When Indian cricket’s match-fixing scandal broke some 16 years ago, there were commissions of inquiry, bans from five years to life, and much breast-beating in the media. Later, an anti-corruption unit was established. A string of names was revealed — from the National captain downwards — which shocked the nation. But there was no law under which the ‘fixers’ could be tried in a court of law. Match-fixing was seen as a victimless crime, unless the victim was the game itself or the faith that fans brought to it.
The cry for a law that would punish the guilty went largely ignored although the Prevention of Dishonesty in Sports Bill was ready in 2001. It wasn’t perfect but it was a start.
Mohammad Azharuddin, who was banned for life in December 2000 won his case in 2012 in the Andhra Pradesh High Court which declared the ban illegal. It didn’t say that he was not guilty, but that he had not been given a proper hearing and the case against him was not properly made.
No clear lawIn 2013, S. Sreesanth made the towel hanging from his trousers a symbol of the fix. He was tried under the Maharashtra Control of Organised Crime Act, the dreaded MCOCA. As expected, the case fell flat. It was no one’s argument that Sreesanth was a terrorist, and the prosecution could make no connection between him and Dawood Ibrahim which was what it set out to do. The Board of Control for Cricket in India was hamstrung by the lack of a clear law.
Azharuddin went on to become an MP from the Congress Party and Sreesanth is contesting as a BJP candidate in the Kerala assembly elections. These players are merely two of the prominent names from among those who were suspected of match-fixing more than a decade apart. Nothing was proved in a court of law.
Both players could make the valid argument that in their new careers, there are murderers and thugs who deserve jail terms more than they might have had they been found guilty. In the hierarchy of human crimes match-fixing does not come anywhere near the top. Yet it undermines the legitimacy of sport and those who indulge in it have no place there. But while laws in Britain have sent to prison those who crossed the line (literally, in the case of the bowler who sent down no balls on command), in India the Parliament is yet to pass a similar bill.
Which is why the National Sports Ethics Commission Bill introduced by Anurag Thakur in the Lok Sabha, a version of two important bills piloted by Justice Mukul Mudgal, must be welcomed. There is hope that legislation might be passed because of Thakur’s double advantage. He is the secretary of the BCCI as well as a member of the ruling BJP.
The bill calls for a 10-year jail term (apart from a life ban) for match-fixing and a fine which is five times the amount of bribery. The shifting of sports from the State list to the concurrent list, as suggested, will ensure uniformity across the land.
The proposed establishment of a National sports ethics body (to handle doping, match-fixing, age fraud, sexual harassment) is long overdue, although we have gone that route before.
Thakur’s bill cherry picks from both the Draft National Sports Development Bill and the Prevention of Sports Fraud Bill, which might work to its advantage. Justice Mukul Mudgal studied the system in 22 countries, and had proposed an ethics commission as well as punishment for those who transgressed. Interestingly, the biggest opposition to the Draft Bill had come from the BCCI which jealously guarded its opacity and lack of accountability then.
Affecting politicians’ interestsOne other problem was it seemed to affect too many politicians across party lines. The limit on the number of terms, the retirement age of 70 and other provisions hit at those who were expected to sign off these privileges. Where such things are concerned, the ruling party and the opposition have spoken with one voice.
It has always been a case of “ask not what you can do for sport, ask instead what sports can do for you.” Visibility and free publicity in high-profile sports (and the temptation of at least the funds in the low-profile ones) have attracted politicians and businessmen alike. Neither was likely to take kindly to loss of power and prestige.
By focusing on the ethics commission, therefore, Thakur might have found a way of getting a bill passed that does not directly affect any of the panjandrums in sport (or Parliament). He still has a battle on his hands though.
Sports associations will not give in easily. The areas of authority will have to be clearly demarcated, especially where doping, for instance, or age-fraud is concerned. Particularly since the bill proposes that coaches and officials be held culpable when the law is broken.
Now yet another start has been made. Few people can object to an ethics commission without appearing to object to ethics itself. There is a delicious irony in the BCCI leading the clean-up.
