World Athletics holds line on Russia ban, Coe admits solution needed: the looming CAS endgame

The final day of the inaugural Ultimate Championship in Budapest, September 13, 2026 – the press room was not full of questions about records. The only pressing question was a name: Russia. Sebastian Coe, president of World Athletics, repeated the stance that has been frozen for three years: "We're not going to change our position." But then he conceded something few noticed: "Our overall objective is to have a full complement of people... competing." I have worked in this craft for nearly fifty years, and I have heard countless political statements wrapped in sporting language. People see a contest; I see the fates passing the ball. This ban did not begin today. Since 2026, World Athletics has banned all Russian and Belarusian athletes from its events – a blanket ban, no exceptions, no neutral mechanism. That places World Athletics at the most restrictive end of international federations. Look at figure skating: the International Skating Union (ISU) chose a softer path, allowing Russian athletes to compete as neutrals, while still revoking that status if they violate rules. The case of Kamila Valieva and her teammates, stripped of neutral status in August, is a reminder. So World Athletics' story is not just about banning or not banning; it is about whether a blanket ban remains appropriate when the rest of the sporting world is becoming more flexible. The Russian Athletics Federation filed a case with the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) in July, then filed a fresh appeal in August. The hearing is expected "in the coming months." Meanwhile, Russian Sports Minister Mikhail Degtyarev told TASS that all affected figure skaters would appeal to CAS. Coe's most important sentence was not "no change." It was when he said: "This isn't about politics or passports. It's about the integrity of competition." Taken out of the context of Russian doping history, that sounds like sophistry. But it rests on solid legal ground: the Russian Athletics Federation (RusAF) has been suspended since 2026 for a state-sponsored doping program. The 2026 ban was built on an existing foundation. I still remember female middle-distance runners I interviewed – they spent years fighting for a clean start. When Coe says "integrity," he knows the two layers – doping and geopolitics – reinforce each other. That makes World Athletics' position harder to overturn in the CAS case. Then Coe added: "From the age of 18, I believe that every position I've taken... is about integrity." This is a credentialing move: he knows that accusations of "politics" will not easily stick to a man who was a world-class athlete and two-time Olympic champion. He also refused to disclose legal strategy: "I don't think our legal teams would be particularly thankful if I laid out our approach." That is the language of a lawyer, not a politician. Coe is handling this as litigation, not a media campaign. The greater the gap between World Athletics and other federations, the higher the risk of isolation. The ISU has "gradually reintroduced" athletes – that phrase appears in the report. Figure skating is not fully open, but it has a mechanism; World Athletics does not. This creates a paradox: a neutral mechanism can be abused, but the absence of one is also a form of power abuse. The Valieva case shows that neutral status does not automatically erase suspicion, but it at least allows athletes to be monitored. When a Russian athlete is not allowed to compete anywhere, they are also not subject to any testing system. The question is: does the blanket ban protect the integrity of sport, or does it create an ungovernable dark zone? I cannot help thinking about Russian female athletes. They are the ones who suffer most when a state-run doping system collapses. They lose the best years of their careers because of decisions they had no part in. A blanket ban may be an answer for administrators, but for a 22-year-old who has trained for 15 years, it means she will never run on the biggest stage. I cried when Huynh Nhu told me about selling lottery tickets as a child. I do not cry for Russian athletes today, because I do not know them. But I know the feeling of being left out of the game for reasons that are not your own. During the entire press conference, not a single Russian athlete's name was mentioned. No concrete person being denied; only an institutional block called "Russia" being processed. I realised this battle is no longer about flesh-and-blood people – the runners, the high jumpers who spent their whole lives reaching the top. They have vanished from the story, replaced by statements, appeals, and verdicts. In women's football, I always started from the fate of a single person – the electricity bill, the bowl of instant noodles, the smile after a training session. Here, I see only legal documents. Perhaps that is why this story is so heated: people no longer see humans, only symbols. Commentators often forget that World Athletics is doing two contradictory things at once. First, it is launching the Ultimate Championship – a brand-new commercial product designed to be the "super league" of global athletics. Second, it maintains a ban that keeps a major athletics nation out of the picture. A global championship without Russia is a championship missing a market piece – both athletes and TV audiences. In women's football, I watched sponsors hesitate because they thought nobody was watching. They were wrong. But World Athletics has a different worry: will global sponsors pay to put their logos on a competition that excludes one-fifth of the world's population – or more precisely, a sporting superpower? If CAS rules against World Athletics – for instance, finding the blanket ban disproportionate – the federation will be forced to build a neutral mechanism within months. If CAS upholds the ban, Coe can claim victory, but the isolation grows. Notably, the Russian Athletics Federation does not just want its athletes to compete; it wants to participate in World Athletics' decision-making processes. That means this is not only a battle over entries, but over institutional voice. If only the athletes' problem is solved without addressing the representation grievance, the legal loop will never end. In Vietnam, we stood outside for a long time. Our female footballers had to sell lottery tickets to buy boots, to beg for every sponsorship for one training trip. But when the opportunity came, they went straight to the World Cup. I look at the Russia ban through the lens of someone who has witnessed exclusion caused by prejudice and by unfair structures. We cannot equate their situation with a country accused of doping and geopolitical conflict. But there is a universal principle: any exclusion must come with a clear, verifiable path to reinstatement. Otherwise, exclusion becomes indefinite punishment and loses its legitimacy. When the CAS hearing finally takes place, I do not expect a verdict that satisfies everyone. History shows top sporting cases drag on and produce unintended consequences. But one thing is certain: the ban will not be the final answer. The biggest question is not "will Russia return," but "under what conditions, under whose supervision, and who audits the fairness of the process." In women's football, I do not seek victory; I seek liberation. Today, I still seek that. The pitch taught me that some lessons are never rejected.