# LongBench v2 / 66f167c3821e116aacb274f4

task_id: 16bba783-5f61-5e6b-8f72-a5818629ae0b
task_key: train--66f167c3821e116aacb274f4
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{"choice_A":"The use of sports to promote national unity often leads to failure when minority groups are expected to adopt the dominant cultural identity, causing internal friction.","choice_B":"While sports aim to unify, they often fail when minority groups are pressured to align with the dominant national identity, leading to internal dissent and resistance.","choice_C":"The use of sports to project national unity often fails when minority groups are expected to assimilate into a pre-existing national identity, leading to increased internal resistance.","choice_D":"Efforts to use sports for national unity are hindered when minority groups are required to adopt the majority identity, resulting in increased opposition and failure to achieve true unity.","context":"1\n2\n3\n4\n5\nContents\nNotes on contributors\nIntroduction\nMARIANN VACZI AND ALAN BAIRNER\nSport and the unfinished Irish Revolution\nALAN BAIRNER\nSport and secessionism in Scotland\nSTUART WHIGHAM\nSpeaking for Wales: sport and secessionism in a small nation\nJOHN HARRIS\nA game of lions and devils: sport as a driver and inhibitor of\nFlemish secession\nARNOUT GEERAERT, EDITH DRIESKENS AND BART\nMADDENS\nThe tug of war of nationalisms: agonic sports for Basque–Spanish\nrelations\nMARIANN VACZI\n\n\n6\n7\n8\n9\n10\n11\n12\n13\n14\nVisions of building, specters of collapse: alternative routes to\nsecessionism in Catalonia\nMARIANN VACZI\nFootball in Corsica: from the pride of being French to the desire\nnot to be?\nDIDIER REY\nLiving through defeat: Hungarian–Romanian relations through\nSzekler hockey\nMARIANN VACZI\nTwo styles of engagement: Kurds and football in Turkey\nÖMER TURAN\nNarratives of nationalist politics and sport in Sindh\nSAHAR GUL AND ALAN BAIRNER\nAssembling the diasporic nation: Kabylia at the CONIFA World\nFootball Cup\nJONATHAN HARRIS\nSport and secessionism in Biafra\nJOHNNY PRECIOUS OGBAH\n“One China with respective interpretations” no more? The\nstruggle between China/PRC and Taiwan/ROC in sport\nYING CHIANG AND TZU-HSUAN CHEN\nThe Montreal hockey nation: ethnic and/or civic attachments?\nJACK JEDWAB\nIndex\n\n\nContributors\nAlan Bairner is Professor of Sport and Social Theory at Loughborough\nUniversity, UK and co-editor of the Routledge Handbook of Sport and\nPolitics (Routledge, 2016).\nTzu-hsuan Chen is Professor in the Graduate Institute of Physical\nEducation at National Taiwan Sport University, Taiwan.\nYing Chiang is Associate Professor in the Department of Leisure and\nRecreation Management at Chihlee University of Technology, Taiwan.\nEdith Drieskens is Associate Professor at KU Leuven, Leuven\nInternational and European Studies, Belgium.\nArnout Geeraert is Assistant Professor at Utrecht University, Utrecht\nSchool of Governance, the Netherlands, and research fellow at KU\nLeuven, Leuven International and European Studies, Belgium.\nSahar Gul is a freelance researcher, development consultant and a novelist;\nwas formerly Director of the Benazir Bhutto Chair, University of\nKarachi, Sindh, Pakistan.\nJohn Harris is Associate Dean Research in the Glasgow School for\nBusiness and Society at Glasgow Caledonian University, Scotland.\n\n\nJonathan Harris recently defended his thesis entitled ‘Tamazgha in\nFrance; Citizenship and Indigeneity in the diasporic Amazigh movement’\n(2018) at the University of Cambridge, and is currently a research fellow\nat Stranmillis University College, Belfast.\nJack Jedwab is President of the Association for Canadian Studies and is\nthe publisher of Canadian Issues and Canadian Diversity.\nBart Maddens is Professor at KU Leuven, Public Governance Institute,\nBelgium.\nJohnny Precious Ogbah is a doctoral researcher in the School of Sports\nExercise and Health Sciences at Loughborough University, UK.\nDidier Rey is Professor of Universities in Contemporary History at the\nUniversity of Corsica, France, and a member of the UMR CNRS 6240.\nÖmer Turan is an associate professor at İstanbul Bilgi University,\nDepartment of International Relations, Turkey.\nMariann Vaczi is Assistant Professor of Anthropology and Basque Studies\nat the University of Nevada, Reno, USA and author of Soccer, Culture\nand Society in Spain: An Ethnography of Basque Fandom (Routledge,\n2015).\nStuart Whigham is a senior lecturer in Sport, Coaching and Physical\nEducation at Oxford Brookes University, UK.\n\n\nIntroduction\nMariann Vaczi and Alan Bairner\nWhen Avery Brundage, who was then President of the United States\nOlympics Committee and later became President of the International\nOlympic Committee (IOC), stated in response to calls for a boycott of the\n1936 Berlin Olympic Games, which subsequently became commonly\nknown as Hitler’s Olympics (Hart-Davis 1986, Hilton 2011, Rippon 2006),\nthat politics have no place in sport, he was guilty either of excessive\nidealism or, worse still, hypocrisy. With Brundage’s admiration for Hitler\nand his ideas having subsequently been revealed, it has become clear that it\nwas almost certainly the latter. Those who argue that sport and politics do\nnot mix are, in reality, often arguing that while their political beliefs do\nhave a place in sport, those of others do not (Bairner et al. 2016). Nowhere\nis this more apparent in issues raised by the relationship between sport and\nthe politics of secessionism.\nThe existence of a close relationship between sport and nationalism is\nwidely accepted (Bairner 2001, Rowe et al. 1998, Hong 2013, Allison\n2000). It manifests itself in the concept of national sports, in the enduring\npopularity of international competitions, events and contests and in the\nmyriad ways in which politicians and politically motivated groups have\nsought to harness sport to national causes. On the other hand, questions are\nincreasingly being asked not only about the future of the relationship\nbetween nationalism and sports but also about the fate of the nation itself.\nThe argument is perfectly straightforward even though it is commonly\nexpressed in far from accessible language. Put simply, it is asserted that\neconomic, political, cultural and ideological trends, supported by a\npervasive and all-powerful global media industry, must inevitably destroy\n\n\nthe distinctiveness upon which nations, nationalism and national identities\ndepend for their very existence.\nIf the fate of the nation itself is questioned, the fate of new nation-states\nis even more uncertain. Risk-taking and risk-aversion are a salient aspect of\nsecessionist politics. ‘You ask people about the secession [from the Spanish\nstate]’, Michael Keating argued about the current Catalan independence\nfervour, ‘and no one seems to know. Elections? And then, what?’ (2014).\nShrouded in a mystique of risk, fanaticism and subversion, secessionist\npolitics has become somewhat of a spectre to be avoided rather than\ntackled: the European Union has ‘artfully maintained confusion’ over the\nfate of new states, the New York Times wrote, while recognizing that\nCatalonia and Scotland were a ‘challenge’ not just to their countries but\nalso to ‘a certain idea of Europe’ (Zaretsky 2015). Secessionist movements\nin highly devolved liberal democracies in the heart of Europe should\nprompt important debates over what forms of sovereignty and solidarity are\ncongruent with ‘a certain idea of Europe’.\nWith specific reference to sport, it is sometimes claimed that the global\nexchange of sporting bodies makes it increasingly difficult for the nation-\nstate to be represented by conventional corporeal symbols. As a\nconsequence of this and other far-reaching developments, it is believed by\nsome (see Maguire 1999, Bairner 2001) that we may be at the earliest\nstages of the development of a transnational or global culture, of which\nsport is a part. Yet, sport also provides considerable evidence of cultural\nexchange that is undoubtedly at odds with the vision of a process of\nhomogenization \nthat \nis \noften \nencapsulated \nin \nthe \nconcept \nof\nAmericanization. Furthermore, in any debate of this type, it is dangerously\nmisleading to equate the nation with the nation-state. Indeed, it can be\nclaimed that the forces associated with the idea of globalization have\nactually created political and cultural space in which nations and\nnationalities that have historically been submerged within nation-states have\nbeen reawakened and infused with new vitality.\nOne need look no further than the United Kingdom in order to clarify the\ndistinction between nation and nation-state. ‘Britain’ is largely a nationless\nentity except when it is conflated erroneously with England. Nowhere is\nthis demonstrated more publicly than in the world of international sport\n(Holt 1990, Polley 1998). With a single Olympics squad, four ‘national’\nsoccer teams and three ‘national’ rugby teams together with Northern\n\n\nIreland’s part share in the Irish team, the UK’s sporting landscape is\ntestimony to the complex relationship between nations and nation-states.\nThus, when we refer to the prestige that nations can derive from sport, it is\nimportant to think in terms not only of internationally recognized states\nwhose politicians seize upon sporting success for ideological and\npropagandist reasons (Molnar and Whigham 2019) but also of submerged\nnations for which sport has commonly been one of the most effective\nvehicles for cultural resistance by both cultural and political nationalists.\nFor them, sport provides athletes and fans with opportunities to celebrate a\nnational identity that is different from and, in some cases, opposed to, their\nascribed nationality (Vaczi 2015). As we shall see in some of the chapters in\nthis collection, the two forms of engagement need not be mutually\nexclusive. It is possible to support both British teams and Scottish ones or\nto represent Wales and also the United Kingdom. It can be argued though\nthat national identity frequently takes priority in the minds of sports fans.\nNationality, however, is likely to be what matters to athletes since this alone\nguarantees the right to compete on behalf of nation-states, which unlike\nmany nations, may be represented in international sport just as they are at\nthe United Nations itself. It is worth noting, of course, that nationality rules\nhave become increasingly flexible in sport in response to labour migration.\nThe desire, particularly on the part of fans, to express their national\nidentity in the realm of sport is clearly linked to nationalism in the broadest\nsense or, at the very least, to patriotism. Former Member of Parliament Jim\nSillars dismissed the attitude of his fellow Scots towards national sporting\nrepresentatives as ‘ninety-minute patriotism’. For example, Irish support for\nnational representatives in global sporting activities such as track and field,\nrugby union and soccer is in most cases patriotic and, by implication,\nrelatively politically shallow. The relationship between Gaelic games and\nIrish nationalism is on the other hand much more profound. In general,\nhowever, attempts to distinguish the passions aroused by international sport\nfrom ‘real’ nationalism miss the point. It is undeniable that expressions of\nsolidarity for players and teams that represent one’s nation are closely\nlinked to cultural nationalism. Whether or not they are also bound up with\npolitical nationalism is a different question, the answer to which necessarily\nvaries from one individual to the next. For many people, even ones whose\nnational identity is bound up with a submerged nation, cultural nationalism\nis enough. They may well feel that they could not become any more\n\n\nScottish or Welsh or Catalan than they already are with the formation of a\nnation-state that would correspond to their sense of national identity. For\nothers though, cultural nationalism is nothing more than the emotional\nembellishment of a strongly held political ideology that will settle for\nnothing less than national sovereignty.