Klaudia Wittmann Becomes First Rhythmic Gymnast to Speak About Systemic Abuse At German National Training Centre

The Following is an English translation of an interview with G4CI Member Klaudia Wittmann, published in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (Frankfurter General Newspaper) on Mon 08th September 2025.

The ideal is to submit

What image of femininity is imposed on rhythmic gymnasts? Klaudia Wittmann, once among Germany’s top gymnasts, reflects on the lasting impact of constant violence within persistent patriarchal structures.

This spring, when you read other gymnasts’ stories, did you ever think: Yes, that’s exactly what I went through?
Pretty much all of it. Rhythmic gymnastics is just like artistic gymnastics: it’s an individual sport where you form an extremely intense relationship with your coach. Within that relationship, you end up feeling like you’re special. What’s striking about this new wave of stories is that people are beginning to realize that this sense of specialness is also a form of total oppression. Each story is deeply personal, but none of them are isolated experiences. Once you start to see that it’s part of a system—a system where so many people go through the same things—it’s almost a relief. At the same time, letting go of that feeling of specialness is incredibly hard. That’s how it was for me here in England, where the stories were the same as what’s coming out in Germany now.

How did you get into rhythmic gymnastics?
I never made a conscious decision—my mother did rhythmic gymnastics, and so did my older sisters. I was four or five when I competed in my first competitions near Frankfurt. The German gymnasts representing the country back then were my idols. In 2002, some girls dropped out of the junior national team, and I got invited to a trial in Halle. From one day to the next, I packed up and moved there. Thirteen is considered late to make that kind of move, but in hindsight, I think it was good for me.

Did you enjoy it?
The sport gave me a space where I could develop an intense passion. I think that drive, that passion, and a kind of intense determination—one that was also tied to a sense of joy—never really changed, even when I was on the national team.

Looking back, were there any turning points?
Definitely the move to Halle: at 13, I moved in with my coach, someone I had only met once before. The training load increased enormously; I spent far less time in school and had no social life outside of training. The training itself was completely different—the discipline, the way people treated each other. I think what matters in this sport, and what’s tied to the fact that you start so young, is that you’re homesick, you’re hungry, you’re in pain. So, you don’t focus so much on what’s being done to you. There were things I didn’t even notice because I was concerned with much more basic needs.

Was moving to Halle considered an honour?
Certainly. For my home club, it was a huge deal—something that had never happened before. But for me, in the end, the effort outweighed everything. The more successful I became, the less success actually mattered to me. It motivated me, yes, but not in a joyful way—if anything, the higher I climbed, the harder it became for me to recognise what I was doing as something valuable.

Were there things in Halle that didn’t go well?
Absolutely. I had no understanding of social structures, of educational methods, or of how to work with children. Looking back now, everything was very extreme. From the very start, I was taught that confidence—any sense of valuing yourself—was forbidden in this sport. I was told: You’re the worst. You’re the fattest. You’re only here because others are injured. That’s when the weighing began, something I hadn’t experienced before. And living in my coach’s home meant a whole different level of control. We lived—five gymnasts—in two small rooms in an annex: two bedrooms, a tiny toilet, no shower. The psychological pressure was intense. I was very intimidated; I hardly spoke in front of my coach. I’d always been interested in school, and she accused me of putting on a show: Why don’t you talk? Seems like you have so much to say in school. That might sound trivial, but when you’re a 13-year-old girl completely dependent on this person, things like that shape you deeply. That’s when I began to understand how to function in this world—by submitting.

At the time, did you feel something was wrong?
No. I just started training even harder, became technically better as a gymnast, and that was all that mattered. Also, it wasn’t really a secret how I was treated. For example, while preparing for the European Championships 2003, I wasn’t allowed to regularly speak with my mother on the phone.

You weren’t allowed to call your mother at 13?
Yes. And of course, you could ask: what difference does it make to a gymnast’s performance whether she talks to her mother or not? Why would a coach even care? I think it speaks to something fundamental: the goal is to give yourself over to this person entirely and to abandon your own perception, your own views. That’s what you have to learn.

What did you tell your family?
Two years ago, I found a letter I’d written a few months after moving to Halle. In it, I described being at a competition and being told to watch my teammates eat, and then to walk up to one of them and say, Could you give me a spoonful, please? So, yes, I shared things. But the parent-athlete dynamic is its own complex topic. I think it’s important to remember that when a child is on the national team, parents place a lot of trust in the federation and its officials.

You spent another three years at the national training centre in Schmiden. Was it different there?
The living conditions in Schmiden were much better, but the training became even more intense and demanding; and I attended school even less. I have good memories of the first year, but it’s a bit paradoxical: some of the issues that are being talked about publicly now—like eating disorders—definitely became worse there.

In what way?
In Schmiden, it felt like everyone struggled with their weight—because as a gymnast, that was just part of the job—so it wasn’t just me. Starving, purging, or taking laxatives were common practices; I wasn’t only doing that alone. I think every athlete in that structure is confronted with these issues, though that doesn’t mean everyone develops a “standard” eating disorder. These dynamics can show up in other ways, like being unable to eat in front of others. That might sound like a minor thing, but eating together is a deeply important social experience.

How much did your own personal development play a role?
That’s an important point, because around 16, 17, 18 you start wanting to reclaim your own mind. After a change in the management, there were psychological games: I was often thrown out of the gym, there were extreme controls and rules beyond training—like when and how you were allowed to go to the bathroom. I was accused of having discipline problems because I had a boyfriend at 17, 18. In 2007, I was the German all-around champion, but on the very last day of our preparation for the World Championships, the team manager threw me off the squad—supposedly because I was 200 grams overweight. The next day, we were supposed to fly from Berlin to Greece with a stopover in Frankfurt. At the airport, she told me to leave and go home. My national coach also refused to speak to me. I stood there with my bag, not having a clue what to do.

