On next Thursday the 2014 World Cup will kick off in Sao Paulo. But next week will also see the FIFA members meeting on Tuesday and Wednesday at a much awaited FIFA congress. For this special occasion we decided to review FIFA’s financial reports over the last ten years. This post is the first of two, analysing the reports and highlighting the main economic trends at play at FIFA. First, we will study the revenue streams and their evolution along the 2003-2013 time span. In order to ensure an accurate comparison, we have adjusted the revenues to inflation, in order to provide a level playing field easing the comparative analysis over the years and types of revenues. Our first two graphs gather the main revenue streams into two comparative overviews. Graph 1 brings together the different types of revenues in absolute numbers, while Graph 2 lays down the share of each type of revenues for any given year (the others category covers a bundle of minor revenue streams not directly relevant to our analysis).

Graph 1: FIFA revenues in Millions of Dollars, 2003-2013 (adjusted for inflation).

Since 2003, FIFA’s total revenues have more than doubled, from 685 Million$ to 1406 Million$. Its constant growth over the last decade turned negative only in 2011 and 2012 due to a fallout in broadcasting revenues (see below Graph 4). In terms of economic power this means that FIFA has doubled its financial capacity within ten years.  It has succeeded in developing new income streams, while also consolidating its traditional source of revenue: broadcasting rights.

Key to FIFA’s continuous enrichment were the broadcasting revenues. From 2006 to 2010 they nearly doubled from 391 Million$ to 779 Million$. A huge 100% jump! Since this peak, revenues have settled for a more modest amount of around 600 Million$, but still much higher than at the turn of the century. In any given year the broadcasting revenues represent 40 to 50% of FIFA’s total revenues. Thus, one can understand the paramount importance of broadcasting rights for the economic stability and health of FIFA. The progressive bite of the revised TV without frontier directive of the EU (revised in 1997), enabling countries to define certain World Cup games as “major events” which therefore must be broadcasted freely, might explain the recent fall in broadcasting revenues. In this context, recent decisions of the EU Courts, in cases T-68/08, C‑205/11 P and  C‑204/11 P reinforce the rights of the Member States to make use of the “major events” listing, this could, on the long run, limit the rise of the broadcasting revenues for FIFA.

Graph 4: FIFA Broadcasting Revenues 2003-2013 (adjusted to Inflation)

The marketing rights (see graph 5) constitute the second leg of FIFA’s financial income stream. They have been constantly growing since 2003. From 168 Million$ in 2003 to 419 Million$ in 2013, reaching quasi 150% growth (at constant prices). In recent years, this has been a more dynamic revenue stream than broadcasting rights, but it has remained less important in absolute terms. It seems that the FIFA Partners Programme launched by FIFA, probably inspired by the TOP Programme created by the IOC, is a tremendous success. Nowadays, marketing rights constitute 30 to 35% of FIFA’s total revenues. Together, broadcasting revenues and marketing rights amount to a staggering 75 to 85% of FIFA’s total revenues. A share which remained more or less stable over the latest years (see Graph2).

Graph 5: FIFA Revenues from Marketing rights 2003-2013

The rather minor revenue streams are constituted by the FIFA hospitality rights, licensing and brand licensing revenues. Hospitality rights revenues (Graph 6) are a relic from the past. They derive from the profits made by MATCH Hospitality, the sole company authorised by FIFA to offer and guarantee exclusive hospitality packages for every match of the FIFA World Cup directly or through its appointed sales agents. With the competition of internet-based travel agencies and the evolution of the ticketing system of FIFA under the pressure of the European Commission, the revenues of match hospitality have been dwindling over the last 10 years.

Graph 6: FIFA Hospitality Rights Revenues 2003-2013 (adjusted for inflation)

The FIFA licensing programme (Graph 7) derives its revenues from fixed royalty payments and variable profit shares paid for the use of the FIFA brand. FIFA’s licensing programme covers a broad range of activities, including for example numismatic and philatelic collections and the more classical retail & merchandising. After a peak at the World Cup 2006 in Germany, where FIFA licensing brought in 51 Million$, licensing revenues have remained more or less stable averaging at 10 to 20 Million$ a year.