\nFor most sportsmen and women, even in an era when money is a major\nincentive for sporting success, representing the nation remains important. It\nis not inconceivable that they might represent more than one nation with\nneither ethnic origin nor even well-established civic connections being\nnecessary for a move from one to another. However, for most athletes\nengaged in international sport, the matter is still relatively clear-cut. For\nfans, things are arguably even simpler. In the modern era, following one’s\n‘proxy warriors’ into international competition is one of the easiest and\nmost passionate ways of underlining one’s sense of national identity, one’s\nnationality or both. Needless to say, not everyone wishes to celebrate their\nnational affiliation in this way, in most instances for the simple reason that\nthey are not interested in sport, the nation or the relationship between the\ntwo. But just as for most active participants, for the majority of sports fans\nthe choice is relatively straightforward. This is not to deny of course that in\ncertain circumstances athletes and fans alike may well understand their\nnations in different ways.\nWe use the words ‘movement’ and ‘secessionism’ in a loose sense.\nStrictly speaking, because of the layered complexity and internal divisions\nof these contexts addressed in this collection, it is hard to identify unified\nand sustained ‘movements’ that have always been clear about their goal of\nsecession. We use these terms broadly to include contexts ranging from\nloosely organized, unreflected and situational aspirations for anything from\nregional autonomy to full national self-determination. Secessionism tends to\ntraverse a wide range of states until it matures into some kind of coherent\npolitical will, if it ever does. What is a given in all contexts, however, is a\nstate, and a sub-national subject which seeks more than it has at present,\nwhether this be in the form of more rights, formal autonomy or\nindependence.\nIn secessionist contexts, the tools of satisfactory coexistence seem to\nhave been exhausted to the point that one of the parties pursues an exit. As\nopposed to abstract, intangible and symbolic nation-building processes and\nidentity construction, secessionist subjects are clear about their adversary\n\n\n(the state) and aim to affect radical change. While the interfaces of sport\nand politics have been observed, secessionist contexts are unique in a sense\nthat they consist of two simultaneous processes of sub-national identity\nconstruction on the one hand, and the deconstruction of state sovereignty on\nthe other. Without restraining factors, the end of their dialectic antagonism\nwill be schism. These centrifugal and centripetal forces create idiosyncratic\npower relations, risks and opportunities. Sports are uniquely positioned to\nshed light on these processes due to the paradigmatically binary, agonic\nlogic of contest on which state–region antagonisms may be projected.\nIn the following sections, we outline some general conclusions that we\ncan draw from the interfaces of sport and secessionism based on the regions\nfeatured in this volume.\nSecessionist contexts are complex and volatile\nSecessionism arises as a contested terrain in the process of constant flux. It\ncreates complex allegiances, and sometimes paradoxical, ironic and even\nabsurd situations. Multiple identities, generational changes, historical ebb\nand flows, and extra-secessionist political considerations make it rare for a\nsecessionist movement to be unified. The ‘fuzzy frontiers’ of Wales, the\n‘confused, ambiguous but real’ national sentiment of Corsica, the ‘unstable\nsignifier’ that is the Republic of China/Taiwan, ironies and projections\nmake secessionist identities extremely complex.\nThis complexity comes from the multiplicity of identities that is proper\nto secessionist contexts: volatile, double, situational, splintering and shifting\nidentifications. Secessionist movements are notorious for their splits and\nfactions. Internal disagreements often concern the degree of autonomy\nbetween independence and federal frameworks; the path towards and means\nof achieving those objectives; and the territorial boundaries of the proposed\nnew state. In Taiwan, over the twentieth century, people had to learn how to\nbe Chinese, then Japanese, and then Chinese again, and finally how to be\nTaiwanese. In the case of Kabyle in Algeria, emergent secessionist\nsentiments were predicated on a shift from Amazigh cultural identity to a\nKabyle national identity. Similarly, in Canada, a shift from French Canadian\nidentity based on ancestry, religion and language led towards a new\nQuebecois identity based on territory and language. Fifty years ago in\nCorsica, islanders were eager to be French and indignant when their\n\n\nFrenchness was called into question; they were the colonized who first\nwished to assimilate and it was the colonizer who refused it. Today, strong\nethnic assertions of a ‘Corsican race’ and national consciousness nourish\nthe secessionist movement. In Spain, bilingual and double identities such as\nBasque/Spanish and Catalan/Spanish form a significant percentage across\nthe respective populations.\nAs state and region grow apart in a schismogenic process (Bateson 1972)\nof progressive differentiation, whose end point may be schism, they traverse\na range of roles and identities. The ambiguities of secessionist contexts, as\nwe argued elsewhere (Vaczi et al. 2019), may be likened to those of a\nprocess of ritual transformation. As regions shift from old roles and\nidentities toward new ones, they retain and display elements of both,\nactivating and de-activating them as situations require, resulting in their\nmixture and a state of constant in-betweenness.\nA symptom of this complexity is that many secessionist movements are\nthwarted by intriguing inconsistencies and even paradoxes. In Belgium, for\nexample, Flemish separatist parties are increasingly popular, while Flemish\nseparatism itself is significantly less so, and only a small percentage of\nvoters are actually separatist. The ‘Flemish paradox’ refers to the popularity\nof state symbols such as Belgian national sports teams, particularly the Red\nDevils soccer team, among Flemish secessionists. The Irish movement\ntends toward the same paradox: electoral support for Sinn Féin in Northern\nIreland does not necessarily translate into support for the unification of the\ntwo Irelands. Catholics may vote for nationalist and republican parties, but\nthey may not want to unite Ireland and leave the United Kingdom.\nInversely, separatism is supported by 50 per cent of the Kurdish population\nin Turkey, while the Kurdish movement does not acknowledge secession as\nan objective. At the same time, similarly to the Belgian case, Kurdish\nsoccer fans in Turkey envision their sport in a Turkish context, and support\nteams such as the Istanbul-based Galatasaray. The Canadian–Quebecois\ncontext displays inconsistencies between image and reality: when the\nhockey club Montreal Canadiens was cited as a model for the Quebecois\nsovereignty movement in the 1970s, the irony was quickly noted that the\nclub was Anglo-owned, only three players were French and the club\noperated in English.\nSometimes state–region relations are so complex that the international\ncommunity, including the sport world, fails to grasp them or keep up with\n\n\ntheir volatile trajectories. Such cases include the decades-long tussle\nbetween the Republic of China/Taiwan and the People’s Republic of China\nover the legitimate representation of China. Taiwan was only 1/267 part of\nthe total area it aimed to represent, which made the situation even more\nconfusing. Over fifty years of Olympic history, the island was variously\ncalled ROC/Taiwan, China (Formosa) and Chinese Taipei, while China’s\nnames were the People’s Republic of China and Peking China. Name\nchanges were a constant source of confusion and uncertainty for athletes,\nbroadcasters and even the highest circles of the IOC about whom, exactly,\nthese names meant. A similar confusion thwarted Corsica. Its ‘in-between’\nposition as not quite part of France and not quite part of the French empire,\nits lack of status and representation was reflected in its inconsistent\npositioning on geographical maps. Corsica was an island in a rectangle in a\ncorner, near the Var coast, off Marseille, or even in the Bay of Biscay. The\n‘Hexagon’ was a hexagon without Corsica.\nThe fuzziness of loyalties and identities should prompt an important\ndiscussion: below and beyond constitutional legitimacy, at what critical\nmass is secessionism socially legitimate enough to pursue a radical rupture?\nWhat approval rates provide the mandate to assume the risks of rupture?\nMovements that are constitutionally blocked from independence referenda\noften argue that the democratic and fair solution would be voting about the\nissue. But even so, do 50 per cent plus one majority referenda do justice, or\njust rearrange discontent? In 2015, the newly elected, first pro-\nindependence Catalan regional government sensed this problematic. The\nJunts pel Sí ‘Together for Yes’ coalition campaigned with the unilateral\ndeclaration of independence, and won government. Later, however, they\nbacktracked as an approximately 50 per cent popular support was not\nconsidered enough for a unilateral declaration of independence, and they\nconcluded that larger social support was necessary for such a radical move\nas a breakaway.\nSecessionism often emerges in the vacuum of greater\ngeo-political dislocations\nSecessionist aspirations often emerge or intensify as a result of greater geo-\npolitical dislocations. Amalgamation, partition, transition, revolution,\nhandover and de-colonization are different names for the same logic, the\n\n\nsame event: a crack in old systems which gets filled with new visions. In\n1914, the British colonial amalgamation of Nigeria was a forced marriage\nof three regions with distinctive languages, religions and subsistence\ntraditions, which eventually led to the Nigerian Civil War or Biafran War in\n1967. The 1921 Partition of Ireland intended to create two self-governing\nregions. In the north-east, six counties were to be governed by a devolved\nadministration albeit within the United Kingdom, while twenty-six counties\nformed an independent Irish state. The legacy of Partition, however, has\nbeen to ensure that there are those throughout Ireland but particularly in\nNorthern Ireland who continue to demand secession resulting in the\nunification of the entire island. The 1975 death of Franco and the\nsubsequent democratic Transition in Spain quickly resulted in the España\nde las Autonomías, which granted seventeen regions a high degree of\nautonomy in government, education, policing, media and sometimes taxes.