Column
Comment
Football
Identity
Sport
5 min read

Football’s rainbow row shows up symbolism’s flaws

The vagueness that gives symbols power reduces the chance for nuanced conversation.
A football boot with rainbow laces
Premier League.

In 2013, the LGBTQ+ charity Stonewall partnered with the Premier League to launch the Rainbow Laces campaign. For certain matches, Premier League footballers are encouraged to wear rainbow colour laces and armbands when captain. 

The stated aim of the campaign is to ensure “everyone feels welcome” at football matches. All the league’s clubs have committed to the campaign, although the wearing of laces and armbands is optional for players.  

Recently, Ipswich Town’s captain Sam Morsy decided to wear a standard captain’s armband, rather than the rainbow-coloured version. The club later released a statement saying he made this decision due to his religious beliefs, which the club respected. Morsy again declined to wear the rainbow-coloured armband for Ipswich’s match against Crystal Palace a few days later. 

Speaking of Crystal Palace, their captain – Marc Guehi – did wear the armband, but wrote “I [heart] Jesus” on it. While the FA did not punish Guehi or Palace, they did write to them to remind them that religious messaging of any kind was not permitted on kits. Subsequently, during Tuesday’s match against Ipswich, Guehi changed the message to “Jesus [heart] you.” 

It says something about society’s view of Christianity that people saw Guehi’s “I [heart] Jesus” message and took it as an anti-LGBTQ+ message. The Church is doing something wrong if people can so easily equate loving Jesus with hating LGBTQ+ people.  

Of course, it is undeniable that many people have been – and continue to be – discriminated against and persecuted because of their sexual orientation or gender identity in acts of violence and abuse underwritten by religious beliefs. 

However, being ‘religious’ is not a straightforward predictor of someone’s views of sexual orientation. Many people who self-identity as Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or as members of any number of other faiths, would describe themselves as inclusive and affirming of people of all sexual orientations and gender identities. 

So, why are we talking about what colour armband grown men are wearing – or not wearing – when playing football?  

The issue emerges because of the use of these armbands as symbols. Symbols are inherently empty of content; they only mean something when individuals or groups assign meanings to those symbols.  

This is how the meaning ascribed to symbols changes over time, as they are used in different ways and received by different social groups. For centuries, the swastika was a wholly positive religious symbol in a variety of traditions across Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism, often carrying connotations of prosperity and good fortune. 

You would be hard pressed to find someone who ascribes this meaning to the swastika from the 1930s onwards.  

Symbols are powerful, but they are so precisely because they are devoid of intrinsic meaning. Humans are unsurpassed in their ability to fall out with one another. By centring campaigns and movements around symbols, people who would ordinarily be at each other’s throats are more easily able to stand alongside one another, ‘filling’ the symbol with whatever meaning sits most comfortably with them.  They are meaningless banners under which odd bedfellows might bury the hatchet in service of greater aims.  

But symbols can be a double-edged sword. Their lack of concrete meaning also allows different people to find competing meanings in the same symbol. Part of the reason for the dispute over the wearing of rainbow armbands, then, is due to different groups ascribing different meanings to the same symbol.  

For some footballers, being encouraged to wear rainbow armbands might be received as being encouraged to wear a symbol encoded with meanings that undermine their entire system of religious belief.  

And, for these people, religious belief is not an optional extra; it is their most fundamental identity and it is the framework within their entire existence and experience is rationalised and given meaning. To undermine a framework like this is no trivial matter.  

But for people who identity as LGBTQ+, seeing their team’s captain wearing a rainbow armband might ‘mean’ something as simple as: “If you identify as LGBTQ+, you are welcome here at this football match, and we want you to feel safe here.”  

It’s not hard to see how a refusal to wear an armband might be received as a slap in the face for people who ascribe that meaning to the armband; it’s tantamount to a refusal to acknowledge their existence. While it unfortunately does need repeating, the mere existence of LGBTQ+ people is not a threat to religious belief.  

The malleability of the symbol means that both individuals – and by extension, the groups to which they belong – are left feeling as though there is no space for them in football. Or, at the very least, that they have to compromise on being who they are if they are to be afforded a place within the football community.  

The desire for beige corporate gestures designed to be cheap, easy and unoffensive wins often reduces the scope for conversation and dialogue. 