Were you already an adult at that point?
Yes, I was already 18, but what’s striking about situations like that is that after spending weeks at a training camp in Kienbaum, where you don’t live a normal life, you’re completely cut off from the outside world. I didn’t even have a wallet with me, for example.

And then?
A week later, there was an article in SPORT BILD that said: “Gymnast kicked off team for being overweight.” Looking back, I find that telling: back then, the media found it exciting to say someone was dropped from the team for being overweight—even though, medically speaking, I was underweight. The stories gymnasts are sharing today are very similar, but they’re being received differently now. For me, it was clear after that incident that I would quit. I wrote a letter to the German Gymnastics Federation at the time, describing everything that had happened, but I never got a response.

How do you look back on that period today?
Many gymnasts have used phrases like: I was treated like an object. An object that can simply be discarded. Me being kicked out of the team in that manner was exactly that kind of example: in that moment, you realize you’re nothing more than a means to an end. I moved on extremely quickly, left for England immediately after finishing school. A few years later, everything came flooding back; all kinds of symptoms started showing up. That’s when I began psychoanalysis. Looking back, it’s fascinating: you represent your country for five years, earn no money doing it, and come away having learned how to exist in the world only as an object.

Why do you think so many artistic gymnasts have spoken out since 2020, while—with the exception of Italy—almost no rhythmic gymnasts have?
I think part of it is the ideals of femininity that have historically shaped rhythmic gymnastics—they play a different role than in artistic gymnastics. To embody this ideal means learning to submit, to have no critical opinions. Growing up in this sport means existing in a kind of microcosm where the patriarchal structures already present in society are magnified. Another reason may be that rhythmic gymnastics is seen as a marginal sport.

So being a marginal sport is a disadvantage?
I think in order for the sport to be successful, it has to be seen as marginal. In Germany, I don’t think many people would openly say: We stand for these ideals. And they’re very obvious—you don’t need to dig deep. You can just watch a routine and see so many problematic ideals of femininity. On the other hand, rhythmic gymnastics plays an important role in Germany: winning an Olympic gold requires a system; it doesn’t happen because of one individual gymnast. To me, that’s further proof that patriarchal structures are even more deeply entrenched and operational than we realize.

What’s also striking about rhythmic gymnastics is that it’s an almost entirely female sport. How does that play into things?
The fact that there are very few men in the system doesn’t mean patriarchal structures aren’t at play. That is one reason why rhythmic gymnastics fascinates me from a researcher’s point of view: how come that these social dynamics can be so extreme in an almost entirely female environment? I think there’s a particular kind of competition in rhythmic gymnastics, and femininity itself plays a role there: in patriarchal structures, women are set up to compete with each other at a specific level of aesthetics.

Rhythmic gymnastics originated in the Soviet Union, and that tradition has always been very present in Germany. Is there any awareness or critical reflection about its view of women?
I’d say awareness of that has to be absent. Take, for example, Darja Varfolomeev’s ball routine set to Michael Jackson, where the lyrics say: “I am so humble, I can’t contain myself, touch me, don’t hide our love, woman to man.” If you consider what that means from a social-critical perspective—while also knowing that just a few years ago, gymnastics saw the largest sexual abuse scandal in sports history—it all becomes very complicated. That layer of reflection simply can’t exist within the sport. Now, as a 36-year-old woman reflecting on my own experiences, I can see how the sexualization present in my time as well created potentially dangerous situations.

What role does the sport’s origin still play today?
I don’t know to what extent it’s still about the Eastern Bloc. Sometimes I feel it’s something one can hide behind a bit, like, okay, that’s where it comes from. Russia hasn’t competed in the Olympics since 2020; the sport has evolved, the routines look different, the girls look different. If you look at the lyrics used in routines, many are from Western culture and are extremely derogatory toward women—they’re not necessarily cultural references from the Soviet Union. As it’s developing now, I think there’s much more intertwined than people might be willing to acknowledge. One may assume the problems come from the past, but I think they’re just as much a reflection of social structures today.

A lot has been written about the accounts from the Stuttgart gymnasts. How do you perceive that?
Yes, big questions are being raised, structural problems are being highlighted. Attitudes are changing, and that’s why it’s getting attention in the media now. But is this media storm actually helpful? Are we just making a wave that will disappear again, like it has so often before? Or is this something that can become a long-term issue? For example: how could people connect with one another? We’re talking about so many gymnasts who never even made the national team but still experienced the impact of these structures. I do believe that artistic gymnastics and rhythmic gymnastics are changing, but I also think that some fundamental aspects resist change—and those are the points I find most interesting.

The conversation was conducted by Sandra Schmidt.

KLAUDIA WITTMANN: G4CI GERMAN CAMPAIGN MANAGER

Klaudia is a dancer and artist-researcher, currently working on her PhD in gendered oppression in women’s gymnastics. Her research began from the abuse scandal in US gymnastics and expanded to looking at ideological structures of the sport in the UK and Germany. In the early 2000s, she was a member of the German Rhythmic Gymnastics Squad and trained at the national gymnastics training centre near Stuttgart, where she experienced the violent structures of the sport first-hand. She became involved with Gymnasts For Change International while living in the UK during the Gymnasts Alliance Movement of 2020. Her hope is that her research will contribute to exposing the social and cultural conditions which contribute to systemic oppression in the sport.

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If you have been affected by systemic abuse in gymnastics within the German system, please get in touch to join our German Campaign Group.: info@gymnastsforchange.com