England’s One Love back-down is no surprise — their commitment to LGBTQ football is weak

The FA’s decision to abandon its awkward ‘One Love’ armband comes with great shame. But the problem began long ago, and its consequences are likely to be felt way into the future.

England were defiant. Boycotting would be too easy. Instead, they would take a strong message of protest to the World Cup in Qatar. And they’d proudly taken any punishment.

Until that punishment was… um… a measly yellow card. Backing down delivers humiliation for the FA and FIFA, but real concern for LGBTQ+ people like me.

The immediate context is obvious. The shambolic organisation. The wafer-thin principles. The sharp contrast of the risk faced by Harry Kane, and that by LGBTQ Qataris. The hypocrisy of both the FA and FIFA.

You’ve already seen all of that, and I don’t need to repeat it.

They will no doubt blame FIFA for this. But the issues began a lot closer to home.

Instead, I want to reflect on what the whole sorry saga tells us about the FA, and my fears for how it might impact something very important to me — LGBTQ football.

They were very proud of their armband. But I can’t figure out why. Even ‘token gesture’ overstates its significance.

The design — a weird almost-rainbow of meaningless stripes — and the generic ‘One Love’ slogan were the first signs that the FA had no interest in committing to their supposed principles.

Both were very purposely designed to hint at promoting LGBTQ rights, without explicitly doing so. To tell LGBTQ people at home and in Qatar that they support us, while not upsetting any commercial agreements or their Memoranda of Understanding with the Qatari FA.

The FA’s own initial announcement didn’t mention ‘LGBT’ until the 17th of 20 paragraphs, instead weaving in vague messages about ‘discrimination of any kind’. An awkward cop-out that tries to say something but instead very loudly says nothing.

Their fear of having any actual impact led to a watered-down PR stunt.

They took advantage of our struggle. Of our fight. Of our lives. It was embarrassing. It was insulting. It should never have happened.

That was then. This is now. And both influence what happens next.

I’m a gay grassroots footballer. I manage a team for one of the world’s biggest LGBTQ clubs. And I fear that this debacle has significantly and critically damaged the FA’s authority and integrity to make the game safe for people like me.

We’ve all seen how weak they have been on LGBTQ issues at grassroots level. From disciplining a team who stood up against homophobic abuse. And excluding nonbinary players from both mens and womens football. Right through to first-hand experiences.

What does this latest act of spineless self-destruction say to queer people around football.

• For queer players at elite level who might be considering coming out… does this look like an FA that’s committed to supporting them — no matter what, even under the heaviest of pressure?
• For people like me who want to play openly at grassroots level… is this an FA they can trust to prioritise their welfare and safety when things get tough?
• For fans who want to attend games without hiding who they are or being subjected to upsetting chants or abuse… does the FA have any authority remaining to challenge attitudes and build more welcoming terraces?

I’m really proud to be part of an LGBTQ football movement in the UK that is growing in momentum. But that’s been led by inclusive teams like mine, by queer supporters groups, by the immense bravery of individuals.

The FA has always felt like a reluctant partner for LGBTQ people. And now that’s not only holding us back — but setting us back.

The FA needs to grow a backbone. It needs to find a way to make up for the mistakes it has made over the last few months. And in a genuinely meaningful way.

If they can’t do that, the answer to all those questions will be unthinkable.