Channel 7 wins exclusive rights to host Esports World Cup 2025
As part of a landmark agreement, Seven will broadcast the global tournament live and free on 7plus Sport, starting on Thursday, July 10 at 9pm and going through until August 25.
Taking place in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, EWC 2025 pits the world's top esports clubs and more than 2000 elite players against one another for a share of US$70 million: the largest prize pool in esports history, with the most popular games in the tournament to be broadcast exclusively live and free on 7plus.
EWC 2025 features 24 of the biggest esports titles in the world, including Counter Strike, League of Legends, DOTA, MLBB, PUBG and Honor of Kings, with millions of people expected to tune in around the world during the seven-week event.
Teams from across the Asia-Pacific region are competing, including Gen G, Talon and Team Secret.
Seven's coverage will include EWC's opening ceremony, with a live performance from American singer and long-time gamer, Post Malone, and EWS Spotlight, a two-hour live show featuring the biggest moments of EWC, including the thrilling finals across Friday, Saturday and Sunday each week.
Seven's tournament coverage kicks off with teams going head-to-head in Apex Legends and Fatal Fury.
The tournament will be streamed live and free on 7plus Sport until Monday, 25 August 2025.
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Sydney Morning Herald
12 hours ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
There are plenty of shows talking footy – this one takes on the AFLW
AFL broadcaster Kate McCarthy, who joined Seven's commentary crew in 2024 following a playing career with the Brisbane Lions, St Kilda and Hawthorn, takes a 'holistic' view of the women's game in light of reports it is suffering annual losses of $50 million. As co-host of Talking W, Seven's AFLW answer to the now defunct Talking Footy, McCarthy says there are more important markers of sporting success than money. 'When you invest in something, you invest in it for the long run,' she says. 'If you sit back and think of the impact that women's football has had, it's been far greater than the financial returns … If you look at it holistically, that it's here to stay – and the AFL have been very strong in their discussions about that – it's got huge momentum.' Launched last year to plug a gap in longer-form AFLW analysis, Talking W covers the 10th AFLW season with a different line-up. McCarthy's original co-host, former Adelaide player and Australian Survivor contestant Abbey Holmes, is taking a break after the birth of her baby in June. In her place is former Fox Footy reporter Riley Beveridge. 'We wanted to have a show that was covering the women's side of things and to be able to analyse and critique, or talk about the positives of women's football and AFLW because there hadn't been a lot of coverage from these sorts of shows on networks,' says McCarthy. 'We have plenty of football shows dedicated to men's football, and Seven was really keen on having one that was dedicated to women's football as well. To be able to build on what we created last year is going to be important.' In a sign of the continuing evolution of TV footy chat, which has been steadily moving away from male-dominated formats, Seven's footy show slate has shifted this year. Instead of Talking Footy, there are two new shows: The Agenda Setters (with Craig Hutchison, Kane Cornes, Caroline Wilson and Nick Riewoldt) on Mondays and Tuesdays on 7plus, and Hamish McLaren's Unfiltered on Wednesdays on Seven. The latter follows the decade-old Front Bar at 8.30pm, with Mick Molloy, Sam Pang and Andy Maher. 'I've only worked in really respectful environments,' says McCarthy. 'The men or women that I've worked with have done it in a way where there hasn't really been any of that locker room talk, or talk where it would be not accepted. We've moved past that now as a footballing community.' McCarthy also welcomes the perspective her new co-host Beveridge will bring. 'We have done the round so far together on and Riley is a fantastic analyst and very well versed across both men's and women's football, and has been since season one of women's football,' she says. 'So it's going to be great to be alongside him … It's important to have diverse voices.'
