The British Future research finds that most people feel that their local football club is an inclusive place.
By Sunder KatwalaMay 14, 2024
The end of a football season can bring joy and despair. Leicester City fans saw their team relegated on the final day last season. A year on, thousands thronged the streets around the clock tower as the club celebrated promotion straight back up to the Premier League. Hamza Choudhary, who first joined club’s academy programme as a seven-year-old, described it as among the best days of his life. "I've spent so much of my life down here in the city centre.
To be on the bus with thousands of people out, it’s amazing”. Winning promotion will increase Choudhary’s own profile too, as the first Premier League footballer of British Bangladeshi heritage and one of the most prominent British Asian players in his generation to have broken through in the professional game.
A new report this week, Shared Goals, looks at how to maximise the game’s potential for contact, connection and shared identities. The research by British Future, supported by Spirit of 2012, finds that nearly six out of ten adults in Britain have a football club that they support. There is a similar proportion among Asian respondents (55 per cent) as among the population generally. So there is a broad, somewhat untapped, potential for that to grow significantly – in the stands as well as on the pitch.
Actress Meera Syal spoke last week about why she has not been to a football match for 30 years. Witnessing horrendous racist abuse towards a player at her first ever match meant she has never wanted to go back. Her experience will be familiar to many of those who attended matches in the 1980s or early 1990s, whether they were also put off or tried to stick around and push for change.
Meera Syal (Photo by Kate Green/Getty Images)
I was reminded of how much has changed last month when I saw my team, Everton, play at Chelsea. It was not a great result: Everton lost six-nil, though they did bounce back in their following games to secure their Premier League status without too much nail-biting this year. But Chelsea versus Everton would have been rather too risky a night out when I was younger: both clubs had been among those with the worst reputations for racism. Paul Canonville, Chelsea’s first black player, endured racist taunts from a large National Front contingent among the Stamford Bridge crowd. Everton were late to sign black players.
The photograph of Liverpool’s England star John Barnes back-heeling a banana off the pitch became iconic. Overt racist chanting was a common experience when I was a teenager with a season ticket, but I saw that recede sharply from the mid-1990s, challenged by anti-racism campaigns from the club and the fans, and stronger policing too. Today’s Chelsea has honoured Canonville’s status as a club legend, naming a suite in their Stamford Bridge ground after him.
Syal acknowledges those efforts for change but her story reflects the shadow cast by past experiences without a proactive effort to include and connect today. The British Future research finds that most people feel that their local football club is an inclusive place – though the 55 per cent of ethnic minority respondents who feel their local club is open to people from all backgrounds is lower than the 64 per cent for the public, as a whole. Almost a third of ‘armchair fans’ from an ethnic minority background said they were put-off attending live games by worries about whether the atmosphere would be welcoming to people of different ethnicities, faiths or social backgrounds.
The British Future research reports on work with Brentford FC and Huddersfield Town AFC on campaigns to use the power of the badge to communicate their vision of being a club where everybody is welcome. The report proposes new work on an inclusion and belonging index that can help to promote a ‘race to the top’ among clubs to promote that positive vision.
Sunder Katwala
What is most distinctive about football in this country is not the fame and fortune at the top of the Premier League – which can be found among the biggest clubs in Spain, Germany and Italy too. Rather, it is the depth and range of local pride that spans the divisions, as the remarkably large crowds across the divisions and into non-league football at clubs like Portsmouth, Notts County, Bradford City and Southend United show.
Three decades of action to tackle racism in football have given this next generation strong foundations. There are new challenges too. Social media platforms also need to show the red card to racism, so the progress we have made against hatred and prejudice is not undermined. But kicking racism out of football was never only about what we needed to remove; it was also about building the necessary foundations for inclusion. The power of the badge – for club as much as country – is its ability to invite everyone to come together and be part of a shared identity in which we can all take pride.
Mourners gather for the funeral of Adrian Daulby, who was shot when police responded to an attack on Yom Kippur outside Heaton Park Hebrew Congregation, in what police have declared a terrorist incident, at the Agecroft Jewish Cemetery in Pendlebury, Salford, Britain, October 6, 2025.
