The IOC has trumpeted it worldwide as a « historical milestone »: the United Nations has recognised the sacrosanct autonomy of sport. Indeed, the Resolution A/69/L.5 (see the final draft) adopted by the General Assembly on 31 October states that it  “supports the independence and autonomy of sport as well as the mission of the International Olympic Committee in leading the Olympic movement”. This is a logical conclusion to a year that has brought the two organisations closer than ever. In April, UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon appointed former IOC President, Jacques Rogge, Special Envoy for Youth Refugees and Sport. At this occasion, the current IOC President, Thomas Bach, made an eloquent speech celebrating a “historic step forward to better accomplish our common mission for humanity” and a memorandum understanding was signed between the UN and the IOC. This is all sweet and well, but is there something new under the sun?

A beautiful friendship

As the IOC points out itself, it has always had a friendly institutional relationship with the UN. There is a good deal of solidarity of kin between the two transnational organisations. The UN has been keen on shoring up the Olympic truce. In fact, since 1993, it has adopted no less than 24 resolutions supporting sport (and the Olympic Games) as a means to promote education, health, development and peace. However, this year’s resolution goes beyond the previous resolutions. The text includes the usual references to the use of sport to foster peace and development, but it also celebrates in unequivocal terms the work and the autonomy of the Olympic movement. This is music to the IOC’s ears and resonates with its repeated calls on States to respect the autonomy of the “lex olympica”. The IOC has already stretched the interpretation of the resolution and claims “boycotts are incompatible with this UN request for respect of the values of sport”. Nevertheless, one must keep her feet on legal earth. This resolution by the General Assembly (GA) has no legally binding value on the UN Member States, it is merely encouraging them to act upon it. International legal scholars have endlessly debated the potential legal effects of UN resolutions, and they agree on one thing: Resolutions by the GA are not per se legally binding.[1] To be so, they must be capable of creating obligations on their addressees, or recognized as customary international law, both very unlikely in our case. Thus, this resolution should be interpreted as a declaration of friendship, which could have a practical impact (or not) on the work of national courts, depending on their willingness to acknowledge the UN resolution. In practice, it is just another sign (after the UEFA-EU arrangement) that international organisations tend to side politically (and usually uncritically) with the IOCs of this world.

A liaison dangereuse

Being good friends with the IOC guarantees good shots of the UN Secretary General holding the torch, but it might not be in the best interest of the UN, nor of the world’s citizens. The Olympic Games’ capacity to trigger an Olympic peace of some sort has been largely discredited by the invasion of Crimea and the proxy war fuelled by Russia in Ukraine, just days after the Winter Olympic Games in Sochi came to a close. The Secretary General of the UN himself stated in a recent (20 October 2014) report to the General Assembly that “[s]adly, there is no evidence of any initiative by warring parties either to unilaterally observe the Olympic Truce or to promote its mutual observation”. The Olympic truce myth has been a collective exercise of wishful prophesizing with no self-fulfilling effect in sight.

Furthermore, the UN General Assembly reaffirms “that any form of discrimination is incompatible with belonging to the Olympic movement”, but the latest Games in Sochi have also shown that the IOC is not sanguine, to say the least, in fighting discriminatory laws adopted by Olympic host countries. In fact, exactly on this matter, the IOC has announced already that it does not “have a mandate to impose measures on sovereign States outside its own fields”. This is surprising, as the IOC seems to consider it has a mandate to impose (via the host city contract) a string of measures on sovereign States covering core public policies (tax, infrastructure or intellectual property rights). Why does it not include the fight against all sorts of discrimination in the "fields" it deems its own? The latest draft of the Host city contract for the 2022 Winter Games comprises a reference to the “prohibition of any form of discrimination”, but it is still deprived of real legal teeth.

This relationship between the IOC and the UN is more of a liaisons dangereuse than a “beautiful friendship”. The UN should be weary to associate itself too closely with an institution characterised by a lack of transparency, internal democracy and accountability. Sure, one could hope that this friendship would lead the IOC to reform itself, but its readiness to do so is rather enhanced by public outrage and the threats of legal challenges than warm accolades. There is a regrettable paradox here: While the global citizenry is loudly contesting the IOC and FIFA, it is à la mode for international organisations to align themselves politically with them.

[1] On this question in general, see K. Hailbronner and E. Klein, Commentary of Article 10 of the UN Charter in B. Simma (ed.), The Charter of the United Nations : A Commentary, Oxford University Press, 2002, p.257-275

Editor's Note: Marjolaine is a researcher and attorney admitted to the Geneva bar (Switzerland) who specialises in sports and life sciences. Her interests focus on interdisciplinary approaches as a way of designing effective solutions in the field of anti-doping and other science-based domains. Her book “Evidence in Anti-Doping at the Intersection of Science & Law” was published through T.M.C Asser Press / Springer in late 2015. She participates as a co-author on a project hosted by the University of Neuchâtel to produce the first article-by-article legal commentary of the 2021 World Anti-Doping Code. In her practice, she regularly advises international federations and other sports organisations on doping and other regulatory matters, in particular on aspects of scientific evidence, privacy or research regulation. She also has experience assisting clients in arbitration proceedings before the Court of Arbitration for Sport or other sport tribunals.

Since the spectre of the EU General Data Protection Regulation (‘GDPR’) has loomed over the sports sector,[1] a new wind seems to be blowing on anti-doping, with a palpable growing interest for stakes involved in data processing. Nothing that would quite qualify as a wind of change yet, but a gentle breeze of awareness at the very least.