The Age
12 hours ago
- The Age
There are plenty of shows talking footy – this one takes on the AFLW
AFL broadcaster Kate McCarthy, who joined Seven's commentary crew in 2024 following a playing career with the Brisbane Lions, St Kilda and Hawthorn, takes a 'holistic' view of the women's game in light of reports it is suffering annual losses of $50 million. As co-host of Talking W, Seven's AFLW answer to the now defunct Talking Footy, McCarthy says there are more important markers of sporting success than money. 'When you invest in something, you invest in it for the long run,' she says. 'If you sit back and think of the impact that women's football has had, it's been far greater than the financial returns … If you look at it holistically, that it's here to stay – and the AFL have been very strong in their discussions about that – it's got huge momentum.' Launched last year to plug a gap in longer-form AFLW analysis, Talking W covers the 10th AFLW season with a different line-up. McCarthy's original co-host, former Adelaide player and Australian Survivor contestant Abbey Holmes, is taking a break after the birth of her baby in June. In her place is former Fox Footy reporter Riley Beveridge. 'We wanted to have a show that was covering the women's side of things and to be able to analyse and critique, or talk about the positives of women's football and AFLW because there hadn't been a lot of coverage from these sorts of shows on networks,' says McCarthy. 'We have plenty of football shows dedicated to men's football, and Seven was really keen on having one that was dedicated to women's football as well. To be able to build on what we created last year is going to be important.' In a sign of the continuing evolution of TV footy chat, which has been steadily moving away from male-dominated formats, Seven's footy show slate has shifted this year. Instead of Talking Footy, there are two new shows: The Agenda Setters (with Craig Hutchison, Kane Cornes, Caroline Wilson and Nick Riewoldt) on Mondays and Tuesdays on 7plus, and Hamish McLaren's Unfiltered on Wednesdays on Seven. The latter follows the decade-old Front Bar at 8.30pm, with Mick Molloy, Sam Pang and Andy Maher. 'I've only worked in really respectful environments,' says McCarthy. 'The men or women that I've worked with have done it in a way where there hasn't really been any of that locker room talk, or talk where it would be not accepted. We've moved past that now as a footballing community.' McCarthy also welcomes the perspective her new co-host Beveridge will bring. 'We have done the round so far together on and Riley is a fantastic analyst and very well versed across both men's and women's football, and has been since season one of women's football,' she says. 'So it's going to be great to be alongside him … It's important to have diverse voices.'
Sydney Morning Herald
12 hours ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
From falling in love to a ‘rude awakening': Tracey Holmes reflects on 25 years
This story is part of the August 16 edition of Good Weekend. See all 14 stories. Despite being on TV, I am not a TV watcher. Maybe that's why I have never shared in the over-the-top adoration of people who work in the industry. It is just another job. Nobody who works in TV is flying to the moon and back. None of us are solving homelessness, poverty or cancer. None of us are ending war. One day, I was sitting at the Channel Seven staff canteen with one of the producers of the Sydney Olympics magazine show The Games when I saw the host of the network's current affairs show, Today Tonight, walk by. I'd seen him before, but he'd always kept to himself and had a way of looking that said, 'Leave me alone, I'm busy.' I said to my lunch companion, 'That's Stan Grant, isn't it? He's pretty good-looking, isn't he?' As he walked by, I called out, 'Hey, Stan.' 'Oh, no, don't,' said my colleague. 'We've just voted you the best-looking guy here,' I said. 'Oh, thanks,' he laughed as he kept walking with his bagged sandwich. Stan was embarrassed, my colleague was embarrassed, I didn't think much more of it. A couple of months later, I was told I had to go and get some publicity shots done with the Olympic torch because I would be going to cover the lighting of the flame at ancient Olympia in Greece. I didn't know Stan would also be sent. The photos were taken without much discussion. The day of our departure arrived, and I met the team at the airport. Stan had ensured he wasn't seated next to the rest of us, preferring to keep to himself and read the pile of books he always travels with. During one of the stopovers, I wandered over to him to ask what he was reading. So began one of our many discussions about philosophy, psychology, history, the state of the world, and everything else that makes the globe tick. Those conversations continue to this day. Forget the irrelevant part of Stan's looks; I'd fallen for his mind. We told