What whispers about the ‘Sandpapergate’ alleged cover-up might reveal about cricket’s culture

It is an iron law of history that the ‘cover-up’ of wrongdoing has consequences that are at least as dire as the original offence.

This is a lesson soon to be reinforced by what is likely to unfold in the wake of claims by retired test cricketer, Usman Khawaja, that the ball tampering incident in Cape Town (‘sandpapergate’) in 2018, was not an isolated incident perpetrated by just three players: Steve Smith, David Warner and Cameron Bancroft.

Instead, it is Khawaja’s evidence, now corroborated by David Warner, that sandpaper had been employed in an earlier test played in Port Elizabeth/Gqeberha. Furthermore, he claims that this was known by the whole of the Australian team.

As things stand, we are confronted by two groups of cricketers offering radically different accounts of what occurred. Neither side comes to the table with ‘clean hands’. In the case of Khawaja, we need to reckon with the fact that, on his own admission, he has been complicit in allowing a lie, about what occurred, to remain unchallenged. He has chosen to tell what he claims to be the truth of the matter only after retiring from test cricket.

One presumes that if Khawaja was still a member of the Australian team, then he would remain silent. On the other side, are past and current players who staunchly deny the truth of what Khawaja and Warner allege. They have a vested interest in asserting the truth of what they claim as to do otherwise would have a devastating impact on their personal reputations and the standing of the team.

Australians have been justifiably proud of the achievements of our elite cricketers in the time since the scandal first erupted. Part of our pride lay in the fact that they appeared to demonstrate that one could succeed, at the highest levels, while being ethical. The good that has been done under the leadership of Pat Cummins should be celebrated in its own terms. But how devastating would it be to discover that at the heart of this story lurks a deception.

I had the privilege of leading a team from The Ethics Centre that reviewed and reported on the underlying cultural factors that led to the events that unfolded, before the world’s eyes, at that infamous match at Cape Town. Our Terms of Reference explicitly excluded any investigation of the specific events that led to or enquiry.

Those matters had been investigated by Cricket Australia and the findings were concluded. Even so, we picked up whispers – very few and very faint – that, perhaps, the public record did not tell the full story. Given that we were precluded from straying from our task, the best we could do was circle back to some of those whom we had interviewed to offer them the opportunity to amend their statements about what had occurred.

I am bound by ongoing duties of confidentiality not to name the people with whom I subsequently spoke. All I can say is that if what Usman Khawaja alleges turns out to be true, then I was also lied to. In the face of explicit denials that there was anything more to be said on the matter, we were left with ‘whispers’ … and nothing more.

It is easy enough to understand how a group of players might have decided to perpetuate – either by act or omission – what could turn out to be a lie. Some people may have had only a vague understanding of what was actually afoot (just enough ‘constructive ignorance’ to make plausible deniability a possibility).

Others might have thought that it was for the ‘greater good’ that the price to be paid be limited to three players – a kind of triage in which one amputates a damaged limb in order to save the body as a whole. We may never really know the full range of motivations that led the team to act as they did in the aftermath of Cape Town.

What we do know is that many of those players remain in the Australian men’s cricket team. And one has to assume that the thinking that led to a possible (as yet unproven) ‘cover-up’ remains in place. That is a most troubling thought. Now, as a consequence of what has been alleged, by Usman Khwaja and David Warner, a spotlight is once again being shone into the darker recesses of the culture of elite, men’s cricket.

My fear is that if the lately revealed claims are be proven to be true, then the damage to the game will be at least as great as that caused by the original sin of ball tampering.

In all of this, we should not forget the role played by Cricket Australia. As far as I know, key recommendations made in our report have been set aside without much fanfare. The Australian Cricket Council was meant to bring together key stakeholders to work through complex issues. It appears to be dormant (if not dead).

I was appointed as the inaugural Ethics Commissioner for Australian Cricket. Just one issue was referred to me during my tenure. The period of appointment lapsed a couple of years ago. I do not know if anyone currently fulfils that role.

Most institutions have short memories and find it convenient to ‘turn the page’ or ‘look to the future’ once leadership changes. With a new Chair and CEO at Cricket Australia, I doubt that anyone has looked at our report for contemporary guidance. It is so ‘yesterday’ … but is it?

An edited version of this article originally appeared in Australian Financial Review.