Ten years ago, when Adam Goodes kicked a goal and did a war cry, many within the AFL industry felt threatened.

Not because they didn’t understand, but because they did. Too well.

Because that wasn’t just a celebration to them, it was a stark reminder. That the land is stolen. That they carry a fear rooted in an inherited guilt: a fear that one day, they’ll be subjected to the same forms of violence they and their forefathers inflicted.

That moment and everything that came after must be properly reexamined because many lessons clearly haven't been learned.

That was 10 years ago. Now look at what they’re doing to Willie Rioli. The same playbook, new chapter.

The AFL Industry has turned Rioli into a media punching bag.

Willie Rioli is now being cast in the familiar role of:
“volatile,”
“unpredictable,”
“angry.”

Sound familiar?

These tropes are older than the AFL. It’s how white institutions police black emotion and exile black presence the second it stops being convenient.

Threat or Warning?

Since leaving Australia in 2017 and moving to the States, I’ve connected with many Black athletes — NFL players, NBA players, retired legends of their sports.

And I’ve learned something:
Across borders and oceans, we face the same playbook; disrespect, dehumanization, and deflection.
Different jerseys. Same tactics.

But here’s the difference:
In the U.S., Black Americans make up 13 to 14 percent of the population in a country of 340 million.
That critical mass means there’s enough presence, enough power, and enough pressure to push back hard when the line gets crossed.

Let me put it like this:

If a white NBA player taunted New Orleans Pelican’s Zion Williamson for his weight and tied it to fried chicken, cornbread, or gumbo he’d be lucky to keep his teeth.

He’d be advised to not walk the streets of New Orleans, and would have to keep his head on a swivel throughout the entire country.

That’s not controversial. That’s called consequence.

And it wouldn’t stop there.
A wave of journalists, ex-players, and cultural commentators — many of them Black — would drag him through the mud, name it for what it is, and apply pressure. The player’s association and league would act swiftly to call it what it is: racist.

But in Australia?

We get panels of white commentators, white board members, white ex-players, white coaches sitting around confused, debating whether or not it was racist.
Whether the player “meant it that way.”
Whether it was just “cultural insensitivity.”

So our brother Willie Rioli has to keep showing up, keep performing in an industry that’s decided his dehumanization is a matter of interpretation.

Those who crossed that line should be praying their names don’t get known within the Black community — because there are consequences.
Real ones.
Consequences that can’t be managed by sanitized press releases, Match Review Panels, or the leaders of a clueless culture.

So let me ask you again:

Is that a threat?
Or is it a warning?

The Vampire Returns

Just last week, a journalist reached out to me.

A man who wrote dozens of articles about me across my career.
A man who used colonizer speech to craft a public image of me that still follows me to this day.

His name?
Jon Ralph.

He slid into my DMs about the ten-year anniversary of Adam Goodes’ war cry looking for a quote, a reflection, a soundbite.
His approach reminded me of the character Rimmick from Ryan Coogler’s new film Sinners: the vampire liberal who smiles as he betrays, who offers “inclusion” while managing the story to suit his institution.
He knocked at the door…..but we know the rule.
A vampire can’t enter unless you invite them.
I kept the door shut.

Because I know who he is.
I know what he wants.

This is the same man who twisted my name into controversy.
Who tried to brand me as “too precious,” “too sensitive,” “a strange cat.”
Not because I broke down, but because I stood up.
Not just for myself, but for every Black player still inside the machine,
for everyone still fighting in the the grassroots competitions.
I stood so the path might be clearer for those who came next.

And now, like clockwork, he reappears.
Soft tone. Curious mind. Like nothing happened.
Like I’m supposed to help him tie a bow on the story he helped distort.

He’s like a settler who torched your village,
then returned years later, smiling,
asking if he could write your story for the museum brochure.

But Jon Ralph isn’t unique, he’s a case study.
And we need to study him.

His latest feature: “Adam Goodes’ war dance 10 years on: The moment, the real message and what the future holds” reeks of plantation-style perception.
It’s not journalism. It’s legacy management.