our bosses at Seven that we were moving in together. We said that while it carried sadness, given the end of Stan's marriage to Karla and the inevitable challenges for his three kids – Lowanna, John and Dylan – we were convinced that in the long run we were doing the right thing and that our relationship would work. The Seven Network was not happy. The next day, our relationship was leaked to the media. We were stalked constantly by paparazzi. A manager called us into his office and told Stan, 'It might be time you go back to your tribe.' Photographers would hide out in our neighbour's yard, trying to take photos over the fence through our bathroom window. We were run off the road. At one point, I swear photos of us knocked Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman off newspaper front pages and magazine covers. The Daily Telegraph even ran a poll asking readers whether they supported us. What does that tell you? When else have you seen a poll asking whether a couple – who had ended other relationships so they could be together – had the support of the public? But apparently our relationship was different. Meeting after meeting was called with what seemed like everybody in the organisation who had the word 'manager' or 'executive' in their title. A manager called us into his office and told Stan, 'It might be time you go back to your tribe.' This to-ing and fro-ing went on for weeks. There was a full-day publicity photo shoot planned for all the Seven staff who would be working on the Olympic Games coverage. It was clear plenty of my colleagues had suddenly decided I was poison to be around. They kept a wide berth. Many of these former colleagues reached out afterwards to tell me that in private they had defended me and Stan. Yeah, sure. The support I did receive was from some of Australia's greatest Olympians, including Dawn Fraser, Murray Rose, Herb Elliott and Ron Clarke. The Lithgow Flash, Marjorie Jackson-Nelson, who went on to become governor of South Australia, said to me at the publicity shoot that if Stan and I wanted a quiet weekend away, we would be welcome at her place. I booked tickets. The airline happened to be an Olympic sponsor, and somehow the head of Seven's sport and games coverage was alerted to the fact that Stan and I would be heading to Adelaide. It was after 11pm when he rang me at home, waking the three kids, who lived with us during the week. He told me that Stan and I were not to travel together, and if we did, he would make sure the papers photographed us, piling further hell on our relationship. I suggested he was my boss, not my father, and I would do what I wanted with whom I wanted on my weekend off. We flew to Adelaide. A News Corp photographer was there to greet us. Our photos appeared not long after, with the associated over-hyped scandalous tone we had come to expect. When it was clear Stan and I would not be dissuaded from continuing our relationship, Kerry Stokes invited us to separate meetings at his North Sydney office. He told me that until the Olympics were over, Stan and I were to be separated. For the next few months, he was going to send me to the US, 'where you can sit there and do interviews with Marion Jones and all the other American Olympic stars'. I told him I had no intention of sitting out the next few months in the US, and if that was what he was planning, he could have my resignation there and then. He said, 'You'd never give up a job in television.' I told him I just did. As I made my way to the door, he suggested that if I went to see a lawyer, he would make sure I never worked in television again. I let him know that's exactly where I was heading. Stan's meeting went much the same way. Despite Stan and I being two of the highest-profile presenters at the network in whom they had invested heavily, Kerry Stokes had decided the two of us together were bad for business. That's OK. We decided his business was one we needn't be a part of. The lawyer we chose to represent us was awesome. Having both resigned, Stan and I thought that chapter of our lives was over. We woke up the next morning to headlines saying Seven had sacked us. Because I'd grown up in numerous locations with friends of every colour and nationality, my perceived reality of Australia was somewhat distorted. I knew there was racism but had no idea how pervasive and ever-present it was. From the newspaper poll asking whether the public supported us, to shop assistants who spoke to Stan's family members like they were inhuman, I had a rude awakening. Two of Stan's nieces joined me on a trip to a bread shop on Sydney's northern beaches one morning so I could buy some rolls for lunch. I gave my order and the shop assistant put the items on the counter. Stan's nieces picked them up. 'Put them down!' the shop assistant yelled. 