This summer, the U.S. women’s Olympic hockey team will be celebrated in Las Vegas, hosted by none other than American rapper Flavor Flav. The event promises music, spotlight and unmistakable enthusiasm.
What stands out most is not the celebrity factor, but the clarity of the moment: women’s excellence, centered without qualification. This wholehearted celebration from an unexpected ally matters because enthusiastic, unqualified celebration of women still feels rare.
Nikki Hardeman
Too often, women’s achievements are framed as exceptions, comparisons or afterthoughts. They often are noticed only in relation to men’s accomplishments. When celebration comes freely and without hesitation, it stands out precisely because it still happens less often than it should.
Earlier this year, after the U.S. men’s Olympic hockey team won gold, President Donald Trump congratulated them in a recorded call and later recognized them publicly at the State of the Union address. During the exchange, he joked he would “have to” invite the U.S. women’s team as well and added he would “probably be impeached” if he did not. Several of the men audibly laughed.
“Too often, women’s achievements are framed as exceptions, comparisons or afterthoughts.”
The women’s team, which also won gold, later declined an invitation to attend the State of the Union. Some players expressed respect for the women’s team afterward, but the moment, brief as it was, already had circulated widely. What should have been a shared moment of national pride instead became a reminder of how easily women’s achievements can be framed as secondary, even in moments meant to celebrate excellence.
In unscripted encounters, we rarely rise to our stated values. We default to our social training.
Laughter in a public setting is rarely just about humor; it signals belonging. It smooths the room. It assures everyone the moment can move forward without friction. Social spaces reward ease and, instinctively, we often choose the reaction that keeps the room comfortable. But in spaces where power has long flowed in predictable directions, that instinct toward ease can quietly override the instinct to interrupt.
Interactions like these move quickly. People scan the room, read the cues of those around them and respond almost automatically. Rarely do we pause long enough to consider what our reactions communicate. Yet those small responses, laughter, silence or visible discomfort signal what a community finds acceptable.
What might advocacy for the women’s team have looked like in the moment?
“Advocacy does not always require confrontation.”
Raised eyebrows. The absence of laughter. A simple shift in posture, visibly showing discomfort or even a comment about how the women’s team has earned as many gold medals at the Olympics as the men. Advocacy does not always require confrontation. Sometimes it simply means refusing to reinforce a narrative that diminishes someone else’s achievement.
Flavor Flav showed us what true celebration looks like. It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t corrective. It didn’t come after criticism. It was proactive joy. The difference between these two encounters is stark. One followed instinct, the other moved with intention.
Moments like the one in the White House happen all the time in our lives. They happen in the boardroom, the locker room and the classroom. They happen at church committee meetings and around the kitchen table. Often they pass quickly and quietly, but they reveal more than we realize about the values we practice in real time.
In faith communities, these moments often appear when conversations turn to leadership. A joke about whether a woman could really serve as senior pastor. A quiet assumption about who should preach, lead or preside. Sometimes the moment is small enough that it passes without comment. Sometimes it is wrapped in humor or tradition. But the dynamic is the same: The room looks for cues about how people will respond.
When the next moment like this shows up in your life, what will your reflex be?
The difference between instinct and intention is preparation. No one improvises courage. It is a practiced skill. The way we respond in public moments is often shaped long before the moment arrives, by what we have decided matters and what we are willing to risk for it.
Advocacy rarely begins in dramatic speeches. More often, it begins in the small moments when someone chooses not to laugh, chooses to name excellence when it is overlooked or chooses to make space where space has not previously been given.
When the next joke lands, when the room looks to see how you will respond, when ease invites you to go along, what will your reflex reveal about you?
Nikki Hardeman serves as director for advocating for women in ministry at Baptist Women in Ministry. She lives in Atlanta with her two children and Jayne, the cutest rat terrier to ever live.