After 12 years of controversy, the 2022 World Cup is finally underway in Qatar, with the host nation falling to a humiliating defeat against Ecuador in the tournament's opening game. But, like many viewers, I didn't tune in for the lacklustre football; instead, I wanted to see how the pundits could possibly justify covering the competition.
Qatar's successful bid to host the World Cup has been overshadowed by allegations of corruption and bribery – an internal FIFA investigation cleared Qatar of committing any violations – as well as serious concerns about the country's stance on human rights. As reported by Amnesty International, Qatar has a poor record of migrant workers' rights (particularly for live-in women domestic workers), women's rights, and LGBTQIA+ rights – homosexuality is illegal.
The great justification for the British media – and indeed the English team – not boycotting the World Cup was to use their influence to highlight and challenge the dire human rights concerns in Qatar: to “use their voice”, as Gareth Southgate explained in March earlier this year (via The Times).
At the time, the England boss added, “We feel the World Cup is an opportunity to highlight some of these issues, and we have a platform to be able to do that. We’ve also got to do that in a responsible way.” Soo err, what “responsible way” did they go for? Perhaps a soft-core show of solidarity in the form of rainbow armbands? Nope, even this was too much to ask.
What a legacy.
To the nation's eternal shame, the England team walked onto the pitch without wearing the “One Love” armbands, which don't even reference sexuality beyond the rainbow colour scheme. It would have been a lukewarm gesture at best, but they weren't even capable of that. The rationale for not wearing the bands was that the players could not be put "in the situation where they might be booked or even forced to leave the field of play.” God forbid.
This utterly spineless decision by the FA comes barely a day after a gunman killed five people and left at least 25 injured in an LGBTQ nightclub in Colorado Springs – on Transgender Day of Remembrance, no less. And Harry Kane won't wear a rainbow armband for fear of receiving a yellow card.
I've always believed that football can – and should –be a force for good. It's often the sole common thread that unites people who are different in every other imaginable way. For this reason, many footballers and pundits have ‘used their platforms’ to speak up on social justice issues: There's Marcus Rashford, the Manchester United forward, who effectively pressured the UK government into a U-turn on free school meals; Gary Neville, the Sky Sports pundit, who – at one point – was considered a better leader of the opposition than Keir Starmer; Gary Linekar, the Match of the Day presenter who regularly tweets about politics, and every single Premier League player who chose to take the knee to “protest” discrimination in the sport.
Like most, if not all, football fans, I have a parasocial relationship with my footballing heroes. I'm fiercely protective of them, and naively, I imagine that if we ever met, we'd get along like old friends. I imagine that they wouldn't judge me for being a bisexual woman – it wouldn't be a big deal. Today, I am reminded that – with the exception of Alex Scott – they won't even wear an armband for me.
Our bodies should be allowed to exist without being sexualised.
Contrast the England team's lack of stance with their first opponents: the Iranian national side, who all stood in silence as their country's national anthem played overhead – potentially a highly significant decision given the Iranian regime's treatment of protestors in the wake of Mahsa Amini's death.
The feeling that my heroes couldn't give a toss about me has been growing for a while. I've watched in stunned silence as professional footballers, pundits, and managers sing the praises of high-profile sportspeople accused of rape and sexual assault. As a survivor (or victim, depending on my mood on any given day) of sexual violence, I've slowly come to accept that there's no limit to what a man can inflict on me – without reproach from his teammates – given that he keeps the goals coming.
Despite England dominating their first game of the World Cup – and getting the nation's hopes up once again – I can't feel proud of them; it won't stir the way it used to. After all, if the England team won't support my right to exist, why should I be rooting for them to win a measly match of footy?
The Men's European Football Championships are here.
