At the Adelaide Oval on Thursday night, and in eight other AFL games this weekend, there will be an “activation”. Players, coaches and umpires will link arms in the centre square and the ground announcer will tell us that enough is enough, that we have to stop killing women and that the only acceptable number of dead women is zero. Everyone will bow, the industry will pat itself on the back and the focus will quickly return to the footy.
And absolutely nothing will change. Jess Hill, whose book See What You Made Me Do: Power, Control and Domestic Abuse should be mandatory reading for anyone opining on this issue, repeatedly stresses how performative pieces, platitudes and kicking the can down the road aren’t working any more. Only reforming and properly funding our legal system – from family law to child protection agencies – can ensure accountability for perpetrators, she writes.
The AFL sometimes likes to think it’s at the forefront of these national conversations. At the beginning of the pandemic, in front of cardboard cut-outs, its players took a knee for the Black Lives Matter movement. Again, nothing changed. If anything, the racist abuse directed at players like Eddie Betts got worse.
Taking a knee was easy. Raising a rainbow flag was easy. And linking arms is easy. But in the coming days, the AFL has a decision to make on the future of one of its players. In the current environment, it should be an easy decision. But right now, some of its most prominent voices are hedging. They um and ah their way through the language of pastoral care that so many modern coaches traffic in, all the while deferring to the old trope – the more talented the player, the greater the opportunity for redemption.
Tarryn Thomas is 24 years old. He’s a rare talent. He’s one of those footballers who seems to skate over the turf. He makes a very tough game look easy. He was a high draft pick and a lot of hope and time was invested in him. He’s also currently serving a suspension for alleged threats of violence towards women.
At first, his club, his teammates and particularly his coach circled the wagons. “We’re going to be here for him, no matter what,” his captain said. “He’s a great kid and we’re going to help him through this journey he’s on.” You say things like that, I suppose, until your bosses decide he’s too much work and cut him loose. And that’s what North did. Their president released a statement that was written in actual sentences, that was free of weasel words and that said exactly what needed to be said. Dr Sonja Hood’s letter to members concluded: “I won’t say anything about the woman who brought these allegations to the AFL other than to commend her bravery and the dignity with which she has handled herself throughout this process. She deserved better.”
Around the same time, Nathan Buckley said on radio: “Tarryn still has his issues with attitudes, with communication, and with females. He’s not all bad and I hope he can find his way back to show us his talent at another club.” Indeed, in recent weeks, headlines have begun appearing along the lines of “AFL clubs circling troubled footballer Tarryn Thomas”. And just this week, hours after the prime minister had convened national cabinet and declared a national crisis, Essendon coach Brad Scott urged a compassionate approach. “My view is, he’s a good person,” Scott said. “He’s made some terrible mistakes – he’s the first to admit that. If you keep making the same mistake, there’s an issue, but as leaders we expect young people to make mistakes. So, as an industry, do we just wash our hands and say we’re done with him or do we help him? I prefer to sit in the help camp.”
AFL players get more education than most. They learn about “respectful relationships”. They have access to psychologists at a time when it’s never been harder to get an appointment. And if they’re immensely talented, they get a lot of second chances. The Australian Football Hall of Fame is testament to that. The media career of Wayne Carey is testament to that. That recent appearance of Ben Cousins on The Front Bar is testament to that.
In all the commentary defending Thomas, there’s an almost paternalistic tone, a sense that footy can save him, a watering down of what he’s alleged to have done. Every woman I know who follows the game says the same thing – that the sport has excused and ‘educated’ these men for decades and that now, of all times, is the time to take a stronger stand. On-field activations, candlelight vigils, marches through inner city streets and partnerships with Our Watch are all well and good. Real action, like banning Tarryn Thomas from the AFL, is tougher, more complicated and in this instance entirely warranted.
