Chess Bitch: Women in the Ultimate Intellectual Sport Page 11
Susan was accompanied in Spain by two people who loved and supported her: her sister Judit and her new husband, Jacob Shutzman. In 1994 in New York, Susan had been introduced to Jacob by his brother, a chess fan. The couple had such a good time in New York that Jacob went to Hungary to visit her, where they fell in love. Susan was thrilled to start a new life in New York City, where Jacob had moved from Israel to work as a computer consultant. “I think one of the reasons I loved New York so much more than my sisters,” she explained, “is because I subconsciously wanted to get out of Europe, having bad memories from my past relationships with FIDE and the Hungarian Chess Federation.”
Jacob and Susan worked together on various projects, including starting a chess school in Queens, the Polgar Chess Center, and co-writing The Queen of the Kings [sic] Game, which chronicles Susan’s career. The book was the first account of the lives of the Polgars told from the inside, but it does not do Susan or her family justice. In addition to being poorly written—Jacob Shutzman, who was responsible for the writing, is clearly not in full command of the English language—the book details Susan’s struggles more than her accomplishments, which creates an extremely bitter tone. That Susan was prevented from reaching her full potential is emphasized. Various perceived enemies, from Nana Ioseliani to members of the Hungarian Federation, are harshly treated. The book is now a source of embarrassment for Susan, who blames Shutzman for its quality; she swears that after all the copies are sold, there will be no more printed. She promises that her next book, Breaking Through, to be written with current business partner Paul Truong, will be much better.
Susan and Jacob are no longer together. After a few years of blissful marriage they began to quarrel. The emotional tumult of September 11 intensified their problems, making their fights increasingly urgent and more frequent. By the end of 2001, the pair had split. Disagreements over finances and custody of their two children, Tommy and Leeam, are ongoing. The break-up was not peaceful, leaving Susan disillusioned with romance itself. “Well, I’m still happy to live in New York, although I’m no longer thrilled about my reason for moving here.” When I asked Susan whether it is better to date within or outside the chess world, she responds cynically, “Either way leaves very low chances for success.”
Susan has not played in a serious competition since her victory against Xie Jun in 1996. An invitation to defend her title was issued to Susan in 1999 only months in advance of the scheduled match. At the time, Susan was pregnant. “FIDE refused my request for a reasonable and proper delay,” writes Susan. “I was illegally stripped of my title.” Motherhood, like menstruation, is often cited as an explanation for the less-frequent participation, and decreased enthusiasm, of women in competitive chess. In one U.S. championship, three-time champion Angelina Belakovskaya dropped out unexpectedly. She needed to rush home and breast-feed her baby. Another U.S. championship participant, Shernaz Kennedy, dealt with her problem in a more imaginative manner—she express-mailed her breast milk home from a tournament in California to New York.
In a recent encounter of my own, motherhood was cited as a possible obstacle to my future success as a writer. In negotiating a possible book, I was told, “I’m not sure if you plan to continue with your writing and chess careers or if you intend to just pop out a couple of babies.”
Not all agree that motherhood is an impediment to chess results. Young Lithuanian mother and top woman player Victoria Cmilyte was asked in a press conference, “What do you think of the Russian saying that each baby takes off fifty points from your rating?” Cmilyte responded, “I think each baby adds fifty points to a woman’s rating! Motherhood is such a stimulating experience for a woman.” Later, she explained that being a mother was so demanding, that it instilled discipline. In comparison, preparing and playing chess was easy.
Despite the upbeat comments of women like Cmilyte, the reality is that motherhood in many societies leaves women with the bulk of the childcare responsibilities, often interfering with any leisure time—especially interfering with the time needed for highly focused and demanding activities such as chess. Some chess couples with young children take turns playing in tournaments. A practical solution to encourage the participation of mothers would be to make childcare available at tournaments. Susan believes that the schedule for Women’s World Championships should be announced and set at least a year in advance, so women can make plans based on this.