Though the GDPR does mention the fight against doping in sport as a potential matter of public health in its recitals,[2] EU authorities have not gone so far as to create a standalone ground on which anti-doping organisations could rely to legitimise their data processing. Whether or not anti-doping organisations have a basis to process personal data – and specifically sensitive data – as part of their anti-doping activities, thus remains dependent on the peculiarities of each national law. Even anti-doping organisations that are incorporated outside the EU are affected to the extent they process data about athletes in the EU.[3] This includes international sports federations, many of which are organised as private associations under Swiss law. Moreover, the Swiss Data Protection Act (‘DPA’) is currently under review, and the revised legal framework should largely mirror the GDPR, subject to a few Swiss peculiarities. All anti-doping organisations undertake at a minimum to abide by the WADA International Standard for Privacy and the Protection of Personal Information (‘ISPPPI’), which has been adapted with effect to 1 June 2018 and enshrines requirements similar to those of the GDPR. However, the ISPPPI stops short of actually referring to the GDPR and leaves discretion for anti-doping organisations to adapt to other legislative environments.

The purpose of this blog is not to offer a detailed analysis of the requirements that anti-doping organisations must abide by under data protection laws, but to highlight how issues around data processing have come to crystallise key challenges that anti-doping organisations face globally. Some of these challenges have been on the table since the adoption of the first edition of the World Anti-Doping Code (‘WADC’) but are now exposed in the unforgiving light of data protection requirements.

Who is who and who does what?

It is hardly a scoop for those familiar with the World Anti-Doping Program to state that its structures are complex, relying on an intricate network of private entities as well as public (or quasi-public) agencies, each subject to their own applicable laws. The World Anti-Doping Program has always struggled with reconciling its objectives of global harmonisation with the sovereignty and diversity of national laws. National Anti-Doping Organisations (‘NADO’s) operate at the national level; they are in charge of doping issues across all sports in one country and are endowed with more or less extensive enforcement powers depending on their country’s regulatory approach to the sport sector. By contrast, international federations claim exclusive governance over one sport worldwide, uniformly and without regard to national borders but have to do so with the instruments available to private entities based on contractual or similar tools of private autonomy.

Over time, the WADC has been repeatedly updated to strike a balance between the two (national versus international) spheres and avoid positive or negative conflicts of competence. Provisions seek to clarify attributions in areas where international- and national-level competences collide, such as roles in Therapeutic Use Exemption (‘TUE’) management, testing authority, or results management responsibilities.[4] Even as it is, there is no safeguard to prevent disputes from arising about the proper authority to investigate and initiate proceedings for doping.[5]

Data processing activities are not exempted from the difficulties that accompany the complexity of anti-doping. If anything, these difficulties are rather exacerbated by data protection laws. In particular, the GDPR seeks to create a framework within which data subjects can easily recognise when data is being processed about them, by whom and to what aim(s), and whom to turn to in order to exercise their rights. This forces anti-doping organisations to be precise and unambiguous about their respective roles and attributions among themselves and chiefly towards the data subjects, the athletes subject to doping control.

The GDPR draws a distinction between two major categories of entities that process personal data: an entity can be characterised either as a data ‘controller’, or as a data ‘processor’. A controller is defined as an entity which “alone or jointly with others, determines the purposes and means of the processing of personal data”. A processor is an entity “which processes personal data on behalf of” a controller.[6]

The distinction may seem rather straightforward at first sight: the controller has a personal or commercial interest in the data processing and decides which data to collect, from whom, and through what means. At the other end of the spectrum, a ‘typical’ processor receives documented instructions from a controller and merely implements these instructions with no autonomy of decision or an autonomy limited to technical issues and logistics. However, interrelationships are often much more subtle in reality with considerable room for borderline situations: multiple controllers may need to agree on their (joint) controllership of the data while operating alongside entities that may act in part as processors, in part as controllers of their own right for different aspects of the data processing.[7]

In anti-doping, more than half a dozen entities may be involved in a routine doping control activity, between test planning and the outcome of a disciplinary process. All of these will either collect or gain access to athlete data, including sensitive data, as illustrated by the following: an international federation decides to conduct blood testing on an athlete from its registered testing pool but delegates sample collection to the NADO of the country in which the athlete is currently residing. To do so, the NADO has access to the athlete’s whereabouts filings through the ADAMS database, managed by the World Anti-Doping Agency (‘WADA’). The NADO itself carries out sample collection through a private service provider with its dedicated blood control officers and decides to use the opportunity to order, in addition, the collection of urine samples from the athlete. Upon sampling, the athlete is asked to fill in the doping control form in front of the doping control personnel, which includes disclosing several ongoing medication courses in the dedicated box. Samples are then transported, in a de-identified (‘coded’) form, by private courier from the country of collection to the international federation’s usual WADA-accredited laboratory in a different country.

Assuming the laboratory reports an adverse analytical finding in the blood sample, the international federation requests a full documentation package from the laboratory and verifies whether a Therapeutic Use Exemption on the record could be related to the adverse analytical finding. Upon notification of the results and public announcement of the immediate provisional suspension, the athlete requests the analysis of the B sample, thereby de facto lifting the code on the A sample where the laboratory is concerned. The athlete submits a series of explanations regarding the possible causes for the adverse analytical finding, including a report from his treating physician regarding a medical condition that might account for the findings. The international federation may send the laboratory documentation package and athlete explanations to external experts for additional input and then hands over the file to its external anti-doping tribunal members. Most data will at some point have to pass through the ADAMS database and be stored within that database for up to ten years. However, it may also be communicated by other (electronic or physical) means among anti-doping organisations and their service providers and experts.

Once the disciplinary decision is issued, its main elements are publicly disclosed by the international federation on its website, and the decision shared with WADA and any NADO having jurisdiction over the athlete. The NADO further decides to send the negative urine sample for long-term storage and possible reanalysis to the WADA-accredited laboratory that provides its storage facilities.

