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It's only in the past few seasons that female athletes in the subcontinent have gained recognition as serious cricketers. Over many years, they endured scorn, censure, exclusion – even the threat of violence – to pursue their passion. Now, India is staging a World Cup with a prize fund of $13.8 million, where the home nation's athletes could become beloved icons if they achieve their maiden championship win.

This would, therefore, be a great injustice if the upcoming discussion focused on their men's teams. And yet, when India face Pakistan on Sunday, comparison are inevitable. And not because the home side are strong favorites to triumph, but because they are not expected to exchange greetings with their opposition. The handshake controversy, as it's been dubbed, will have a another chapter.

In case you weren't aware of the initial incident, it took place at the end of the male team's group stage game between India and Pakistan at the continental championship last month when the India skipper, Suryakumar Yadav, and his team disappeared the field to evade the usual friendly handshake tradition. A couple of similar sequels occurred in the Super4 match and the championship game, culminating in a long-delayed presentation ceremony where the new champions declined to receive the cup from the Pakistan Cricket Board's head, Mohsin Naqvi. The situation might have seemed comic if it hadn't been so distressing.

Observers of the female cricket World Cup might well have hoped for, and even imagined, a different approach on Sunday. Female athletics is supposed to offer a fresh model for the industry and an alternative to toxic traditions. The sight of Harmanpreet Kaur's players extending the fingers of friendship to Fatima Sana and her team would have sent a powerful statement in an increasingly divided world.

Such an act could have acknowledged the shared challenging circumstances they have overcome and provided a meaningful gesture that political issues are fleeting compared with the bond of female solidarity. It would certainly have earned a place alongside the other good news story at this tournament: the displaced Afghanistan cricketers invited as observers, being brought back into the sport four years after the Taliban drove them from their country.

Rather, we've collided with the hard limits of the sporting sisterhood. No one is shocked. India's male cricketers are mega celebrities in their homeland, idolized like gods, regarded like nobility. They enjoy all the privilege and influence that accompanies fame and wealth. If Yadav and his team are unable to defy the directives of an authoritarian leader, what chance do the female players have, whose improved position is only newly won?

Maybe it's even more surprising that we're still talking about a simple greeting. The Asia Cup uproar led to much deconstruction of that particular sporting tradition, especially because it is viewed as the definitive symbol of sportsmanship. But Yadav's refusal was far less significant than what he said right after the initial match.

Skipper Yadav considered the victory stand the "perfect occasion" to dedicate his team's win to the armed forces who had taken part in India's attacks on Pakistan in May, referred to as Operation Sindoor. "My wish is they will inspire us all," Yadav told the post-game reporter, "so we can provide them further cause on the ground whenever we get an opportunity to make them smile."

This reflects the current reality: a live interview by a team captain publicly praising a military assault in which many people died. Two years ago, Australian cricketer Usman Khawaja was unable to display a single humanitarian message approved by the ICC, including the dove logo – a literal emblem of harmony – on his equipment. Yadav was subsequently penalized 30% of his game earnings for the remarks. He was not the only one disciplined. Pakistan's Haris Rauf, who mimicked plane crashes and made "6-0" gestures to the audience in the later game – also referencing the conflict – was given the identical penalty.

This is not a issue of not respecting your opponents – this is sport co-opted as patriotic messaging. There's no use to be morally outraged by a absent handshake when that's simply a small detail in the story of two countries already employing cricket as a diplomatic tool and weapon of proxy war. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi clearly stated this with his post-final tweet ("Operation Sindoor on the cricket pitch. Outcome is the same – India wins!"). Naqvi, for his part, blares that sport and politics must remain separate, while double-stacking roles as a government minister and head of the PCB, and publicly tagging the Indian prime minister about his country's "embarrassing losses" on the war front.

The takeaway from this episode is not about cricket, or India, or Pakistan, in separation. It serves as a caution that the notion of sports diplomacy is finished, at least for now. The same sport that was used to build bridges between the nations 20 years ago is now being used to inflame tensions between them by people who know exactly what they're attempting, and massive followings who are eager participants.

Division is infecting every realm of society and as the most prominent of the global soft powers, sport is always vulnerable: it's a type of entertainment that directly encourages you to choose a team. Many who find India's actions towards Pakistan aggressive will still champion a Ukrainian tennis player's entitlement to refuse to greet a Russian opponent on the court.

If you're still kidding yourself that the athletic field is a protected environment that brings nations together, review the Ryder Cup recap. The behavior of the Bethpage spectators was the "perfect tribute" of a leader who enjoys the sport who publicly provokes animosity against his opponents. Not only did we witness the erosion of the usual sporting principles of equity and mutual respect, but how quickly this might be accepted and nodded through when athletes – like US captain Keegan Bradley – fail to acknowledge and sanction it.

A post-game greeting is meant to represent that, at the conclusion of every competition, no matter how bitter or heated, the participants are setting aside their simulated rivalry and recognizing their common humanity. Should the rivalry is genuine – demanding that its athletes emerge in outspoken endorsement of their national armed forces – then why are you bothering with the arena of sports at all? It would be equivalent to don the military uniform immediately.