Now a mother of two, Susan expressed to me that her interest in chess will never be as intense as it was when she was in her twenties. Susan, who competed in the 2004 Olympiad in Mallorca, told me that the main reason for her comeback was not to reach new chess heights, but to promote chess in America. Indeed, despite going out of her way to organize the training sessions, Susan is virtually inactive. The only time she has played in public was in a tournament in Oklahoma in which the whole Olympic team played against local players. Since the members of the team did not play each other, Susan’s rating was far higher than any of her opponents’. From her demeanor one would have thought that she was competing for the world championship. She was deadly serious, rarely getting up from the board. Susan won her first six games, as expected, but in the seventh she drew a player with a rating 500 points lower than hers. Susan, playing with the black pieces, used her prepared double King pawn opening, but was frustrated by her opponent’s unambitious opening strategy—he took few risks and she had few chances to win. Afterward, Susan was clearly upset about the draw, wondering if she should have chosen a more double-edged opening strategy.
Our Dream Team training sessions have given me the opportunity to spend time with Susan. Despite her formal demeanor, her love for chess is evident: she always comments on the beauty of surprising finishes or subtle finesses. During meals and breaks, Susan is a gracious conversationalist. Choosing her words carefully, she asks questions of all of us about our favorite cities and our current projects. Her reactions are so consistent—she rarely displays anger, joy, boredom, or excitement—that is difficult to tell whether she is enjoying herself. Sometimes, she seems lonely. Susan spends most of her time with her children and her manager, Paul Truong, a hyper Vietnamese-American businessman, who says he never sleeps “more than three hours a night.” She does not seem to know many other people in New York. Paul and Susan have such a close business relationship that many in the chess world have taken to calling the pair “Trulgar.” Susan does not hide the fact that Paul assists her with her writing projects, such as her columns for Chess Life and ChessCafe.com, along with her books. When I get e-mails from “Susan,” they are peppered with smiley faces and exuberant exclamations, which is typical for Paul, but totally incongruous for Susan. Such a shared Internet and literary persona makes it hard to determine what Susan is really like.
Sometimes I wonder if Susan would like to break out of her conservative persona. “I rarely drink,” she once told me. “Sometimes I have a glass of wine, but I never finish it.” The one time I did see Susan lose control made an impression that remains with me today. On lunch break at a training session, the Dream Team was treated to a sumptuous buffet. Its crowning glory was a magnificent dessert spread—flan, triple chocolate mousse, and a selection of fancy Italian pastries. We all started out by choosing and eating one. It was obvious that we all wanted to sample more, but no one wanted to go first. “Let’s repeat moves,” someone said, then, furthering the play on chess lingo, said, “how about three-move repetition?” Finding this absolutely hilarious, Susan began to laugh so hard she doubled over. She went on laughing for several minutes, which was totally unexpected from this otherwise perfectly composed woman.
A devoted ambassador of chess, Susan promotes the game all year long, giving simultaneous exhibitions and book-signings at National Scholastic tournaments, working on writing projects, and organizing Dream Team sessions. Her new attitude toward separate girls’ tournaments has led to the founding of a “Susan Polgar Tournament for Girls”—a yearly invitation-only event, the first edit
ion of which was held in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, in the summer of 2004. Thirty-four girls arrived in Florida to represent their states. The winner, sixteen-year-old Roza Eynullayeva, was from Massachusetts. The response to the event was overwhelmingly positive. Ohio representative Emily Nicholas called it “the best tournament I have ever been to” and said “meeting Susan Polgar made me feel important. She really made us feel like she cared about us and that she wanted us to keep playing chess.” Stephanie Hueng from Florida called it a “a flawless blend of chess and girls. Over the board, girls were archrivals, yet, after the game, complete strangers from coast to coast went out shopping together, and ‘girl talk’ was plentiful.” The Virginia representative, Ettie Nikolova, said the Polgar tournament was “the first time in my life where girls were not only excited about chess, but also advanced enough to play good games.”