The above description represents an imaginary but ultimately rather standard situation for anti-doping organisations. It does not seem too far-fetched to identify that the international federation at the very least acts as a controller of the athlete data processed. However, a NADO who receives instructions to collect samples and also decides to collect additional data (and additional biological materials) on its own and for its own purposes, potentially acts as both a processor and controller depending on the data at stake. A number of processors and sub-processors are involved in the process as service providers, while the qualification of external experts may have to be assessed on a case-by-case basis. WADA offers the ADAMS database as an IT infrastructure for data storage and sharing for the international federation and NADO but also uses the data to fulfil its own obligations and purposes under the WADC, such as exercising its appeal rights or verifying compliance of the anti-doping organisations with their duties. Arguably, at the very least there will be three controllers of data (international federation, NADO, and WADA) in addition to multiple processors and sub-processors.

Characterising the role of each entity as a ‘controller’ or as a ‘processor’ is far from being of academic interest only. The two types of entities have distinct responsibilities and requirements for lawful processing. Appropriate contractual arrangements need to be set up among the entities involved, and data subjects must be informed of these in a comprehensible manner allowing them to exercise their rights. Controllers have primary responsibility for dealing with data subject requests and responding to supervisory authorities and have a more extensive scope of liability across the entire scope of data processing. By contrast, processors are, in essence, only liable for their own processing activities and merely undertake to support the controllers in their obligations towards data subjects and authorities.[8]

There is one other important difference that carries special significance in the context of anti-doping: a processor who acts under instructions can rely on the processing contract with the controller responsible for the data as a lawful basis for processing.[9] By contrast, if two or more parties qualify as controllers in their own right, each controller needs to secure its individual lawful basis with respect to the data subjects. The requirement of lawful processing is entwined with the discussion around the validity of ‘consent’ to anti-doping regulations.

Lawful basis and problematic character of consent

Processing of personal data under the GDRP requires a lawful basis. As relevant to our topic, three types of legitimising grounds co-exist: i.) grounds rooted in private autonomy (consent or necessity for performance of a contract with the data subject), ii.) grounds relying on public interest or overriding interests of the controller (e.g. pursuing a legal claim), or iii.) a specific basis in Union or national law, e.g. for performance of a substantial public interest or public health task.[10] Not all grounds enter into consideration for every category of data; special categories of data – also known as ‘sensitive’ data under the DPA – have a more limited number of valid processing grounds.[11] Obviously, a major part of data processed as part of doping control qualifies as sensitive data as it relates to health,[12] including the data gathered through analysis of doping control samples or collected as part of TUE applications.

The traditional way for international sports organisations to impose their rules on their ultimate addressees, i.e., the individual athletes, has been through contract, quasi-contractual chains of submission, or other instruments involving a declaration of consent. The validity of consent on the part of those who submit to anti-doping regulations is a recurring matter for debate, in particular as its informed and voluntary character is generally described at best as limited and more frequently as purely illusory. The issue has been scrutinised in particular with respect to submission to proceedings before the Court of Arbitration for Sport (‘CAS’),[13] which the WADC imposes as a legal remedy in international doping disputes. While acknowledging the ‘constrained’ nature of the athlete’s consent, the Swiss Supreme Court accepts the validity of arbitration clauses in sports regulations in the name of the needs for swift and competent resolution of sport disputes. It has, however, imposed certain limits on the extent to which an athlete can entrust their fate to the sports resolution system. As decided in the Cañas v. ATP case, an athlete cannot validly waive in advance the right to challenge the CAS award in front of the Supreme Court in disciplinary matters.[14] In Pechstein v. Switzerland, the European Court of Human Rights (‘ECtHR’) was asked to discuss the status of an arbitration clause in the context of doping proceedings. It reached the same conclusion that the only choice offered to the athlete was either to accept the clause in order to be able to make a living by practising her sport at a professional level or to refuse it and completely give up on practising at such level. As a result of this restriction on the athlete’s professional life, it was not possible to argue that she accepted the clause ‘in a free and unequivocal manner’.[15]

In both cases, the findings were ultimately of little consequence for the sports sector. The Swiss Supreme Court only reviews CAS awards through an extremely narrow lens so that the power to set strategic jurisprudence in sports matters remains with the CAS panels, whether or not athletes retain their rights to challenge the award. Similarly, in the Claudia Pechstein matter, the only shortcoming found in the ruling was the lack of an option for a public hearing in CAS proceedings. Absence of genuine consent has thus been – expressly or implicitly – compensated for by courts through procedural safeguards, in an effort to ensure that athletes still benefit overall from a system of justice broadly compliant with Article 6 of the European Convention on Human Rights.

Data protection issues create a greater challenge here, since the GDPR explicitly requires consent to be ‘freely given’, in addition to being informed.[16] The same is true under the Swiss DPA.[17] The GDPR does not accommodate compensatory mechanisms to account for the ‘fictional’ character of consent in the sports context: consent that is not optional is not free, and consent that is not free is not valid. Importantly, free consent also presupposes that consent can be withdrawn at any time as easily as it was given and without significant detrimental consequences for the data subject.[18]

I will not delve here into how anti-doping organisations can fulfil the requirement of ‘informed consent’, which as per the GDPR requires “intelligible and easily accessible form, using clear and plain language”.[19] The template information notices (here and here) proposed by WADA currently in effect inform athletes, in essence, that their data may be processed based on various legal grounds, may be accessed by various entities around the world according to various data protections laws, which may offer them various levels of protection, and that they may have various rights and obligations under these laws. It is questionable whether explanations in this form would satisfy the requirements for informed consent. Still, adequate information appears at least achievable with appropriate and individualised legal drafting supported by a data protection specialist. The question of free consent is a much more delicate one since it is not in the hands of anti-doping organisations to give athletes a genuine choice in this respect.