\nIn the liberating Transition atmosphere, regions such as the Basque and\nCatalan felt freer to reclaim their formerly oppressed identities. The 1989\nfall of the Iron Curtain in Eastern Europe, and particularly the Romanian\nRevolution had a similar effect, and minorities such as the Szekler\nHungarians stepped up immediately to claim language rights.\nColonialism and post-colonialism may serve as a real context, or a\nnarrative device to explain sub-national experience. Taiwan’s confrontations\nwith China intensified in the wake of the island’s de-colonization after fifty\nyears of Japanese rule (1895–1945). Kabyle’s secessionist turn was possible\nafter the de-colonization of French territories, including Algeria.\nSecessionist tendencies in Sindh were triggered after the de-colonization of\nSouth Asia, the creation of two successor states – India and Pakistan\n(including Sindh) – and the secession of East Pakistan in 1971. Both the\nimaginary and the vocabulary of colonialism are frequently used in sub-\nnational contexts to express the essence of their experience, particularly in\nstates that do have long colonial histories: Corsicans in France, Basques and\nCatalans in Spain, even the Welsh and Scottish in the United Kingdom\nspeak of their ‘internal colonization’ to give more weight to their\narguments. Geo-political dislocations might even be predictive of the\nupsurge of secessionist sentiments, as in the case of Scotland, which will\nquite possibly pursue another independence referendum in the wake of\nBrexit, which was opposed by a substantial majority of Scots.\n\n\nSecessionism is often fuelled by legal, economic and\nideological considerations\nEthnonationalism still resonates with some secessionist movements;\nhowever, in cases where minorities are granted language rights and have no\nimmediate anxieties over cultural loss, we may see legal, political,\neconomic and ideological triggers behind secessionism. In fact, some sub-\nnational contexts consider that they did not just grow apart from their states\nbut grew beyond them. Distrust in state operations, as well as ideological\ndivergences often nourish fantasies about a new state that will operate more\ndemocratically, with greater economic efficiency, more progressively, or\nwith greater legal safeguards. In Scotland, secessionists pointed out their\n‘democratic deficit’: that is, the past disenfranchisement of Scottish Labour\nmajority support by Conservative governments in Westminster. Catalonia’s\nmain triggers were economic and ideological. The current secessionist\nfervour started with Madrid’s rejection of Catalonia’s new fiscal agreement\nin 2006 and 2010. As with the Scottish ‘democratic deficit’, leftist Catalan\nindependentists often cited their irreconcilable ideological differences with\nconservative Popular Party governance in Spain. Finally, the latest street\nfights erupted as a result of distrust in the Spanish legal system after the\nSupreme Court’s sentencing of elected pro-independence politicians to 8–\n13 years in prison. In Corsica, below and beyond the more recent\nracialization of Corsican consciousness, the first discourses about ‘internal\ncolonization’ emerged in the aftermath of the 1950s French development\npolicy called Regional Action Plan, which was seen as a pretext for\ndispossessing islanders. In the Flemish case, economic issues, progress,\njobs and wages dominate autonomy arguments.\nSymbolic gestures, grievances and fears of culture loss\nremain important triggers\nIn spite of emergent forms of civic nationalism described above, symbolic\ngestures and particularly grievances can considerably fuel the emotional\nsubstance of secessionist movements. As mentioned above, in 2010 the\nSpanish Constitutional Court rejected for the second time the proposal of\nthe Catalan government for a new economic agreement between state and\nregion. What ignited the first massive pro-independence demonstration,\n\n\nhowever, was not the rejection of the fiscal pact itself, but a peripheral\nclause in the decision: Catalonia was not allowed to refer to itself as a\n‘nation’, only as a ‘nationality’. According to the Spanish constitution, the\nword ‘nation’ is reserved for Spain. The denial of their nationhood drove a\nmillion Catalans onto the streets under the banner ‘We are a nation, we\ndecide’, which was the first of a series of massive pro-independence\ndemonstrations in the years to come. Names make or annihilate identity,\nand naming controversies are part of a web of grievances: Taiwan’s\ndesperate struggle for its name (Republic of China/Taiwan) at the Olympic\nGames was progressively undermined by its powerful big Other, the\nPeople’s Republic of China (PRC).\nThe failure to recognize linguistic and cultural difference by the state,\ndisrespect and arrogance provoke emotional responses from which\nsecessionist movements draw substantial energies. For example, the\nFlemish movement emerged in no small way as a reaction to French\nbecoming the official language of the newly created state of Belgium in a\nterritory where the majority spoke Dutch. Similarly, in the Sindh region of\nPakistan, the Muslim elites from West Pakistan tried to implement Urdu as\nthe national language in spite of the fact that it was the language of only 2\nper cent of the population of the new country. But even where regional\nlanguages are solid and co-official, such as in Catalonia, anxieties about\nlanguage loss are a frequent theme in secessionist narratives. While Wales\nis undeniably a culturally and linguistically distinct country, it often\nencounters humiliation and patronizing indifference: ‘For Wales – see\nEngland’, as the early editions of Encyclopaedia Britannica have it. The\nterm ‘England and Wales’ is symptomatic of a disregard that sees Wales as\na mere extension of England.\nExistential anxieties such as a sense of loss often trigger defiant\nresponses toward what is seen as a domineering state. The Basque\nsecessionist organization ETA (Basque Land and Freedom) first emerged to\ncounter cultural and linguistic loss under the Franco regime. Similarly, the\nKurdish movement responds to Turkish state repression, efforts of\nassimilation and the oppression of Kurdish identity and language. For the\nSzekler Hungarian minority in Romania, the shrinking magyar világ\n‘Hungarian world’ of Transylvania has been a constant subject of\nlamentation for a hundred years now, as formerly dominantly Hungarian-\nspeaking towns and cities were transformed by forced settlement and\n\n\nRomanianization policies. As for Sindh, the population grew by 80 per cent\nover the past thirty years as a result of immigration, and Sindhis now make\nup only 45 per cent of the population, leading to feelings of insecurity and\ndecline. These sub-national contexts view themselves as self-defensive, as\nreactive to state repression rather than catalysts of conflict. The constant\nsense of embattlement for survival might be channelled into mythologizing\nnarratives, a genre championed probably by Scotland, which successfully\ncrafted a framework of an oppressed but courageous nation fighting an\noverpowering enemy since the thirteenth century.\nSports serve as sites of sub-national struggle\nSport stadiums are sites of power between sub-national vindications and the\nassertions of state power. Sometimes, sport is the main site of state–region\nantagonisms. The story of sport in Ireland, particularly the Gaelic Athletic\nAssociation (GAA), is the story of three Irelands: pre-Partition Ireland, Irish\nFree State (Republic of Ireland) and Northern Ireland. In Pakistan, cricket\nenjoys a pre-eminence that affects political transitions, social tensions,\neconomic transformations, diplomatic relations and cultural development,\nwhich is why many in Sindh province are bitter about discrimination and\nexclusion from this important terrain. The competition between Republic of\nChina/Taiwan and the PRC for the representation of China unfolded over\nfifty years of the Olympic Games. The idea of Kabyle as a nation was most\nforcedly proposed in the soccer stadiums of the CONIFA Cup, where\nunofficial national teams of stateless players compete. Place has the power\nto conjure up major historical grievances, as it happened with the British\ngovernment’s plans to build a 42,000-seat National Sport Stadium in\nNorthern Ireland on the site of the former Maze prison, where ten Irish\nrepublican prisoners died on hunger strike in 1981.\nOne way to symbolically assert nationhood in sport is through the body:\nlocal, homegrown players, who are a literal embodiment of the nation.\nThese approaches are premised on primordial notions of ethnic\nbrotherhood, which has been perfected by the Basque Athletic Club de\nBilbao and its brand through a Basque-only policy across a hundred years.\nSimilarly, the Szekler ice hockey team Csíkszereda Sportklub, the Quebec\nNordiques and the Montreal Canadiens in Quebec, the Catalan FC\nBarcelona and the Kurdish Amedspor have found it important to rely, as\n\n\nsubstantially as possible, on homegrown players for symbolic purposes.\nThese strategies are based on body–value linkages whereby physical fitness\nis equated with national fitness, and athletic performance is the measure of\nnational success. The general sense of existential anxiety proper to sub-\nnational contexts has manifestations in the loss of local sporting talents to\nstate leagues and national teams, or to globalization, as it has been\nexpressed in these contexts.\nSymbolic strategies for national re-territorialization include not only\nethnicized recruitment policies, but also sport events that traverse the\ngeographical area that is claimed. As sporting bodies are drafted from a\nparticular region, such as above, teams siding homegrown players are a\nritual confirmation of the territory of the nation. As for re-territorializing\ndisplay events, the Flemish cycling race Ronde de Vlaandeeren (Tour of\nFlanders) is one of the best-known cases of the celebration of regionalism.\nSimilarly, the Basque Korrika is a bi-annual exhibition race that runs\nthrough every single city, town and village of the Basque Country,\nincluding the historical provinces in the French Basque area, to vindicate\nthe Basque language and mark the boundaries of the nation. Local player\npedigrees and boundary-marking display events serve as the physical stuff\nof imagined communities.