When nationalism combines with soccer in the stadiums and streets of Europe, it tends to not end well.
For decades, images of drunken fans adorned with nationalist symbols and flags fighting one another – or the police – have dogged the UEFA European Championship, a competition between teams from across the continent that takes place every four years.
So it is perhaps understandable that German authorities were fearing the worst in advance of hosting the current championship, which began on June 14 and concludes on July 14 with a final between Spain and England.
After all, nationalist populism has been on the rise in Europe for several years, as has violence between fans at regular soccer matches.
Yet, the nationalism on display during the current Euros – as the competition is commonly referred to – has generally been of a more benign sort: Enthusiastic fans have painted their faces in national colors and sung along with the national anthems that start every game, but the championship has largely avoided scenes of the nationalism-fueled mass violence that has scarred past events.
What has been more on display is, as the English novelist Rebecca Watson put it, a “purer patriotism” based on the mutual recognition that comes from an emotional experience shared with fellow citizens – something Watson wrote she had last encountered during the COVID epidemic, when Britons stood on their doorsteps and applauded the National Health Service.
Heading down the right wing
This is somewhat surprising when you consider the broader political currents in Europe. A decade ago, far-right parties in most of the continent were polling in single digits; now, some are clearing 30% and forming national governments.
Many of the fans who entered the Euros with high hopes hail from countries that have seen nationalist populism take hold. Since Italy won the last championship in 2021, the country has seen the Brothers of Italy lead a right-wing coalition to power. In the Netherlands, Geert Wilders’ Freedom Party won last year’s election on an anti-immigrant platform.
In June’s European Parliament elections, the far-right Alternative for Germany party came second in the country’s vote tally, and in Austria, the right-wing populist Freedom Party came first.
In France only a last-minute collaboration between center and left parties held off Marine Le Pen’s National Rally, which had topped the first round with 34% of the vote share earlier this month.
How can this this ugly face of nationalism and the rise of anti-immigrant far-right parties be reconciled with the generally peaceful and benign national pride of soccer fans on display during the Euros?
On soccer and identity
Soccer, or football, as it is known outside the U.S., grew in popularity in the late 19th century, in part encouraged by industrialists looking for a way to entertain the men flooding into England’s burgeoning industrial cities. Supporting a local team gave them a sense of identity and belonging to replace the village life from which they had been uprooted.
While some Marxists see football as a capitalist plot to divert the workers from class war, it also serves as a vehicle for the expression of mass popular culture.
Soccer has continued to play a role in the politics of national identity on the European stage, from the the early days of fascism to the decades of Cold War.
The UEFA European championship has been held every four years since 1960. In its current form, the competition begins with 24 teams that compete in a group stage before advancing to knockout rounds.
Inevitably, the number of teams that win are outnumbered by the losers. So for many fans, enjoyment comes through the collective experience of hopes dashed – and the celebration of those brief moments when one’s team is beating the odds.
There were several such moments in Euro 2024. Slovakia’s shock 1-0 win against Belgium and Georgia’s defeat of Portugal earned both these low-ranked teams a place in the final 16. Turkiye scored first in its quarter-final against the Netherlands, giving its fans 20 minutes of euphoria before the team went down to defeat.
The tournament was closely followed in war-torn Ukraine, which despite finishing last in its group could at least celebrate a win over Slovakia.
Participation in a sporting event has the potential to bring out the benign side of nationalism because it involves mutual respect between the competing teams and acceptance of the fairness of the rules of the game – even if one’s own side does not win. In this sense it can be seen as a microcosm of the “rules-based international order” that the West sees as essential to global peace and stability.
Handing hatred a red card
Of course, the 2024 tournament has not been completely immune from the darker side of patriotism and nationalism.
There were a handful of incidents, including violent clashes between English and Serbian fans before their opening game in Gelsenkirchen. But German police have generally succeeded in damping down violence between rival fans: Journalists covering the games have noted that arrests have been in the single figures and support – while enthusiastic – has been good-natured.
Meanwhile, European soccer’s governing body, UEFA, has acted swiftly to penalize players who make provocative nationalist statements. After Albanian striker Mirlind Daku used a megaphone to coordinate fans shouting “f— Serbia” and “f— Macedonia” after his team’s draw with Croatia, he was given a two-game suspension. Turkiye’s Merih Demiral was also given a two-game suspension for making a “wolf” sign – associated with the Turkish ultranationalist Grey Wolves movement – after scoring in a win over Austria.
Migration moving the goalposts
For decades until the 2010s, there were real concerns that racist behavior by fans – such as abuse hurled at Black players – meant that the sport was going lose the support of regular fans and corporate sponsors. It prompted football authorities and the police to crack down by penalizing fans, clubs and players who participated in or tolerated such behavior.
At the same time, an increasing number of players on national teams are first- or second-generation immigrants. This growing ethnic diversity has made it increasingly difficult for true fans to support their national team while still expressing racist views.
Moreover, a 2017 study of professional soccer clubs in Europe found that ethnically heterogeneous squads do better than less diverse teams – and that may also hold true for national teams.
A minority of fans will still scapegoat players with ties to other countries. In 2018, when Germany failed to qualify for the playoff round in the World Cup, Turkish-German player Mesut Özil commented, “I am German when we win but I am an immigrant when we lose.” His teammate, İlkay Gündoğan, also born in Germany to Turkish parents, was similarly criticized in 2018 for referring to Recep Tayyip Erdoğan as “my president” after a meeting with the Turkish head of state. One sign that things may have improved is that at Euro 2024, Gündoğan was the German team captain.
Figures from the worlds of both football and politics have pushed back against the notion that players’ loyalty should be questioned based on their heritage. When the American-based South African comedian Trevor Noah joked “Did Africa just win the World Cup?” in 2018 – a reference to the high number of players of African descent on the winning French team – many were quick to note than most had been born in France. The French ambassador to the U.S. wrote in a letter to Noah that his comment – even in jest – helps legitimize the view that “whiteness” is a condition of being French.
And that runs counter to the shift in nationalism on display during the Euros: away from the nativist and toward the benign and inclusive. Judging by the Euro 2024 competition, soccer has the capacity to unite more than it divides – and to promote tolerance and multiculturalism rather than division and antagonism.
Peter Rutland does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
