When we talk about human rights, we often picture grand stages – the UN, courtrooms, parliaments, and powerful speeches.
But many of the real tests of human rights happen quietly – in warm-up areas and competition halls, where a child is just waiting for her turn to perform.
In my world of rhythmic gymnastics, I have realised that human rights live – or disappear – in the small decisions adults make every day.
At a recent competition, my gymnast was told she could not sit with her teammate or with me inside the arena because her competition was on a different day. The instruction was explicit: she should sit alone in the stands. When I expressed concern, the usher offered her personal assurance that “nothing would happen to her.”
On paper, it may have been an operational rule about zones and access.
But in that moment, all I saw was a young girl, anxious and separated from her team in a vast, intimidating space.
Everything I have learned about working with children – from human rights frameworks to years of coaching – tells me that they need to feel safe, supported and accompanied, especially in unfamiliar, high-pressure environments. It was a basic human instinct to say, “This doesn’t feel right.” The standards affirm what our gut already knows.
And with respect, no one can realistically give such an assurance that “nothing will happen.” While organisers can and should take all reasonable steps to create a safe environment, risk can never be eliminated.
Precisely because of this, international safeguarding guidance avoids relying on personal reassurances and instead focuses on minimising risk – for example, by ensuring that minor athletes are not left alone and remain supervised by a known and trusted responsible adult at all times.
At another event, the published start time for a session was moved earlier. My gymnast was scheduled to perform first.
Anyone who has worked with children in sport knows how much planning goes into their warm-up. When timings shift suddenly, it is not just a logistical issue – it can create unnecessary anxiety, disrupt carefully prepared routines, and leave a child feeling that her preparation – and by extension, she herself – does not really matter.
As coaches, we do not only manage performance; we hold emotions, expectations, and trust.
In the discussion that followed, the head judge shared that, as an Olympian, she had experienced last-minute changes at the highest level of competition, and that this was “normal” in sport. I respect that perspective and the experience behind it.
At the same time, I pointed out that Olympians train every day for many years and are resourced and prepared to cope with that level of disruption. At the grassroots level, many children train only a few times a week. They often do not yet have the same psychological tools, competition experience or support structures.
For them, a sudden change in schedule can feel overwhelming rather than routine.
My intention was not to question anyone’s authority, but to invite us to see this through a child’s eyes. What is treated as “normal” at the elite level can have very different consequences for a 9-year-old standing on the carpet for the first time.
And then there are the quieter issues that do not always make it into public conversation, such as the practice of repeatedly downloading, printing and binding copies of birth certificates as part of the competition registration process.
Beyond the sheer administrative burden, this raises serious concerns about privacy, data protection and the unnecessary circulation of sensitive personal information. International child rights standards are clear that children have a right to privacy and protection of their personal data.
The intention behind these requirements may be administrative, but they remind us how easily we can normalise practices that expose children’s information more than is truly necessary.
In each of these situations, it could be easy to think, “It’s just one rule… one schedule change… one form. Let it go.”
But on days like today – UN International Human Rights Day – I find myself reflecting: if we, as adults closest to the children, stay silent in these small moments, when do their rights actually come alive?
Documents such as the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, the International Safeguards for Children in Sport, and various IOC and UNICEF guidelines set out beautiful principles: the best interests of the child, the right to participate safely in sport, protection from harm, and respect for dignity and privacy.
Yet these frameworks only become real when someone in the room is willing to ask, gently but firmly:
“Is this in the best interest of the child?”
“Is there a safer way to do this?”
“Can we adjust this rule so they are not left alone, rushed, or exposed?”
I also want to acknowledge something we do not talk about enough: it is not always easy to speak up.
In sports like rhythmic gymnastics, where judging is subjective, and communities are tight-knit, coaches who raise concerns risk being seen as difficult, overprotective, or “troublesome”. There is often a quiet fear of being sidelined, blacklisted, or of your athletes being indirectly affected because you insisted on better safeguards or fairer processes.
This is the tension many of us live with: the desire to protect the child before us and the worry that our courage might close doors for them later.
International standards exist precisely to remind us that protecting children is not optional and not a favour. It is an obligation. It is enshrined in human rights treaties, safeguarding frameworks, and sport governance tools – but most importantly, it is enshrined in our responsibilities as adults.
At SRGC and in my work in Safe Sport, I have come to see these “small battles” as the front line of human rights.
They are rarely glamorous. They often happen in WhatsApp chats, side meetings with organisers, or conversations at competition control tables. They sometimes leave you wondering if you have just made yourself “that coach”.
But this work depends on all of us.
It depends on organisers who are willing to adapt a rule that unintentionally puts a child at risk.
It depends on head judges who welcome feedback rather than fear it.
It depends on federations that protect those who raise concerns instead of quietly punishing them.
And it depends on coaches and parents who continue to speak up, even when their voice shakes a little.
These experiences are a reminder to myself as much as to anyone else: I do not always get it right. I am still learning to navigate these conversations with greater wisdom, patience, and diplomacy. But I know this much – silence will not keep children safe.
Human rights in sport are not upheld only in Geneva or New York. They are upheld in Kuala Lumpur, Penang and Singapore, in the small decisions adults make when no one is watching.
When we protect the most vulnerable, when we refuse to look away, and when we stand with those who speak up for children, we keep human rights alive – not just on 10 December. – December 11, 2025
Sarina Sundara Rajah is a Rhythmic Gymnastics CWG Gold Medallist
Founding President, Safe Sport Malaysia
Founding Principal, Sarina Rhythmic Gymnastics Club