Graph 7: FIFA Licensing Revenues 2003-2013 (adjusted for inflation)

Another closely related, but distinct for accountancy purposes, income stream, is the one generated by brand licensing (Graph 8). Five companies dispose of a specific agreement with FIFA: Adidas, Electronic Arts, Hublot, Louis Vuitton and Panini. Each of these companies holds a licence to use the FIFA Brand Marks in the advertising, marketing, promotion and sale of its licensed products or programmes. These long-term licensing agreements bring in more and more money, from 5 Million$ in 2003, to 58 Million$ in 2013. The biggest jump for a category of FIFA revenues.  Its success is exemplified by the world-wide fame of the eponym Electronic Arts video game: FIFA. However, all three revenue streams amount to less than 10% of FIFA’s total revenues in 2013, the lion share is still constituted by the broadcasting rights.

Graph 8: FIFA Brand Licensing Revenues 2003-2013 (adjusted for inflation)

Conclusion: Get rich and die getting richer?

Economically the last 10 years have been a phenomenal success for FIFA. Its revenues have grown substantially and it has, to some extent, managed to diversify its revenue streams. Indeed, FIFA is less and less dependent on broadcasting revenues, while relying more and more on marketing and brand licensing income streams. This diversification appears judicious as the broadcasting market seem to be losing steam, especially in light of a public will, at least at the European level, to control and tame the monopoly of FIFA over the broadcasting of the World Cup. Thus, FIFA is in a paradoxical situation. It will enter its congress engulfed in an unending governance crisis, but financially it looks as profitable as ever. In some way the big leap forward of FIFA’s recent, and highly successful, commercialization might cause the existential crisis it is now confronted with. Indeed, all this fresh money influx may have destabilized even more a governance system prone to favour nepotism. Hence, the paradox might be that FIFA got rich and might die (at least as we know it) because of it. This is also connected to the way FIFA distributes the revenues it collects, which will be the focus point of the second part of this blog series.

The book under review is the published version of a PhD thesis defended in 2013 by Andrew Vaitiekunas at Melbourne Law School. A PhD is often taking stock of legal developments rather than anticipating or triggering them. This was definitely not the case of this book. Its core subject of interest is the study of the independence of the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) – an issue that has risen to prominence with the recent Pechstein ruling of January 2015 of the Oberlandesgericht München. It is difficult to be timelier indeed.

The fundamental question underlying Vaitiekunas’ research is: “does CAS have sufficient independence to be a law-maker?”.[1] Indeed, as many in the field, Vaitiekunas considers the CAS as a key institution in the production of a lex sportiva or transnational sports law. Hence, he thinks that “the closer CAS’s standards of independence and impartiality are to those that apply to the judiciary, the stronger may be the claim that CAS’s lex sportiva constitutes law”.[2] Although I am myself sympathetic to the idea of the existence of a lex sportiva, I would be cautious in attributing it mainly to the CAS. Instead, I think that the notion of lex sportiva is rather reflecting the complex legal interaction between the rules (and raw political power) of international Sports Governing Bodies (SGBs) and the CAS’s jurisprudence.[3] Yet, this should not detract from the value of posing the question of CAS independence as a hallmark of its legitimacy.

The book is relatively slow in tackling this question. The author is keen on providing a comprehensive analysis of the general context of his work in Chapter 2 on the CAS and the lex sportiva[4], of his theoretical apparatus in Chapter 3 on the relevant theories of law[5] and of his analytical frame to assess the independence of the CAS in Chapter 4 on independence and impartiality.[6] Although these parts are certainly useful to comprehend the red thread guiding his research, they certainly could have been synthetized and shortened. Any reader interested mainly in the assessment of the independence of the CAS might be tempted to jump directly to Chapter 5 and 6 providing the core of the author's analysis and his most valuable contribution to legal scholarship.

