World Athletics firm on Russia ban, Coe acknowledges need for solution

On the final day of the inaugural Ultimate Championship in Budapest, Sebastian Coe sat before reporters with a message that was not new but carried weight. He did not talk about records, finishing kicks, or moments of joy on the track. He talked about a ban – the ban that has split world athletics for three years. 'Our position won't change', the World Athletics president said when asked about the possibility of bringing Russian and Belarusian athletes back. The answer was so firm it left no room for ambiguity. Yet minutes later, he added a sentence many overlooked: 'We want a full complement of athletes there and competing.' Between those two statements lies a gap – and in sport, gaps often speak louder than words. When the stands are empty, the only applause left is your own. I often think of that line when I see a sports federation single-handedly defend a controversial decision. World Athletics is in that position today. They call themselves the toughest international federation in global sport, and that is true – but their toughness also leaves them increasingly isolated. The context of this story begins long before Russia's military campaign in Ukraine. In 2026, the Russian Athletics Federation (RusAF) was suspended over a state-sponsored doping scandal. Russian athletes competed under a neutral flag for years before being excluded entirely from international events from February 2026, when World Athletics extended the ban to Belarus. What stands out is how World Athletics frames its argument. Coe keeps insisting this is about the integrity of competition, not politics or passports. That phrasing turns a geopolitical decision into a sporting norm – and that is the strongest legal foundation the federation can rely on. However, there is a blind spot. While World Athletics insists on a blanket ban, other federations are moving differently. The International Skating Union (ISU) has gradually reopened the door, allowing Russian athletes to compete as neutrals. That status is not permanent – Kamila Valieva's revoked neutral status is clear proof – but it creates a channel of dialogue that athletics entirely lacks. There is also a commercial layer simmering underneath. World Athletics just launched the Ultimate Championship, hoping it will become a flagship product gathering the world's best athletes. Yet a country that produced countless Olympic champions is absent. For anyone who follows sport, this resembles opening a grand theater while refusing one of the world's finest orchestras. The absence goes beyond a legal matter; it is a question of commercial appeal, broadcasting rights, and the tournament's global relevance. The Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) hearing is expected in the coming months, after Russia filed another appeal. Coe refused to reveal his legal strategy, saying his lawyers would not be thankful if he laid out their approach. That shows the case is being handled as active litigation, where every public statement could be used in court. As a sports journalist, I used to think I came to call matches; it turned out I came to listen to people. In this story, those people are Russian athletes – unnamed, faceless, with no chance to speak. They are caught between the doping legacy of the past and the politics of the present. They are not the subject of the decision, but they are the ones paying the price. Once, while reporting at a youth event in Germany, I asked a Russian coach living there how he felt about his former students being kept out of international competition. He paused and said: 'They still run, but they run in the dark.' That sentence has haunted me ever since. Because in the dark, no one sees you – even when you are running the fastest race of your life. Looking at the bigger picture, there is a major strategic difference between World Athletics and the rest of the field. The ISU accepts the risks of a neutral model – accepting that there may be more Valievas tarnishing the image – in order to keep its athletes competing. World Athletics chooses the safer path: eliminating trouble entirely, but also eliminating the talents who could create miracles. Coe says the ultimate objective is a full complement of athletes. That is an ambitious statement, but between the statement and reality lies a wide gap. There is no neutral mechanism, no clear roadmap, no specific timeline. That is not to say the ban is wrong; the issue is that a policy without an exit eventually becomes a burden on its enforcer. Over years of covering competitions, I have learned one thing: sport never stands apart from politics, no matter how hard people try to separate them. World Athletics' ban is no exception. One can debate its correctness, but one cannot deny it was born from a specific geopolitical context, not purely from a rulebook. What few notice is that Russia is playing a long game too. Mikhail Degtyarev, Russia's Sports Minister, said all affected figure skaters would appeal to CAS. That move suggests Russia is coordinating a multi-sport legal campaign, not just in athletics. And when a country uses the entire state apparatus to pursue its cases, promises about 'the coming months' become more fragile than ever. From a legal perspective, three scenarios are possible. CAS could rule against World Athletics, forcing the federation to build a neutral-athlete mechanism it has stubbornly refused. Another possibility is that CAS upholds the ban but imposes procedural requirements, such as a periodic review mechanism. It is also possible that CAS dismisses the appeal entirely, confirming World Athletics' stance. Each scenario carries consequences for athletics and the entire international sports system. I remember writing about an athlete who returned from injury. She once said: 'A record is only an excuse for people to remember a person, not a number.' Looking at the Russian ban, I think of the invisible people in this story. Who are they? Where are they training? Do they still believe in their Olympic dreams? Nobody knows, because they have no face in press conferences. One of the things more lasting than a title is how people remember the way you played. Russian athletics has left a legacy with two inseparable sides: medals and doping scandals. The current ban is a reminder that history never forgets – but it is also a question: how long must a new generation, unconnected to the 2026 scandal, pay for what they did not do? There is no easy answer. Coe can talk about integrity, Russia can talk about discrimination, and the athletes – the only ones directly affected – can only wait. Meanwhile, the Ultimate Championship continues without Russian champions. The Budapest stands remain full, the tracks are still colorful, but a void stays there, right in the middle of the rankings. World athletics does not need saving; it only needs people to stay when the lights come on. It does not need grand speeches or tough declarations. It needs a solution that brings everyone back to the table. Coe acknowledged the need for a solution – that is the first step, but the road ahead is still long. When the stadium lights went off in Budapest, the biggest question was not who won. It was whether the world has the courage to build a path for those left behind – or will it continue to leave them outside, as a permanent reminder of past mistakes?