Faith, fabric, and fairness: From Philly lifeguard to accidental activist

On her very first day of her very first job, Sa’diyah Steward showed up at the city’s John B. Kelly Pool prepared, excited, and ready to dive in.

What the 16-year-old didn’t expect on that Thursday afternoon, at the tail end of Philly’s first heat wave, was to be thrust into the role of accidental activist.

But that’s what happened after she was told she couldn’t wear the $100 custom swim cover-up her mother had purchased to adhere to their Muslim faith.

There are some discrepancies between the city’s and family’s accounts — who said what, and at what volume. That’s not surprising, given the tension of the moment. But on the core facts, there’s agreement.

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On June 26, the new lifeguard arrived at the Fairmount Park pool in a long-sleeve rash guard and leggings, with a custom ankle-length cover-up designed to be worn outside the water. The Velcro-attached garment could be quickly removed before she entered the pool if there was an emergency.

But somewhere in the middle of her shift, she was told the cover-up wasn’t allowed, even though her mother, Hadiyah Dwyer, saw other lifeguards wearing hoodies and sweatpants (which are against regulations). Sa’diyah was sent home, and a meeting with parks and recreation officials was scheduled for the following Monday.

I spoke with Parks and Recreation Commissioner Susan Slawson and Quaiser Abdullah, the city’s first director of Muslim engagement, after that meeting. And given how often I’ve called out the city’s sprawling (and incredibly well-funded) public information machine, it feels only fair to note their quick and thoughtful response.

Slawson emphasized that Sa’diyah had not been fired and was welcome to return. In a city desperate for lifeguards, “We need her to come back,” Slawson said. “We want her to come back.”

She also noted that the more than two-hour meeting with the family had been scheduled before the Philadelphia chapter of the Council on American-Islamic Relations issued a statement criticizing the city’s handling of the situation and requesting several resolutions, including a full investigation and a formal apology.

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The civil rights and advocacy group said that the alternatives Sa’diyah was offered “undermined any claim that the issue was about fabric or safety” and that she was “forced to choose between her faith and her employment, a choice no worker should ever have to make, especially in Philadelphia, where the Muslim community is foundational to the city’s identity.”

Slawson maintained that the decision came down to safety; every second counts when trying to save a life. (No argument here.) The alternative offered, she added, was a regulation long-sleeve wicking shirt all lifeguards wear, sized up for more coverage.

OK, but policies must be clear, consistently enforced, and fairly applied. Otherwise, they create confusion, resentment, and a sense of exclusion — especially among people already navigating systemic bias, from France’s burkini ban to Donald Trump’s travel ban.

Here’s the thing: When I read the initial story by my Inquirer colleague Earl Hopkins, I was reminded of another incident back in 2018 when a young city basketball player was benched for not having a waiver to wear a hijab. That was seven years ago. And yet, here we are again, talking about making “accommodations” for people as if we’re doing them a favor by respecting their values and beliefs.

I wanted to know: What was going to be done to resolve this situation for a standout young woman who, in June, became the youngest graduate of Montgomery County Community College, earning her associate degree through the dual enrollment program? And what concrete steps would be taken to ensure someone else didn’t find themselves in the same awkward position?

For starters, there was an apology.

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“I apologize,” Slawson told me. “Because whether I thought there was discrimination, and I did not think that there was, if this 16-year-old felt as though we were doing something to make her feel uncomfortable about her religion, about her outfit, that was not the intent. The intent was to make sure she was safe.”

Fair enough, but as the phrase goes, it’s not about the intent, it’s about the impact.

The city says it routinely trains staff on religious sensitivity and antidiscrimination, but Abdullah acknowledged the incident revealed “awareness gaps” that require more work.

“It’s unfortunate this is how it came up,” he said. “Hopefully, folks see that there is genuine intention to really try to balance safety and identity in all of these spaces.”

The short-term fix, he and Slawson said, is modifying standard-issue wicking shirts to suit Sa’diyah. The long-term goal: a city-approved modest swim cover-up.

It’s a great idea, though I’ll admit I winced at the mention of “focus groups” and “stakeholders” in order to do that. Let’s not drown this in red tape. Options already exist: Olympians like Ibtihaj Muhammad and Doaa Elghobashy have competed in full-coverage athletic wear. Sa’diyah’s mother has already partnered with a local seamstress, who created the first cover-up, to fashion a second one from the city-approved shirts.

They just need to know if the department will approve it.

And let’s also make sure that whatever is agreed upon is clearly communicated and applied fairly, so this isn’t just another issue forgotten once the headlines fade.

“Fair, firm, and consistent” is all Sa’diyah’s mother really wants — and that includes making it clear to all pool staff, as I was told park supervisors were doing on Tuesday, that sweatshirts and sweatpants also fall outside the uniform code.

That sounds more than reasonable.

As for Sa’diyah? She told me she is still deciding whether she’ll return to Kelly Pool or lifeguarding at all. Her first day left her upset, confused, and questioning whether it was worth it.

I don’t blame her. But I hope she sees this: By standing firm in her faith and calling the city to account, she’s already made it better for the next Sa’diyah who steps onto that pool deck.