GWS player Haneen Zreika’s decision not to wear the club’s Pride round jumper and therefore not play in round four of the AFLW has brought rise to much debate around the concept of “inclusion”. For a long time sport and AFLW specifically has elevated conversations about inclusion and diversity, but what does that really mean?
Embracing “diversity” necessitates the coexistence of different experiences, beliefs, practices and cultures. The concept of “inclusion” is often described as the ways in which we make our diversity work together. To me, inclusion is respect. Not always agreement, but a functional respect for one another.
By all accounts that is what GWS has achieved, and this moment has provided the perfect litmus test. Had the team not cultivated an environment of inclusivity, understanding and respect, Zreika would not have been able to have this very complex conversation with her teammates. Her teammates would not have accepted her difference. They would not have come to a resolution that, perhaps difficult on all sides, was largely workable for the collective. The long term effects will tell us how deep their culture of respect and inclusion goes, but so far, the signs are good. No doubt there are LGBTQ+ identifying staff and players who would have found Zreika’s refusal to wear the Pride jumper hurtful, but they accepted her choice not to.
The public’s reaction however has been varied. Some have likened Zreika to Israel Folau and Margaret Court. Zreika’s own words tell us they are vastly different. In a statement released late on Friday afternoon, Zreika called for kindness, saying inclusion was about respecting people’s choices “as long as they don’t advocate for hate and division”. By contrast, Folau and Court have very publicly and purposefully spoken out against LGBTQ+ people. In 2019 Folau posted on social media claiming “hell awaits” gay people and has linked the Australian bushfires of 2019 with the legalisation of same sex marriage and abortion. Similarly Court has spoken out publicly in her role as a Pentecostal minister opposing same-sex marriage and condemning transgender athletes. In 2013, Court wrote a letter to a newspaper taking aim at the birth of Australian tennis player Casey Dellacqua’s child in a same-sex relationship.
Zreika’s actions were to opt out of an active, performative allyship, out of respect for her faith, her community and the diverse views amongst them. Perhaps GWS and Zreika’s one misstep was to underestimate the public response to what they presumably thought would be a quiet process of stepping aside, with any hope of avoiding a distraction from the celebrations gone.
There is a temptation to reduce this incident to a simplistic narrative of religious extremism versus liberal left politics. However, what we have been presented with is a real life playing out of the complexity of lived experience and intersectionality. Zreika’s very existence in AFLW as the only Muslim woman playing is a disruption on multiple levels, both within her own communities and in the very white, male AFL landscape. To make a 21-year-old woman of colour the lightning rod for yet another conversation about representation and inclusivity is unreasonable and unfair. It seems Zreika’s teammates are willing to hold judgement. Understanding that they cannot comprehend her lived experience, and trusting her explanation, they are ready to move on. Perhaps we as a public need to take their lead.
For Fahad Ali, a gay organiser in the Muslim community, the issue is largely clear and deeply personal. “There are legitimate reasons for why Haneen may feel like she cannot participate, and not all of them relate to prejudice… Demanding perfection from the people you tokenise is another way of saying that you don’t want any of us at all.”
Still, for many the question lingers: does opting out mean opposition? As someone whose job it is to lead conversations on inclusion, I have a growing unease in which sport in particular frames these conversations. The rise of symbolic and performative allyship has eclipsed what I would call “the real work”. The visibility of marginalised communities is important, no doubt. However sport now asks us to understand inclusion through the prism of themed rounds, performative allyship that is coupled with commercially beneficial outcomes. This moment is showing us the limitations of only understanding respect for one another through one’s public performance of it.
This brings rise to another question – how will the AFLW handle true inclusion of others outside its own community? AFLW, perceivably built with inclusion at its core, appears to have an issue when it comes to the inclusion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander athletes, trans athletes and culturally diverse communities. For years AFLW fans and athletes alike have been asking the white male monoculture of Australian sport to open its doors to the rest of the community. Is AFLW, with its beginnings rooted in mostly white, lesbian, metro culture, ready to do the same? If so, on what terms? If the game is to grow, it will come up against new cultures, communities and beliefs. How will the league and its supporters welcome these new and very different people?
If GWS is an example, the answer is with dignity, a lack of judgement, and with respect at its core.
