Four decades ago, during my playing days, there was an unwritten rule: don’t mix politics with sport. Cricket, we believed, was sacred ground — immune to the tides of geopolitical tension. Sport, like the Olympic Games envisioned by Pierre de Coubertin, was meant to transcend borders, race, and religion — a unifying force in a divided world.
But that world has changed.
Today, politics and sport are inextricably linked — not by design, but by compulsion. From Olympic boycotts during the Cold War to FIFA bans and UEFA sanctions, sporting bodies have increasingly had to take political stands when global peace and human rights are at stake. And rightly so. No game is worth more than human life.
That is why the Board of Control for Cricket in India’s (BCCI) recent decision to boycott Asian Cricket Council (ACC) events, following a fresh wave of terror attacks in Jammu and Kashmir, is not only justified — it’s overdue.
In April, 26 innocent civilians were massacred in a brutal terrorist attack in Pahalgam, perpetrated by Pakistan-trained militants. This wasn’t an isolated incident — it was part of a decades-long pattern of cross-border terrorism. It is increasingly clear that Pakistan has institutionalized terrorism as a state policy while donning the garb of a cricketing nation. How long must India continue to play a gentleman’s game with a rogue state?
As a symbolic but significant step, India is now reconsidering its participation in all ACC events, including the Women’s Emerging Teams Asia Cup in June and the Men’s Asia Cup slated for September. “We can’t play in events run by the ACC when its boss is a Pakistani minister. That’s how people in India feel,” a senior BCCI official reportedly said. And rightly so.
The irony is hard to miss. The ACC’s chairman is none other than Najam Sethi, a serving Pakistani government functionary. Can one expect neutrality and fair play from a council run by representatives of a nation that openly abets terrorism? Should India lend legitimacy to such a farce by participating?
The financial stakes are undeniably high. India-Pakistan matches are among the most watched in the world. In 2024, Sony Pictures Networks India paid $170 million for an eight-year Asia Cup broadcast deal. If India pulls out, the economics of ACC events will crumble. Sponsorship revenue, viewership ratings, and ad deals — most of which are driven by India’s massive market — will collapse like a house of cards. But some costs are worth bearing.
In 2023, India refused to travel to Pakistan for the Asia Cup, forcing a hybrid model where matches were relocated to Sri Lanka. Pakistan failed to make the final; India lifted the trophy. Similarly, in the 2024 ICC Champions Trophy, India again avoided Pakistan, playing its matches in Dubai and winning the tournament. The message is clear: we can win without playing on enemy turf, without legitimizing terrorism.
History offers a compelling parallel. During the apartheid era, South Africa was ostracized by the International Cricket Council (ICC), with full support from the global sporting community. No team played South Africa for over two decades, until it dismantled its racist regime. Sport became a tool for global justice, and it worked.
Why, then, should Pakistan be treated differently?
The time has come for cricket boards, broadcasters, sponsors, and fans to ask a hard question: Can cricket be put above national interest? Can we keep shaking hands on the field while coffins are lowered into the ground back home?
India must lead by example — and it is doing so. Just as the world once boycotted apartheid-era South Africa, it is time to consider a sporting boycott of Pakistan, not out of hatred, but on principle. The ICC must act and impose a ban on Pakistan as long as it allows its soil to be used for terror training and as a hub for extremist networks. The world knows that this rogue nation nurtures terrorism and exports violence, and it should have no place in global sport. Until Pakistan chooses peace over proxy war, its cricket team must be shown the red card.
Let sport be a symbol of unity, not a smokescreen for terror.
