In a country where formal complaints of abuse in sports are virtually non-existent, the question isn’t whether abuse happens; it’s why no one reports it. This isn’t because athletes are living in a vacuum of safety; it is because the system fails to inspire even the basic confidence required to make a report.
Interviews with stakeholders across Pakistan’s sports landscape point to a deeper problem: most athletes do not know the reporting system exists at the Pakistan Olympic Association (POA). And of those who do, very few believe it will protect them. In practice, the system is not only underutilised-it is unknown, underfunded, and untrusted.
This absence of trust is not without reason. The existing mechanism is nested within the POA, but it has not been incorporated into the regulatory frameworks of the Federations. As such, there is no firewall, no separation of powers, and no assurance of impartiality. Victims who report abuse may be exposing themselves to the same people responsible for their selection, promotion or continued presence in the sport.
The lack of independence is only one problem. There is also the question of accessibility. Even athletes who do want to report abuse must navigate a process that is bureaucratic and opaque, even in POA. Complaints are first received by a subcommittee, then escalated to the full committee. There is no clear timeline for responses, no published procedures, and no visible case resolutions. In a context where fear and stigma already suppress reporting, such hurdles only worsen the silence.
Contrast this with how effective reporting mechanisms are structured in countries like the United States, the United Kingdom, and Austria. Each of these nations has either created or is in the process of developing a single, independent, and empowered institution to handle abuse in sport. These bodies are backed by legal mandates and have access to trained professionals-lawyers, psychologists, investigators-who are not embedded within the sporting federations themselves.
Take the U.S. Centre for SafeSport. Established by federal law in 2017, it now handles thousands of reports annually. More than 10,000 cases have been received since its inception, and the organisation has trained over two million individuals through its online learning modules. It operates entirely independently from the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee and has the authority to ban individuals from sport permanently. The model is not perfect, but it has clearly gained public trust-something Pakistan’s system desperately lacks.
Professionals like psychologists, lawyers and mediators from outside the sports world have been approached to serve but declined due to the undefined scope, lack of compensation, and limited institutional support.
In Austria, Safe Sport Austria was born out of public reckoning after former Olympic skiers went public with stories of long-hidden abuse. There, too, the key to credibility was independence. The organisation is supported by the federal government, works with psychologists, and gives victims the freedom to decide whether and how to pursue their complaints. Confidentiality, legal clarity, and victim agency are all built into the process. The structure is not reactive but preventive.
The United Kingdom initially took a multi-channel approach, relying on helplines, federations, and local authorities. But that scattered system has now been called into question, especially after the release of the Whyte Report on British Gymnastics, which uncovered widespread emotional and physical abuse. The UK’s response has been to centralise safeguarding through a pilot program called Sport Integrity-an independent reporting and mediation service for athletes in Olympic and Paralympic sports.
What these countries demonstrate is that when victims believe in the system, they are more likely to come forward. And when they do, institutions can begin to understand the scope of the problem and respond meaningfully. But a system that receives no complaints is not a sign of success. It is a symptom of failure.
Pakistan’s system suffers from additional challenges. There is no statutory backing for sports-specific safeguarding. The committee operates informally, with no allocated budget. Participation is voluntary and often seen as symbolic. Professionals like psychologists, lawyers and mediators from outside the sports world have been approached to serve but declined due to the undefined scope, lack of compensation, and limited institutional support.
In effect, the mechanism functions as a passive offering. It waits for a complaint to arrive, rather than actively working to create an environment where athletes feel safe and supported. It does not educate, it does not intervene, and it does not campaign. Without active visibility and credibility, the system will continue to exist in form but not in function.
This is particularly concerning in a country like Pakistan, where the cultural context already discourages speaking out. For many female athletes, reporting abuse is simply not an option. The consequences are too high. Parents may pull daughters out of sports. Federations may blacklist complainants. Teams may silently withdraw support. In such an environment, only a system that offers protection, anonymity, and results can make a difference.
Interviews conducted during this research make this clear. One official acknowledged that national federations have shown resistance to adopting the POA’s safeguarding mechanism. Another pointed out that even when educational seminars are offered, attendance is low and follow-up is rare. A third described how athletes hesitate to talk, even off the record, for fear of losing future opportunities.
Perhaps the most telling insight came from Professor Kari Fasting, a leading global scholar on abuse in sports, who emphasised that reporting systems must be rooted in trust, not just protocol. The issue, she explained, is not only about infrastructure but about perception. Athletes must feel that the system exists to serve them, not to protect institutions.
Pakistan’s current system does neither. It is administratively fragile, legally unsupported, and culturally unconvincing. Yet it does not have to stay this way.
In the final article of this series, we will examine what Pakistan can realistically do to design a safeguarding framework that works. This is not just about importing best practices; it is about adapting them to our own context, with a focus on legal reform, governance restructuring, awareness, and survivor empowerment.
The silence is not accidental. It is the result of a system that offers no place to turn. That, more than anything, must change.
The writer is a civil servant and volunteers for sports organisations’ management.