How much is the Novak Djokovic saga about nationality, politics or privilege?

If allowed to compete, Djokovic would be followed every inch of the way by his Serbian and vaccine-sceptic supporters on the one hand, and crowds of equally vocal opponents on the other, writes Mary Dejevsky

The battle going on is not just between Djokovic and Australia (AFP/Getty)

Every once in a while, the fate of a single individual serves to highlight the tensions that simmer almost perpetually beneath the surface of sport and politics. But rarely have so many contradictions come together as ruthlessly as they have done over the past couple of weeks in the quest of Novak Djokovic to compete in the Australian Open.

The World No 1 male tennis player, a proud Serbian national, was hoping not only to defend his men’s singles title, but to secure a record 21st Grand Slam victory, and so become the most successful men’s player ever. This double ambition gave his participation an extra edge. There was also a degree of urgency. At 34, he is not getting any younger. If he missed his chance in Australia, he might miss it for good.

Everything looked set fair for Djokovic, when he set off for Melbourne on 4 January, with what appeared to be a valid visa, granted thanks to a “medical exemption”. In theory, this allowed him to enter Australia regardless of his vaccination status. But things went wrong almost immediately.

His entitlement to a medical exemption – granted, it appeared, by the tournament organisers and the state of Victoria – was rejected by the federal immigration authorities at Melbourne airport. He was held in isolation, then dispatched, unwillingly, to a quarantine hotel. Four days later, he was released, after a successful appeal against the federal government’s view that his medical exemption – obtained on the basis of a positive Covid test in December – offered no guarantee of entry.

Whether he would allowed to compete, however, was still hanging in the balance, only days before the championship. His name was entered for the draw on Thursday – which was delayed, apparently for reasons unrelated to Djokovic. But now Australia’s immigration minister, Alex Hawke, has revoked the player’s visa – again.

His lawyers are expected to challenge the decision in the court, but as things stand, the Serbian faces deportation from Australia. This is where the Australian government, its tennis authorities, a stubborn and ambitious Serb, and the country’s strict Covid regulations are now colliding.

And the legal tussle has already revealed two parallel worlds: that of elite globetrotters, who have been swanning around the world on private planes and yachts, largely untroubled by Covid formalities, and the rest. The extent to which this tiny elite has been free to travel, courtesy of exemptions of various kinds, has been kept rather quiet.

There were also countries, such as the UK, where for much of the time no such provisions were needed, as the borders were largely open. But an incident early on in the pandemic, when a private plane from London was turned back by the authorities in Marseille, showed what governments could do if they really wanted to.

Also to bear in mind is that even in normal times, top sportspeople, like rock stars and others, do not travel as the rest of us do. They employ staff to free themselves from all the day to day hassles and allow them to concentrate unhindered on where they excel.

This is doubly important in Covid times. When I have travelled in the few windows available over the past two years, the process has entailed studying a host of ever-changing rules and being equipped with sheaves of documents, either on paper or virtually.

If, as it appears, the Australian government now has questions about the veracity of Djokovic’s paperwork, he may quite accurately claim that he had nothing to do with it; any errors are down to his minions. That might not prevent his deportation, but it could also be true.

The battle going on, however, is not just between Djokovic and Australia. It is also between the Australian tennis authorities, keen to ensure star players compete; the state of Victoria, which hosts the tournament and has similar considerations of prestige, and the federal government.

I cannot think of a federated state where permission to enter the country is granted at anything other than the federal level. Australia’s immigration minister has this power – and has used it in this case. If he hadn’t, what might that say about Canberra’s authority?

That question is all the more sensitive because the government of Scott Morrison faces an election in the next six months. For the past two years, Australia has had some of the most draconian anti-Covid regulations of any country, and some of the most contested.

For a tennis star to be granted an exemption has already played very badly with public opinion, and if he was allowed to take part in the tournament, resentment could only rise.

Djokovic’s public hostility to vaccination only makes matters worse. For whatever reason, elite sportspeople seem to be more hesitant to be vaccinated than others – UK footballers being a case in point. Such prominent opponents of vaccination are profoundly unhelpful to governments everywhere, as they try to persuade people to be vaccinated not just for their own, but for the greater, good. But they also anger those who have been vaccinated and create the impression – a la Downing Street parties – of one rule for “them”, and another for “us”.

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And finally, there is a Serbian angle. Every twist of Djokovic’s conflict with the Australian authorities has been followed by bands of flag-waving fans from the country’s Serbian community, who see the tennis star as their hero and who have regularly clashed with police. Unfairly stereotypical though it might be, Serbia and Serbs do not enjoy the best international reputation.

Some of this may be a legacy of how Serbia’s leader, Slobodan Milosevic, waged war against Kosovo in the late 1990s; some of it also reflects – again, a stereotype – how Serbia is often seen as orientated towards the east and Russia, while its neighbour and rival, Croatia, looks west and has joined the EU. To outsiders, Serbs may be seen – again, rightly or wrongly – as harbouring a host of grievances, to which Djokovic’s plight has just added another.

Nor, with his stubbornness and sometimes coarse language and manner, have Djokovic – and his vocal family – done themselves many favours, leaving a real question as to how far Djokovic’s nationality and/or his personality marked his cards. Would he have been treated in the same way if he had been French or Canadian?

And would he have inspired quite so much public hostility, not just in Australia, if he had complained less vociferously about his quarantine hotel? Or, say, if he had called for better conditions for everyone, rather than insisting that, as a sporting superstar, he deserved better.

Indeed, once he was detained, it might have been more elegant on his part simply to shake the Australian dust off his feet and leave (as the authorities cheerfully said he was free to do). But, of course, that was not going to happen. He wants not only to compete, but to win and secure that record. The same outsized ambition that made him the tennis champion that he is, surely helped shape his defiant response.

The trouble now is that, if ever allowed to compete, Novak Djokovic will be followed every inch of the way by his Serbian and vaccine-sceptic supporters on the one hand, and crowds of equally vocal opponents on the other, creating the very real danger of clashes in the streets. And if not, his fans will call foul and forever believe that their hero was deprived of his rightful place in history by a mixture of bad sportsmanship, politics and prejudice.