'Those are not yours.' I informed her the two girls were with me. She didn't apologise. She certainly blushed. Later the same day, we went to a coffee shop overlooking the water at Palm Beach. Along with Stan's sister-in-law, who is also Indigenous, I went to place our order. After the waitress asked what I wanted, I ordered and then looked across to Stan's sister-in-law so she could add her family's order. 'I didn't ask you,' the assistant said. For the second time that day, I said, 'She's with me.' After Stan left Seven, he wrote his first book and was offered a job at CNN, and I had our son Jesse. He was six weeks old when we moved to Hong Kong for Stan's job, with his two older brothers joining us as soon as we found a home to settle in to. That was the year of relationships ending, a new one beginning, resigning from our jobs not knowing where the next ones would come from, becoming parents together, and moving to a foreign land. What a year. After many years overseas, we came back so John, Dylan and Jesse could do their HSC in Australia after being at schools in Hong Kong, Beijing, Abu Dhabi and Dubai. Jesse, our youngest, had been in an advanced maths class at one of the most incredible schools on the planet, the Western Academy of Beijing. Back here, without testing, he was put into the lowest maths class in his year. When I queried the decision, I was told the school had learnt through experience that Indigenous kids didn't really like maths and weren't very good at it. That was just one example of many such experiences that revealed a level of judgment our family received based purely on race. Despite being fee-paying parents, our boys were often scolded with 'Be careful, son. Your scholarship could end.' It was a way of controlling the small number of Indigenous kids more ruthlessly than their counterparts. Once it became better known that our boys were not on an Indigenous scholarship, they were then told they couldn't attend the Aboriginal boys' barbecue on Friday nights. Somehow, Aboriginality was defined by means testing. We had imagined things might have changed in the decade or more that we were away. Sadly not. Stan and I both resigned from the ABC in 2023 after he was subjected to the most appalling racism week in, week out, with the ABC offering little to no support. All of this played out during the Voice referendum asking Australians whether they would say yes to recognising Indigenous people in the nation's constitution. During the lead-up to the vote, David Adler – the co-founder of Advance (a right-wing lobby group) and president of the Australian Jewish Association – repeatedly raised the colour of my husband's skin. It took off on social media. I was bombarded with messages accusing Stan of artificially darkening his skin. I still frequently get messages referring to 'Tan Grant'. It's no wonder the ABC did not know how to support Stan through this. As the racism review into the ABC in 2024 revealed, it is endemic there. This type of racism has been unrelenting during our marriage, and I know throughout Stan's life. It is cruel and hurtful, yet we know there are far more good people who have supported us – both at work and in the public. During the worst of it, Stan and I went out to get our morning coffee. We were really touched to see people had put signs up on telegraph poles throughout the suburb with the hashtag, #IStandWithStan. Similar signs were put on notice boards and outside elevator shafts at the ABC. Whenever they were pulled down, they would miraculously reappear by the next morning. After the FIFA Women's World Cup in 2023, I took time out to travel with Stan while he was doing some work in Denmark. It was a much-needed respite. While there, I emailed one of the ABC news executives and told him I would volunteer for one of the redundancies that were being handed out. He refused. So I resigned, giving one month's notice. Four weeks later, I went in to edit the last edition of my weekly one-hour sports politics program, The Ticket. While in the studio, I recorded a short video saying how excited I was to be covering my 14th Olympic Games in Paris 2024, although it wouldn't be for the ABC since I was finishing up in a couple of days' time. I posted it to social media. About an hour later, I got a strange message from the head of news suggesting we talk before I made any decision. But the decision was already made, and he knew it. When I showed the message to one of my colleagues, she asked whether I had forgotten to tell him I was resigning. 'Why is he mentioning this now?' she asked. 