Chloé Dygert is facing heavy criticism after riding her competition bike at the UCI World Championships with stickers on the fork blades declaring: “I stand for the truth. I stand with Charlie Kirk.”
Admittedly, we played a role in amplifying both her support and criticism, as we were among the first to report on it. Why did we cover it? Would we have written the same piece if those stickers had said something else?
That’s the kind of gut check we wrestle with daily in today’s volatile political climate, where the boundaries between sport, politics and expression are increasingly fraught. Walking that line of neutrality is never simple. I won’t deny that a story like this is good for our numbers, and numbers keep the lights on. But that’s not why we ran it.
Why Dygert’s act is newsworthy
Dygert’s act was newsworthy for several reasons. Firstly, it challenges the UCI Code of Ethics, which states:
“In dealings with government institutions, national and international organisations, associations and groupings, persons bound by the Code shall remain politically neutral, in accordance with the principles and objectives of the UCI, whenever expressing themselves on behalf of the organisation they represent.”
And:
“Persons bound by the Code shall not undertake any action, use any denigratory words, or any other means, that offend the human dignity of a person or group of persons, on any grounds including but not limited to skin colour, race, religion, ethnic or social origin, political opinion, sexual orientation, disability or any other reason contrary to human dignity.”
Charlie Kirk was a highly polarising political commentator whose views were divisive and offensive to many. Therefore, Dygert’s visible support for him is divisive by design.
Second, her act came just weeks after the UCI condemned pro-Palestine protests at the Vuelta a España as “exploitation of sport for political purposes.” Dygert’s act could very well fall into the same category.
As a decorated and celebrated athlete, Dygert knew the significance of her platform. This wasn’t the subtle act of wearing a cross around her neck as a personal expression of faith. It was a deliberate choice: stickers on the fork blades of her competition bike, placed where cameras and spectators couldn’t miss them. It was a statement designed to be seen.
Of course, everyone is entitled to their opinions. But broadcasting them while racing under the banner of Team USA, on a sponsor-branded bike, at a UCI World Championship is going to have repercussions. The issue isn’t that she has views, it’s that she used one of cycling’s biggest stages to amplify them. Athletes do this all the time, but there are usually consequences like fines, sanctions or reprimands meant to enforce the sport’s concept (or illusion) of neutrality.
Yet, at the time of writing, we’re still awaiting comment from the UCI, USA Cycling, or any organisation or brand affiliated with the rider. And we’re eager to see how the UCI will interpret and enforce its own regulations.
And finally, this is not the first time the 28-year-old American has found herself in hot water. In 2020, Dygert was disciplined and forced by her team to apologise after it came to light that she had liked a series of racist and transphobic posts on Twitter.
All of these reasons make her gesture at Worlds a newsworthy story.
I think it’s totally fair for readers to question our content and intentions. Would we have written the same story if Dygert’s stickers had carried a different message? Say, one of support for immigrants, a comment on the Israel-Palestinian conflict, or even a rainbow flag? I’d like to think yes, yes, and maybe.
I’ll admit that a rainbow flag might not have drawn the same notice, and that’s worth unpacking.
Yes, the rainbow flag is also a political symbol. Originally used in a 1961 peace march against nuclear weapons in Italy, it now represents a movement, a set of values, and advocacy for LGBTQ+ rights. In modern sport, it’s often used as a gesture of inclusivity, unity and human dignity. Teams paint rainbows on helmets, wear rainbow captain’s bands or light up arenas in rainbow colours. Rarely do those acts draw the same criticism Dygert is facing.
The difference lies in perception. A rainbow flag is widely seen as a symbol of unity; an invitation welcoming people into the sport, or a stand against discrimination. Conversely, anything related to Charlie Kirk quickly becomes divisive and exclusive.
By the strict letter of the UCI’s neutrality rule, both could be disallowed. But in practice, one raises questions while the other is considered an acceptable value.
This isn’t a call to ban symbols – rainbow flags, crosses, peace signs and all. It’s to highlight the flaw in the concept of sports neutrality.
As journalists, our responsibility is not to decide which gestures or actions are acceptable, but to report on them when they intersect with the rules and/or draw the interest of fans.
This is a moment where cycling’s values and its governance are being tested. Whether people agree with Dygert’s views or not, her act directly challenges the standards the UCI has set for the sport. Ignoring it would be a dereliction of duty.
The internet’s reaction to Dygert’s gesture has been loud and furious. But what exactly are we so outraged about? Are you angry at us for spotlighting a message Dygert so clearly wanted noticed? Angry at the athlete herself for revealing political allegiances that perhaps clash with your own? Or do you see her as courageous, and you’re frustrated at a world or sport that doesn’t seem to tolerate her freedom of expression?
Outrage often says more about us than it does about the recipient. But in today’s sporting ecosystem, outrage isn’t just an emotion; it’s fuel. It sparks debate, builds and divides communities, drives clicks and feeds algorithms. That is why these types of actions don’t go unreported. And why governing bodies cling to the notion of neutrality. But sports are mere microcosms of the world around them. And when tensions run this high, it inevitably becomes a stage for the bigger cultural battles raging outside of it.
