In banning Russian and Belarusian players, Wimbledon bucks the tide in tennis—again

Tennis Channel Live: Wimbledon denies entry for Russian and Belarusian players

In 1968, Wimbledon dragged tennis, kicking and screaming, into a dynamic new era by becoming the first Grand Slam tournament to welcome all qualified players, including previously barred professionals, to compete in the event.

Fifty-four years later, Wimbledon became the first Grand Slam tournament to lock out some otherwise qualified players­—those from Russia and Belarus—in response to Russian president Vladimir Putin’s unprovoked, barbaric invasion of neighboring Ukraine.

In the first instance, Wimbledon officials were visionary. In the second they were not merely smart but, more importantly, right.

We are in the midst of a humanitarian crisis not seen since the end of World War II, with Russian officials and troops carrying out wholesale war crimes as they bomb Ukraine—women, children, and all—into rubble. This time, we cannot fall back on comfortable bromides warning against mixing sports and politics, or cutting slack for tennis players who claim to be indifferent to world affairs. Not when there’s a real possibility that Kate Middleton, the Duchess of Cambridge, could be compelled to award a Wimbledon singles trophy to a player from Russia or Belarus, presenting Putin with a public relations triumph.

For a long time now, trying to keep politics and sports apart has been about as successful as attempting to keep ketchup from French fries. The effort has never looked so wrong-headed, so bankrupt. The reality is that Putin, like many leaders before him, has gloried in and exploited feats performed by Russians on athletic fields, burnishing his own image, along with that of the nation he rules. How else to explain the vast investment in state-sponsored doping programs—schemes that resulted in Russian Olympic athletes having to compete as individuals, rather than representatives of their homeland?

Dmitry Peskov, the Kremlin press secretary, revealed the potent symbolism of sports when he said of Wimbledon’s decision: “Making athletes hostages of some kind of political prejudices, intrigues, hostile actions towards our country, is unacceptable.”

I’m having trouble seeing Daniil Medvedev, Andrey Rublev or Aryna Sabalenka as “hostages,” or the subjects of “hostile actions.” Tennis pros comprise a class of entitled, highly-paid paragons of athletic skill and a profound, necessary selfishness. Whether they like it or not, they are representatives of their respective nations, which is why international tournaments like Davis Cup and ATP Cup exist. It’s part of the deal. The privileged status of elite players can empower them to disdain rules the rest of us must observe, and to skate on responsibilities that we cannot duck. That’s how it works, and it’s OK—until it is not.

Now, finally, it is not. Russian and Belarusan tennis players are being held to the same standard as some soccer stars and elite athletes in other disciplines, as well as other free-range performers, like banned Russian pianists and opera stars. (The upcoming Italian Open in Rome is also being asked to consider a similar ban.) Yet the tennis establishment recoiled in horror after officials of the All England Club announced their decision. In a statement, the ATP heavily criticized Wimbledon, calling the AELTC’s action “unfair.” Apparently the tours believe that removing the tiny flag and national affiliation tag alongside a player’s name at their websites is adequate censure of complicit or indifferent players.

Weighing in on behalf of Russian players, Reilly Opelka—echoing Rublev and a number of other players against the ban—posted a tweet that accused Wimbledon of “discrimination.” You want to see discrimination? Check out the war crimes being committed daily by the Russian forces. You want to see unfair? Take a look at the images on Ukrainian former pro Alexandr Dolgopolov’s Twitter account, @TheDolgo.

“People take the position that sports and politics shouldn’t match and shouldn’t be intertwined, but that’s not the reality,” WTA CEO Steve Simon admitted on a recent episode of The Tennis Podcast. “At times sports does cross into politics and here is a situation where politics is crossing into sports.”

That’s great; now all Simon needs to do is recognize that what is happening is not some little kerfuffle mixing sports and politics. It is war—a brutal, ugly piece of business with existential implications for at least one nation and millions of its inhabitants.

The Russian and Belarusian players have in some ways been agents of their own demise. They might even have saved their places in the Wimbledon draw had they clearly declared their opposition to the war and/or the Putin regime. But the only powerful statement was issued via Twitter by Anastasia Pavlyuchenkova, who wrote, in part, “Personal ambitions or political motives cannot justify violence. . . stop the violence, stop the war.”

That tweet has since disappeared.

Rublev received a lot of attention at the Dubai tournament where, in the early days of the war, he took a marker to a camera lens and scrawled “No War, Please.” But he has since described Wimbledon’s move as “irrational,” and claimed to be the object of “discrimination.” But mostly, the players under discussion have parroted tired cliches about being for “world peace” without mentioning the glaring, towering impediments in the way of achieving that.

Assuming Wimbledon upholds its ban, Medvedev (2022 prize money: $1,973,455), Andrey Rublev ($1,419,369), Victoria Azarenka ($401,410) and about a dozen other top players will miss their chance to earn glory and riches at Wimbledon. The “punishment” turns out to be a few weeks off, during which the sanctioned pros will be free to tweak their backhands, hit the gym and beach, try spelunking or hot-air ballooning—any number of things.

Meanwhile, two of those players’ Ukrainian peers will be engaged in radically different activities. Recently retired young father Sergiy Stakhovsky (career high, No. 31) and Dolgopolov, once ranked as high as No. 13 in the world but now retired at age 33, spend their days buckling into body armor, performing military drills, field-stripping and cleaning their AK-47s and feasting on MRE rations—any of which could be their last—as volunteers in the Ukrainian defense forces.

If you have proverbial tears to shed, don’t waste them on Medvedev and company. Save them for the people of Ukraine.