In spite of the potential financial implications, one could argue that consent is freely given where the athlete can choose at any time to withdraw consent to data processing, with the sole consequence of losing the benefit of the services attached to the ‘contractual’ relationship with their sports authorities, i.e. the right to participate in sports competitions. This would, for example, suppose that an athlete notified of a testing attempt could elect to either submit or instead declare immediate retirement from sport without any further consequences. Under the current rules, however, such withdrawal of consent would trigger disciplinary sanctions, which may include ineligibility or fines depending on the sport, and in any event, will have a significant impact on the athlete’s reputation. The templates proposed by WADA explicitly warn athletes about these consequences, as well as the fact that anti-doping organisations may retain and continue processing their data in spite of any withdrawal (see here and here). In fact, the WADC provides that the results management and disciplinary process may be initiated or may continue in spite of the athlete announcing their retirement from sport.[20]

To this day, one is still awaiting a realistic proposal that would allow consent to anti-doping regulations to be genuinely freely given. Most stakeholders would agree that there is no viable manner of making compliance with anti-doping rules optional for athletes without undermining the very notion of a level playing field.[21] Unlike the relatively benign implications that lack of genuine consent had for the sport dispute resolution system so far, the impossibility of creating the prerequisites for free consent to anti-doping regulations is far more consequential in the data protection context. Indeed, it precludes reliance on consent as a reliable lawful basis that can be used globally by international sports governing bodies to secure the lawfulness of their data processing. This is the case unless courts would be willing to go against the explicit wording of data protection laws and tolerate ‘forced’ consent as a lawful basis in the context of sport.

As the Swiss Federal Council noted in their official communication on the Swiss Sport Act, the questionable validity of athlete consent makes it necessary to create express legal provisions authorising anti-doping organisations to collect and process personal data for anti-doping purposes.[22] Under the GDPR, processing sensitive data relying on an interest of substantial public or public health interest equally requires a legal basis in EU or relevant national law of a member state. Without intervention of national lawmakers to recognise anti-doping as a matter of ‘substantial public interest’ or ‘public health’ interest and identify those entities that are entitled by law to process data together with an appropriate description of the admissible scope and purposes for such processing, sports organisations will continue to rest on shaky ground when it comes to data processing and in particular processing of sensitive data.

Proportionality of treatment

The issue of proportionality is relevant for almost any component of an anti-doping system. It is recognised by CAS panels and courts as an internationally accepted standard,[23] as part of the assessment for deciding whether an encroachment upon individual freedoms is justifiable and justified in any given case. Proportionality is frequently debated in connection with the severity of the disciplinary sanctions set forth in the WADC,[24] but it is also a test that every other aspect of the regulation must stand up to.[25]

An important limb of the proportionality test is the ‘necessity’ of a measure having regard to the rights affected. This aspect was recently addressed by the European Court for Human Rights in the context of French legislation on the whereabouts regime applicable to professional athletes and its compatibility with privacy: “the general‑interest considerations that make them necessary are particularly important and, in the Court’s view, justify the restrictions on the applicants’ rights under Article 8 of the Convention. Reducing or removing the requirements of which the applicants complain would be liable to increase the dangers of doping to their health and that of the entire sporting community, and would run counter to the European and international consensus on the need for unannounced testing.”[26] The ECtHR conducted its assessment with respect to the right to privacy under Article 8 of the European Convention on Human Rights without having regard to specific data protection provisions.

The requirement of proportionality is a pillar of data protection in all its aspects, from the decision to collect the data to its retention. It is enshrined both in the GDPR and in the DPA[27] and is notably also highlighted in the WADA ISPPPI.[28] Concerns about proportionality of the anti-doping system were expressed by EU data protection advisory authorities as early as 2008,[29] and numerous exchanges with WADA have ensued.[30] Various adjustments have been made to the ISPPPI since then with a significant review to adapt the ISPPPI to the GDPR requirements, and a new set of WADA Guidelines adopted in 2018.

Still, the threats on proportionality are bound to be ubiquitous in a context where standardisation is a guiding principle of regulation. For example, the ISPPPI (Annex A) enshrines retention times based on different categories of data (TUE, samples, whereabouts, etc.), but with only two different retention periods overall: 18 months (newly being reconsidered in the draft revised version as 12 months) or 10 years. These have been criticised again in the ongoing stakeholder consultation process as being insufficiently differentiated to be adequate.[31] Indeed, while a column in the Annex formally indicates for each category that the retention time has been chosen based on “necessity” or “proportionality” criteria, Annex A states in limine that the limitation to two retention periods is “for practical reasons”. These justifications cannot be easily reconciled. To properly account for proportionality, anti-doping organisations would need to conduct their own assessment in a more individualised fashion, adapted to their athlete pool and sport. However, as in many other domains of doping control, one wonders how many of them will have the resources, competences and willingness to look beyond WADA prescriptions. Also, since most of the data must be processed through the ADAMS database managed by WADA, anti-doping organisations may have limited effective power over the set-up of the data deletion process.