Chapter 5 reviews in detail the well-known favourable assessment by the Swiss Federal Tribunal of the independence of the CAS.[7] Yet, the most important and interesting aspect of the chapter is that it already engages in a critical assessment of this jurisprudence. When discussing the impact of the post-Gundel Paris reform agreement, Vaitiekunas concludes that “a number of facets of the reform indicate continuing links, albeit indirect between the Olympic governing bodies and CAS, thus undermining the perception that CAS is truly an independent arbitral body”.[8] He notes that “[w]hether ICAS members are appointed from within or outside the membership of the top sports bodies, they ultimately owe their appointment to these bodies”.[9] He criticizes the CAS arbitrator list as it “does not indicate who nominated the individual arbitrators, leaving an athlete at risk of choosing an arbitrator nominated by the very IF [International Federation] against which they are taking CAS proceedings”.[10] In any case, “the appointment [as CAS arbitrator] can be seen as occurring under the control of the Olympic governing bodies through their members or delegates in ICAS”.[11] Interestingly, this reasoning is analogue to the one used by the Oberlandesgericht München in its Pechstein ruling.[12] Unsurprisingly, Vaitiekunas is also extremely critical of the SFT’s judgment in the Lazutina case endorsing the independence and the legitimacy of the CAS post-Gundel.[13] He argues that the SFT “appears almost as an apologist for CAS”[14] and criticizes its “non-objective approach to statements by people close to CAS”.[15] Moreover, he denounces a “formalistic approach in assessing CAS’s independence from the IOC”.[16] Indeed, by privileging formal factors, such as the ICAS formal legal independence, “the SFT implicitly chose not to lift ICAS’s veil to consider who has the real powers behind ICAS”.[17] Importantly in light of the Pechstein case, he attacks the fact that “the SFT limited its analysis concerning CAS’s institutional independence solely to CAS’s independence from the IOC and did not consider CAS’s independence from the Olympic governing bodies collectively”.[18] Finally, he reiterates his critique against the closed list system, arguing that “the very process for the nomination and selection of arbitrators to the list creates an appearance of bias in favour of the Olympic governing bodies”.[19] 

Henceforth, Chapter 6[20] vows to pitch CAS’s independence against judicial independence standards discussed in Chapter 4. Coming from Chapter 5, the suspense as to the outcome of the assessment is relatively limited, it is clear ex ante that the author is doubtful of the independence of CAS. He assesses first the individual independence of the arbitrators, referring to four main criteria: 

"The four main recognised safeguards of a judge’s personal independence under judicial independence norms are security of tenure in a judge’s appointment, restrictions on the removability of a judge, adequate and secure remuneration for judicial service and immunity from legal action in the exercise of judicial functions."[21]

Furthermore, he contends that an arbitrator must fulfil a yardstick of substantive independence implying “a judge to be free from any inappropriate connections or influences".[22] In this regard, he argues “all CAS arbitrators […] owe their presence on the closed list to the Olympic governing bodies, thereby creating the appearance of a lack of independence from them”.[23] Finally, regarding the institutional independence of the CAS, Vaitiekunas suggests three main focal points: the structural links, the administrative links and the financial links. The structural links of the CAS are perceived as the main hindrances to CAS’s independence. This is because, “[g]iven the mutual ties and links which the IOC, the IFs and the NOCs […] have under the Olympic Charter, these bodies may appear to have influence collectively on ICAS”.[24] His conclusions is sans appel: “The potential influence that the Olympic governing bodies may be perceived to exercise over ICAS and the CAS secretary general is inconsistent with judicial independence norms which require judicial matters to be exclusively within the responsibility of the judiciary”.[25]