And this is the problem with trying to navigate complex issues such as societal inequality through tokenistic gestures and symbols: the same power that enables symbols to unite people can also divide people. The same vagueness that makes symbols so powerful also minimises the possibility for genuine and nuanced conversation. 

This is not to say we should do away with such gestures altogether. The comedian Matt Lucas took to X to recount something of his experiences as an Arsenal fan. Twice this season – just this season – Lucas has been abused at football matches because of his sexuality. 

I’ve never been abused at a football match because of my sexuality, gender, race, ethnicity, or, for that matter, my religious beliefs. I don’t think it’s up to me to decide what does and does not make LGBTQ+ supporters feel welcome and safe at the match. If symbols such as rainbow armbands make these supporters feel safer at football matches – and again, it’s not up to me to decide if they do or they don’t – then I can only imagine that is an unqualified positive.  

That being said, if football is going to have meaningful and fruitful conversations about questions of faith, religion, and sexuality, then I think it’s clear that tokenistic use of symbols is simply not equipped for that. Like so much contemporary public discourse, the desire for beige corporate gestures designed to be cheap, easy and unoffensive wins often reduces the scope for conversation and dialogue.  

Symbols lie at the heart of human experience. The fallout from the actions of Sam Morsy and Marc Guehi demonstrates the significance of symbols to human life, but also of the importance of understanding the meaning of our cultural symbols, both as we understand them, and as they are understood by others.  

Too often we focus on what symbols mean to us, at the expense of what they might mean to others. When we assume that symbols carry a shared, fixed meaning for all, we deny ourselves the opportunity to listen and learn from the ways in which we experience our shared cultural symbols.  

And if there is one thing we really could do with more of, it is listening. 

Support Seen & Unseen

"If you were able to support us on Seen & Unseen with a regular gift of £5 or £10 a week, that would be a great encouragement for us and enable us to continue to produce the content we offer."

Graham Tomlin, Editor-in-Chief

Article
Assisted dying
Care
Comment
Politics
6 min read

Assisted dying’s problems are unsolvable

There’s hollow rhetoric on keeping people safe from coercion.

Jamie Gillies is a commentator on politics and culture.

Members of a parliamentary committee sit at a curving table, in front of which a video screen shows other participants.
A parliamentary committee scrutinises the bill.
Parliament TV.

One in five people given six months to live by an NHS doctor are still alive three years later, data from the Department of Work and Pensions shows. This is good news for these individuals, and bad news for ‘assisted dying’ campaigners. Two ‘assisted dying’ Bills are being considered by UK Parliamentarians at present, one at Westminster and the other at the Scottish Parliament. And both rely on accurate prognosis as a ‘safeguard’ - they seek to cover people with terminal illnesses who are not expected to recover. 

An obvious problem with this approach is the fact, evidenced above, that doctors cannot be sure how a patient’s condition is going to develop. Doctors try their best to gauge how much time a person has left, but they often get prognosis wrong. People can go on to live months and even years longer than estimated. They can even make a complete recovery. This happened to a man I knew who was diagnosed with terminal cancer and told he had six months left but went on to live a further twelve years. Prognosis is far from an exact science. 

All of this raises the disturbing thought that if the UK ‘assisted dying’ Bills become law, people will inevitably end their lives due to well-meaning but incorrect advice from doctors. Patients who believe their condition is going to deteriorate rapidly — that they may soon face very difficult experiences — will choose suicide with the help of a doctor, when in fact they would have gone on to a very different season of life. Perhaps years of invaluable time with loved ones, new births and marriages in their families, and restored relationships. 

Accurate prognosis is far from the only problem inherent to ‘assisted dying’, however, as critics of this practice made clear at the – now concluded – oral evidence sessions held by committees scrutinising UK Bills. Proponents of Kim Leadbeater’s Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill and Liam McArthur’s Assisted Dying for Terminally Ill Adults (Scotland) Bill have claimed that their proposals will usher in ‘safe’ laws, but statements by experts show this rhetoric to be hollow. These Bills, like others before them, are beset by unsolvable problems. 

