Indigenous Representation in Netball: A Call for Change

Netball has long been the game Australian girls grow up with, the weekend ritual that fills suburban courts and country ovals. Yet at the very top, one truth has stared the sport in the face for decades: it has failed to consistently find, nurture and protect elite Indigenous talent.

Three names. That is the sum of Indigenous representation in the Diamonds: Marcia Ella-Duncan, Sharon Finnan-White and, after a 22-year gap, Donnell Wallam. A sport that prides itself on reach and participation has carried that statistic like a quiet indictment.

When Wallam walked away from the Queensland Firebirds in 2024 and crossed the Tasman to New Zealand, the message cut through the usual transfer noise. In a pointed farewell, she praised New Zealand clubs’ “respect for inclusion and culture” as a key reason for her move. It was more than a swipe at a former employer; it was a spotlight on a system that had left too many First Nations players on the margins.

She has since returned to Super Netball with Sunshine Coast Lightning, but her exit forced a reckoning.

A sport forced to listen

As accusations of a “toxic culture” at the Firebirds surfaced, Netball Australia could not simply ride out the storm. The governing body ordered an investigation and began reshaping the game’s foundations around one phrase that kept coming back from players and community: cultural safety.

That shift has already produced something historic — Australia’s inaugural First Nations team, the Black Swans. The side emerged after the appointment of Ali Tucker-Munro, a former Diamonds squad member, as Netball Australia’s General Manager First Nations.

From there, the work accelerated. Tucker-Munro helped establish the First Nations Tournament, now a yearly national championship, currently unfolding at the State Netball and Hockey Centre in Melbourne. She also drove the creation of the Spirit Series, launched in 2026, where the Black Swans went undefeated against Australia’s Pacific neighbours.

On court, those events look like any other high-level netball carnival: whistles, squeaking shoes, coaches barking instructions. Off court, they are something else entirely — a deliberate attempt to build visible pathways and role models for First Nations players who have spent too long on the edge of the elite game.

Standing beside Tucker-Munro in Melbourne, defenders Gabby Coffey and Scarlet Jauncey are proof of both the progress and the lingering gaps. Their stories carry the weight of what has been missing.

Stuck on the cusp

Coffey, 26, represents the Northern Territory and an entire generation of First Nations netballers who have hovered on the brink of the national stage without quite breaking through.

She spent four years as a Melbourne Vixens training partner, waiting for the door to open. It never did. Eventually, she packed her bags for the UK, signing with Birmingham and chasing court time on the other side of the world.

The decision was pragmatic. She could see the logjam coming.

“I knew there wasn't much movement in their defensive end, and the same with a lot of defensive ends around Australia,” she told ABC Sport.

Two seasons in England later, she is back home in Alice Springs, still fit, still ambitious, but more open to the idea that her biggest impact might come in lifting others.

Her journey began far from her Wiradjuri mob and country, but not far from culture. Growing up in Alice Springs, she remembers being welcomed by the Arrernte community.

“When you grow up on other Indigenous land and tell people you're Indigenous, they pull you into their culture,” she said. “So [my family and I] were super lucky and blessed to grow up in the centre of Australia where arguably their Indigenous culture is very sacred and traditional.”

That grounding made the move south all the more jarring. Acting on advice from coach Gillian Lee, Coffey headed to Melbourne to chase her netball dream. The transition was brutal.

“It was really hard being away from home,” she said. “I was really lucky with the team I entered [the Vixens] and the support I did have, but it's not the same for everyone. There's a lot of girls who do get those opportunities to move and then don't last because there's just not that support in place.”

Coming from the Northern Territory added another layer of difficulty. Distance. Cost. Limited access to high-performance programs.

“Even with competitions like these, we don't get together until we're here, and we're training away from each other, so it can be quite a challenge,” she said.

The talent exists. The pathway, for too long, has not.

‘If you can’t see it, you can’t be it’

Ask Coffey what needs to change and she goes straight to visibility.

“If you can't see it, you can't be it,” she said, noting there are only two Indigenous players currently in Super Netball.