Let’s break this down. Because it’s much bigger than one article.

In the 1850s, white doctors in the U.S. South diagnosed enslaved Africans who tried to escape as mentally ill.
They called it Drapetomania; said we were “unwell” for wanting freedom.
They didn’t see us running away as resistance, they saw it as a disorder.

That same logic lives on today.

When we walk away from an industry that calls it “going walkabout”…
That refers to us as apes…
That forces Indigenous players to undergo medical procedures without consent…
That praises “one white parent” as a marker of potential…
That boos one champion out of the game, and throws a banana at another…
That enables a former coach to calls us “cannibals” and apologize with a smile…
That targets us because of our culture, our hair, our skin…
That sees us as “natural athletes” or “magic talent,” but not thinkers, leaders, or tacticians…
That reduces our stories to “war-torn villages” and struggle clichés…
That distorts our names, erases our resistance, and then has the audacity to ask us to come back smiling…

When we walk away from that;
That’s not estrangement. That’s resistance.

And yet Jon Ralph reaches for soft language.
“Estranged.”

As if we just quietly faded.
As if we slipped away without cause.
Never referencing the reasons we had to leave.

But we didn’t fade. We stay away with our heads high because staying would’ve meant a slow spiritual death.

And now, when they talk about our absence, they don’t name the system.
They don’t call out the structure.
They sure as hell don’t name themselves.

Instead, they say:

“It’s sad.”
“We miss him.”
“What a shame.”

They use language that centers emotion, not accountability.
Language that turns systemic harm into personal heartbreak.

That’s what Jon Ralph’s article does, just with softer lighting.

He doesn’t name himself — even though he’s been holding the pen the whole time.
He frames the damage like a tragedy no one could prevent and he closes with sentiment, not truth.

That’s the trick.

They rewrite resistance as fragility.
They speculate on your emotions instead of facing what drove you out.
They want to re-publish the dysfunction — but with a gentler font.
They want to curate Black pain for white redemption.

To the Black Players — a final word

“If you stick a knife in my back nine inches and pull it out six inches, there's no progress.
If you pull it all the way out, that's not progress.
The progress is healing the wound that the blow made.”
— Malcolm X

Let’s be clear.

There are people in this industry, some of them in leadership, who are racist.
Not ignorant. Not unaware. Racist.
And no workshop, training, or “cultural awareness” session is going to change that.

If you’re experiencing exclusion, ridicule, or outright abuse; You are not alone.

Document everything.
Even if you don’t address it immediately, keep records.
That is your protection.
That is your archive.
That is your power.

To the players of African descent in particular.

You need to know this:

The AFL does not care about the unique challenges you face. That’s why when you’ve requested a liaison officer to support your cultural needs and help you handle the racism you face, they have not provided it. At their executive levels of their leadership they negligently fail to consult or involve Africans to adequately inform their policies

I know this firsthand.

Joel Wilkinson has been a pioneer for black players in this space, pressing the league for years to take the specific issues African players face seriously.
He’s proposed frameworks to support players across AFL, state leagues, and grassroots levels.
He’s made himself available.
He’s been met with indifference and inaction, and eventually ignored.

That silence is structural.

If you’re a black player, be cautious of the media.

When it comes to culture, identity, and racism:

Demand a journalist who has lived experience.
Or one who has proven, through their body of work , that they actually get it.

Don’t let your story be edited through a lens that’s never carried what you carry.
Don’t let them turn your clarity into confusion.

And prepare for the moment we’re in.

We are living in a time where many perceive any shift in power as a threat.
Where many are perceiving inevitable change in power dynamics as ‘reverse racism’.
Where multiculturalism is framed by some as “white genocide.”
Make no mistake: there is a desperation to hold onto control and maintain dominance.

Expect more aggression and vilification, especially if you stand firm.

But also, know this:

Every time you walk away from exploitation with your name, your mind, and your dignity intact you are not disappearing. You are defining the terms. And that’s resistance.

Stay strong.

In solidarity,
— Héritier Lumumba

MESSAGE TO THE BLACK FOOTBALLER in Australia