This highly sceptical view regarding the independence of CAS, leads him to propose a set of potential reforms.[26] His first recommendation is to implement “a restructuring of ICAS to ensure that it is institutionally independent”.[27] This would imply that “appointments to ICAS should exclude members of the IOC, executive members of the IFs, NFs and NOCs and their employees and anyone recently in these roles”.[28] Moreover, “the CAS code should be amended to prohibit the appointment of Olympic governing body associates or athlete associates as CAS arbitrators”.[29] Regarding the funding of ICAS and CAS, he suggests “the imposition of a levy on the broadcasting rights to or sponsorships of major sports events”.[30] In order to secure CAS arbitrators individual independence, he is in favour of appointing them “on a tenured basis to a specified retirement aged”.[31] He also recommends, “that arbitrators be appointed randomly to cases or on a predetermined basis”.[32] Eventually, he advises “to provide arbitrators with greater security in remuneration by appointing them on a fixed salary, like judges, payable regardless of whether and how many cases they are appointed to arbitrate”.[33] Vaitiekunas is convinced that if his recommendations were implemented, “CAS would be a true sports court, rather than an arbitral tribunal”.[34] 

The final chapter 7 of the book dedicated to CAS’s independence from external judicial review is a bit of a mystery to the reviewer. Vaitiekunas offers a relatively succinct but rigorous comparative study of the various national (and European) judicial avenues where CAS awards can be reviewed. He concludes rightly that CAS awards can be subjected to the control of national courts and European Institutions. However, his assumption that “CAS awards must be independent from review or intervention by state courts, such that they operate as final authority in the resolution of sports disputes”[35] and especially the consequence he derives from it, denying to lex sportiva any status as a legal order seems to be flawed.[36] Indeed, in no legal context, national or otherwise, is a judicial decision absolutely final. National courts’ judgments are often contested when their recognition is asked in another country, this does not entail that national law is not law. Similarly, the subjection of the judgments of the highest national courts of the EU Member States to the preliminary reference mechanism in place under EU law should not lead us to deny any legal value to national law. We are living in a pluralist legal age ruled by complex transnational legal assemblages and lex sportiva fits very well into this picture. Nonetheless, on this point I share the view of the author of this book, the question of the legitimacy of both the rulemaking bodies of lex sportiva (read FIFA or the IOC) and its adjudicative bodies (read the CAS) is of great importance. In fact, their illegitimacy, and here I differ from Vaitiekunas’ argument, should not mainly imply their non-existence as law-making bodies, but the need for a reform (or even a revolution) in the way they operate.

This book is precious, because it highlights very well the challenges ahead in our transnationalizing legal world. Democratizing international (or transnational in this case) judicial bodies is key, if the ideal and democratic function of an independent justice for world citizens is to be sustained.[37]  We need to understand that transnational private bodies are in the business of exercising a kind of public authority and should live up to analogous accountability and legitimacy standards than the one that have been progressively developed in the framework of the nation-states for national courts. The CAS is one of those, and the pending Pechstein case is a necessary itch to reflexively trigger a much-needed reform of its internal structure and functioning. Which precise form this reform will take is not crucial. What is essential, however, is that it ensures that CAS arbitrators be seen as rendering sporting justice at a personal (if not geographical) distance from those who are adopting and enforcing the rules of the lex sportiva. This book is an important critical contribution in that direction.

[1] Vaitiekunas A (2014) The Court of Arbitration for Sport: Law-Making and the Question of Independence. Stämpfli Verlag, Berne, p 2.

[2] Ibid, p 3.

[3] Duval A (2013) Lex Sportiva: A Playground for Transnational Law. European Law Journal 19: 822-842.

[4] Ibid, pp 7-50.

[5] Ibid, pp 51-83.

[6] Ibid, pp 85-120.

[7] Ibid, pp 121-177.

[8] Ibid, p 142.

[9] Ibid, p 146.

[10] Ibid, p 150.

[11] Ibid, p 151.