\nA related nationalist strategy through embodiment is official national\nrepresentation through national teams, which is often considered the\ngreatest symbolic step toward proper statehood. National teams may be\ndivisive for state–region relations as they are in sub-national contexts in\nSpain; alternatively, they may be the only thing that brings antagonistic\nparties together, as happens with a sense of Belgianness. There is a great\npermutation of examples and approaches when it comes to regional national\nteams. First, they may be banned (Catalonia, Basque Country, Szeklerland,\nKabyle), in which case unofficial teams try to gain national visibility at\nfriendly matches, or events like the CONIFA Cup. Second, regional\nnational teams might be official, as they are in the United Kingdom, and\ncompete \nin \ninternational \nchampionships \nlike \nany \nnation-state\nrepresentatives. Third, in some cases, there might be more than one national\nteam to play for: Szeklers cannot have a regional national team, but they\nmay choose to play for the state of Romania or Hungary, and the northern\nIrish may play for the Republic of Ireland or for Northern Ireland. Fourth,\nthere might be a combination of the above, depending on sport, context and\n\n\naspirations: for example, Wales competes as Wales in soccer and rugby\nunion, but as part of Team Great Britain at the Olympic and Paralympic\nGames. Meanwhile Welsh and Irish cricketers hope to play for England in\ninternational cricket. Indeed, the current captain of England’s one-day\nnational team is Dublin-born and -educated Eoin Morgan.\nSport stadiums have been important spaces for sub-national language use\nunder dictatorial circumstances such as the Spanish Franco regime, or the\nRomanian Ceaușescu regime. Even when regional languages were banned\nor harassed in an effort to impose the state language, the terraces of sport\nstadiums were often a liminal space where minority languages were\ntolerated: Basque and Catalan could be spoken in Francoist Spain, and\nSzeklers could sing in Hungarian in Ceaușescu’s Romania. The language of\nsport management, club communication, stadium announcements and\ncheering has highly symbolic significance in the Quebecois context as well,\nwhere French competes with the dominant English. For the 1992 Barcelona\nOlympic Games, a major objective of Catalan organizers was to achieve the\nco-official status of the Catalan language during the Olympic Games.\nProtesting, jeering or whistling state symbols and representatives is a\nsub-national strategy that aims to deconstruct central sovereignty,\nparticularly where monarchical endorsements are present in the VIP boxes.\nProtesting state symbols has elicited diverse reactions ranging from closing\ndown the stadium, threats of criminalizing whistling, banning regional\nanthem singing, to important debates about the freedom of expression.\nWhile centralists feel offended as such protests target sacred symbols of the\nstate, sub-national subjects claim freedom of expression. State anthems are\nparticularly subjected to sabotage: whistling the Spanish Marcha Real by\nBasques and Catalans, the Turkish Independence March by Kurds, the\nFrench Marseillaise by Corsicans, and the British God Save the Queen by\nScottish, Irish and Welsh sports fans have become rituals of rebellion that\nare met with varying degrees of retorsion. In some cases, such as in Turkey\nand Romania, regional players being silent or lip-syncing during the singing\nof state anthems provokes suspicion of internal sabotage. Anthem\ncontroversies are probably most twisted in the Szekler Hungarian case in\nRomania: whenever the Romanian national hockey team plays the state of\nHungary, the Szekler-dominated Team Romania sings the anthem of\nHungary, sending international journalists into utter confusion as to why\nthey sing the anthem of the opponent.\n\n\nDo symbolic struggles in sport go beyond ‘banal’?\nA question we should not take for granted with regard to representations in\nsporting arenas is the efficacy of symbols. Do they translate into real\nsupport for secessionist politics? Or is the deployment of sport merely, as it\nis asserted about Corsica, at the level of ‘agit prop’? When and how do\nsymbols go beyond banal?\nSymbols are ‘floating signifiers’, as Lévi-Strauss argued (1950), and\nmay have vague, variable, unspecifiable or non-existent significance. The\ncontingency of symbols is well illustrated by the Kurdish Diyarbakırspor\nfootball club: in spite of the fact that it was endorsed by the Turkish state\nand did not actively cultivate a Kurdish identity, it was seen by association\nrelated to the Kurdish movement as it was based in a Kurdish-dominated\ncity. Something similar happened to the Montreal Canadiens hockey club\nwhen the purportedly Quebecois nationalist Quebec Nordiques emerged in\nthe 1970s. Fans projected anti-secessionist identity on the former, while\nthere was no real reason to do so except for the structuralist impulse to\ntransform a sporting rivalry into antagonism between secessionist and\ncentralist adversaries.\nThe French Basque and Spanish Basque regions are good examples of\nthe different weight afforded to the same symbol, the Basque national flag\nthe ikurrina. A few weeks after the death of Franco in December 1975, the\nSpanish Basque derby between Real Sociedad and Athletic Club de Bilbao\nproduced one of the most iconic images of the Transition: team captains\nKortabarria and Iribar walked onto the field holding the Basque national\nflag. While flag displays in sport stadiums are normally considered classic\nexamples of Billig’s ‘banal nationalism’ (1995) this was a conspicuous\nevent as the flag was still banned. Even today, the ikurrina is displayed\nsparingly in the Spanish Basque Country, and has clear nationalist political\nconnotations. At the same time, the French Basque region is peppered with\nikurrinas, including in its sporting arenas. The flag there is folkloric,\n‘banal’, politically barren as a symbol while in Spain, it evokes major\nhistorical grievances.\nThe efficacy of symbolic representations through sport is hard to\nmeasure, and some of our chapters question its real consequences for\npolitics. In Belgium, sporting nationalism is considered an ‘unstable\nsource’; in Corsica, sport did not become major for the movement, but\n\n\nremained a ‘journalistic’, ‘unreflected’ tool that was good for little more\nthan ‘visibility’; the Kurds did not see sport as a systematic platform to\nshowcase national identity in the 1990s. As mentioned above, in Scotland,\nthe former leader of the Scottish National Party Jim Sillars once called\nScots ‘90-minute patriots’, because their nationalistic zeal in the stadium\ndid not quite cross over to their politics. The possibility of symbolic\nexhaustion in stadiums was shown particularly clearly at the 2019 el\nClásico between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid. While unprecedented\npolicing went into securing the stadium and preventing banners and a pitch\ninvasion, the real action took place outside the stadium, where pro-\nindependence protesters clashed with riot police.\nIn some cases, sport is not only considered a terrain of questionable\nsymbolic efficacy, but might be rejected outright for the purpose of nation\nbuilding by secessionist movements. This happened with the armed\nseparatist groups ETA in the Basque Country, and the FLNC (National\nLiberation Front of Corsica) in Corsica, as these movements considered\nfootball as an ‘opium of the people’ and a colonial device. The Old Firm of\nGlasgow, one of the most notorious football rivalries, actually prevents a\nunited Scottish national front: Rangers is still mainly associated with\nProtestantism, orangeism, conservativism and unionism, while Celtic is\nassociated with Irishness, Catholicism and republicanism.\nSporting excellence and resources may offer real sub-\nnational agency\nSports systems may become real sources of agency for sub-national entities.\nAs state and region compete in a dialectic of progressive differentiation,\nsport may shift power relations from complementarity to equality. In the\nformer case, sub-national entities are subordinated to state structures, and\ncomplement them; in the latter, however, they come to be equivalent or\neven dominant. This is an achievable state on the terrain of sport through\nregional players, knowhow or resources. Successful strategies for carving\nout sub-national power in otherwise dominant state structures include\ndominating a sport that is important for the state or has global prestige;\ndominating the state’s national team; dominating federations and resources;\nand organizing high-profile sport events. Sub-national subjects have made\nthemselves indispensable through these strategies, and achieved the state’s\n\n\ndependency on their expertise, resources and contributions, which in turn\ngrants them decision-making powers.\nCatalonia has mastered a combination of these strategies. It is often said\nthat without Barcelona, the Catalan question would not exist today.\nBarcelona is no second capital to Madrid; it is a symbolic equal. Its position\nis in great part due to Catalan sporting successes. More particularly,\nCatalans have been fundamental to the success of Spanish soccer and the\nSpanish national team throughout history. Furthermore, the highly\nsuccessful and substantially Catalanized 1992 Barcelona Olympic Games\nhas secured lifelong bragging rights to Catalans, particularly since Madrid\nlost its third bid to host the Games in 2013.\nIn Wales, we see a similar combination of gaining agency through\nsporting excellence and event organization. From a secessionist perspective,\nWales is sometimes referred to as an ‘internal colony’, ‘dependent\nperiphery’ at worst, and ‘England and Wales’ at best, all indicating various\ndegrees of state dominance and regional peripherality; but in rugby union,\nWales is a global centre. It is a field in which Wales is a symbolic equal,\nand even superior, to its neighbour. As with Barcelona, the city of Cardiff\nhas been instrumental in this superiority – to the point that, as Harris\nproposes in this volume, they really should say ‘England and Cardiff’. The\nRugby World Cup (RWC) is arguably the third biggest sport event in the\nworld after the Olympic Games and the FIFA World Cup, and Cardiff has\nbeen a host city in every RWC organized in the northern hemisphere.\nThe challenge for the periphery acting out central roles in a hegemonic\nenvironment is that local, sub-national identity is actually visible. In Wales,\nthis simultaneous ‘absence and presence’ meant that Cardiff provided the\nvenue and the organization, but Welsh identity was not particularly salient.\nIn Catalonia, the organizers of the Barcelona games were very conscious of\nthis danger, and insisted, through a masterful manipulation of symbology\nand folkloric elements, that the Games would be perceived as first\nBarcelonese/Catalan, then international and finally Spanish (Hargreaves\n2000).\nThe power of events to disseminate political messages also surfaced\naround the 2014 Scottish independence referendum. Scotland has long\nromanticized its position as the embattled and oppressed underdog against\nits big Other, England; it might not be in an equal position, but it is\nequivalent enough for a good fight, in which ‘glorious failures’ often\n\n\nhappen. The Scottish confidence in its sport life to rival that of the state was\nmanifest when the independence referendum was strategically scheduled\nfor 2014 by the Edinburgh Agreement. Both unionists and secessionists\nagreed to the date: the former hoped that the 2012 London Games would\npush support for ‘Better Together’, while Scottish secessionists trusted that\nthe 2014 Commonwealth Games hosted by Glasgow would reverse the\nprocess and tip the balance in their favour. As in the case of the Catalan–\nSpanish ‘paz olímpica’, a truce was struck between unionists and\nindependentists, only to be broken here too, as the power of both sport\nevents on politics was contested prior to the referendum.