Last week was Rainbow Laces week. Football clubs up and down the pyramid dedicate matches to LGBTQ+ inclusion. Players can choose to wear the accessories in solidarity with LGBTQ+ fans and to signal to any closeted footballers that they are a safe person to come out to. Club captains may also replace their usual armband with one adorning the rainbow flag.
Unsurprisingly, this year, there’s controversy. Ipswich captain Sam Morsy refused to wear the rainbow armband and Crystal Palace skipper Marc Geuhi scrawled “I ❤️ Jesus” on his. The whole Manchester United men’s team abandoned their promise to wear rainbow jackets, as one player said he would refuse, and they thought it was better optics that they all decline. I personally disagree.
As a trans (amateur) footballer, I’ve taken part in Rainbow Laces for several years – even featured in a little Stonewall video about it for use in education settings. Generally, I think it’s a nice initiative. Who doesn’t want to brighten up their shoes with a splash of colour? I have mine in my boots for every game. But is nice enough? I have my reservations of the campaign’s relevance in today’s context, and whether it should be the key LGBTQ+ event in the sporting calendar.
Rainbow Laces as a campaign has been going for over a decade. Yet many LGBTQ+ football fans still report feeling uncomfortable at matches, despite the incredible efforts of volunteers at LGBTQ+ supporters clubs all over the country. Some studies report as many as 1 in 4 people feel unsafe at games.
Additionally, I can count on one hand how many professional men’s players worldwide have felt comfortable enough to share that they are LGBTQ+ whilst still active in the sport. So, what has it achieved? Headlines? Definitely. Awareness? I suppose. People now know that queers like football too.
Don’t get me wrong, awareness is important. When I publicly came out over six years ago, I didn’t know any other trans men who liked football and that made me feel isolated. Last year, I got to captain a team full of them. I don’t doubt that many of them would not have remained in the sport had Rainbow Laces not raised the profile of LGBTQ+ inclusion in football over the years.
But, awareness at what cost? Clubs still get overwhelmingly angry responses on social media to changing their profile photos and donning the colours of the pride flag. I’ve known fellow supporters who were victims of hate incidents at matches over the last couple of seasons, having been identified as LGBTQ+ because of their shoes. Tabloids still run harmful articles speculating on how many closeted players there are in the men’s game.
What is the point of awareness if you’re not doing the work the rest of the year? I would actually argue that awareness should not be the priority now: we’ve got plenty of it. We need active inclusion and proactive allyship.
I have a number of suggestions for professional clubs on how to improve their LGBTQ+ inclusion. On the basics, I want to see clubs embedding LGBTQ+ education year round, not just a PowerPoint once a year, from their first team to their academy, from security to their merchandise shop floor. I want to see clubs taking a stand against social media homophobia from supporters, not just taking posts down when they get bombarded with hate. Clubs’ level of engagement with their LGBTQ+ supporters group varies from team to team – I want our groups to be involved in all levels of decision making, so LGBTQ+ voices are at every table.
My pipeline dreams are that I want to see clubs refusing money from regimes that persecute LGBTQ+ people and I want to see clubs investing in LGBTQ+ football, working with local queer teams to give players quality coaching and advice. But I accept that these are likely wishful thinking.a
The Free Speech Union have announced they’re backing a crowdfunder to sue the Football Association over the Rainbow Laces campaign. Some will see this as a reason to throw all our weight behind Rainbow Laces and forget our criticisms, but I disagree.
In today’s climate of transphobic campaigners petitioning the FA to ban trans women from women’s football, of Joey Barton – one of the first men’s players to wear Rainbow Laces – complaining that “gays have taken over football” now, I don’t think Rainbow Laces is doing the job anymore.
Queer supporters are not your EDI photo op. We have as much right to sit in our stadiums as our cisgender, heterosexual counterparts. Queer footballers are not a novelty, hypothetical concept. We can do so much better.