At some point in recent years, “racism” stopped meaning what it used to. What once pointed to genuine acts of hatred and injustice has become a default setting, a throwaway line, a postscript to any moment of public disappointment. And the latest example comes straight out of Monterey, California, where a high school track star lost her state title after pulling a post-race stunt with—you guessed it—a fire extinguisher.
Clara Adams, a sophomore from North Salinas High, had just won the girls’ 400 meters at the California state championship when officials disqualified her for what they called “unsportsmanlike conduct.” According to reports and video footage, Clara had taken a fire extinguisher from her father and—apparently in celebration—sprayed her shoes. It was meant to be a play on the old line: “You’re on fire.” Cheesy? Maybe. Malicious? Hardly.
But what came next was all too familiar.
Her father, David Adams, said in an interview that he had told Clara to step off the track before spraying, and that she never disrespected anyone. And then, almost as an afterthought, he dropped the word: “I feel it was racially motivated.”
There it is. The default accusation. The back-pocket claim that now shows up like a closing argument—even when the rest of the defense doesn’t support it.
Let’s pause for a second. The second-place finisher in that very same race? Also Black. Officials didn’t disqualify her. No one else on the track was accused of racism. The decision—however strict—was clearly based on behavior, not skin tone. Yet the racism claim still slipped in, not with evidence or outrage, but like a box to check off in 2025 America.
It’s important to note that most of Clara’s supporters on social media didn’t even bother with the race angle. They focused on her actions, the strictness of the officials, and whether a moment of teenage celebration really warranted stripping a state title and barring her from a second event. These are valid questions. Was it overkill? Probably. Should common sense and grace play a role in high school sports? Absolutely. But none of those points depend on race.
And that’s the real issue. When even family members treat accusations of racism like an obligatory footnote, it dilutes the meaning for everyone. The reflexive use of the term turns what could have been a productive conversation about overzealous officiating into yet another tired episode in a series of unsubstantiated claims.
Officials said Adams was disqualified for unsportsmanlike conduct and were clear in their communication. Clara herself, in a post-race interview, said she felt “robbed,” “in shock,” and disappointed. Understandably so. Being stripped of a title is a harsh consequence for something that wasn’t violent, abusive, or intentionally disruptive. But none of her words leaned on her race. She told her story from a place of personal frustration—not racial victimhood.
And that’s exactly how most people saw it.
The moment wasn’t about racial injustice. It was about whether high school officials sometimes take rules too far. It was about youthful exuberance, questionable judgment, and whether winning athletes deserve a little room to celebrate. But when a term like “racism” is tossed into the mix without cause, it muddies the waters and cheapens the conversations that actually need to happen.
If everything is racism, then nothing is. And when you cry wolf enough times, eventually nobody comes running—even when the wolf actually shows up.
Let’s save the word for when it really matters. Clara deserved better. So does the conversation.
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