\nSzekler Hungarians in Romania have carved out a position of power\nthrough ice hockey by dominating resources, the Romanian national team\nand sometimes the Romanian Federation. To ensure an equal footing as\npartners with the centre, Szeklerland had to have superior players and\nresources. Szeklerland owns eight hockey rinks, while the rest of Romania\nowns a mere two, which obliges Bucharest and other Romanian teams to\nask to use Szekler rinks and participate in the Transylvania League. The\nSzeklerland Hockey Academy’s state-of-the-art facilities, substantially\nfinanced by the Hungarian state, are coveted by non-Szekler Romanian\nclubs. Since the Romanian national team routinely consists of 90 per cent\nSzekler players, speaking Hungarian is a right they actively cultivate – and\neven flaunt – in the face of occasional disapproval from the Romanian\ncentre, which cannot but tolerate it, unless they are prepared to accept the\nSzekler players’ refusal to play. And finally, Szekler officials earning\npositions in the Romanian Hockey Federation ensures that Szekler interests\nare not marginalized in central decision making.\nNational teams representing the state may become a unique site of power\nfor sub-national subjects. In some of our cases (Basque, Catalan, Szekler),\nstate national teams may rely heavily on regional players who are often\nantagonistic to the idea of the state they represent. This often breeds an\natmosphere of blame and suspicion about whether sub-national players are\nreally committed to the state national team on the one hand; on the other, it\nendows regional sport with power. During the early 1980s, including the\n1982 FIFA World Cup and the 1984 European Championship, the Spanish\nnational team’s striker squad and goal keeping was dominated by Basque\nplayers, while ETA was constantly threatening with the disruption of the\nevent. The underperformance of the Spanish national team and the peak\n\n\nintensity of Basque political violence created an aura of suspicion in which\nthe dedication of Basque players could be doubted. Later, the glorious\n2008–2012 Spanish national team was dominated by Catalan playing style\nand players, while street protests reclaiming independence intensified\nduring the same time, at times with the support of key Catalan players.\nSimilarly, in Biafra, the region’s sporting dominance lies in the fact that its\nathletes constitute 70 per cent of the Nigerian national teams. While the\nNorth dominates the sport federations, has political power and more\nfacilities, the participation of northern athletes in national teams is very\nlimited. Southerners of Igbo descent constitute the majority of national team\nathletes, thereby representing a state that had harassed and starved its region\nduring the Civil War.\nRegional excellence in sport forces states into a position where they have\nto accommodate or tolerate sub-national vindications if they want the best\nline up to represent the state. But sometimes, the best possible state\nperformance is less important than ethnic purity and fraternal\nconsiderations. In the Sindh region of Pakistan, Sindhi players have been\nconspicuously absent in the Pakistan Super League squads and national\nteams despite their sporting excellence. Ethnonationalism, nepotism and\ncorruption play favourites such as sons and nephews in Pakistani sport,\nexcluding Sindhi. The Sindhi player Javed Koso was marginalized with the\nargument that he did not have a passport, a process that could have been\nexpedited easily. Passports come to haunt sub-national players in other\ncontexts as well. In communist Romania, Szekler Hungarian players argued\nthat when a Romanian and a Szekler player competed for the same position\nin the national team, the Szekler one was dropped with the excuse that his\npassport was not processed on time.\nLastly, local dominance of regional federations and municipal ownership\nof clubs is also a source of empowerment. The Flemish community forced a\nseries of splits, also referred to as ‘split fever’, to separate Flemish sport\nfrom federal and francophone sport, which was a considerable step towards\nlocal agency. In the Kurdish case, municipal ownership by the Kurdish City\nHall in Diyarbakir ensured that its club, Amedspor, would better represent\nregional identity compared with its Turkish state-endorsed rival club,\nDiyarbakırspor.\n\n\nAn incomplete review\nThis collection includes fourteen chapters on a wide range of societies in\nwhich there are clear links, to varying degrees, between sport and\nsecessionist politics and we are particularly proud to present several\ngeographical areas that are under-researched, and have only seldom been\nstudied from a sport perspective in particular. However, it is by no means\nexhaustive in its coverage. For example, there is no consideration of nation-\nstates that emerged in the past as a result of secession, such as Bangladesh\nand Slovakia. The focus in this collection is exclusively on places in which\nsecession remains an aspiration rather than a done deal. Nor is there any\ndiscussion in the book of nation-states that emerged as a consequence of the\ndisintegration of much larger political entities such as the former Soviet\nUnion and the former Yugoslavia. Secessionism does not accurately capture\nhow these new states came into existence.\nIn addition, perhaps even more significantly, there are no chapters\ndevoted to three regions of the PRC where secessionist movements\nundeniably exist. Attempts to include chapters on Tibet, Xinjiang and Hong\nKong were consistently frustrated. Scholars with an interest in sport in these\nregions were ultimately unwilling or unable to write about the topic for\npublication in a book, the title of which includes the word ‘secessionism’.\nIt is unfortunate that we have not been able to address these three regions\nin separate chapters in the book not least because the PRC has an enviable\nrecord of integrating fifty-five ethnic minorities with the dominant Han\npopulation. This has been an ongoing process since Dr Sun Yat-sen, the\nfounder of modern China, abandoned the idea that only Han people were\ntruly Chinese and moved to a position that accepted that members of the\nminorities should be accorded the same status. This was a process that was\ncontinued after the formation of the PRC in 1949. Very few minorities have\nshown any interest in secessionism as long as their traditional way of life is\nprotected, for example, by the Traditional Games of Ethnic Minorities\nwhich take place every four years. Nevertheless, there are minorities, such\nas the Tibetans and the Uygurs in Xinjiang who feel that their traditional\nbeliefs and customs are constantly under attack.\nThe secessionist case of Tibet is relatively well known to a global\naudience with memories of acts of self-immolation by protesting Buddhist\nmonks and the high visibility of the Dalai Lama living in exile in India but\n\n\nregularly representing his followers on the international stage. Like all\nminorities in China, the Tibetans have their own traditional ludic activities.\nThese include yak racing which is actually also practised in other provinces\nof China. In addition, the Tibetan national football team took part in the\n2018 CONIFA World Cup with a team which included players living in\nIndia. This is a good example, similar to that of Kabyle, of diaspora\npopulations helping to keep alive a sense of distinctive national identity on\nthe field of sport.\nThe Chinese government, however, is also keen to use sport for\nintegrative purposes rather than fuelling division and, at the 2012 Olympic\nGames in London, Qieyang Shenjie became the first Tibetan to win an\nOlympic medal, having finished second in the women’s 20K walk after the\ninitial second-placed athlete had been disqualified for doping. A triumph for\nTibet, a triumph for China or a victory for both? These are the same sort of\nquestions that are asked regularly in many of the places discussed in this\nbook.\nThe population of Xinjiang is nowadays almost equally divided between\nmainly immigrant, Han people and Muslim Uygurs who once constituted\nthe overwhelming majority of what is officially the Xinjiang Uygur\nAutonomous Region. From the mid-2000s, there has been repeated unrest\nand ethnic tension in the region and, in recent years, Western media have\nregularly published articles about what are described as concentration\ncamps housing Uygurs suspected by the authorities of being terrorists who\nsupport secession and the establishment of an independent East Turkestan\nstate. The Chinese government has either denied the existence of these\ncamps or chosen to describe them simply as places of political education. In\n2019, Mesut Özil, Arsenal and former Germany footballer, became one of\nthe highest profile critics of the PRC’s treatment of Uygurs. In the same\nyear, a promising young Uygur footballer, Erfan Hezim, was released from\none of the camps where he had been sent for leaving the country to visit\nSpain and the United Arab Emirates, trips which he claimed had been solely\nfor football purposes. On his release, he immediately expressed his\ngratitude to the Communist Party and the Chinese government. The most\nfamous Uygur footballer to date, however, is Mirahmetjan Muzepper who\nin 2018 became the first Uygur to play for the Chinese national team.\nIn keeping with the policy of using sport for integrative purposes,\nXinjiang has a second-tier football team, Xinjian Tianshan Leopard FC, and\n\n\na highly successful basketball team, Xinjiang Flying Tigers, which won the\nFIBA Asia Champions Cup in 2016 and were runners up in 2017. However,\nwhile they bear the Xinjiang name and include Uygur players, the teams are\nbased in Ürümqi, the population of which is 75 per cent Han and only 12\nper cent Uygur. If we compare this with another city in the region, Kashgar,\nthe population of which is around 80 per cent Uygur and only 18 per cent\nHan, it is difficult to see how far the success of these teams can strengthen\ndemands for secession. Nevertheless, just as the Taiwanese have celebrated\nthe achievements of their baseball players who make it to the major leagues,\na moment of Uygur sporting pride did come in 2018 when a member of the\nFlying Tigers team, Abudushalamu Abudurexiti, was selected to play for\nthe Golden State Warriors in the NBA Summer League.\nThe third PRC case study that we wanted to include was the Hong Kong\nSpecial Administrative Region (SAR). In Hong Kong, identities have come\nto centre on being Hongkonger, Chinese, Hongkonger/Chinese, or\ncosmopolitan, as Hong Kong was transformed from being ‘a derelict\nbackwater to become the eighth largest trading economy in the world’\n(Yahuda, 2018, p. 21). The 1997 British handover of Hong Kong to China\nopened a new chapter in Hong Kong–China relations. Unlike Tibet and\nXinjiang, Hong Kong became a Special Administrative Region of China to\nbe governed according to a policy of ‘One country, Two systems’ which has\nincreasingly seemed to many in Hong Kong to be under threat with many\nHongkongers distrusting the Chinese legal system and Beijing’s approach to\ncivil rights. Concerns intensified in 2020 as a result of the Beijing\ngovernment’s introduction of the New Security Law which led to a return to\nstreet protests, which had been a regular feature of Hong Kong life in 2019,\nand considerable international criticism.