[12] See supra n 1, Oberlandesgericht (OLG) München [2015], paras 3b, bb, 3aaa and bbb.

[13] Supra n 2, Vaitiekunas, pp 168-174.

[14] Ibid, p 169.

[15] Ibid.

[16] Ibid, p 171.

[17] Ibid.

[18] Ibid.

[19] Ibid, p 174.

[20] Ibid, pp 179-200.

[21] Ibid, p 184.

[22] Ibid, p188.

[23] Ibid, p 189.

[24] Ibid, p 191.

[25] Ibid, p 193.

[26] Ibid, pp 197-199.

[27] Ibid, p 197.

[28] Ibid, p 198.

[29] Ibid.

[30] Ibid, p 199.

[31] Ibid.

[32] Ibid.

[33] Ibid.

[34] Ibid.

[35] Ibid, p 265.

[36] Ibid, p 269 : ”CAS’s lack of final authority, in particular where state public policy or EU law are in question, derogates from CAS’s lex sportiva being an independent legal order“.

[37] For a similar idea applied to international courts, see Von Bogdandy A, Venzke I (2014) In Whose Name? A Public Law Theory of International Adjudication. Oxford University Press, New York.

Editor's note: Jeremy Abel is a recent graduate of the LL.M in International Business Law and Sports of the University of Lausanne.

1.     Introduction

The famous South African athlete Caster Semenya is in the last lap of her long legal battle for her right to run without changing the natural testosterone in her body. After losing her cases before the Court of Arbitration for Sport (CAS) and the Swiss Federal Tribunal, she filed an application before the European Court of Human Rights (Court). In the meantime, the Court has released a summary of her complaint and a series of questions addressed to the parties of the case.

As is well known, she is challenging the World Athletics’ Eligibility Regulations for the Female Classification (Regulations) defining the conditions under which female and intersex athletes with certain types of differences of sex development (DSDs) can compete in international athletics events. Despite the Regulations emanating from World Athletics, the last round of her legal battle is against a new opponent: Switzerland.

The purpose of this article is to revisit the Semenya case from a European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) perspective while considering certain excellent points made by previous contributors (see here, here and here) to this blog. Therefore, the blog will follow the basic structure of an ECHR case. The following issues raised by Semenya shall be analysed: the applicability of the ECHR, Semenya’s right to private life (Article 8 ECHR) and to non discrimination (Article 14 ECHR), as well as the proportionality of the Regulations.

2.     Applicability of the ECHR

An interesting question is how the Court will apply the ECHR to the case at hand. It has two options at its disposal. It can either use the doctrine of positive or negative obligations to resolve the case. The most logical solution would be to favour the positive obligations route. This doctrine allows the Court to hold states accountable in situations involving private parties. It obliges states to intervene in these situations and not to simply sit back and remain passive. In essence, the present case opposes two private parties: Caster Semenya on the one side and World Athletics on the other. The only connection of the case to Switzerland is a judgment by its Federal Tribunal reviewing the award rendered by the CAS. Indeed, unlike most international federations, World Athletics is registered in Monaco and not in Switzerland.

The Court’s case law also appears to favour this option. In Mutu and Pechstein, the Court indirectly stated that Switzerland’s positive obligations were at play (paras 65-67). The problem with this approach is that it makes it difficult to test a set of private regulations directly against the Convention. In its Mutu and Pechstein decision, the Court sidestepped this problem by somewhat ignoring Switzerland’s positive obligations. It simply applied the requirements of Article 6 ECHR directly to the CAS proceedings without worrying about the role of Switzerland and its Federal Tribunal.[1] Mutu and Pechstein suggests that the Court is willing to use the positive obligations doctrine and tweak it where it feels it is necessary to uphold athletes’ Convention rights. It is argued here that the Court’s approach in Semenya will be similar since the case raises several fundamental rights questions which have not been dealt with extensively by previous courts.

