The following post appeared on the Brookings Institution's Order from Chaos blog on 10 July 2018.
International soccer, often known around the world as
football, is undoubtedly a beneficiary and a symbol of globalization. Over 70
percent of players at this year’s FIFA World Cup play professionally for clubs
outside their native countries. Chinese sponsors have shelled out $835 million
on the event, contributing more than a third of its advertising revenue despite
China not qualifying for the tournament. In many ways, the transnational nature
of soccer has helped diminish differences and prejudice: Two decades after the
Nigerian-born Polish star Emmanuel Olisadebe was subjected to monkey sounds and
bananas thrown at him by his own fans, Nigeria’s Ahmed Musa—who thrived at the
club CSKA Moscow—characterizes playing in Russia as “playing at home.”
Meanwhile, Egypt’s Mohammed Salah—who celebrates each goal for his club
Liverpool by kneeling in prayer—was voted 2018 player of the year in England,
just as the British government grapples with thorny questions of immigration
and Islamophobia.
However, amid these feel-good stories, there are plenty
of signs that nationalism, ethnic tensions, and racial prejudice are alive and
well in international soccer. This year’s World Cup has been no exception.
While the tournament has fortunately been immune to the worst excesses of
tribalism, several incidents reveal the limitations of its globalizing
influence.
DIVISIONS, REVEALED
Questions of nationalism were already manifest in the
run-up to this year’s tournament. Last year, Spain defender Gerard Pique was
booed by his national team’s fans for his outspoken support of Catalonian
independence. During the last European Championship in 2016, Russian and English
soccer hooligans fought in the streets of Marseille. In response, Russian
President Vladimir Putin initially indulged in taunts (“I don’t know how 200
fans could hurt several thousand Englishmen.”) before the Russian government
belatedly distanced itself from the violence, mindful of its responsibilities
as 2018 World Cup hosts.
In addition to stoking nationalism, soccer has a long
history of bringing out some of the worst in ethnic and religious stereotypes.
For example, opposing fans of traditionally Jewish soccer clubs—Tottenham
Hotspur in England or Ajax in the Netherlands—have been known to make hissing
sounds that are supposed to mimic gas chambers. In Germany, certain soccer
hooligan groups reportedly cooperate with neo-Nazi groups, including on weapons
training.
To their credit, soccer authorities have acknowledged
racism as being a major problem, and have taken some steps to address it. But
casual racism nonetheless continues. Last year, the star of France’s team,
Antoine Griezmann, posted a picture of himself online dressed as a Harlem
Globetrotter for a 1980s themed party, complete with blackface. Following the
predicable outrage, Griezmann swiftly deleted the picture and made a
perfunctory apology. The controversy was all the more striking given that
Griezmann plays for one of the most racially and ethnically diverse national
teams in Europe, to the extent that French far-right leader Jean-Marie Le Pen
once called it “not a real French team.”
Fans have been as guilty of insensitivity as players
themselves. Mexico’s advancement to the second round of this year’s World Cup
was a direct result of South Korea’s defeat of Germany. Many Mexicans, wishing
to express their gratitude to South Korea, posted pictures of themselves online
with their eyes pulled to their sides. Although these fans may not have
intended to offend, their racial stereotyping of Asians was apparent.
Beyond questions of race, ethnic and national
demonstrations have been on occasional display during this World Cup. In a
group stage match, two Swiss players of Kosovar descent made an Albanian
nationalist gesture while playing Serbia, recalling the ethno-religious
conflicts that scarred the Balkans in the 1990s. That Switzerland has one of
the most diverse squads in the tournament—composed of five African-born and
three Balkan-born players, as well as seven second-generation immigrants—only
contributed further to the incident’s many ironies. And while he quickly
distanced himself from his comments, Croatian defender Domagoj Vida—who played
for many years with Dynamo Kiev—celebrated his country’s quarterfinal victory
over hosts Russia by shouting “Glory to Ukraine,” a slogan associated with
anti-Russian protests.
PROCEED WITH CAUTION
If a key question of our times is whether the forces of
globalization or nationalism will prevail, international soccer could well be
the canary in the proverbial coalmine. There are certainly many reasons to take
comfort in the World Cup as a celebration of globalization. But there has also
been enough to dent the widespread assumption that globalization would lead
inevitability to greater cosmopolitanism, tolerance, and understanding. If
international players—part of a rarefied elite that travels the globe, speaks
multiple languages, and plies its trade in several countries—can fall back so
easily on nationalism or racial stereotypes, perhaps it is time to dismiss with
gauzy notions of inevitable universalism.