ANDREY RUBLEV is furious. The Russian tennis player, ranked eighth in the world among men (and pictured above), will not be allowed to compete at this year’s Wimbledon championships. The All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club, which runs the tournament, has banned Russian and Belarusian players from taking part because of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. All told, five of the top 50 men, including Daniil Medvedev, ranked second, and eight of the best women have been excluded. Yet Mr Rublev opposes the war. In February he wrote “No war please” on a television camera after winning a match. He has described his exclusion from one of tennis’s four prestigious grand-slam tournaments as “complete discrimination”. (Mr Medvedev has been more circumspect, saying little more than “I want peace in all the world”.)
Wimbledon is in a tough spot, caught between political pressure and the sport’s global governing bodies (although Britain’s own Lawn Tennis Association has supported its decision). It has in effect lined up with Britain’s government—which has been vocal in its backing for Ukraine—allowing no room for ambiguity. In the early days of the war, the government insisted that Russian and Belarussian athletes sign declarations attesting to their financial neutrality from the Russian government. Referring to “broader concerns for public and player (including family) safety”, the All England Club did not believe this was a credible option, and elected to impose a ban.
Many in the tennis world are angered. Both Novak Djokovic, six times the men’s singles champion and the world number one, and Sir Andy Murray, who has won twice, argue that Wimbledon is treating Russian players unfairly. The global governing bodies, the Association of Tennis Professionals (for men) and the Women’s Tennis Association, are unhappy, but have limited recourse to action. There is no prospect of a boycott, but it is possible that no ranking points will be awarded for Wimbledon. That would ensure no damage was done to their chances of reaching the lucrative end-of-season finals tournaments. Other tournaments are allowing Russians to compete.
At its heart, the disagreement lies in whether the players should be considered as representatives of their country when they compete. There was no international outcry when Russia’s football team was banned from the World Cup, nor when its athletes were excluded from this year’s Paralympics, even though the players were, as with Wimbledon, being denied the chance to compete in the most prestigious events in their sports.
At the same time, Vladimir Putin has repeatedly used the hosting of international sporting events and Russian sporting success—in athletics, fuelled by an illegal drugs programme—to prop up support for his government and his vision of Russia. When the International Olympic Committee responded to that drug cheating by forbidding Russian athletes to compete as a national team but letting them in under an Olympic banner, it looked weak. It would have been “unacceptable”, the All England club has said, for Mr Putin’s regime “to derive any benefits” from the presence of Russian players.
But there was little question that the footballers, Olympians and Paralympians were representing Russia. Tennis stars, though, primarily represent themselves. Except in team events—the Davis Cup for men and the Billie Jean King Cup for women—there are no countries listed on the scoreboards, nor anthems played. Granted, many fans favour players from their own countries: Mr Djokovic is idolised in his native Serbia. But the stars compete chiefly as individuals.
The All England Club’s worries may have been reinforced by a farcical row that overshadowed the Australian Open, another grand slam, in January, when Australia had strict anti-coronavirus regulations in place. The tournament wanted the unvaccinated Mr Djokovic, the defending men’s champion, to play; the Australian government cancelled his visa on “health and good order grounds”. Mr Djokovic’s deportation from Melbourne airport, rather than anything that happened in the Rod Laver Arena, became the tournament’s defining image. And to add a political edge, the Serbian government regarded Mr Djokovic’s ban as a national affront.
A Russian victory on the Centre Court—unless, perhaps, for Mr Rublev—would have been a profound embarrassment. And not just for the club: Wimbledon is as closely associated with the British establishment as with the British summer. Its patron is the Duchess of Cambridge, a future queen; government ministers appear frequently in the royal boxes. Rather than risk an unseemly quarrel with the government, the club is betting that tennis’s governing bodies will be more easily assuaged. On this, it is probably right, but the ban will remain a noisy distraction.
By The Economist
