Racism in Sport: Lessons from history

In the last fortnight three of England's biggest football clubs have become involved in high profile race rows. The stature of the players involved, three international stars and Rio Ferdinand's brother, has helped two somewhat murky stories migrate to the front pages. It can only be hoped that the FA investigations into Luis Suarez and John Terry will reveal the true nature of the on-field incidents, but what is certain is that the response to the return of racism to the sporting agenda has had unedifying elements.

Of course, in the immediate aftermath the majority of people were quick to deplore the idea of racist abuse happening on a Premier League pitch, but a different tone was set by an article in the Daily Mail. The author, Steve Doughty, issued this extraordinary plea:

“So, Mr Evra and Mr Ferdinand, I know you feel insulted. But perhaps in this case you could just put up with it and get on with the game.”

The following day Stan Collymore raised the issue his radio show and was subsequently inundated with abuse on Twitter. Curiously, the vitriol had two main themes: firstly that Stan and other black footballers should simply treat racist abuse as 'banter' and ignore it, secondly that if a white player was subject to racism the media would ignore the story.

This weekend Dave Whelan, Chairman of Wigan, reiterated these themes in an interview with LBC:

“If a white man insults a black man that's big, big news. If a black man insults a white man that's nothing, and it's expected....You know, I think the players who come and complain, sometimes they are a little bit out of order.”

This is a surprising and disturbing response. There seems to be an assumption that because so many fantastic black players are idolised by supporters around the country, and because black players are so integral to the success of the Premier League we need no longer worry about the spectre of racism in the sport.

Such complacency is misplaced and dangerous. History shows us that sport has long been an arena where societal prejudices are magnified and, crucially, can be fought and overcome. The twentieth century in particular saw a range of marginalised groups affirm their presence and claim equal rights through sport.

In the United States, many icons of the civil rights movements were athletes who overcame discrimination in sport. In 1908 Jack Johnson became the first African-American heavyweight world champion. Reacting to Johnson’s victory, author Jack London called out for a “great white hope” to take the title away from the black boxer¹. Two years later a former undefeated champion, James J. Jeffries, attempted to answer the call saying "I feel obligated to the sporting public at least to make an effort to reclaim the heavyweight championship for the white race. . . . I should step into the ring again and demonstrate that a white man is king of them all”.²

Johnson's crushing victory in the subsequent “fight of the century” inspired African-American poet William Waring Cuney to write:

O my Lord,
What a Morning,
O my Lord,
What a feeling,
When Jack Johnson
Turned Jim Jeffries'
Snow-white face
to the ceiling.

Later in the century Jesse Owens enhanced his popularity in America by defeating the representatives of Hitler’s ‘master race’ at the 1936 Berlin Olympics, yet in team sport black athletes struggled to break segregation.³ Between 1880 and 1947, not one black player competed in baseball’s major leagues. For many Americans the moment when Jackie Robinson joined the Brooklyn Dodgers for the 1947 season represents the most important symbolic breakthrough in race relations before the 1954 Supreme Court decision in Brown v. Board of Education.⁴

Richard Giulianotti of Durham Univeristy has written that African-Americans subsequently began to view sport as facilitating social mobility; through sport they projected demands regarding civil rights and social democracy.⁵ Nevertheless, American sports institutions remained prejudiced towards black athletes. In basketball during the 1950s white team owners introduced an ‘only four blacks’ quota⁶; in American football the Washington Redskins refused to desegregate until 1962,⁷ only relenting when Secretary of the Interior Stewart L. Udall warned the franchise to hire black players or face federal retribution.⁸Prior to the 1968 Olympic Games a group called the Olympic Project for Human Rights had divided African-Americans with calls for a boycott. The boycott never materialised, but when John Carlos and Tommie Smith gave their famous salute on the medal podium they certainly succeeded in publicising the plight of black athletes⁹

A combination of cultural presence and the ability of athletes to use their experiences of discrimination in sport as a symbol of racism in society made sport an effective conduit for the goals of the African-American Civil rights movement. A critical body of athletes was able to recognise and resist the forms of racism and exploitation that persisted in the sports world, as well as to connect their personal experiences to the condition of black Americans at large. But this combination is not unique to America. In Australia Aboriginal athletes have also endured racist exclusion. For example, in the 1990s two Australian Rules footballers who resolved to take a stand against institutionalised racism were credited with shaping the debate on fundamental human rights in Australia. 