The proportionality principle is also connected to another fundamental requirement, which is that data processing must remain within the ‘purpose’ defined (‘purpose limitation’ principle). The ISPPPI contains a list of purposes for which anti-doping organisations may process data. However, the ISPPPI gives anti-doping organisations an option to decide to process data for other purposes related to the fight against doping, provided they carry out a documented assessment. The WADA Guidelines propose a template for ‘new purpose assessment’, and indicate that such new purpose could encompass purposes that were not contemplated in the WADC nor perhaps could even be envisaged at the time of collection. The draft revised ISPPPI seems to go even further down this line: “In certain contexts, it may be appropriate or necessary for Anti-Doping Organizations/WADA to Process Personal Information for additional purposes, […] besides those already permitted or required by the Code, the International Standard or expressly required by law, in order to engage effectively in the fight against doping”.[32] It is unclear how this assessment is to be effectively implemented especially for sensitive data, be it under the assumption of a consensual basis or of one based on national law recognising substantial public interests for anti-doping activities. In both cases, if the actual purposes for which the data may be used are in limbo awaiting potential reassessment for ‘new’ purposes, it is questionable whether informed consent or a sufficiently predictable legal basis respectively could even be created.[33]

As the claims for more ‘evidence-based’ approaches and stronger monitoring of anti-doping programs grow louder, more thought could be spent on proportionality and purpose limitation of data processing in anti-doping. Most of the discussion so far has revolved around the intrusiveness of the whereabouts requirements. Whereabouts information, however, is only collected from a limited number of high-profile athletes (i.e., those included within a registered testing pool) and is only a fraction of the data collected as part of anti-doping programs. In the FNASS et al. v. France ruling, the ECtHR essentially relied on the pleas of the anti-doping movement and governments to find that the fight against doping pursues a public health interest and implements it in a proportionate way. In doing so, the ECtHR seems to perpetuate a tendency of CAS and other courts to take policy documents and consensus statements - whether enshrined or not in international law instruments such as the UNESCO Convention against Doping in Sport - as proof of the reality of the claims they contain[34] without requiring much supporting evidence. In many instances, this is technically justified by placing on the contesting party the burden of demonstrating any lack of proportionality.[35] On a higher level, however, it tends to create a presumption that any doubt must benefit the cause of anti-doping.[36] This may lead to self-perpetuating policy biases based on circular reasoning by justifying new measures through previous, unverified claims.

Data protection laws, with their detailed requirements and descriptions of data subject rights, may offer a foundation for a more granular analysis than general human rights provisions under the undetermined heading of ‘privacy’. Opportunities for legal analysis may still be hindered by the fact that an argument related to data protection is hard to build into a defence when athletes – or their counsel – would typically start seriously thinking about these issues only once they become subject to investigations or discipline for a potential breach of the anti-doping rules. CAS panels have been rather generous in admitting evidence unlawfully obtained against individuals charged in disciplinary proceedings.[37] It could thus prove extremely difficult – perhaps even counter-productive as a defence strategy – for an athlete to object to the admissibility of doping control data obtained in breach of data protection laws, in particular when the objection relates to a breach that leaves as much discretion to the panel as proportionality of data collection or retention. CAS panels have repeatedly recognised the fight against doping as an interest that overrides individual freedoms without carrying out much of an individualised balance of the interests at stake. [38]  More promising impetus could come from a random athlete seeking advice from supervisory authorities through the avenues offered by his or her national data protection laws prior to exposure to a positive test or other disciplinary action. Unfortunately, much like consumers, athletes often seem to show little interest in their privacy until they are confronted with some tangible detrimental consequences.

A true plague or a real opportunity?

Some may view recent developments in data protection laws as just another headache for sports governing bodies and deplore the advent of a new hurdle for anti-doping organisations who aspire to take their tasks under the World Anti-Doping Program seriously. Anti-doping organisations advocate that they are carrying out a mission of public interest. As we have seen, this view has been supported by various bodies and courts around the world and is also reflected in the UNESCO Convention against Doping in Sport. However, the GDPR does not regard public interest as an absolute basis for all data processing; in particular, sensitive data cannot be processed on the sole basis of an alleged public interest unless such public interest is substantial or related to public health, and its modalities are set out in national or EU law.

In a time where the credibility of existing structures and procedures within anti-doping authorities is questioned, the challenge arising from data protection standards can also be perceived as an opportunity for the anti-doping system. The ISPPPI and related WADA Guidelines, unfortunately, do not purport to provide solutions to the various crucial challenge set out above but merely invite anti-doping organisations to act in accordance with their applicable data protection laws. They give little guidance on how this is to be achieved in the event that these laws conflict with their duties under the WADC.

Developments in data protection force anti-doping organisations to look at their structures, legal status and their relationships with other organisations within the system. These developments should also have the effect of prompting national legislators to take measures more supportive of anti-doping policies in this domain, and in particular by making sure that sports governing bodies benefit from an appropriate legal basis for processing data, including sensitive data. Given that the very purpose of the WADC is to harmonise the regulation of doping in sport worldwide and that this objective is routinely invoked to justify restrictions on athlete rights, it would seem somewhat counterintuitive not to afford all athletes the same level of protection where their data is concerned. If there is truly a general international consensus on the legitimacy of the fight against doping and this consensus is supported by the State parties to the UNESCO Convention, those States, at a minimum, must be willing to give anti-doping organisations the means to carry out their tasks in a legally sustainable manner, unless and until these States are ready to engage in a fundamental overhaul of the current system.

[1] Regulation (EU) 2016/679 of the European Parliament and of the Council of 27 April 2016 on the protection of natural persons with regard to the processing of personal data and on the free movement of such data. The GDPR started to apply on 25 May 2018. In theory, all entities conducting data processing activities within the scope of the GDPR ought to have secured compliance as of this effective date.

[2] Recital 112 refers to requirements for cross-border data transfers and provides: “Those derogations should in particular apply to data transfers required and necessary […] for public health, for example […] in order to reduce and/or eliminate doping in sport”.

[3] Article 3 para. 2 of the GDPR regarding territorial scope of application.

[4] See Articles 4.4 of the WADC for TUEs, 5.2 for testing, and 7.1 for results management.

