Keir Radnedge Black Lives Matter
FIFA president Gianni Infantino, like other sports supremos in general, comes in for continuous fire, but he has probably not been given enough credit for a highly unusual response to the Black Lives Matter activism: removing the risk of disciplinary action over any player’s gesture in support of protests after the killing of George Floyd.
Floyd’s death under police detention in Minneapolis sparked a wave of street protest in the United States and elsewhere in the West.
For football, that was initially adopted by four players when Germany’s Bundesliga resumed. Borussia Dortmund’s Jadon Sancho and Achraf Hakimi displayed undershirts bearing the message, “Justice for George Floyd”; American midfielder Weston McKennie wore an armband over his Schalke jersey with the handwritten message, “Justice for George”; and Borussia Monchengladbach’s Marcus Thuram, whose father Lilian transitioned from World Cup winner with France to anti-racism campaigner, took a knee.
The precedent had been set by Colin Kaepernick, the San Francisco 49ers’ quarter-back. In 2016, he refused to stand for the StarSpangled Banner before one game as a protest against racial injustice, and thereafter knelt at subsequent games. The gesture was later taken up at a National Women’s Soccer League match by US women’s joint-captain Megan Rapinoe.
It has been highly encouraging to see players take such a lead.
Racism and discrimination in general are evils of society, not a vice particular to football. But the game has stumbled with its own discriminatory attitudes, such as the barriers raised for years against women’s football. Far too often governing bodies have used “evils of society” as an excuse for either a blind eye to racist behaviour or a mild slap on the wrist.
Not always even that. The Italian federation has disgraced itself repeatedly by punishing the complaining victims of racist abuse, be it from spectators or opponents. Notoriously in 2003, Arsenal midfielder Patrick Vieira was also fined £2,300 for criticising UEFA over its pathetic £9,250 fine of Valencia for racist abuse.
FIFA president Sepp Blatter, amid great self-serving fanfare, created an anti-discrimination task force in 2013 with CONCACAF president (and FIFA vice-president) Jeff Webb at its head. Time exposed this merely as a vehicle to promote Webb’s FIFA presidential ambitions. The task force barely functioned and had been declared moribund long before Webb was banned for life as a FIFA Gate mastermind.
In the UK, extremists poisoned crowds in the 1970s and 1980s until being quelled – not eradicated – by a mixture of public appeal, the increase of the number of black players and by the sharp rise in the price of access to the new all-seater, hospitality-rimmed stadia.
Yet the ugliness that was once seen in stadiums now rears its head online. Premier League players Wilfried Zaha and David McGoldrick have both been subjected to racist abuse on social media recently, as was Bristol City’s Senegalese striker Famara Diedhiou. Calls for Twitter to take a firmer stance on such abuse from anonymous accounts have so far fallen on deaf ears.
Pressure groups such as Kick It Out have long peered below the single-dimension surface incidents, including the tell-tale absence of black managers and coaches, that signalled that the racism challenge was endemic at governance and administrative levels. Education had to start at the top, not only the bottom.
Hence the promotional example of applying the “Rooney Rule” of consideration for black, Asian and minority ethnic candidates in any shortlist for senior managerial and coaching roles. The English Football League adopted it but not the Premier League. Even the EFL has a sidestepping get-out when a direct appointment is made.
In 2017, UEFA followed its “Prevent” then “No to Racism” campaigns with a
This summer brought the explosive mixture of the death of George Floyd and eruption of Black Lives Matter into a pandemic-infested football-free void
new anti-discrimination strategy labelled “#EqualGame”. The theme was positivity, stressing inclusion and accessibility across gender diversity to ageism. Probably too subtle. There has been no let-up in the continuing cascade of fines and stadium closures.
Disappointed president Aleksander Ceferin told Congress in Amsterdam this year: “Many of us have been sickened by what we have witnessed in a number of European stadiums this season. Things need to change. We must begin by applying the rules we already have. That would be a good starting point. We need to do more and perhaps differently.”
This summer brought the explosive mixture of the death of George Floyd and eruption of Black Lives Matter into a pandemic-infested football-free void. This was a space into which the racism debate could flourish.
Manchester City’s Raheem Sterling launched a social media campaign demanding change from government and sporting organisations. His supporters included the likes of Kevin De Bruyne, Vincent Kompany and Lucy Bronze. All players took a knee on the Premier League’s resumption.
This was the backdrop against which FIFA president Infantino sought to seize the time, declaring: “For the avoidance of doubt, in a FIFA competition the recent demonstrations by players in Bundesliga matches would deserve an applause and not a punishment.”
The Laws of the Game (Law 4 Section 5) prohibits players from displaying slogans, statements or images on their kit or other equipment that could be deemed as political. A blunt instrument, it makes no differentiation between the poppy insignia of a war-victims charity and an under-vest declaration in support of IS.
Infantino’s declaration was risky, throwing open the gates of disciplinary inflexibility to debate, nuance, and grey area – but it was also not before time.
This generation of players have responded. Far more aware of the world they live in than they are often given credit for, the likes of Sterling, Sancho and Thuram are prepared to use their voices in support of a cause that they believe in.