Her own experience — years as a train-on player without a full contract — underlines how hard it is to crack an Australian roster. The league’s international stars add another layer of competition.

“We get a number of internationals [coming to Super Netball], which I think makes the game better and more exciting, and I don't think [that] should be restricted,” she said. “But I do think there should be more focus on bringing Indigenous girls into the elite level.”

Netball Australia’s plans to add two new teams to the competition loom as a crucial test. More clubs mean more list spots, more opportunities, more room for risk.

Coffey also sees a possible role for a New Zealand side in the league, suggesting it could ease the squeeze on Australian players fighting for contracts while still keeping the standard high.

For now, she keeps playing, keeps mentoring, keeps showing up at tournaments like this one. Her presence alone sends a message to younger First Nations players: there is a place for you here.

A new generation inspired by Wallam

On the opposite side of the country, Scarlet Jauncey is living a similar reality. The Yaruwu woman from Rubibi/Broome has spent the last year as a training partner with West Coast Fever, learning her craft against one of the most formidable targets in the sport.

She still has to pinch herself when she lines up on Jhaniele Fowler-Nembhard at training. That kind of daily test sharpens a defender quickly.

Like many of her teammates in the Black Swans, Jauncey grew up idolising Wallam. The Diamonds shooter’s rise, and her very presence on the international stage, shifted the imagination of young Indigenous netballers.

“I think it just gives us something to strive towards, knowing that we can be in that space,” Jauncey said.

She shares Coffey’s stance on the league’s international flavour.

“We're happy to be playing against the best in the world, that's what we want,” she said. Cutting overseas stars is not the answer. Building better pathways for Indigenous players is.

In 2025, Jauncey captained the Black Swans. In doing so, she stepped into the same role Wallam once held for her — a living, breathing example of what is possible.

“It was the best tournament I've played in, the best teams I've been with,” she said. The pride in her voice tells its own story. “I think just being able to come to First Nations tournaments and having that connection with each other has been really great.”

Coffey feels it too. She describes the experience of pulling on the Black Swans dress as one that gave her “goosebumps”.

“I think it gives not only myself, but a lot of players so much power and push to keep going and play at the highest level,” she said.

Building cultural safety, not slogans

For Tucker-Munro, those reactions matter more than any press release.

They are the payoff for years of pushing Netball Australia to move beyond token gestures and into structural change: the Black Swans, the First Nations Tournament, the Spirit Series.

“These tournaments are aspirational in terms of trying to inspire the next generation of our kids — who we know love sport and netball in particular — to trial for their respective state and territory,” she said.

Her vision stretches beyond this week’s matches in Melbourne.

“It's about the kids that are here this week wanting to aspire to take that next step into the big leagues in terms of Super Netball and Australian representation as well.”

But Tucker-Munro knows that putting First Nations players into elite environments is only half the job. Those environments must be safe — not just physically or professionally, but culturally.

“First Nations people come into these spaces with our culture and community on our back, as well as cheering us on, so you want to do them proud,” she said. “It's also a tough journey, especially for the kids who have to relocate, so it's about thinking strategically about how we can support them.”

Since her appointment, Netball Australia has set up a First Nations Cultural Council and completed a cultural safety review in partnership with community. The review drew in voices from across the sport — athletes, coaches, umpires, the broader workforce — to map out where the system fails and how it can change.

The barriers, Tucker-Munro admits, are “multi-faceted”: money, geography, limited access to high-performance hubs, the sheer emotional toll of leaving home and Country.

“For too long our voice has been very silent,” she said. “We're not a homogenous people, so it's really important that we make sure we're hearing the voices of many.”

That principle sits at the heart of her work.

“One thing we're really big on in our community is not to do things for us or to us, you've got to do it with us,” she said. “There's real intent and good will to actually drive some of this change across the sporting landscape of netball in Australia.”

The question now is whether that intent can survive the grind of budgets, board meetings and win-at-all-costs pressure. The kids running around in Black Swans dresses this week are not waiting for another 22-year gap.