3.     Substantive issues

a.      Semenya’s right to private life (Article 8 ECHR)

Another crucial question is whether the Court will be willing to rely on its Article 8 ECHR case law relating to transgender persons. A.P., Garçon and Nicot is of particular importance in this context. This case was about a French law making the recognition of transgender persons’ preferred gender conditional on a sterilisation surgery or treatment. The Court stated that this law presented transgender persons not willing to undergo sterilisation with an “impossible dilemma” (para 132). They had to choose between their physical integrity or the legal recognition of their gender identity. The Court deemed this burden to be unnecessary to guarantee the principle of the inalienability of civil status and the need for consistency and reliability of civil-status records and thus in violation of Article 8 ECHR.

The Regulations create a similar dilemma. Despite having been identified by the South African State and identifying herself as a female, Semenya cannot compete in the female category unless she compromises her right to physical integrity by undergoing testosterone lowering treatment. In addition, noncompliance with the Regulations means that she cannot run the middle-distance events she excels at. It is therefore likely that she must give up her international sports career.[2]

It can be argued that both cases are comparable. While it is true that, unlike the French law, the Regulations aim her sports status and not her legal sex, both rules are not so different when one considers the specificity of her profession. As a famous athlete whose life revolves around sport, a mismatch between her legal sex and “sports” sex has major consequences on her life as a professional athlete and beyond. In these special circumstances, it is difficult to strictly differentiate the legal sex from the “sports” sex. Indeed, she finds herself in the very peculiar situation of suddenly having to explain why, after a lifetime of being female for the purposes of both sex categories, she is still female enough for one but not the other. Another distinction between the Regulations and the French law is that the latter contained a sterilization requirement absent in the former. This distinction can be relativised in two ways. Firstly, both set of rules require the same type of medical treatment: surgery or hormone treatment. Secondly, although the Regulations do not require a permanent physical change, the recommended surgical and hormonal treatment may lead to irreversible changes and ultimately sterility.[3]

b.      Semenya’s right to non discrimination (Article 14 ECHR)

Regarding the potential discriminatory nature of the Regulations in the sense of Article 14 ECHR, Semenya will most likely question why the Regulations only institute a testosterone limit for female athletes. This assertion runs up against the legal hurdle of finding an appropriate comparator. For there to be a discrimination, it must in principle be possible to compare Semenya with a class of persons who are treated more favourably. This task is not made easier by the fact that no intersex case has ever been decided by the Court.[4]

In theory, three comparisons are imaginable[5]: a comparison with male, female, or intersex athletes. The viability of each comparator depends on which definition of sex is used.[6] Sex can be understood from a civil status, gender identity or biological standpoint. It is unclear whether the Court will be convinced by World Athletics’ preference for the biological sex definition. World Athletics used this definition to argue that Semenya is “biologically male” for the purpose of athletics and must therefore be compared to male and not female athletes.[7] If the condition of participation is being “biologically female”, there is no discrimination because Semenya is being treated like all the other athletes who do not fulfil this condition.[8] However, the situation completely changes if the biological sex definition is dropped in favour of the others.

4.     Proportionality of the Regulations

Finally, the Court may have to engage in a delicate balancing act between the different interests at stake. On the one hand, there are the interests of World Athletics. As an international federation, it considers it is in the best position to develop the most appropriate rules for dividing females and males for the purpose of athletics. On the other hand, there are the opposing interests of Semenya and her fellow competitors. It is a classic case of competing rights which happen also to be fundamental goals of sport: inclusion vs fairness.[9] Including intersex athletes in the female category might be unfair towards the other female athletes. Contrary to other physical or genetical traits, high levels of testosterone are viewed by some to give intersex athletes an insurmountable advantage over their female competition. By adopting and defending the Regulations, it is clear that World Athletics shares this view and is sensitive to the fairness argument.