Coercion 

Take, for example, the issue of coercion. People who understand coercive control know that it is an insidious crime that’s hard to detect. Consequently, there are few prosecutions. Doctors are not trained to identify foul play and even if they were, these busy professionals with dozens if not hundreds of patients could hardly be counted on to spot every case. People would fall through the cracks. The CEO of Hourglass, a charity that works to prevent the abuse of older people, told MPs on the committee overseeing Kim Leadbeater’s Bill that "coercion is underplayed significantly" in cases, and stressed that it takes place behind closed doors. 

There is also nothing in either UK Bill that would rule out people acting on internal pressure to opt for assisted death. In evidence to the Scottish Parliament’s Health, Social Care and Sport Committee last month, Dr Gordon MacDonald, CEO of Care Not Killing, said: “You also have to consider the autonomy of other people who might feel pressured into assisted dying or feel burdensome. Having the option available would add to that burden and pressure.” 

What legal clause could possibly remove this threat? Some people would feel an obligation to ‘make way’ in order to avoid inheritance money being spent on personal care. Some would die due to the emotional strain they feel they are putting on their loved ones. Should our society really legislate for this situation? As campaigners have noted, it is likely that a ‘right to die’ will be seen as a ‘duty to die’ by some. Paving the way for this would surely be a moral failure. 

Inequality 

Even parliamentarians who support assisted suicide in principle ought to recognise that people will not approach the option of an ‘assisted death’ on an equal footing. This is another unsolvable problem. A middle-class citizen who has a strong family support network and enough savings to pay for care may view assisted death as needless, or a ‘last resort’. A person grappling with poverty, social isolation, and insufficient healthcare or disability support would approach it very differently. This person’s ‘choice’ would be by a dearth of support. 

As Disability Studies Scholar Dr Miro Griffiths told the Scottish Parliament committee last month, “many communities facing injustice will be presented with this as a choice, but it will seem like a path they have to go down due to the inequalities they face”. Assisted suicide will compound existing disparities in the worst way: people will remove themselves from society after losing hope that society will remove the inequalities they face. 

Politicians should also assess the claim that assisted deaths are “compassionate”. The rhetoric of campaigners vying for a change in the law have led many to believe that it is a “good death” — a “gentle goodnight”, compared to the agony of a prolonged natural death from terminal illness. However, senior palliative medics underline the fact that assisted deaths are accompanied by distressing complications. They can also take wildly different amounts of time: one hour; several hours; even days. Many people would not consider a prolonged death by drug overdose as anguished family members watch on to be compassionate. 

Suicide prevention 

 It is very important to consider the moral danger involved with changing our societal approach to suicide. Assisted suicide violates the fundamental principle behind suicide prevention — that every life is inherently valuable, equal in value, and deserving of protection. It creates a two-tier society where some lives are seen as not worth living, and the value of human life is seen as merely extrinsic and conditional. This approach offers a much lower view of human dignity than the one we have ascribed to historically, which has benefited our society so much.  

Professor Allan House, a psychiatrist who appeared before the Westminster Committee that’s considering Kim Leadbeater’s Bill, described the danger of taking this step well: “We’d have to change our national suicide prevention strategy, because at the moment it includes identifying suicidal thoughts in people with severe physical illness as something that merits intervention – and that intervention is not an intervention to help people proceed to suicide.” 

 Professor House expressed concern that this would “change both the medical and societal approach to suicide prevention in general”, adding: “There is no evidence that introducing this sort of legislation reduces what we might call ‘unassisted suicide’.” He also noted that in the last ten years in the State of Oregon – a jurisdiction often held up as a model by ‘assisted dying’ campaigners – “the number of people going through the assisted dying programme has gone up five hundred percent, and the number of suicides have gone up twenty per cent”. 

The evidence of various experts demonstrates that problems associated with assisted suicide are unsolvable. And this practice does not provide a true recognition of human dignity. Instead of changing the law, UK politicians must double down on existing, life-affirming responses to the suffering that accompanies serious illness. The progress we have made in areas like palliative medicine, and the talent and technology available to us in 2025, makes another path forwards available to leaders if they choose to take it. I pray they will. 

Join with us - Behind the Seen

Seen & Unseen is free for everyone and is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you’re enjoying Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Alongside other benefits (book discounts etc.), you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing what I’m reading and my reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin

Editor-in-Chief