[5] See e.g. CAS 2014/A/3598, 3599 & 3618, in which the authority of USADA to initiate proceedings against Johan Bruyneel and others was challenged.

[6] Article 4 (Definitions) of the GDPR. Note that a processor within the meaning of the GDPR may itself choose to delegate part of its activities to a sub-processor, if and to the extent authorised by the controller.

[7] See the guidance and examples given by the UK Information Commissioner’s Office.

[8] See Chapter IV of the GDPR.

[9] Article 28 para. 3 of the GDPR.

[10] Article 6 of the GDPR.

[11] Article 9 of the GDPR.

[12] Article 9 para. 1 of the GDPR; Article 3 lit. c of the DPA.

[13] See e.g. Duval A (2017) Not in My Name! Claudia Pechstein and the Post-Consensual Foundations of the Court of Arbitration for Sport, Max Planck Institute for Comparative Public Law & International Law (MPIL) Research Paper No. 2017-01; Rigozzi A & Robert-Tissot F (2015) "Consent" in Sports Arbitration: Its Multiple Aspects. In: Geisinger & Trabaldo-De Mestral (eds) Sports Arbitration: A Coach for Other Players? ASA Series 41, Jurisnet NY, pp 59-95;

[14] Swiss Supreme Court Decision, 4P.172/2006, 22 March 2007.

[15] ECtHR Decision 22 October 2018, Mutu & Pechstein v. Switzerland, no 40575/10 et 67474/10, para. 114.

[16] Article 4 (Definitions) of the GDPR.

[17] Article 4 para. 5 of the DPA.

[18] Article 7 para. 3 of the GDPR.

[19] Article 7 para. 2 of the GDPR.

[20] Article 7.11 of the WADC.

[21] Though it is often debated to what extent exactly the performance enhancing effect of individual prohibited substances and methods is established. Heuberger J, Cohen A (2018) Review of WADA Prohibited Substances: Limited Evidence for Performance-Enhancing Effects. Sports Med. 2019; 49(4): 525–539.

[22] Message du Conseil fédéral du 11 nov. 2009, FF 09.082, pp 7450/7451 : « Aujourd’hui, les contrôles antidopage relevant du sport de droit privé reposent sur une déclaration de consentement du sportif. Cette déclaration doit être librement consentie. Or, cette liberté n’est pas garantie, dans la mesure où le refus de donner son consentement peut entraîner l’exclusion de la manifestation ou la perte de la licence ».

[23] CAS 2005/C/976 & 986, FIFA & WADA, para. 138 ; CJEU decision Meca-Medina & Majcen v. Commission (C-519/04).

[24] A recent example: CAS 2018/A/5546, Guerrero v. FIFA, CAS 2018/A/5571, WADA v. FIFA & Guerrero, paras 85 et seq.; Legal Opinion by Jean-Paul Costa on the 2015 revision of the WADC.

[25] Viret (2016), Evidence in Anti-Doping at the Intersection of Science & Law, T.M.C Asser, p. 133; Since its 2015 version, the WADC has included an explicit reference to proportionality as one of the key considerations underlying its drafting. See introductory section “Purpose, Scope and Organization of the World Anti-Doping Program and the Code”.

[26]ECtHR, FNASS et al. v. France (48151/11 and 77769/13), para. 191.

[27] Article 5(1)(c) of the GDPR, whereas the data must be “adequate, relevant and limited to what is necessary in relation to the purposes for which they are processed (‘data minimisation’)”.

[28] Section 5.0 ISPPI “Processing Relevant and Proportionate Personal Information”.

[29] Art. 29 Working Party, now replaced by the European Data Protection Board under the GDPR.

[30] See collection of legal documents on WADA website.

[31] Comment to revised ISPPPI by NADA Germany, ad Annex Retention Times.

[32] Comment ad Article 5.3(d) draft ISPPPI.

[33] The EU Commission warns that extension of purpose is not possible where processing was based on consent or a provision of law without renewing the consent or creating a new legal basis.

[34] See e.g. preamble of the UNESCO Convention “Concerned by the use of doping by athletes in sport and the consequences thereof for their health, the principle of fair play, the elimination of cheating and the future of sport”.

[35] See already in CJEU decision Meca-Medina & Majcen v. Commission (C-519/04) regarding the proportionality of threshold levels.

[36] Maisonneuve Mathieu, La CEDH et les obligations de localisation des sportifs : le doute profite à la conventionnalité de la lutte contre le dopage, note sous CEDH, 5^e sect., 18 January 2018, Fédération nationale des associations et des syndicats sportifs (FNASS) et autres c. France, req. Nos 48151/11 et 77769/13. Journal d’actualité des droits européenes, Centre de recherches et de documentation européennes et internationales, 2018.

[37] CAS 2016/A/4487, IAAF v. Melnikov, para. 108.

[38] CAS 2009/A/1879, Valverde v. CONI, para. 139.

Editor’s Note: Oytun Azkanar holds an LLB degree from Anadolu University in Turkey and an LLM degree from the University of Melbourne. He is currently studying Sports Management at the Anadolu University.

Introduction

On 19 October 2017, the Turkish Professional Football Disciplinary Committee (Disciplinary Committee) rendered an extraordinary decision regarding the fixing of the game between Manisaspor and Şanlıurfaspor played on 14 May 2017. The case concerned an alleged match-fixing agreement between Elyasa Süme (former Gaziantepspor player), İsmail Haktan Odabaşı and Gökhan Sazdağı (Manisaspor players). The Disciplinary Committee acknowledged that the evidence relevant for proving the match-fixing allegations was obtained illegally and therefore inadmissible, and the remaining evidence was not sufficient to establish that the game was fixed. Before discussing the allegations, it is important to note that the decision is not only significant for Turkish football but is also crucial to the distinction between disciplinary and criminal proceedings in sports.