One way of avoiding this balancing of interests exercise is to decide that the Regulations are not fit for purpose. Without getting into scientific arguments, it appears safe to affirm that while most experts agree that testosterone has a positive effect on performance, there is still a lack of consensus on the degree of that effect.[10] Both the CAS and the Swiss Federal Tribunal overcame this uncertainty by giving a lot of weight to the statistical overrepresentation of women with DSDs in elite athletics.[11] A striking example of this overrepresentation is the women’s 800 m final at the 2016 Olympics where Semenya and two other athletes with DSDs occupied all three podium places thanks to the suspension of a previous version of the Regulations.

However, an alternative view is plausible. The capability of the Regulations to achieve their goal of ensuring fairness can be called into question on three fronts.

Firstly, there is a twofold problem relating to the quality of the evidence and the conclusions drawn from it. The quality of the evidence is low because in addition to there only existing few studies on the relationship between testosterone and performance, those that do exist rely on flawed data such as double counting athletes and times.[12] Irrespective of the concerns regarding the quality of the evidence used, the conclusions drawn from it are inconsistent because World Athletics’ choice to establish a testosterone limit for some, but not other athletic events is illogical.[13] According to the evidence, female athletes with high levels of testosterone have a competitive advantage in the following athletic disciplines: 400 m (2,73%), 400 m hurdles (2,78%), 800 m (1,78%), hammer throw (4,53%) and pole vault (2,94%).[14] No performance advantage was shown to exist in other athletic disciplines.[15] The inclusion of the 1500 m and one mile events into the Regulations but not the hammer throw and pole vault runs counter to the evidence and the goal of ensuring a level playing field.

Secondly, there appears to be no satisfying answer as to why there is no equivalent testosterone limit for male athletes despite their testosterone levels differing much more significantly[16].

Thirdly, the choice of using testosterone as the determining factor can be called into question. Given the wide range of physical attributes that are helpful in sport, it is not clear what makes testosterone so different from other physical attributes. Would a mix of physical attributes and parameters like the one used in Paralympics not be fairer and more inclusive?[17]

5.     Conclusion

The Semenya case has the potential to appreciably change international federations’ and Switzerland’s relationship with the ECHR. It is shown above that if the Court wants to apply the ECHR directly to the Regulations, it must bend the doctrine of positive obligations. Until now, the Court has not explained its unconventional use of the doctrine. Two explanations are at the Court’s disposal.[18] They are both premised on the idea that Semenya is in a position of dependence towards World Athletics.

Firstly, it is possible to extend the reasoning behind Mutu and Pechstein according to which the CAS (a private Court) must, in situations involving forced arbitration, offer the same fair trial guarantees as a state court, to all types of sports regulations.[19] Indeed, if one accepts that sports arbitration clauses are compulsory, it becomes very difficult to argue that sports regulations in general are not compulsory since the former are contained in the latter.[20]

Secondly, the Court can treat international federations analogous to state-like entities.[21] The relationship between Semenya and World Athletics is akin to that between regular citizens and a state due to the size, power, and monopolistic position it holds in the sport of athletics.[22] The Semenya case exemplifies this power imbalance well. World Athletics’ monopoly means that it can impose the Regulations upon Semenya. She cannot object to this effectively since giving up her international athletics career is not an option as she would put her livelihood at risk.[23]

In the present case, the first explanation is more fitting because World Athletics’ seat is in Monaco and not in Switzerland. If, as argued here, the Court bends the positive obligations doctrine to properly engage with the arguments raised by Semenya, this would give it the opportunity to explain its unusual approach. But even if the Court does not take this opportunity, its unconventional use of the doctrine of positive obligations would still send a message to international federations and Switzerland that they must take ECHR considerations seriously in spite of the private nature of international sports disputes.

Beyond the question of the applicability of the Convention, the Semenya case has the potential to have far-reaching consequences for the world of sports. This is because of the wide-ranging reach of the Court’s decisions and the fact that World Athletics’ policy on intersex athletes is based on a recommendation made by the International Olympic Committee (IOC). As the supreme governing body of global sports, the IOC’s policy on this matter influences sports regulations at all levels throughout the world.

