Whose decision is it? Mapping and reconciling expert disagreement over athlete participation in elite-sport decision-making

For decades, the world of elite sports has operated on a simple assumption: the people who run the organizations know best, and the athletes who compete should simply follow the rules. But in recent years, a quiet revolution has taken hold. The idea that athletes should have a real say in the decisions that shape their careers, their bodies, and the rules of their games has moved from the fringes to the center of the conversation. Sports federations have created athlete commissions, and contracts now often include clauses for shared decision-making. The goal is clear: to give those who risk their health and dedicate their lives to sport a genuine voice in how that sport is governed.

Yet, beneath this surface agreement lies a deep and confusing divide among the experts who study it. Scholars from different fields—doctors, sociologists, political theorists, and sports managers—are all trying to figure out what "athlete participation" actually means. They agree that it is important, but they cannot agree on what it looks like, how much of it is good, or whether the current systems are truly empowering athletes or just pretending to. Some argue that having a seat at the table is a victory; others insist that if you cannot change the outcome, the seat is just for show. This confusion has stalled progress, leaving sports leaders unsure of whether they are building a fair system or just polishing a broken one.

A new study by researchers Sun Xianghao, Guotuan Wang, and Haowei Zhang seeks to untangle this knot. Instead of adding another opinion to the pile, the team asked a different question: why are the experts so divided? To find the answer, they gathered and analyzed seventy-seven different sources of research, ranging from medical journals to political theory books. They did not look for a single number or a simple statistic. Instead, they looked for the patterns in the arguments themselves. They discovered that the disagreement is not random. It follows five distinct lines of conflict, and most of these conflicts exist because the experts are speaking different languages, borrowing their ideas from different academic worlds.

The first line of disagreement is about power. One group of experts, drawing from urban planning and community organizing, looks at athlete commissions and sees "tokenism." To them, if an athlete can speak but cannot vote or change a decision, they are being manipulated. They believe that without the power to actually change the outcome, participation is just a decorative gesture. The other group, often coming from sports management, sees these same commissions as a necessary first step. They view them as a developmental stage, a way to slowly build trust and influence over time. The first group sees a dead end; the second sees a staircase.

The second conflict happens in the medical realm, where the question is about who holds the final say over an athlete's body. Bioethicists argue that the athlete is an autonomous person who must be the ultimate decision-maker regarding their own health and career. They believe that even if an athlete makes a risky choice, respecting that choice is a matter of dignity. However, sports doctors and medical ethicists often argue the opposite. They point out that the pressure of elite competition can distort an athlete's judgment, making them prioritize winning over long-term health. To these experts, the institution has a duty to protect the athlete from their own potentially flawed decisions, even if it means overriding the athlete's wishes.

A third disagreement concerns where participation actually happens. Some scholars believe real power comes from formal structures: laws, charters, and official board seats. They argue that without these legal guarantees, any influence an athlete has is fragile and can be taken away by a new coach or a new president. Others argue that the real action happens in the daily relationships between coaches and athletes. They believe that a supportive coach who listens to an athlete's needs every day creates a more meaningful form of participation than a distant committee meeting ever could. One side looks at the constitution; the other looks at the locker room.

The fourth axis asks about the scope of the athlete's role. Should an athlete's voice be limited strictly to sports-related issues, like training schedules or competition rules? Or should they be treated as "citizens" of the sport organization, with a right to speak on social and political matters as well? One camp sees the athlete primarily as a performer whose job is to compete, and they worry that expanding their role into activism dilutes their focus. The other camp sees the athlete as a full member of a community who should have a say in all aspects of the organization's life, from its values to its public stance on global issues.

Finally, there is the question of where power comes from. Does it flow down from the top, granted by enlightened leaders who decide to share it? Or is it claimed from the bottom, won through struggle, unionization, and collective pressure? Some researchers view the rise of athlete voices as a gift from the system, a sign of modernization. Others see it as a hard-won victory, the result of athletes organizing and demanding their rights. This distinction matters because if power is a gift, it can be taken away; if it is a claim, it is something that must be constantly defended.

The researchers found that these five disagreements are not just about sports. They are the result of experts importing ideas from their own fields without realizing they are using different definitions. A political scientist might use the word "participation" to mean a specific kind of democratic process, while a doctor uses it to mean a patient's right to choose. Because they are talking past each other, they argue about things that are actually the same, or they agree on things that are actually different.

To fix this, the authors propose a new way of thinking. They suggest we stop asking "how much" participation there is, as if it were a single amount that can be measured on a scale. Instead, they argue we should see participation as a specific configuration, like a unique recipe made of several different ingredients. They break participation down into six distinct parts: the degree of power, the level where it happens, the specific domain of the decision, who started the process, the form it takes, and the actual influence it has.

When you look at the arguments through this new lens, many of the fierce debates begin to dissolve. For example, the fight between those who want formal rules and those who want better coaching relationships is revealed to be a misunderstanding. One group is talking about the "level" of participation (the organization), while the other is talking about a different "level" (the daily interaction). They are not arguing about the same thing; they are just describing different parts of the same picture. Similarly, the debate over whether an athlete should have the final say in a medical decision is clarified when you realize the disagreement is about the "influence" dimension in a specific "domain." In some cases, the athlete should decide; in others, the doctor should. The right answer depends on the specific mix of these six parts, not on a blanket rule.

The study does not claim to have solved every problem. The researchers admit that some disagreements are real and deep, particularly about whether athletes are workers or citizens, and whether power is given or taken. These are fundamental questions about the nature of sport that cannot be fixed by a new definition. However, by mapping out the landscape, the study shows that many of the other arguments are just confusion caused by mixing up different types of participation.

The practical result of this work is a call for clarity. Sports organizations should stop trying to install a single "one-size-fits-all" solution for athlete involvement. Instead, they need to be precise about what kind of participation they are creating for each specific decision. If they want athletes to decide on medical issues, they need a configuration that gives them full control. If they want athletes to advise on policy, a consultative role might be appropriate. The goal is not to maximize the amount of participation, but to find the right fit for the specific situation.

By treating participation as a complex configuration rather than a simple quantity, the field can move past the endless arguments about whether athletes should have a voice. The real question is no longer "yes or no," but "which kind of voice, for which decision, and with what kind of power?" This shift offers a path forward, turning a chaotic debate into a manageable design problem where the focus is on building systems that actually work for the athletes they are meant to serve.