In 1993, Nicky Winmar of St Kilda produced a significant act of defiance on the oval:

“After a best afield performance, with continual racist taunting from spectators, Winmar faced the Collingwood cheer squad, repeatedly raised and lowered his arms, lifted his jumper, pointed to his chest, and effectively declared ‘I’m black — and I’m proud to be black”¹⁰

The incident was followed by much critical debate and led to the sport’s governing body the AFL Commission vowing to introduce a Code of Conduct to deal with racial vilification by players and officials.¹¹However, two years later ‘The Age’ reported that Essendon midfielder Michael Long had experienced ‘shocking’ racist abuse from a Collingwood opponent.¹² The difference between this incident and that involving Winmar was that Long would force the issue, testing the resolve of the AFL to implement the reforms promised two years previously. Long demanded that the AFL institute rules which would mean fines and suspensions for players who engaged in racist abuse. In June 1995 the AFL implemented ‘Rule 30: A Rule to Combat Racial and Religious Vilification’.¹³

It has been noted that the new AFL code was similar in content to human rights legislation which was enacted in the same period [The Racial Hatred Act 1995 (CTH)].¹⁴ Australian academics have made the link between cultural change represented by the empowerment of aboriginals in sport and a change in attitudes towards human rights in Australia. Writing in the Australian Journal of Human Rights, Lawrence MacNamara summarised the important impact sport can have:

“Attitudes regarding race and football are not a substitute for the values expressed in legislation and judgment; they instead complement these normative legal expressions in an authoritative and authentic way through the voices of the complainant and the respondent.”¹⁵

By connecting discrimination in their sport to discrimination in the community at large, individual athletes can use their cultural capital as leverage to initiate and sustain campaigns for change, but we have seen that teams too can become symbolic focal points for racial politics, often by the sheer diversity of their players.

In 1996 Jean Marie Le Pen the leader of the French National Front declared that the national football team was unacceptable on patriotic grounds because of the number of “foreigners”, meaning non-white French citizens, who had been selected to play for France.¹⁶ Le Pen’s comments reflected growing racial tensions in a country that was experiencing racial violence in the ‘banlieus’ and Islamist terrorism in the heart of Paris.¹⁷ However, the 1998 victory of the multi-ethnic national team in the World Cup final in Paris seemed to signify the beginning of a new era in French cultural life. The players that won in 1998 were known as the “Rainbow team” bringing together many players whose origins lay outside France.¹⁸ The new feeling of tolerance and comradeship was hailed as “L’effet Zidane’ after the midfield genius, the greatest player of his generation, who himself was of Algerian origin.¹⁹ Le Figaro celebrated victory with the words “On the Champs-Élysées flooded by crowds, national unity was reborn because of les Bleus, symbols of modernity, of efficacy, of successful integration .”²⁰ In the words of Sami Naïr, an Algerian born scholar of immigration, Zidane “does more with the motion of his hips than ten or fifteen years of policies of integration.”²¹

Predictably however, while the success of the multi-racial French team of 1998 inspired new feelings of racial unity in France, the abject failure of the 2010 World Cup inspired opposite sentiments. The disastrous campaign was marked by a series of controversial incidents, including the expulsion of Nicolas Anelka, and a physical confrontation between captain Patrice Evra and a member of the coaching staff, which concluded with the players boycotting training sessions. The identity of the main protagonists (Evra was born in Senegal and Anelka is a convert to Islam), ensured that criticism of the team reflected supposed cultural as well as footballing failures. The philosopher Alain Finkielkraut, who has often criticized the failures of French assimilation, compared the players to youths rioting in the banlieues, “We now have proof that the French team is not a team at all, but a gang of hooligans that knows only the morals of the mafia”.²² Fadela Amara, the Minister for Urban Policy warned that the reaction to the team’s loss had become racially charged. “There is a tendency to ethnicize what has happened...People doubt that those of immigrant backgrounds are capable of respecting the nation.” ²³ Marine Le Pen, the Vice President of the National Front echoed the views of her father, stating that the players “consider at one moment that they represent France at the World Cup, and at another they are a part of another nation or have another nationality in their heart.”²⁴

While it is impossible to measure the true effect of the fortunes of the national football team on racial politics in France, both the idealism that followed the 1998 victory and the racially charged invective that met the restive players in 2010 illustrate the important symbolic role of sport in race relations. If the perceived success of the French policy of integration can rise and fall on the fortunes of the football team then we must acknowledge that sport can play a real role in shaping narratives, perceptions and actions in the wider debate about race. That is why it is so important we are not complacent about allegations of racist abuse towards Premier League players. The FA must act carefully and be aware that their approach to investigating and, if necessary, punishing players accused of racism will send a message to millions of football fans.

This issue is too important for the debate to be shaped by the tribalism of different sets of fans. If Evra and Ferdinand are found to have been victims of racism the FA and all football supporters must stand with them in defiance of lingering racism. History shows that this can be turned into an opportunity for football to lead the way and have a positive impact on our culture.