Finally, the case is infused with highly relevant but difficult scientific, sports and societal issues. The discussions around the definition of sex are particularly sensitive in today’s society. The complexity and sensitive nature of the case as well as the clash between two fundamental goals of sport are all ingredients for an extremely contentious fight which will ultimately come down to the judges’ scorecards. Whilst a split decision is likely, controversy is certain.

[1] Franck Latty, "Le TAS marque des points devant la CEDH" (2018) issue 192 Revue juridique et économique du sport 31, 32.

[2] Unless she competes in disciplines not covered by the Regulations. After contemplating competing in events without testosterone limits, Caster Semenya had to give up trying to qualify for the 2020 Olympics in Tokyo.

[3] Mandates of Special Rapporteurs and the Working Group “Special Procedures Communication to the IAAF” (18 September 2018) OL OTH 62/2018 5.

[4] Although this is due to change soon. See C Delrave “Medical “normalisation” of intersex persons: third-party intervention to the ECTHR in the case of M. v. France” (Strasbourg Observers, 7 April 2021).

[5] See generally Robert Wintemute, "Recognising New Kinds of Direct Sex Discrimination: Transsexualism, Sexual Orientation and Dress Codes" (1997) vol 60 issue 3 The Modern Law Review 334, 334-336.

[6] Janis Block, Geschlechtergleichheit im Sport – Mit besonderer Berücksichtigung der Diskriminierung von trans- und intersexuellen Sportlerinnen unter den Voschriften des Allgemeinen Gleichbehandlungsgesetzes (Schriften zur Gleichstellung Band 39, Nomos 2014) 328-329.

[7] Mokgadi Caster Semenya v International Association of Athletics Federations [2019] Court of Arbitration for Sport 2018/O/57294 para 295.

[8] The same considerations apply under German law (see endnote 6).

[9] “The battle over trans athletes in American schools heats up – Inclusivity bumps up against fairness” The Economist (London, 5 September 2020).

[10] Mokgadi Caster Semenya v International Association of Athletics Federations paras 473-538.

[11] ibid para 527 and Judgment of DSD Regulations [2020] Swiss Federal Tribunal 4A_248/2019 and 4A_398/2019 para 9.8.3.4.

[12] Roger Pielke Jr, Ross Tucker and Erik Boye, “Scientific Integrity and the IAAF testosterone regulations” (2019) vol 19 issue 1-2 International Sports Law Journal 18, 21-22.

[13] See also Matthieu Maisonneuve, "Tribunal arbitral du sport, Mokgadi Caster Semenya & Athletics South Africa c/ International Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF) c/ Suisse, sentence du 30 avril 2019" (2019) issue 3 Revue de l’Arbitrage 941, 955.

[14] Mokgadi Caster Semenya v International Association of Athletics Federations para 338.

[15] ibid.

[16] The normal range for men is 8-30 nmol/L compared to 0.1-1.8 nmol/L for women. See “What Caster Semenya’s case means for women’s sport” The Economist (London, 8 May 2019).

[17] Maayan Sudai “The testosterone rule – constructing fairness in professional sport” (2017) vol 4 issue 1 Journal of Law and the Biosciences 181, 193.

[18] Maisonneuve (n 13) 964-965.

[19] Björn Hessert, “Cooperation and reporting obligations in sporting investigations” (2020) issue 3-4 International Sports Law Journal 145, 149.

[20] ibid.

[21] Latty (n 1) 32.

[22] French authors speak of the similarity between the "Sporting power" and "State power". See for instance Clémentine Legendre, "La soumission de la Puissance sportive à la Convention européenne des droits de l’homme: réflexions à partir de l’arrêt Mutu et Pechstein" (2020) issue 11 Recueil Dalloz 618.

[23] Hessert (n 20) 149.