Background of the Case

During the last weeks of the 2016/2017 season in Turkish 2^nd Division League, three teams, namely Manisaspor, Şanlıurfaspor and Gazişehir Gaziantep, were competing to avoid relegation. At the penultimate week, Manisaspor played against Şanlıurfaspor and won the game. Gazişehir Gaziantep also won its match. As a consequence of these results, Şanlıurfaspor was relegated to a lower division. At the end of the season, on 5 July 2017, Şanlıurfaspor claimed that the club Gazişehir Gaziantep had attempted to influence the outcomes of the games and Şanlıurfaspor appealed to the Turkish Football Federation (TFF).

Şanlıurfaspor’s claims mainly focused on the recording of the talk between Nizamettin Keremoğlu (Vice-President of Gazişehir), Elyasa Süme (a former Gaziantepspor player), Gökhan Sazdağı (Gazişehir player who was on loan at Manisaspor at the time) and İsmail Haktan Odabaşı (Manisaspor player). The recording was leaked and uploaded on Youtube. The content of the recording clearly demonstrates that incentives were provided to Manisaspor players by Gazişehir in order to encourage them to win against Şanlıurfaspor. Furthermore, Gökhan Sazdağı confessed in the recording that he had been involved in match-fixing before and that this would not be his first time. In addition, Gaziantepspor claimed that Elyasa Süme was involved in match-fixing. On 20 July 2017, based on these serious allegations and the incriminating evidence publically released, the TFF referred Şanlıurfaspor’s application to the Turkish Football Federation Ethics Committee (Ethics Committee). Following the Ethics Committee’s report, the TFF subsequently referred the case to the Disciplinary Committee for determining the possible sanctions to be imposed on Gazişehir Gaziantep, Nizmettin Keremoğlu, Elyasa Süme, Gökhan Sazdağı and İsmail Haktan Odabaşı. Finally, on 19 October 2017, the Disciplinary Committee decided that the evidence relevant for proving match-fixing was illegally obtained and the remaining evidence was not enough to establish an instance of match-fixing.

Separating Disciplinary and Criminal Proceedings

It is generally accepted that in sports law disciplinary proceedings are to be treated differently than criminal investigations.[1] In countries like Turkey, match-fixing and/or match-fixing attempts also constitute a crime. Article 11(1) of the Act on the Prevention of Violence and Disorder in Sports stipulates that a person providing advantages or benefits in order to influence the final result of a game shall be punished with imprisonment from five to twelve years. Article 11(5) of the same regulation also states that in case of commission of the offense by offering or promising incentive pay with the intention of enabling one team to win a match, only half of the punishment is to be imposed.

On the other hand, match-fixing and incentives also appear in Article 58 of the Turkish Football Disciplinary Instruction. The said provision makes clear that it is forbidden to influence the outcome of the games illegally or unethically. Incentives fall also within the scope of this provision. In case of a breach, individuals will face a life-long ban. In case of an attempt at match-fixing or of the provision of unlawful incentives, clubs will be sanctioned by at least a 12 points deduction.

It is important to note that Turkish prosecutors have not yet opened a criminal investigation for the allegations related to the provision of incentives, even if the allegations and evidence are serious.

The Position of FIFA, UEFA, and CAS with respect to Match-Fixing Allegations and Binding Rules for Turkish Authorities     

FIFA as the world's governing body of football has put in place significant provisions regarding match-fixing and corruption in football. Article 69 FIFA Disciplinary Code stipulates that anyone who unlawfully influences the outcomes of football games can be banned from taking part in any football-related activity for life. Furthermore, Article 3.10 FIFA Code of Conduct also highlights the importance of zero tolerance for bribery and corruption.  

UEFA president Michael Platini announced in 2011 that a zero tolerance policy was adopted by UEFA regarding match-fixing, and that all match-fixing allegations would be seriously investigated. Moreover, as evidenced in Sport Lisboa e Benfica Futebol SAD, Vitoria Sport Clube de Guimaraes v. UEFA and FC Porto Futebol SAD, UEFA is not bound by national associations’ decisions in this regard.

A zero-tolerance policy requires that match-fixing attempts be punished heavily. This does not mean, however, that there is no standard of proof for match-fixing allegations. According to the CAS, match-fixing allegations must be proved to its comfortable satisfaction. [2] Comfortable satisfaction is defined by the CAS as a standard that is higher than the civil standard of “balance of probability” but lower than the criminal standard of “proof beyond a reasonable doubt”.[3] In my view, considering the evidence in the case of Şanlıurfaspor, in particular the recordings and the statements of the clubs, it should be accepted that the standard of proof for match-fixing allegations was met.

What is crucial in our case is that UEFA and the CAS cannot intervene in the Turkish match-fixing proceedings due to Article 64(1) of the Statutes of the Turkish Football Federation stating that “CAS shall not, however, hear appeals on violation of the laws of the game, suspensions according to relevant provisions of the FIFA and UEFA Statutes, or decisions passed by the independent and duly constituted Arbitration Committee of the TFF”. Moreover, Article 59(3) of the Turkish Constitution provides that “the decisions of sports federations relating to administration and discipline of sporting activities may be challenged only through compulsory arbitration. The decisions of the Arbitration Board are final and shall not be appealed to any judicial authority”. On the other hand, in case of a breach, FIFA has the authority, relying on its Code of Conduct and Disciplinary Code, to take important steps in order to sanction clubs and/or individuals, even where national federations fail to do so. Therefore, on 25 October 2017, Şanlıurfaspor declared that if the Arbitration Board of the TFF did not sanction clubs and individuals who were allegedly involved in match-fixing, it would apply to FIFA to do so.