\nThis does not mean that most Hongkongers support the idea of\nindependence. Many might well be satisfied by the ‘One country, Two\nsystems’ policy being upheld and PRC interference in Hong Kong’s internal\naffairs ended. However, in one area at least, just like Scotland and Wales,\nHong Kong already exists as a separate country and that is in the world of\ninternational sport which offers some insights into the reasons why the\nBeijing government has acted as it has in recent years towards Hong Kong.\nAround the world, the start of a new qualifying campaign for the next\nFIFA World Cup is always a nerve-wracking (but also an exciting) time for\nthe players and fans of any country’s team. However, Hong Kong’s initial\n\n\nWorld Cup qualifying home game against Iran, one of the strongest Asian\nfootballing nations, on 10 September 2019, came at a particularly unusual\nmoment in Hong Kong’s modern history. By that time, for over three\nmonths, Hong Kong had been wracked by repeated controversy,\ndemonstrations, and violence, creating its biggest political crisis since the\n1997 handover of sovereignty to the PRC. This did not stop, but rather\nencouraged many Hong Kong football fans to don red shirts and attend the\nmatch. This was not simply about demonstrating support for the Hong\nKong team; it was also about emphasising dislike of China at a time of\nheightened tension.\nCompared with other parts of the world that have suffered from fan\nviolence and other disruptions, Hong Kong has maintained a reputation as a\nrelatively trouble-free, if low-key, environment for sporting activities. On\nthis occasion too, all of the protests within the stadium were peaceful.\nHowever, as the Chinese national anthem, the March of the Volunteers\n(which is played on all public occasions, including international sporting\nevents, as the ‘national’ anthem of Hong Kong), rang out, so too did boos\nfrom the crowd. Most dramatically, many fans began to sing in Cantonese\nthe new unofficial national anthem of Hong Kong, Glory to Hong Kong\n(Zialcita, 2019). At half-time, many of these fans joined hands in a human\nchain around the pitch to show solidarity with Hong Kong and its desire for\nfreedom.\nSince 2015, there had been several cases of Hong Kong fans booing the\nnational anthem at football matches (Bridges, 2016). These actions have\nusually resulted in the Hong Kong Football Association (HKFA) being\nfined by FIFA, the governing body of international football and, indeed,\nFIFA again fined the HKFA after the Iran match. However, this was the\nlargest and most concerted demonstration so far. Compared to other sports,\ntherefore, football has come to have special symbolic significance in Hong\nKong’s debate over identity, freedom and patriotism, not least during 2019\nwhen many other sporting events were cancelled.\nThe relative politicisation of sport has not been limited to football or\neven to Hong Kong itself. When Daryl Morey, general manager of the\nHouston Rockets basketball team, made a political statement in 2019 to\nshow support for the Hong Kong demonstrators, this triggered protests and\nprovoked hatred from NBA fans in mainland China. Even though many\nChinese fans were passionate about the Rockets, any disharmony with their\n\n\npatriotic sentiments was deemed unacceptable. The tension between the\nNBA and Chinese officials escalated into crowd disruption when the\nWashington Wizards hosted a team from the Chinese Basketball\nAssociation. Protestors handed out ‘Free Hong Kong’ T-shirts and, after the\nplaying of the Chinese national anthem, one fan shouted, ‘Freedom of\nexpression! Freedom of speech! Free Hong Kong!’ (Rieken, 2019).\nThe past 23 years since the handover have proved that Hong Kong\nidentity is a challenging, fluid and vulnerable concept, especially when it is\naccompanied by the shifting of political sovereignty, divided collective\nmemories and values shared by different generations, and the uncontrollable\nflow of social networks within the younger generations. Coupled with a\nrelatively under-developed sports culture and the emerging use of local\nsports events to express localism, all of these challenges will be faced by\nHong Kong if sport continues to be used to foster and affirm a national\nidentity.\nThe Beijing 2008 Olympics were used to promote Chinese nationalism\nwith the aim of strengthening cohesion within ethnically diverse mainland\nChina and the SARs of Hong Kong and Macau (Bairner and Hwang, 2011).\nHowever, because Hong Kong is now entangled in domestic ‘wars’, and\nmany of the younger generation are demanding democracy from within,\nwhether Chinese athletes’ ‘national’ achievements at the Tokyo 2020\nOlympics (to be held in 2021) will still have a role to play in nurturing\nChinese national identity in Hong Kong, only time will tell.\nFinally but significantly, if finding authors specializing on sport and sub-\nnational contexts was a challenge, finding authors for salient examples for\nwomen’s sub-national representation was quite beyond hope. What\nbecomes evident from our chapters is that the body of the nation is still very\nmuch a male one (see Yuval-Davis 2004). This is true particularly where\nregions have no official national teams, and scarce resources prioritize men.\nIn the Basque case, we can observe some effort towards female\nrepresentation, as Athletic Bilbao’s Basque-only recruitment philosophy\nalso applies to women’s soccer. But even so, in the minds of fans, it is not\n‘Athletic femenino’ but the men’s team that is the beacon of Basque\nidentity, and some are not even aware that their female players may only be\nBasque too (Vaczi 2015).\nWhile women are largely absent from the narratives of sub-national\nidentity in sport, they have been present in some narratives of armed\n\n\nstruggle. The Basque and Irish ‘Troubles’ had significant female figures\nwho have attracted scholarly attention (Aretxaga 1988, 1997, King 2006,\nMatthews 2010, Hamilton 2013, Ward 1995), and a certain popular\nfascination. Because violent bodies had to be male, women were often\nwrapped in an eroticized mystique of archetypes in these narratives.\nWomen’s discrimination in sport in general has been widely\ndocumented, pointing out religious and cultural incongruities of women’s\nroles with sport, and lack of resources. Furthermore, the conspicuous\nabsence of female athletes in sub-national contexts of representations might\nbe due to the intersectionality of multiple layers of inequality. They are,\nwith T.T. Minh-Ha (2009), ‘women, native, Other’: subjected to\nmarginalization at state level as sub-national subjects, and at sub-national\nlevel as women. They are the internal Others of already Othered\nperipheries.\nWe will always regret the absence of certain themes and regions but\nhope that even the absences might inspire further research that addresses\nstate and sub-national relations through the lens of sport. Our enthusiastic,\ncooperative and knowledgeable contributors have set the ball rolling.\nReferences\nAllison, L., 2000. Sport and nationalism. In J. Coakley and E. Dunning (eds) Handbook of sports\nstudies, London: Sage, pp. 344–355.\nAretxaga, B., 1988. The death of Yoyes: Cultural discourses of gender and politics in the Basque\ncountry. Critical Matrix, 4(1), pp. 82–113.\nAretxaga, B., 1997. Shattering silence: Women, nationalism, and political subjectivity in Northern\nIreland. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.\nBairner, A., 2001. Sport, nationalism, and globalization: European and North American\nperspectives. New York: SUNY Press.\nBairner, A. and Hwang, D-J., 2011. Representing Taiwan: International sport, ethnicity and national\nidentity in the Republic of China. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 46(3), 231–248.\nBairner, A., Kelly, J. and Lee, J.W. 2016. Routledge handbook of sport and politics. London:\nRoutledge.\nBateson, G., 1972. 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Radical right populist politics in Hungary: Reinventing the\nMagyars \nthrough \nsport. \nInternational \nReview \nfor \nthe \nSociology \nof \nSport.\nhttps://doi.org/10.1177/1012690219891656.\nPolley, M., 1998. Moving the goalposts: A history of sport in Britain since 1945. London: Routledge.\nRieken, K., 25 October 2019. Fans at Rockets opener show support for Hong Kong protesters. AP\nNews \n[online] \nAvailable \nfrom \nhttps://apnews.com/4bc06e2b77e04082ac1eed2d4593fa30\n[Accessed 14 November 2019].\nRippon, A., 2006. Hitler’s Olympics: The story of the 1936 Nazi games. Barnsley: Pen and Sword.\nRowe, D., McKay, J. and Miller, T., 1998. Come together: Sport, nationalism, and the media image.\nIn L. Wenner (ed.) MediaSport, London: Routledge, pp. 119–133.\nVaczi, M., 2015. ‘The Spanish Fury’: A political geography of soccer in Spain. International Review\nfor the Sociology of Sport, 50(2), pp. 196–210.\nVaczi, M., Bairner, A. and Whigham, S., 2019. Where extremes meet: Sport, nationalism, and\nsecessionism \nin \nCatalonia \nand \nScotland. \nNations \nand \nNationalism.\nhttps://doi.org/10.1111/nana.12569.\nWard, M., 1995. Unmanageable revolutionaries: Women and Irish nationalism. London: Pluto Press.\nYahuda, M., 2018. Hong Kong: China’s Challenge. London: Routledge.\nYuval-Davis, N., 2004. Gender and nation. In R. Wilford and R.L. Miller (eds) Women, ethnicity and\nnationalism, London: Routledge, pp. 30–40.\nZaretsky, R., 2015. Europe’s threat from within. New York Times, 14 October. Accessed 15 October\n2015. www.nytimes.com/2015/10/15/opinion/europes-threat-from-within.html?r=0.\nZialcita, P., 9 October 2019. FIFA disciplines Hong Kong Football Association after Chinese national\nanthem protest. NPR News [online] Available from www.npr.org/2019/10/09/768679277/fifa-\ndisciplines-hong-kong-football-association-after-chinese-national-anthem-pr \n[Accessed \n14\nNovember 2019].\n\n\nChapter 1\nSport and the unfinished Irish\nRevolution\nAlan Bairner\nIntroduction\nOn 2 April 2011, Ronan Kerr, a Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI)\nofficer, was killed when a booby trap bomb exploded under his car outside\nhis home on the outskirts of Omagh, County Tyrone. His funeral took place\nin Omagh on 6 April with Cardinal Sean Brady, the Irish Catholic primate,\nleading the requiem mass. In attendance were leading Northern Ireland\npoliticians, including Deputy First Minister Sinn Féin’s Martin\nMcGuinness, former PSNI colleagues and members of Kerr’s Beragh Red\nKnights Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA) club. Dissident Irish\nrepublicans were blamed for Kerr’s killing but no one has ever been\ncharged with murder. The previous year, Peadar Heffron, who had\ncaptained the PSNI Gaelic football club, had a leg amputated following a\nsimilar booby trap attack on his car.