What if the wrong question is: “Who is responsible for the athlete’s escape?” while the more important question is: “Why did the athlete want to escape in the first place?”

We woke today to a statement from the Ministry of Youth and Sports reporting that wrestler Mohamed El-Shamy had fled while returning from the Mediterranean Games in Taranto. This came alongside the incident involving Ziad Haggag, who left the Egyptian delegation during the World Youth Championships in Slovakia, resulting in the case being referred to the Public Prosecution. The Egyptian Olympic Committee also decided to suspend the head of the wrestling delegation and refer him to the Ethics Committee, following preliminary investigations indicating possible negligence, failure to perform duties, and inadequate supervision of one of the delegation members.

I am not focusing here on the act of fleeing itself, nor on referring the matter to the Public Prosecution or suspending the head of the delegation. These are necessary legal and administrative procedures if negligence is proven, and anyone found to have failed in their responsibilities must be held accountable. What caught my attention, however, is a different question: Is this the first time such an incident has occurred? Of course not. Cases of athletes fleeing have occurred repeatedly, to the point where they have become a recurring concern during certain international competitions, particularly in combat sports such as wrestling and boxing, as well as weightlifting during previous periods.

This is where we need to look at the issue from a different perspective—one that does not simply seek out an individual to suspend or punish before closing the file, or, in plain terms, finding a “scapegoat.” Instead, we need to examine the real reasons behind the recurrence of this phenomenon. If, every time, we simply look for someone to blame and stop there, then we are treating the consequence rather than the cause. So, is the real problem the athlete who fled, or is there a system and set of circumstances that led the athlete to even consider fleeing in the first place?

Another question naturally arises: Why is wrestling specifically one of the sports in which such incidents continue to occur, despite changes in boards of directors, coaches, and officials? And why do we not see the phenomenon with the same intensity in other Egyptian sports that have achieved major international success, such as squash, fencing, modern pentathlon, shooting, and handball? Even weightlifting itself experienced a similar problem during previous periods. If the people change while the problem remains, perhaps the problem does not lie solely with the individuals.

Another striking issue is that we sometimes seem to pay more attention to the athlete who fled than to the athlete who won. The athlete who leaves becomes the subject of widespread discussion, while a medal won by another athlete at the very same competition may pass almost unnoticed. Why has fleeing become bigger news than winning? And why do we give negative incidents more attention than achievements that should make us proud and deserve to be highlighted?

I believe that most people who follow Egyptian sports understand very well that individual sports, particularly combat sports, represent a refuge and a genuine opportunity for hundreds, even thousands, of low-income Egyptian families seeking a way out of difficult economic circumstances. Parents and families encourage their children to pursue sports and endure years of training and expenses alongside them. Their hope is that their son or daughter will win championships, raise the Egyptian flag, and turn sporting success into the beginning of a better life for both the athlete and the family.

Indeed, the athlete works hard, makes sacrifices, stands on podiums, and raises the Egyptian flag. But what comes next? Does winning a championship provide the athlete with a decent standard of living? Does it secure employment? Does it guarantee a future after retirement? Does the athlete feel that his or her future—and the future of the family—has become more secure? In many cases, the answer may not be sufficiently reassuring. At that point, hope can turn into a search for another opportunity, and international participation may, in the eyes of some athletes, become an opportunity to escape difficult economic and social circumstances.

None of this justifies fleeing in any way, nor does it exempt the individual from legal responsibility. But it does help us understand the motivation rather than simply judging the outcome. Not every athlete who flees necessarily intends to obtain citizenship or compete under another country’s flag. Some may simply be looking for a job, a decent life, and a better future for themselves and their families. So, is every athlete who flees a traitor to his country, or does every case have its own story, motivations, and circumstances that we should understand before passing judgment?

At the same time, it is unfair to regard every sports federation as guilty in every incident, or every coach as abusive or negligent. There are certainly officials and coaches who have been genuine sources of support for their athletes. However, if favoritism, a lack of fairness, conflicts of interest, or opportunities being granted on the basis of personal relationships rather than competence and achievement exist, then these issues must be addressed seriously. Such practices can cause athletes to lose confidence in the system to which they belong.

Likewise, placing the responsibility on parents by requiring them to sign declarations accepting liability if their children flee cannot be a genuine solution to the phenomenon. We do not need a piece of paper that prevents athletes from fleeing; we need a system that makes athletes themselves never consider fleeing in the first place.

We need membership in the Egyptian national team to be a true honor while, at the same time, representing the beginning of a better future. We need fair incentives, employment security, social support, and guarantees for the future of our champions—especially in individual sports, where athletes bear much of the burden of success through their own effort and sacrifices, as well as those made by their families. It makes little sense to remember an athlete only when they win a medal, and then leave them to face their future alone.

We also need to seriously investigate the role of intermediaries, agents, and brokers who may exploit the economic circumstances of some athletes. Are they genuinely seeking to benefit from their sporting talent, or are some cases simply about finding an opportunity to migrate, work, and build a life abroad? These are questions that require research, investigation, and an understanding of each individual case—not ready-made accusations.

Therefore, yes, we must hold those responsible for negligence accountable, investigate the incident, and enforce the law. But we must not close the file there. The recurrence of this phenomenon means that the problem is bigger than an athlete who fled, bigger than a delegation head who may have made a mistake, and bigger than any individual coach or federation. It is a systemic problem that requires a genuine review—one that begins with understanding the causes and addressing the roots of the problem, rather than merely dealing with its consequences.

In the end, the greatest loser is not the athlete alone, nor the head of the delegation, nor the federation. The greatest loser is Egyptian sport, Egypt’s reputation, and the future of its champions.

So, every time, we do not want the solution to be the search for another scapegoat, only to wait until the same story begins all over again.

We want to understand why our champions flee before we ask only: Who allowed them to flee?

By: Dr. Hamada Alantably