'Because,' I said, 'I reckon News Corp has reported it; it's the only thing management responds to.' She went on to and there it was: Stan Grant's wife, Tracey Holmes, has resigned from the ABC. Sam Kerr's bad night An hour before kick-off in Australia's first match as host of the 2023 FIFA Women's World Cup, news broke that the Matildas' much-loved captain, Sam Kerr, would miss the game with a previously undisclosed calf injury. When I think back now to all the camera cutaways of Kerr sitting on the bench during the match, I ask myself what was running through her mind, given the secret she had been harbouring with far greater consequences than a mere calf injury. The national coach, Tony Gustavsson, looked pale at the post-match press conference. Despite the Matildas winning 1-0, he was peppered with questions about the secrecy around Kerr's injury. Was it so the fans still turned up – a money decision? How bad was the injury? How long would she be out? What chance would Australia have to finally win a World Cup without Kerr playing? These questions, so newsworthy at the time, would appear insignificant seven months later when it became public that she'd been charged with a criminal offence. Loading In early 2023, just months before the World Cup and the Matildas' biggest opportunity for silverware success, Kerr had been involved in a drunken, abusive, violent incident with a London cab and a police constable before spending a night in a cell, originally charged with criminal damage to the taxi before she sobered up and agreed to pay repair costs. A second charge of racially aggravated harassment was still to come. Presumably, with the advice of those closest to her – bad advice in my opinion – Kerr decided against telling those who pay her salary as the national captain about the incident, even though she was at the heart of a nationwide marketing and publicity campaign ahead of the biggest women's sports event in history. I cannot imagine what the weight of such an enormous pressure would feel like. Then again, maybe Sam didn't feel any pressure at all. It was another night out, got out of hand, but so what? And what business is it of anyone's anyway, least of all a bunch of suits sitting in head office somewhere, who she'd much rather never have to speak to. I like Sam Kerr's spunk. I like it that she is not afraid of anybody, will give as good as she gets – and then some. Kerr has a testy relationship with the media, alongside what is perceived to be her 'if I have to' attitude to Football Australia. She bristles if a press conference takes her in a direction she doesn't want to go. Media analysis of the team's performance, if not complimentary, seems to sit inside her turning acidic. Kerr was named captain of the national team ahead of the 2019 FIFA Women's World Cup in France. The Matildas had been criticised for a sub-par performance in their opening game to Italy, which they lost 1-2, but came back to beat heavyweights Brazil 3-2. As captain Kerr put it in a post-match interview: 'You know, there was a lot of critics talking about us, but we're back, so suck on that one.' Quick as a flash, the crew at retro clothing brand Futbol Cult printed up T-shirts with the words 'Suck on that one'. I joined thousands of others who bought one. Why? I like her spunk. I like that she is not afraid of anybody, will give as good as she gets – and then some – and will stand up for her crew. But witty banter and jovial one-upmanship can easily turn that great Aussie barometer, the pub test; instead of seeing humour, they start to see an attitude problem. Four years after her captaincy debut, with a home World Cup to play, captain Kerr was now a multimillion-dollar player. She was a star striker for Chelsea in the UK's Women's Super League, had a million-dollar contract with Nike and had been named by ESPN as Australia's most influential sports star (male or female), while others ranked her the most influential athlete in women's sport. A Nike executive said she was so marketable because she was so humble. Humility is not a word I would choose to describe Sam. Her quietness in a room of people she neither knows nor trusts is more a sign of the guarded lion, sizing up her environment before having to pounce. As the World Cup began a month-long celebration in Australia, Football Australia had been counting the money pouring through the gates. Kerr was very much at the centre of the marketing strategy. The highest-selling piece of merchandise for Football Australia was the Kerr jersey emblazoned with her number 20, more popular than those of the Socceroos. In some ways, though, the extra demands put on Kerr's shoulders might have fuelled a deep resentment burning inside her. She was a star footballer who just wanted to play, not have to deal with all the extracurricular activities demanded of her. The construction of the Matildas story reached almost mythical proportions in 2023, given they had never come close to winning a World Cup or an Olympic gold medal. It all could have splintered into a thousand pieces if headlines emerged during the World Cup connecting captain Kerr with a drunken vomit in a taxi, an argument over the fare, a smashed window, and the less-than-humble video of her calling a cop 'f---ing stupid and white' while flashing her bank balance and declaring, 'I'm not paying for f---ing some f---ing dodgy c---'s window' and that she would 'get the f---ing Chelsea lawyers on this'. When it emerged, video of the exchange went viral, circling the globe faster than an Elon Musk satellite. The first the public (and the media) knew of it was early in the afternoon of Monday, March 4, 2024, London time, when a journalist from the UK's Daily Mail happened to be sitting in courtroom number five, at the Kingston-upon-Thames Crown Court in south-west London, waiting to see if any interesting cases were being heard that could make for a good story. Boy, did he find one. One name is read out by the clerk of the court and suddenly the reporter is wide awake. 