\nRadical republicans (a description which they themselves prefer to\ndissident republicans) expressed their opposition to leading members of the\nGAA attending funerals of “state agents” such as Ronan Kerr (McGlinchey,\n2019, p. 110). However, according to the 2012 Northern Ireland Peace\nMonitoring Report: Number One, “the funeral of the PSNI officer Ronan\nKerr, killed by dissidents in April 2011, marked a rallying point, bringing\nthe political, security, religious and sporting elites together in a symbolic\n\n\nshow of unity” (cited in McGlinchey, 2019, p. 159). For radical republicans,\non the other hand, the mourners who gathered that day were collectively the\nenemies of the legitimate goal of Irish republicans, namely a 36-county\nunited Ireland.\nTwo years earlier, Stephen Carroll, like Ronan Kerr a Catholic, became\nthe first police officer to be killed in Northern Ireland since the formation of\nthe PSNI. Carroll had been killed by members of the dissident REAL IRA,\none of them being Brendan McConville, a former Sinn Féin councillor. For\nthe first time two Sinn Féin elected representatives attended the funeral of a\nmurdered police officer. After that killing, the late Martin McGuinness\ndenounced Carroll’s killers as “traitors to the island of Ireland,” “thus\nmarking the culmination of Sinn Féin’s transformed position regarding\npolicing” (McGlinchey, 2019, p. 159). As McGlinchey (2019, p. 1) notes\n“McGuinness’s comments were widely viewed as a watershed moment in\nIrish politics.”\nThere have been countless violent deaths in Northern Ireland not only\nthroughout the course of the so-called Troubles but even since the signing\nof the Good Friday Agreement in 1998. Few if any, however, have brought\ninto such sharp relief the complex relationships between different\nexpressions of Irish republicanism, sport, and law and order.\nThe aims of this chapter are to explore these relationships and to\nconsider the ways in which sport has been associated with the quest for\nIrish unity, both in Ireland as a whole and more specifically in Northern\nIreland, the six counties which remained part of the United Kingdom after\nthe partition of Ireland and the establishment, in 1922, of the Irish Free\nState (later the Republic of Ireland).\nThe long march of Irish republicanism\nFrom the partition of Ireland in 1921 until the imposition of direct rule from\nLondon in 1972, Ulster unionism, the creed of those who believed that the\nsix counties of Northern Ireland should remain part of the United Kingdom\nfollowing the independence of the 26 counties of the Irish Free State, ruled\nthe six counties as what became known by its critics as an ‘Orange State’\n(Farrell, 1976) in reference to the Orange Order which was and remains a\nsignificant element of unionist culture. To maintain their political\ndominance, successive unionist governments used a combination of\n\n\ndiscrimination, gerrymandering and a largely unionist police force, the\nRoyal Ulster Constabulary (RUC). During that period unionism’s main\nopponents were Irish nationalists who believed in constitutional change and\nphysical force, Irish republicans who emphasised the need for armed\nstruggle in the quest for Irish unification as well as civil rights activists.\nThe signing of the Good Friday Agreement (GFA) in 1998 not only\nmeant the end of direct rule and the formation of a devolved Northern\nIreland Assembly but also confirmed the cessation of armed struggle by the\nProvisional Irish Republican Army (IRA), the main inheritor of the physical\nforce tradition and the end of the so-called Troubles that had resulted in the\ndeaths of over 3500 people, including around 2000 who lost their lives to\nrepublican organisations, most notably the IRA. It also signalled the\nacceptance by the IRA’s political wing, Sinn Féin, that the future of\nNorthern Ireland as part of the United Kingdom and hence the prospect of a\nunited Ireland would be a matter for the consent of the people of Northern\nIreland and not, as had previously been the republican mantra, that this\nshould be a decision to be made by all of the people of Ireland. Tired of the\nconflict and with no military victory in sight, the Sinn Féin leadership and\nthe majority of the party’s supporters accepted the terms of the GFA which\nhad included the establishment of a power-sharing Northern Ireland\nAssembly and Executive. Sinn Féin politicians would now take their places\nat Stormont, which had once been the physical embodiment of Ulster\nunionism’s control of the ‘Orange State’ in addition to the Dáil Éireann, the\nlower house of the parliament of the 26-county Republic of Ireland. For the\ntime being, it appeared that constitutional nationalism had triumphed over,\nor at least transcended, the physical force tradition. Thus, McKearney\n(2011, p. 206) poses the following:\nhaving broken the old Orange state and replaced it with an\nadministration that not only includes members of the Catholic\npopulation but also former senior members of the IRA, the question\nmust now be asked whether Republicanism has reached the limit of its\nradical potential.\nThose who fear that this might be the case can take some comfort from the\nfact that the struggle between two competing strains of Irish nationalism is\nnothing new. Indeed the modern IRA itself had emerged at the outset of the\n\n\nTroubles during 1969–1970 to replace what was regarded by many\nworking-class nationalists in Northern Ireland as an increasingly supine\n(Official) Irish Republican Army which was deemed to be incapable of\ndefending them from attacks by loyalists and the security forces. Indeed,\nsplits have long been a feature of Irish republican politics and it has come\nas no surprise, therefore, that the years shortly before and since the signing\nof the GFA have witnessed the emergence of numerous organisations\nespousing the cause of ‘radical’ republicanism or what their opponents\nwould describe as ‘dissident’ republicanism. Most visible among these\ngroups have been the Continuity IRA, Óglaigh na hÉireann (Soldiers of\nIreland) and the REAL IRA. The main focus of these organisations is to\ncontinue the armed struggle and maintain the integrity of Irish republican\nideology. At the end of the nineteenth century, however, their predecessors\nwere at least as concerned with the role that sport could play in the pursuit\nof Irish independence.\nThe following sections address the development of the GAA in relation\nto the struggle for Irish independence, sport, the national question and the\nongoing quest for Irish unification, and the role of sport as a contributor to\nthe search for peace in Northern Ireland. The chapter ends with some\nconcluding remarks and personal reflections.\nThe Gaelic Athletic Association and Irish secessionism\nThe history of sport in Ireland is in many ways a microcosm of the island’s\npolitical and cultural history in its entirety (Bairner, 2005). As Cronin\n(1999, p. 190) has noted, “until there is only one idea of Irish nationalism,\nand a singular and commonly shared expression of identity, then sport will\ncontinue to reflect the multifaceted and ever-changing nature of Irishness.”\nIn this respect, the historic province of Ulster has played a pivotal role\nstanding as it now does with three counties in the Republic of Ireland and\nthe six in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, with\nall of the political and sporting implications which that divide involves. The\nstory of sport in Ireland is a significant element in the history of three\ndifferent Irelands – pre-Partition Ireland, the Irish Free State (subsequently\nthe Republic of Ireland) and Northern Ireland. It also embraces the distinct\nbut dialectically interwoven narratives of Catholic and Protestant Ireland,\n\n\nurban and rural Ireland, post-imperial and post-colonial Ireland, and\ntraditional, modern and even postmodern Ireland (Bairner, 2005).\nModern sport followed a similar evolutionary path in Ireland to that laid\nout in England during the nineteenth century, albeit with a degree of\nnoteworthy local divergence. Urbanisation played its part; so too did\nschools. In Ireland, however, rural society was a more forceful influence on\nthe development of sport than was the case elsewhere, and the military\nplayed an even more significant role than in Britain in relation to the\nemergence of modern sport forms. A lasting reminder of the latter is to be\nfound in the name of the interprovincial trophy for men’s hockey – the\nLeinster Regiment Cup (Wynne and Glennon, 1985). The first cricket\nmatch to be played in Ireland took place as early as 1792 on grounds\nadjacent to the home of the Viceroy, Lord Westmoreland, and featured on\none side members of the British Army and, on the other, a number of\nAnglo-Irish gentlemen, including, almost certainly, the future Duke of\nWellington (Sugden and Bairner, 1993).\nIt was against this backdrop of widespread and growing enthusiasm for\nBritish sports that, in 1884, the Gaelic Athletic Association was founded in\nThurles, County Tipperary. The aims of its founder Michael Cusack were\ntwofold – to democratise sport in Ireland by providing greater access to the\nCatholic labouring classes through the revival and, to some extent,\nreinvention of traditional Irish games and to contribute to the fight against\nBritish cultural imperialism and, by extension, against British rule in\nIreland. The GAA was avowedly political and nationalist from the outset.\nHowever, from the early years following its formation to various periods\nthereafter, it has been caught up in a persistent contest between\nconstitutional nationalists and their physical force adversaries.\nThe GAA has been consistently viewed as one of the most convincing\nexamples of the link between sport and nationalism in Ireland generally,\nand in Northern Ireland in particular (Hassan, 2005). On the one hand, the\norganisation has served as a unifying force among Irish nationalists as a\nresult of it being able to draw on, and accommodate, all strands of Irish\nnational opinion. However, on the other hand, the GAA has also suffered\nfrom the endemic factionalism that has pervaded the history of Irish\npolitical life. For example, the association was taken over not long after its\nformation by members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) – or\nFenians – whose advocacy of physical force was opposed by most\n\n\nconstitutional nationalists and by the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, both\nof which had been pivotal in establishing the GAA. The IRB had itself\nprovided two of the Association’s founders – John Wyse Power and J. K.\nBracken (de Búrca, 1999) and would compete with constitutional\nnationalists for control of the GAA until the 1890s. As de Búrca (1999, p.\n38) comments, “that the GAA survived at all … was astonishing.”\nMemories of that period were to be revived in 1981 when GAA leaders\nwere obliged to address the question of how much support the Association\nas a whole and individual counties and clubs should give to the republican\nhunger strikers in the Maze prison and when “the GAA hierarchy in Ulster\nmanaged to hold the line. But only just” (Fahy, 2001, p. 14).