During the summer of 2004 as Susan was promoting chess in America, her youngest sister, Judit, was in Budapest. Judit was taking a break from her own inspirational trail blazing. Judit Polgar was the only female invitee out of 120 players to the 2004 World Championship, held in June in Tripoli, Libya. She declined to participate. Her first child, a boy, Oliver, was born in August 2004. “You never know when I will show up again, but I will come back.”
6
Women Only!
Winning feels good. Winning feels to me like catching a one 100-pound fish feels to a fisherman.
— Chess-in-the-Schools student, after winning a big trophy in the 2004 Girls’ Nationals
When I moved to New York City in 1998, I got a job at Chess-in-the-Schools, a New York non-profit that hires chess instructors for schools in inner-city neighborhoods. In 2001, CIS selected me to lead a program called Girls’ Academy. Invitations were sent to the strongest girls from CIS schools all over the city, most of which are located in Bronx, Brooklyn, and Upper Manhattan. One Sunday a month, at the CIS headquarters in midtown, I met with about twenty girls, ranging in age from nine to thirteen.
Beginning and intermediate chess books, with few exceptions, feature the games of male players. To redress this, I included women’s games in each of my girls’ academy lessons, starting with one of my favorite brilliancies played by Judit Polgar. In addition to presenting role models, I wanted the girls to have fun, because then they are likely to continue with chess. During Girls’ Academy sessions, the girls had time to chat and play casual games. Friendships formed.
All Girls’ Nationals, Chicago 2004. (Photo by Jennifer Shahade.)
Chess tournaments are social occasions for kids, especially when they get to stay in hotels. After their rounds, they stay up late watching movies, playing blitz and pranks. Elevators, ice machines, and sneakers are all fertile ground for mischief. If a child is one of the only girls, she can be left out of the fun. For instance, at a summer chess camp, one girl, due to a strict policy preempting romance, was barred from hanging out at the after-lesson pizza and blitz sessions held in the boys’ dorm. There were not enough girls for her to form similar chess parties, so she had little fun at the event.
In May of 2004, I went as a coach with ten of my Girls’ Academy students to the first ever All Girls’ Nationals. The event was held in Chicago, in the Adler Planetarium right beside Lake Michigan. Between rounds, girls could race along the shore of the lake, photograph the Chicago skyline, or look through solar telescopes. The event was organized and publicized on short notice, but there was great support for it, from coaches, organizers, and the players. One of my students, Laura Edgard, was excited to participate, despite being a tomboy used to playing boys. Laura is one of the most determined students I have encountered. Before the first round of a crucial tournament I had asked Laura how she felt about her chances, and she looked me straight in the eye and declared, “I’ll bring back their heads.” In Chicago, Laura told me it was “fun for a change” to hang out and play against girls.
My students all had a great time at the event—they appreciated the beautiful tournament site, the games, and a side trip to the top of the Sears Tower. But what made these competitive girls the happiest was that we had to take an extra taxi to the airport to carry all the trophies they had won. I was not surprised by their success, because they were higher rated than most of their opposition, and New York kids tend to do well in national tournaments, partly because they get a lot of practice in strong local competitions.
Susan Polgar helped organize the Chicago tournament and was in attendance throughout. She played a simultaneous exhibition, signed books, had photographs taken with each prizewinner, and even played casual games between rounds with some of the players. This was all from a woman who grew up with a chess worldview that rejected women-only events. The divergent opinions in the Polgar family mirror those in the debate in the chess world about segregated women’s tournaments, titles, training, and prizes. The debate resembles a discussion of affirmative action, where one side argues that incentives are necessary to encourage the paltry percentage of female participants, and the other contends that these incentives are condescending and will ultimately stunt the development of female players. Those outside the chess world wonder why women and men ever play separately, since they see the world of chess as a unique arena in which men and women should be able to compete on equal terms. In the United States there are few separate women’s tournaments. The Chicago event was the first and largest of its kind.
