single car repair threatening to derail everything. They saw my presence and worked backward to a conclusion: privilege.
This is what privilege discourse often becomes: a binary judgment that erases the climb.
Klemm writes that respect is an output, not an input. I’d argue the same is true of privilege. Privilege is supposed to describe what you started with. But we use it to describe what you ended up with. We look at success and assume advantage, ignoring the possibility that success was achieved despite a lack of cushion.
Is privilege black and white or shades of grey? In theory, it’s grey. In practice, it’s wielded as black and white, a weapon to dismiss the very people who climbed without a net.
The Pipeline Question
Klemm asks the question that should keep all of us awake: “Are horse shows just simply only for rich people, and we should all just throw up our hands and give up?”
She answers by pointing to the role of USEF, the broken pipeline, the raising ceiling and the lowering floor. She calls for accountability; for the board to do its job, for leadership to actually govern.
I want to add another dimension to that question: What do we owe each other, independent of the governing body?
Because here’s the truth I’ve learned: The institutions may fail us, but the community often doesn’t. I’ve seen trainers take on students at reduced rates. I’ve seen barn families rally around someone whose horse got hurt. I’ve seen people share knowledge, connections, and encouragement not because the system rewarded them, but because they believed in the sport Klemm describes; the one of “optimists and dreams and community.”
That doesn’t excuse USEF’s failures. But it does suggest that the battle for access isn’t only fought in Lexington. It’s fought in every barn, every lesson, every conversation where someone decides whether to open a door or close it.
Where I Land
Klemm’s piece is a call to action aimed at the USEF board. She names names. She demands accountability. She is right to do so. And as members, we all need to rally behind that sentiment!
My piece is something smaller, but I think it’s related. It’s a call to recognize that the fight has two fronts.
The first is structural: fix the governing body, build the pipeline, raise the floor. I stand with Klemm on that.
The second is personal: stop using “privilege” as a lazy verdict that erases the climb. Acknowledge that some of us are in expensive rooms without expensive safety nets. Understand that when you call someone privileged for succeeding, you’re not holding the powerful accountable; you’re punching sideways at the person who scraped their way up. And that person that you are demeaning may just be the one who changes everything!
Klemm writes that she’s “unwilling to succumb to the pessimism of the dismissal that Sport is simply a privilege for only those who can afford it.”
So am I. But I’m also unwilling to pretend that the exceptions are enough. And I’m unwilling to let the word “privilege” become another barrier, another way to tell someone that their hard work doesn’t count because they ended up in a room that assumed they didn’t belong.
Sport is a privilege. But so is the chance to earn your way. And that chance should not be reserved for those who were lucky enough to be born with a cushion.
I don’t have all the answers. But I know this: the next person climbing without a net deserves more than glimmers. They deserve a system that sees them. And they deserve to have their climb respected,, not dismissed as invisible privilege they never had.
Katie Derer graduated from Delaware Valley University with a Bachelor’s degree in Equine Studies, specializing in Equine Training. She also studied abroad in the UK at Hartpury College, where she found her enthusiasm for research and globalization practices within the equine industry. In 2016, she formed Wilderer Equestrian as a young professional, committed to young horses, sales, and showing on the circuit. After 20+ years in the industry, she continues to document first-hand experiences and search for solution-based policies to bring into practice.
