OPINION
I migrated to Australia as an 18-month-old in August 1988. All of my earliest childhood memories involve cricket in some way. I love watching cricket. Always have. Probably always will.
I remember the tri-series ODIs from the 1990s like they were yesterday. I grew up here, yet followed the opposition team. It’s a common thread shared by many from migrant backgrounds – we love Australia yet when it comes to cricket, we barrack for the opposition. A large part of it is the “win at any cost” attitude and approach adopted by successive Australian teams.
We also didn’t feel like we belonged but we still loved watching cricket. Nothing much has changed. Whether it’s the excitement of supporting a BBL team in a fast-paced T20 match or staying up late to watch the IPL; whether it’s the joy of cheering on the visiting side or standout Australian performances at the MCG in the Great Southern Stand or immersing oneself fully into the slow burn that is Test Cricket, I just really love cricket.
Coming from an Indian background, it’s also a rite of passage that one would play the sport at some level growing up. In my case, I never advanced further than club cricket, owing to my skill level, or lack thereof. I like to say that I’m neither a batter nor bowler, but a fully participating team member. Such is my love for the sport that I don’t need to be good at it to have fun.
Tarang Chawla. Source: Supplied
Yet for many of South Asian origin, it’s the relentless bullying, racism and discrimination that saw them call stumps on pursuing the sport. Spend time with anyone from a migrant background and listen to their experiences of playing cricket and they’ll regale you with tales of cruelty, all masquerading as harmless “banter” and a bit of sledging.
For many of South Asian origin, it’s the relentless bullying, racism and discrimination that saw them call stumps on pursuing the sport.
This conversation about what is acceptable banter and what is not has resurfaced in the wake of the SCG Test when late on Day 4, Indian pacer and newfound talent Mohammed Siraj reported alleged racist remarks from members of the crowd. The umpires intervened, play stopped completely for 10 minutes, and a number of fans were subsequently taken away by NSW Police for questioning.
Whether the comments made by fans amount to racism is being hotly debated across a country that is still embracing the luxury of being able to watch live sport. At least to the events however has suggested that Siraj was repeatedly being called “Shiraz” by Australia fans. It seems innocuous. Siraj, Shiraz. Harmless banter, right? Not racist, surely?
But for me, and others like me, these antics serve as a painful reminder of the years we spent as kids on the field while the opposition team, and at times people in our own camp, would deliberately contort our names to belittle and ridicule. It wasn’t a simple mispronunciation. It was a veiled way to mark us as “Other”. We didn’t have easy names. We weren’t the same.
For me, Tarang became “orangatang”. I lost count of the number of times my name was deliberately said incorrectly or I was teased for where I was from. I am from the Punjab and so they called me Poo-Jab or Poon-Jab.
I was called a monkey, often. It didn’t help that I was also an early bloomer, fully bearded by the time I was playing in the Under 16s. When I told the other kids that I wasn’t a monkey, they laughed and just said, “Well, you’re hairy like one.” Charming.
For every South Asian kid who was bullied on the field for being different, it was an act of defiance.
And for some, this ridicule wasn’t enough, they turned to using their fists instead of their words and I wore those bruises, too. No-one is saying that was going to happen at the SCG. But in a tense match where Australia captain Tim Paine was heard calling Indian spinner Ashwin a “d***head” on-field, I felt a deep sense of pride seeing Siraj stick up for himself in the way that he did.
Siraj stopping play looks like an act of weakness to those with power: “Suck it up, Princess!” they’ll say. To the free speech warriors who claim that this is another example of “political correctness”, it seems like overkill. But for every South Asian kid who was bullied on the field for being different, it was an act of defiance.
It’s a sign to cricket fans around the world that the modern-day Indian cricketers have called stumps on being the target of bullying and discrimination. Whether the comments are racially motivated or not is not for me to decide, but I feel strongly that if the best sledge one has is to deliberately ridicule someone’s name, then it’s hardly clever banter and they ought to do better.
In the last 48 hours, the apologists are out on the front foot, telling people of colour that there was no racism involved and that Siraj is merely upset because he was being hit for six. He may well be upset about being hit for six, but he can also be frustrated by the harassment and possible racism that comes with being an Indian playing sport in Australia.
Siraj means ‘light’ and it is fitting to me that his was the name they chose. Sadly, the lived experiences of me and people like me will tell you that racism has been interwoven in the fabric of Australian sport at every level for a very long time. And every day that we make light of this racism is another dark day in Australian sport.
Tarang Chawla is a former Young Australian of the Year finalist, founder of the Not One More Niki campaign and was named one of the top 40 under 40 Asian-Australians. You can follow Tarang on or .