The first-ever international women’s tournament was held in 1897 in London. At the time, critics of the event worried that “the players would collapse with nervous strain at having to play two rounds a day for ten days.”1 Thirty years later, also in London, the first Women’s World Championship was won by Vera Menchik. Once thought of as progressive, women’s tournaments are now controversial for the opposite reason. Separating women and men is antiquated, said British master and writer Cathy Forbes, who thinks that many women are ashamed to play in segregated events. “A feminist chessplayer is faced with a dilemma. Her belief in the equality between men and women does not mesh with her decision to participate in separate tournaments.” Ultimately, Cathy believes that women’s tournaments are detrimental to women’s progress in chess. This, according to Cathy, is because men are motivated to work harder, since they do not have the “soft options” of playing in weaker tournaments, and winning qualified championships and prizes. Almira Skripchenko, the 2001 European women’s champion, also feels that “separate tournaments hold women back, because in order to play at the level of a strong man, it is necessary to play strong male grandmasters. The best method,” Almira says, “is to have prizes and titles that serve as incentives for strong women to improve and keep playing, but to hold the tournaments co-ed.” Almira believes that in order for women’s chess to progress, women ought to get the best of both worlds—the money for being top female players as well as tough competition against men.
My own occasional participation in women’s tournaments used to make me feel uncomfortable, even embarrassed. I enjoyed the competitions, the traveling, and the prize money, yet I could not reconcile playing in women’s events with my feminist views. As I have become involved in writing this book, my attitude has changed. I have stopped thinking about such events as less than the events with men and started to think of them as a way to meet and compete with female colleagues. I reframed the question that I am often confronted with: “If women are as strong as men, why would they ever play separately?” to “Why might women enjoy playing amongst other women?”
Separate tournaments offer women space to compete in a positive way—opportunity for intellectual competition and camaraderie among women that is sadly lacking in our society and not often portrayed by the media. There are a great many inspiring movies from Rocky (boxing) and Hoosiers (high-school basketball) to Searching for Bobby Fischer (chess) that address complex relationships created by competition among men, but A League of Their Own (about a women’s baseball league during World War II) is one of the few to feature women.
However, there has been a recent surge in media coverage of girls and competition. Books on the subject, all published in the year 2002, include Rosalind Wiseman’s Queen Bees and Wannabees, Leora Tannenbaum’s Catfight:Women and Competition, and Rachel Simmons’ Odd Girl Out:The Hidden Culture of Aggression in Girls. Mean Girls, a movie released in 2004, was a comedy directed by Tina Fey of Saturday Night Live, based partly on material from Queen Bees and Wannabees. The common theme in all four works is that competition between women is catty and covert, taking its most vicious forms in bathrooms and cliques rather than in sports arenas or classrooms. As Leora Tannebaum writes in the introduction to Catfight, “I concentrate on the negative aspects of competition because that is what we need to fix.” I think this is a naïve (or perhaps disingenuous) assertion, which exemplifies the mean-girl buzz. It is not self-evident to me that revealing the details of cruel behavior has anything to do with eliminating, or even reducing, it. To the contrary, there is a big risk that by graphically detailing mean-spirited tactics, unfair and simplistic stereotypes of females are reinforced. We need, instead, more positive—but equally complex and enticing—portrayals of females in competition with one another. Chess is an ideal battleground in which to form such relationships.
During my last two years in high school and throughout college, Irina Krush was my main chess rival, and she inspired me to become a stronger player. Whenever I played against her, the stakes were raised, even if it was just in a casual weekend event, such as our 1997 encounter in Allentown, Pennsylvania. It was a large open tournament split up into different sections based on ratings. In total, there were about two hundred players, and less than ten percent of those were women. Irina and I were the only women in the top section, but coincidentally, we were paired in the last round. Irina attacked me mercilessly. I defended well until I made one careless move. As soon as I took my hand off the piece, I nearly gasped. It was a terrible move to which Irina had a brilliant win. I am very expressive and was sure that my face would show her I made a mistake. I got up from the board and paced, preparing myself to resign. Then I saw that my clock was ticking, but she had played a different move. She didn’t see it! I jumped right back into my chair, stymied her attack, and proceeded to win.