The smell of fresh-cut grass welcomes us at Richmond Green Golf Club just north of Toronto. It’s 7:30 AM on a Saturday, and while most weekend warriors are still nursing their coffee, fifteen women stand in a circle, clubs in hand, ready for their weekly ritual.
“Remember, we’re here to have fun,” calls out Pauline Chambers, co-founder of Black Women Golfers Canada. “But also to take up space that was never designed for us.”
The women laugh and disperse to their assigned holes for the morning scramble. Some have been playing for decades; others picked up clubs for the first time this season. All share a common purpose beyond improving their handicaps: transforming golf culture from the inside out.
In a sport where just 3.9% of recreational golfers in Canada identify as Black according to Golf Canada’s 2023 participation report, these women are both anomalies and pioneers. Their mere presence challenges the persistent image of golf as an exclusive bastion of privilege—particularly in Canada, where the game’s history is deeply intertwined with private clubs that once explicitly barred non-white members.
“My father loved golf but couldn’t join the club near our home in Nova Scotia in the 1960s,” explains Denise Williams, 62, the group’s eldest member. “Now I’m playing on courses he could only dream about. That matters.”
Williams takes a practice swing, her form perfect from years of dedication. Twenty yards away, Morgan Cato, 28, watches intently. She started golfing just eight months ago after joining the group through Instagram.
“I work in finance, and the guys are always talking about deals they made on the course,” Cato tells me as we walk to the next hole. “I got tired of being excluded from those conversations—and opportunities.”
The organization began in 2021 when Chambers and co-founder Jameela Williams noticed they were often the only Black women at Toronto-area courses. What started as a casual social media callout has blossomed into a community of more than 100 members across Southern Ontario, with satellite groups forming in Montreal and Vancouver.
Unlike many golf associations focused solely on competition, Black Women Golfers Canada emphasizes accessibility and belonging. Monthly membership fees are kept deliberately low, equipment sharing is encouraged, and members regularly volunteer to teach newcomers.
“Golf isn’t just about hitting a ball into a hole,” explains Williams. “It’s about access to networks, business opportunities, and green spaces that have historically been gatekept.”
Dr. Simon Darnell, associate professor of sport for development and peace at the University of Toronto, sees significance beyond the fairways. “What these women are doing represents a form of spatial justice,” he says. “They’re asserting their right to leisure spaces that have systematic barriers to entry, from economic costs to cultural codes.”
Those cultural codes can be subtle but powerful. Toronto-based golfer Alicia Cox, who occasionally joins the group, recalls being asked if she was “looking for the tennis courts” when arriving alone at an upscale club last summer.
“There’s this constant feeling of having to prove you belong,” Cox sighs. “It’s exhausting.”
The statistics support her experience. A 2022 survey by the National Golf Foundation found that 68% of Black golfers reported experiencing discrimination on courses or in clubhouses—a stark contrast to just 11% of white respondents reporting the same.
Yet change is happening, albeit slowly. Golf Canada launched its Equity, Diversity and Inclusion initiative in 2020, committing $1 million to programs aimed at increasing participation among underrepresented groups. Several major courses have revisited dress codes that disproportionately targeted women and people of color.
“The golf industry is finally recognizing that diversity isn’t just morally right—it’s essential for the sport’s survival,” says Michelle Penney, diversity consultant for Golf Ontario. “With traditional membership models struggling, embracing new communities isn’t optional anymore.”
Back on the course, the morning round concludes with celebratory fist bumps and photos for social media. These images serve a purpose beyond memories—they create visual proof that Black women belong in these spaces.
“My twelve-year-old daughter sees these pictures and now wants to learn,” says member Tanya Ford. “That’s how change happens—one generation sees possibilities the previous couldn’t imagine.”
The group’s impact extends beyond representation. They’ve raised over $15,000 for scholarships to help young women from marginalized communities access golf camps and equipment. Their annual tournament draws corporate sponsors eager to support diversity initiatives while connecting with an engaged community.
As players pack up their gear, conversations turn to next week’s meeting with a local course manager about hosting clinics for teenage girls from nearby Flemingdon Park, a predominantly immigrant neighborhood.
“Some people think we’re just here to play golf,” Chambers says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “But we’re actually here to transform what golf means in Canada.”
The sun climbs higher as the women head to a nearby restaurant for their traditional post-round brunch. Their laughter echoes across the parking lot—a sound becoming increasingly familiar on courses across the country.
For Williams, the group’s elder stateswoman, this represents a full-circle moment. “My father would be amazed to see this,” she says, gesturing toward the diverse group of women. “Not just that we’re playing, but that we’re changing the game itself.”