MURDER at the synagogue made last Thursday (2) a dark day in British history. Yom Kippur, the holy day of atonement, sees soul-searching Jews cut themselves off from electronic communication for many hours. Some, guarding other synagogues, heard of the Manchester attack from police officers rushing to check on their safety. Others from whispers reverberating around the congregation. Some only found out in the evening, turning on mobile phones or car radios after the ceremonies were over.
“There was an air of inevitability about it,” Rabbi David Mason told me. He was among many Jewish voices to describe this trauma as shocking, yet not surprising. No Jewish person has been killed for being Jewish in this country for over half a century. That victims Melvin Cravitz and Adrian Dauby died seeking to protect others exemplifies the enormous everyday efforts on community security in recent decades. There had been a grim, rising expectation, over the last two years of simmering antisemitism, that such a day might come. David Mason told me he fears a ‘double tragedy’ if the response was to disrupt efforts to build cohesion across communities, rather than galvanising them.
Manchester is the centre of British Jewish life beyond London. The magnificent restoration of the 1798 synagogue which today houses the Manchester Jewish Museum testifies to deep Jewish roots in the city. But as the heavens opened over north Manchester during last Friday’s (3) vigil, there was a fractious cocktail of grief, solidarity and raw anger. Deputy prime minister David Lammy was heckled over Palestine and protest marches. Yet my colleague Avaes Mohammad, attending from nearby Blackburn, told me too how local Muslims were warmly thanked in person by local Jewish residents for being there.
The divisive provocation of an Israeli government invitation to Tommy Robinson was the last thing that Jewish civic leaders needed during such a moment of pain. So, I was impressed with the robust clarity of the Jewish Leadership Council and Board of Deputies in reiterating why Robinson is a dangerous thug who will never be trusted by most British Jews. Israel’s minister for antisemitism and diaspora relations declared that the Board of Deputies had been captured by pro-Palestinian forces of wokeness; a reply that shows why he is ‘minister for the diaspora in name only’ to anyone who knows Britain at all.
For progressive voices, calling out the far right is the easy part. The response from Jewish civic leaders reinforced the crucial boundary between challenging Islamist extremism and Robinson’s attempt to recruit Jews into sweeping anti-Muslim prejudice. It could be reciprocated best by challenging Islamist hatred as strongly as the racist far right.
British Muslim civic leaders understand that challenge. The arson attack on an East Sussex mosque is just one example of how Muslims often suffer most when Islamists convey, through words or deeds, a narrative of extremism and incompatibility. The result is so often more fear, more prejudice and more threat to the status of Muslims as equal citizens of our country.
The lines between politics, protest and prejudice are sharply contested. Many in politics offer wildly inconsistent principles on different issues. A government review, of how police set conditions to ensure the line between democratic protest and intimidation, should be used to demonstrate consistency – whether the issue is Palestine, India and Pakistan, or asylum seekers in hotels.
It is antisemitic to hold British Jews responsible for the Israeli government – in mere words or murderous deeds. Rationally, by the same token, challenges to Israeli government policy and support for a Palestinian state are distinct from antisemitism, unless made in antisemitic terms. But the emotional landscape can be more complicated. A new study from the Institute of Jewish Public Research (JPR) illuminates a lonely two years for British Jews. The pervasive experience of casual antisemitism unifies the Jewish community – but Israeli action in Gaza is a source of pain and division. JPR finds that a majority of British Jews now say that Israel’s military excesses in Gaza offend their Jewish values, yet that they also feel closer emotionally to Israel since the Hamas atrocity. Many British Jews now feel closer to Jewish friends – and try to avoid talking politics or about Israel with others.
Our age has seen a concerted effort to delegitimise expressions of solidarity as mere ‘virtue signalling’, in order to deepen political polarisation, at best, or at worst to socialise violence. Thousands of lives were lost in Northern Ireland in living memory as men of violence claimed to defend one community against another. Before Manchester, there was only one murder at a place of worship in Britain this century: the far-right inspired murder at Finsbury Park Mosque in 2017. Americans seem desensitised to violence in churches and schools. We must never emulate that here.
Responses to Manchester show why expressions of empathy still matter – not only symbolically, but also in practice. Far from being an evasion, empathy can provide the foundation for the deeper work needed to address the roots of hatred. That is a task we must do together.
Sunder Katwala is the director of thinktank British Future and the author of the book How to Be a Patriot: The must-read book on British national identity and immigration.
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