The Validity of Evidence

The main reason why the Disciplinary Committee did not find the clubs and individuals guilty of match-fixing was that the evidence, which was crucial to support the allegations, was obtained illegally. Therefore, it is of primary importance to compare this position to the one adopted by UEFA, CAS, and the Swiss Federal Tribunal with respect to the validity of illegally obtained evidence in disciplinary proceedings involving match-fixing.

UEFA’s position regarding the admissibility of evidence can be derived from specific provisions in its regulations. For instance, Article 4(2) 2017/2018 UEFA Champions League Regulations expressly states that if UEFA is comfortably satisfied that a club was involved in any activity aimed at arranging or influencing the outcome of a match, such club will be ineligible for the participation. While taking its decision, UEFA can rely on the decision of a national or international sporting body, but it is not bound by these decisions. Article 4(2) allows UEFA to punish clubs, even if they have been exonerated by other sporting bodies. Therefore, it can be concluded that if UEFA is comfortably satisfied, the validity of evidence will not be questioned. The article says nothing about the validity of evidence. In addition, even if national sports governing bodies do not punish clubs and/or individuals, UEFA is not bound by national decisions even if the evidence was illegally obtained. [4]

The CAS also supports the approach of UEFA with regard to the admissibility of evidence in match-fixing cases. According to the CAS jurisprudence, “even if evidence might not be admissible in a civil or criminal court in Switzerland, this does not automatically prevent a sports federation or an arbitration tribunal from taking such evidence into account in its deliberations”.[5] This statement clearly shows that the CAS distinguishes criminal or civil court proceedings from disciplinary proceedings. As a matter of fact, it can be argued that the CAS allows national sports governing bodies to evaluate the admissibility of match-fixing evidence less strictly than in criminal proceedings.

In general, the CAS is bound by Swiss law because it is domiciled in Switzerland. Therefore, the Swiss Federal Tribunal may annul the CAS awards if they are contrary to Swiss public policy. One could argue that a decision based on illegally obtained evidence violates Swiss public policy. Thus, the approach of the Swiss Federal Tribunal also needs to be taken into account. The Swiss Federal Tribunal discussed the admissibility of evidence in A. v The Football Federation of Ukraine. In this case, the appellant claimed that using illegally obtained evidence, violated Swiss public policy. As a response to this claim, the respondent (CAS) argued that there was an overriding public interest in preserving football’s integrity. Therefore, the evidence should have been admissible according to the CAS. The Swiss Federal Tribunal held that pursuant to Article 152(2) Swiss Private International Law Act (PILA), “illegally obtained evidence shall be considered only if there is an overriding interest in finding the truth”. In that particular case, the Swiss Federal Tribunal upheld the decision of the CAS and stated that if necessary to prove an instance of match-fixing, illegally obtained evidence was not inadmissible.

The Approach of Turkish Law against Match-Fixing

As explained above, the Act on the Prevention of Violence and Disorder in Sports and the Turkish Football Disciplinary Instruction contain significant provisions aimed at combating match-fixing. However, these rules say nothing about the admissibility of evidence. Pursuant to Article 38(6) Turkish Constitution, “findings obtained through illegal methods shall not be considered evidence”. Contrary to the PILA, the Turkish Constitution does not provide for exemptions. Additionally, Article 206(2) and 217(2) Turkish Criminal Procedure Code provide that illegally obtained evidence cannot be accepted by criminal courts in Turkey. Nevertheless, there is no definitive verdict about the admissibility of evidence in sporting disciplinary proceedings in Turkey. Furthermore, Turkish sports regulations do not contain specific rules for assessing the evidence in match-fixing allegations. Therefore, it can be argued that in Turkey, there is a loophole in disciplinary proceedings as to whether illegally obtained evidence is admissible or not.

Conclusion

The fight against match-fixing is vital for sports governing bodies. This article has demonstrated that UEFA, CAS, and the Swiss Federal Tribunal share the same view that illegally obtained evidence is not always inadmissible when used to evidence an instance of match-fixing. In my view, the Disciplinary Committee disregarded the approach of UEFA, CAS, and the Swiss Federal Tribunal, and instead followed the practice of the Turkish Criminal Court. Because match-fixing is also a breach of the Turkish Act on the Prevention of Violence and Disorder in Sports, it is the duty of criminal courts in Turkey to assess whether the evidence was obtained legally or not. However, as a disciplinary body, the Disciplinary Committee was not forced to deny the admissibility of illegally obtained evidence. I believe it should have followed the established practices of UEFA, FIFA, and the CAS, and assess the available evidence to determine whether it met the comfortable satisfaction standard of proof. Hence, based on the confession recorded in the YouTube video, the Disciplinary Committee should have decided that the individuals concerned, at a minimum, attempted to fix the match and it should have imposed the corresponding sanctions.   

___________________________

[1] Adam Lewis and Jonathan Taylor, Sport: Law and Practice (Bloomsbury, 3rd ed, 2014) 249.

[2] Michael J Beloff et al, Sports Law (Hart Publishing, Second edition, 2012) 188.

[3] Beşiktaş Jimnastik Kulübü v UEFA [2013] CAS 2013/A/3258 [119].

[4] Public Joint-Stock Company “Football Club Metalist” v. Union des Associations Européennes de Football (UEFA) & PAOK FC [2013] CAS 2013/A/3297 [8.8].

[5] Public Joint-Stock Company “Football Club Metalist” v. Union des Associations Européennes de Football (UEFA) & PAOK FC [2013] CAS 2013/A/3297 [2].