Afghanistan cricketer Firooza Amiri has criticised the International Cricket Council (ICC) for what she says is a lack of support after members of the women's national team had to flee to Australia. Now, as she watches Iranian women's footballers navigating their own asylum journey in the country, Amiri has become a voice of quiet solidarity.
Forced to flee her home country when the Taliban took control, Amiri and her family first traveled to Pakistan and then were evacuated to Australia. Since arriving in Melbourne, the cricketer has been unrelenting in her advocacy for the dispossessed. She has campaigned for the ICC to recognise the Afghan women's team, since Afghanistan is the only full member nation without a women's team.
The Iranian footballers' plight mirrors Amiri's own ordeal in some striking ways. Members of Iran's national women's football team were closely monitored by security officials linked to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps during their stay in Australia, but several managed a dramatic escape from their hotel to seek asylum. Their situation became dangerous after players refused to sing the Islamic Republic's national anthem during a match against South Korea. Soon afterward, Iran's state TV labeled the young athletes "wartime traitors"—a charge that in Iran can carry the death penalty.
On the day of the team's departure from Australia, Home Affairs Minister Tony Burke announced his government had offered all players and staff members the chance to stay back in the country. On Tuesday, Burke told reporters that five Iranian players had decided to seek asylum in Australia and would be assisted by the government. Later, one member of the Iranian women's football team who sought sanctuary in Australia changed her mind after speaking with teammates, Burke revealed on Wednesday. The player, whose identity was being protected, changed her decision on the advice of her teammates. The remaining six have accepted humanitarian visas that provide a pathway to permanent residency.
For Amiri, these moments carry a particular weight. She recognises that the Afghanistan men's team has made rapid progress and its success could be more of a statement than a ban. "They are in a good position at the moment in the world and if they start supporting us, they'll have a big impact on our team. They can be very, very helpful for us and for all the women. If women can start playing sport, women can start studying as well."
The comparison between the two situations raises difficult questions about what security, asylum, and solidarity actually mean for athletes fleeing repressive regimes. Australia has established itself as a haven for persecuted sporting talent. When the Taliban took control of Afghanistan in August 2021, Australia became a safe haven for roughly 100 athletes. At the centre of this cohort was the Afghan women's national football team. Now it faces similar decisions regarding the Iranian women.
Yet institutional support remains inconsistent. Amiri's advocacy has not yielded the recognition she seeks from the ICC. The Afghan women's team, though playing in Australia, remains unable to compete as an official national side. FIFA has officially approved the formation of a women's football team comprised of Afghan refugees in exile, and has ratified a strategy for its practical implementation. The team will now be eligible to compete in FIFA-sanctioned competitions. Whether similar pathways will open for Iranian footballers remains uncertain.
What is clear is that Amiri's journey—from fleeing to advocating—offers a template for those following in her wake. Her willingness to speak publicly about the cost of exile, the complexities of seeking asylum, and the personal toll of losing everything to political upheaval may provide exactly the kind of guidance these Iranian women now need as they build new lives far from home.