'Samantha Kerr, you are charged on this indictment with racially aggravated intentional harassment, alarm or distress.' The surprise of the public was only surpassed by the surprise of officials at Football Australia (FA). It was early the next morning, Australian time, when the news filtered through. Still celebrating in the afterglow of the 2023 FIFA World Cup, FA CEO James Johnson and Matildas coach Tony Gustavsson were scheduled to announce a two-match series against China to be played in Adelaide and Sydney in the lead-up to the Paris 2024 Olympic Games. The Kerr headlines completely overshadowed the announcement. Both Johnson and Gustavsson admitted the first they knew of the Kerr arrest was when they saw the news at the same time as everybody else. The media, cynical after the secrecy around Kerr's World Cup injury, weren't sure the football officials were telling the truth. Whispers that started to spill out from HQ began to make clear that they were being honest. The relationship with Kerr was barely functional: FA didn't know Kerr was injured ahead of the World Cup, let alone that she'd been charged with a criminal offence. What else didn't they know? Who was running this operation? The tail, it seemed, was wagging the dog all over the place. Publicly, FA were supporting Kerr, but privately they were fuming. They wanted answers to some questions of their own, but would be kept waiting for more than 48 hours before getting the chance to talk to the player herself. Interaction between Kerr and FA is clearly on her terms, not theirs. Kerr's team would argue she was not a playing member of the Matildas at the time the news broke, so she owed them nothing. She was also recovering from knee surgery, which was preventing her playing for her club in England. However, in today's sporting environment, the promotional aspect of captaincy doesn't work that way: whether she was playing or not, Kerr was always referred to as the captain of the Matildas, and brand-building for prestige and commercial return (to both the player and FA) doesn't stop. Despite her injury, Kerr was expected to play a similar role at the Paris Olympics to the one she performed during the early stages of the 2023 FIFA World Cup, a leadership role from the bench. Having her in the team was good for the group, it was said, whether she was playing or not. FA held an emergency board meeting to address two separate issues. It had to confront the very real situation that an Olympic Games campaign might be derailed by Kerr's unresolved legal case and, secondly, whether Kerr's captaincy should be stripped. In early 2025, a seven-day criminal trial in London's Kingston Crown Court finished with the jury's unanimous decision that Kerr was not guilty of racially aggravated harassment. Her star lawyer, Grace Forbes, had argued that Kerr and her partner, Kristie Mewis, had feared for their lives before smashing their way out of a taxi which had delivered them to Twickenham police station. The two women said they believed they were being taken hostage. There is plenty written elsewhere about the merits of the case – whether it should have gone to court at all; whether Kerr, who identifies as a lesbian and a white-Anglo-Indian, was in a subordinate power-play against a white police constable in a force which had been found by an independent review in 2023 of being 'institutionally racist, misogynistic and homophobic'. Questions have also been asked whether Kerr's power and privilege as one of the most recognised footballers on the planet were superior to that of a lowly paid police constable – no matter what his colour. Her behaviour in the police station, abusing a cop, flashing a bank balance, threatening the police with the might of the Chelsea lawyers, did not resemble that of someone afraid for her life, but someone who knew she had access to all the money and legal power she needed. Court case aside, my interest was in how Football Australia dealt with the matter and what the Kerr case teaches us about sport, leadership and the rise of women. There is one aspect from which I can hypothesise with the highest degree of certainty: a captain of the Socceroos, the men's or women's national cricket team, or the Olympic team would have been immediately stood down from their role. Innocence of the criminal