Last week, the NSW Government launched a new Multi-Sport Coalition for Primary Prevention, bringing together professional sporting codes and sector leaders to tackle domestic, family, and sexual violence.
The initiative, fronted by Minister for Women’s Safety Jodie Harrison alongside Sport Minister Steve Kamper, Women’s Safety Commissioner Dr Hannah Tonkin, and Our Watch CEO Patricia Kinnersly, was framed as a landmark moment for sport’s role in driving cultural change.
But are women still losing out?
In the government’s media release, South Sydney Rabbitohs CEO Blake Solly declared that sport has “an extremely significant role to play in ensuring that we end domestic, family and sexual violence.” And Western Sydney Wanderers CEO Scott Hudson claimed “football has the power to unite, to educate and to lead by example.”
It’s the welcome kind of language we’ve come to expect. Since 2015, the NRL’s Voice Against Violence program has sent former players into schools and clubs to promote respect and talk about violence prevention. Demand has since surged, with some clubs now requiring players to complete it before taking the field. The program echoes messaging from Our Watch and other prevention leaders, who focus on addressing the root causes of violence, like rigid gender roles and harmful attitudes.
These initiatives matter. But alongside them runs a glaring contradiction.
Many of the same clubs championing prevention still rely on industries that actively fuel domestic violence — most notably gambling and alcohol. In a single year, Australians lost approximately $31.5 billion to gambling, with a report citing devastating impacts on families.
Take the club just a stone’s throw from where I live — Holman Barnes Group, majority owners of the Wests Tigers and operators of Wests Ashfield Leagues Club, reported over $87 million in total yearly revenue with more than $46 million derived from pokies alone. That’s over $126,000 in daily player losses. Their annual report also makes a point of celebrating the hundreds of thousands of units of tap beer and wine sold across their venues.
Wests Tigers also recently made headlines for signing Taylan May after he faced domestic violence charges. May pleaded not guilty to assaulting his wife and breaching an AVO. The charges were dropped when witnesses didn’t appear in court. Allegations included punching his wife in the face and threats such as “I hate you so much that I wouldn’t care if I killed you,” and “I’ll come after you. I’ll come after your family.”
CEO Shane Richardson has called Wests Tigers “a family club with fiercely loyal members.” Defending the decision to sign May, he said “all players deserve a second chance.”
The culture problems at Holman Barnes Group run deeper. In March, board member Vince Tropiano was accused of inappropriately touching a young woman at an AGM, telling her “You’ve been a good girl?” Three directors who questioned the handling of the matter were later suspended or banned. Though their removal was also tied to months of boardroom power struggles after a divisive football review and other squabbles, it shows how sporting clubs often prioritise reputations over women’s safety.
Regardless of boardroom culture, sporting clubs frequently claim to offset harm through investments in community initiatives like junior sports clinics. But these initiatives are totally undermined if they’re built on financial devastation for families and increased risk to women and children.
And even while clubs promote anti-violence campaigns, sometimes the message lands in all the wrong ways. The only comment under one of the NRL’s Voice Against Violence YouTube videos reads: “if bitches want equality they shouldn’t be surprised if a man hits them, bc you know.. were equal right?” The cesspit of online comments aside, it shows how these campaigns often miss those they most need to reach.
If we’re serious about preventing violence through sport, we need to reckon with the real, immediate risks.
The link between gambling, alcohol and domestic violence is well established. While these factors don’t directly cause violence, they can intensify its frequency and severity. Economic abuse is particularly widespread among women partnered with problem gamblers. And when a partner’s gambling losses spiral, the risk of violent retaliation can rise sharply. Alcohol also plays a role, with nearly half of all offenders consuming alcohol or other drugs at the time of the incident, a2ccording to a 2022 review of nearly 200 intimate partner homicides.
As Professor Cathy Humphreys has said, “There is silence in this area.” She argues that while alcohol and drug use escalate the severity of domestic violence, the domestic violence and alcohol and drug sectors remain stubbornly siloed.
As we gear up for another two upcoming State of Origin games, we know that big sporting nights reliably see spikes in domestic violence. And it’s not for a lack of glossy campaigns or anti-DV catchphrases. The issue isn’t sporting culture itself – it’s the embedded funding and sponsorship deals with gambling and alcohol companies that actively drive harm.
Aboriginal advocates such as June Oscar have long recognised alcohol regulation as a powerful prevention tool, calling for increased restrictions to reduce violence. Evidence also shows that poker machine density is linked to rates of domestic and family violence.
Some will dismiss this as ‘wowser’ talk — the old insult levelled at the feminist temperance activists of the 19th century, so-called ‘God’s police,’ for daring to demand regulations that protect women and children. They were mocked for wanting to curb pub hours and raise the age of consent from 12 (yes, you read that correctly).
Edith Cowan, who knew these issues firsthand, once said: “I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that to be called a wowser is something to be proud of.” She acknowledged prohibition was “an impossibility here at the present time,” but believed progress should be made “step by step, and the public must go with us.”
At what cost do we ignore these instincts today? Violence against women is about more than just attitudes; it’s about power, money and accountability. Until sporting codes confront the industries and behaviours driving this violence, not just make statements about it, their messaging will continue to ring hollow.
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