charge is one thing, reputation as a national sporting captain displaying such behaviour is another. A frequent complaint about sport is that all sorts of public behaviour is excused if the player is seen as crucial to a team's success. While such leniency does exist, it rarely extends to national captains. As women athletes call for equal recognition and equal pay, they must expect equal scrutiny will come. What was revealed in this incident was that neither Football Australia, nor few in the media, were prepared to treat it in the same way they might treat a similar scenario had it involved an Australian men's captain. On the road to the Olympics At the closing ceremony of the Sydney Olympics in 2000, celebrated rock band Midnight Oil performed one of their protest songs, Beds Are Burning: 'The time has come, to say fair's fair To pay the rent, to pay our share The time has come, a fact's a fact It belongs to them, let's give it back.' What the band didn't tell Olympic officials ahead of time was that they'd be wearing outfits emblazoned with the word 'Sorry', the most politicised word in Australia at the time. In big, white, block letters on their black pants and shirts, front and back, no matter which way Peter Garrett staccatoed across the stage and his band of merry men turned for the cameras, you saw the apology. The then prime minister, John Howard, who could not bring himself to utter the word to Australia's Indigenous population for deep historical wrongs, was sitting in the royal seats with the then IOC president, Juan Antonio Samaranch, and other dignitaries. The volume of the roar from the pulsating crowd and the reaction of the athletes to Midnight's Oil apology sent a deafening message to Howard that October night. Now that Brisbane will host the Olympics in 2032, how have those messages of 'unity, forgiveness and resilience' referred to by the IOC played out in the quarter-century since Sydney's cauldron was extinguished? The answer is: badly, although you'll never hear that from the politically neutral IOC. Indigenous people are still the most impoverished in the country, still the most incarcerated people on the planet. Queensland, the state hosting the XXXV Olympiad, suspended its human rights act in 2023 so it could continue to detain children as young as 10 in adult facilities. The Indigenous population in Queensland is 4.6 per cent, but of children in detention in that state, 63 per cent are Indigenous. In 2023, every state and territory in Australia – except the ACT – voted overwhelmingly no in the Indigenous Voice to Parliament referendum. Indigenous people will be asked to dress up, make everyone feel welcome, and then disappear to the wings. A year after Queensland's human rights legislation was shelved without sufficient warning or debate, described as a 'dog act' by state Greens MP Michael Berkman, a newly elected Liberal state government in November 2024 repealed the Path to Treaty Act in legislation that also amended the original Brisbane 2032 Olympic and Paralympic Games Act. Much has been made of the Brisbane 2032 Olympics organising committee's commitment to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander involvement and legacy, yet with the stroke of a pen, one of the most important pieces of legislation supporting that commitment was deleted. When asked to respond to the news, an IOC spokesperson said they 'weren't involved'. An Australian Olympic heavyweight said he didn't recall a treaty ever being a part of Brisbane's candidature. That's funny. Memories can play tricks, can't they? If you take a look at the IOC's Future Host Commission report into Brisbane's candidature, presented to the IOC's executive board before they voted to award the games to Brisbane, it says: 'The intention is to build on the progress made during the [2018 Gold Coast] Commonwealth Games, and in alignment with the AOC's First Nations Reconciliation Action Plan and the Queensland Government's Path to Treaty.' Loading Brisbane's Olympics website states: 'We recognise it is our collective efforts and responsibility as individuals, communities and governments to ensure equality, recognition and advancement of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples across all aspects of society and everyday life, including sport. We are committed to building a deeper connection with First Nations Peoples through meaningful listening and authentic engagement.' What does all that really mean? It sounds like blah, blah, blah … connection, blah … meaningful listening, blah … honouring their unique cultural and spiritual relationships, blah blah. Brisbane's Games are still years away, but I reckon it's a pretty safe bet that what the glossy brochure spiel means is that Indigenous people will be asked to dress up in traditional costume, make everyone feel welcome, and then disappear to the wings to let the important people take over for the real business.