\nMuch of the early discussion about the Gaelic games movement took\nplace in southern counties. But what of the nine counties of Ulster,\nincluding the six that, following Partition, would comprise Northern\nIreland? Although founded in Tipperary, the GAA quickly acquired a\nfoothold in Ulster and, by 1888, Gaelic football was being played\nthroughout the nine counties and hurling matches had taken place in\ncounties Antrim, Donegal and Derry (Hassan, 2009). However, there\nfollowed a steady decline in the fortunes of Gaelic games in Ulster until the\nend of the century which continued even after the formation of the Ulster\nCouncil of the GAA on 22 March 1903. In the period after 1916, the\nAssociation was subject to constant vigilance from the British state,\nspecifically through the activities of the Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC).\nThis policing of the Gaelic games movement persisted after Partition and\nthe formation of An Gárda Siochána, in the Irish Free State, and the RUC in\nNorthern Ireland.\nNevertheless, “in spite of obvious difficulties the GAA in Ulster enjoyed\nsomething of a revival in the second decade of the twentieth century”\n(Hassan, 2009, p. 84). The year 1923 witnessed the opening in Cavan of\nBreffni Park, which was to become so closely identified with Ulster\nfootball. Indeed, Cavan, and to a lesser extent Monaghan, neither of them in\nNorthern Ireland, dominated Ulster football until the 1950s. In 1933, Cavan\nbecame the first Ulster team to win an all-Ireland senior football title.\nMeanwhile Antrim’s pre-eminence in hurling within the province had also\nbecome apparent, though the standard was generally low by comparison\nwith the powerhouses of hurling in the southern counties.\n\n\nThere also developed a significant rivalry between the Ulster counties\n(particularly those within Northern Ireland) and the rest. This was\nespecially true of Gaelic football (though not of course of hurling where\nUlster teams were only intermittently competitive). In no small measure,\nthis has been fuelled by the relative success of northern counties since the\nearly 1990s, with the focus shifting, it should be stressed, from Cavan to\nDown, Tyrone, Armagh and Derry. During this period, the All-Ireland\nfootball championship was won by Down (1991 and 1994), Donegal\n(1992), Derry (1993), Armagh (2002) and Tyrone (2003, 2005 and 2008).\nOf these, only Donegal is situated outside Northern Ireland. Thus, although\nit has long been recognised that the Ulster football championship is\narguably the most competitive of the four provincial competitions, the\nextent to which counties in Northern Ireland may also have benefitted from\nfinancial support from the British government, not least in the form of\nlottery funding, is a matter worthy of consideration (McKeever, 2009). At\nleast as worthy of further examination is the extent to which sport has not\nonly reflected but has also perhaps contributed to debates about national\nidentity both in Ulster and in Ireland as a whole.\nOne might be forgiven for thinking that Partition and its consequences\nwould have been less likely to affect Gaelic games than the so-called\nforeign games where representation of Ireland became a matter of\ncontestation to varying degrees. Yet, many of the foreign games, notably\nrugby union, cricket and hockey, like the GAA, continued to be centrally\ngoverned from Dublin and remained representative of Ireland as a whole.\nMoreover, surprisingly enough, the experiences of the GAA actually\nresemble, in certain respects, those of association football more than those\nof most ‘foreign’ sports to the extent that Partition has had an undeniable\nimpact on both.\nAn important theme running through the literature on the GAA is the\ndifferent, and somewhat conflicting, roles that the Association has\nperformed in the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland in the wake of\nPartition, and more recently during the course of the Troubles in the north.\nAs an all-Ireland organisation with provincial councils, the GAA was\nunaffected constitutionally by Partition. No split was necessary as became\nthe case with football. In addition, the Association was unequivocally\ncommitted to Irish nationalism, albeit with all of the internecine rivalry that\nthis implied. In this respect, it differed markedly from those other Dublin-\n\n\nbased governing bodies which were obliged not only to operate in two\nseparate jurisdictions but also to provide leadership to members with\nradically opposed political viewpoints. Nevertheless, the possibility that the\nnew political dispensation led to the emergence of two very different\nmindsets within the GAA should not be dismissed out of hand. Indeed, it\nhas been suggested that, in the south, the GAA, as an important socio-\ncultural institution, has become implicated in the celebration of the\nexistence of a 26-county independent Ireland. There can certainly be little\ndoubt that it performed a unifying role in the Irish Free State following the\ndivisive Civil War (Coogan, 2018) and in the consolidation of the Republic\nof Ireland thereafter. It is worth noting, for example, its contribution to the\ncommemoration of the 1916 Easter Rising, which consisted of a series of\nevents which had relatively little to say about the six counties of Northern\nIreland (Crosson, 2019).\nThe GAA’s role in Northern Ireland, however, has been more conflicted.\nIt has even been suggested that the GAA in Northern Ireland has attained a\nde facto semi-autonomous status (Hassan, 2005). While the GAA in the\nIrish Free State (subsequently the Republic of Ireland) was able to play an\nimportant role in providing cultural and sporting ballast to the newly\nindependent state and thereby to become part of the establishment, in\nNorthern Ireland the Association continued to play its traditional\noppositional role in the face of ongoing state surveillance (which included\nthe occupation by the British Army of some Gaelic grounds, most notably\nthat of Crossmaglen Rangers in south Armagh) and increasingly violent\nattacks by loyalist paramilitary organisations, spurred on by the common\nbelief in unionist/loyalist circles that the GAA was ‘the IRA at play.’\nUlster’s border regions together with parts of greater Belfast were\nparticularly vulnerable in this regard (Fahy, 2001). For example, between\n1981 and 2002, the St Enda’s club in Glengormley on the northern outskirts\nof Belfast lost five members to loyalist violence (the mother of one young\nplayer, Colin Lundy, was also killed when she and her son were burned to\ndeath when loyalists poured petrol through their letter box) (Crossan, 2018).\nIt is difficult to gauge precisely what impact these differing\ncircumstances have had on individual members of the GAA, north and\nsouth. There is evidence, however, that the GAA in the north, where there\nwas some overlap in membership of Sinn Féin, was more seriously affected\nby the controversy surrounding the 1981 Republican Hunger Strikes with\n\n\nsome Ulster clubs declaring their support for the hunger strikers and the\nUlster Council fighting hard to maintain unity. It is significant, moreover,\nwhen the GAA was later faced with major decisions about dismantling rules\nwith political implications, representatives from the North regularly found\nthemselves in conflict with their southern counterparts.\nThis was certainly true of the debate in 2001 which resulted in the\nremoval of Rule 21 which had prevented members of the British security\nforces (including the RUC and subsequently the PSNI) to join the GAA. It\nwas also apparent in the 2005 debate about the modification of the GAA’s\nRule 42 to allow Croke Park in Dublin to be used for rugby union and\nsoccer international matches. On this occasion, delegates from five of the\nsix northern counties (Down being the exception) voted not to amend the\nrulebook. Their position was widely interpreted as an expression of a hard-\nline, traditional nationalism, one increasingly confined to nationalists in\nNorthern Ireland (Fulton and Bairner, 2007). The day after Congress voted\nto amend Rule 42, the editorial in The Sunday Times commended the\nAssociation and encouraged it to take the next step and repeal the rule\naltogether. “The GAA’s mono-culturalism,” it stated, “belongs in the early\nyears of the 20th century, not the 21st, and that is where yesterday’s vote\nhas consigned it” (Sunday Times, 2005). But it also bemoaned the votes of\nthe northern counties:\nUnfortunately, the vote also revealed the traditional fault lines that run\nthrough the GAA. It is deeply disappointing that, after a decade of\npeace in Northern Ireland, the northern counties should vote in favour\nof the status quo. Their refusal to countenance change demonstrates\nhow far the peace process has still to travel if it is to decommission\nmindsets as well as illegal arms.\nInsofar as the editorial presents the political developments of the peace\nprocess in a singularly positive manner, it misrepresents the social and\npolitical context within which Northern Irish GAA delegates cast their\nvotes. There is little appreciation of the ways in which the peace process, in\nits attempts to manage conflict and celebrate difference, has contributed to\npositive political change and simultaneously served to institutionalise\nsectarianism.\n\n\nIrish sport, Irish independence and Irish unification\nIt is undeniable that the GAA, or at least GAA members have made a\nsignificant contribution to the struggle for independence and, thereafter, for\nIrish unification. They were actively involved in the Easter Rising of 1916,\nwhich was the catalyst for a quickening in the pace of the struggle for Irish\nindependence from Britain, which eventually came about, for 26 counties,\nfollowing a War of Independence between 1919 and 1921 and a Civil War\nfrom 1922 to 1923, during which members fought on both sides of the\nconflict. According to Coogan (2018), the GAA was the pioneer body in the\ndefence of the national interest with considerable emphasis being placed on\nthe contribution of Cork and Kerry GAA members to the War of\nIndependence and the Civil War (Dwyer, 2018).\nA more symbolic, but nonetheless important, aspect of the GAA’s\ncontribution to Irish nationalist and republican politics lies in the naming of\nmany Gaelic clubs and grounds (Cronin, 1998). Irish republican heroes\nwhose names have been given to Gaelic grounds include Patrick Pearse,\none of the leaders of the Easter Rising, Liam Mellows, a former leader of\nthe IRA, James Stephens, a founding member of the IRB, and Roger\nCasement, a leading figure in the IRB and an importer of weapons to\nsupport the Easter Rising. Nationalists and republicans who are\nremembered in the names of Gaelic clubs in Ireland and beyond include\nWolf Tone, Henry Joy McCracken, Robert Emmett, John Mitchel, Patrick\nSarsfield, Seán MacDermott and Charles Kickham. More recently,\ncontroversy surrounded the naming of the hurling section of Dungiven\nGaelic Athletic Club after Kevin Lynch, a native of the County Derry town\nand former member, who died on the republican hunger strike in the Maze\nprison in 1981.\nIt is worth noting that no Gaelic club in Ireland itself appears to bear the\nname of James Connolly who, together with James Larkin, formed the Irish\nCitizen Army (ICA) in 1913. He was one of the leaders of the Easter Rising\nand, after the Rising, was executed by a British firing squad. The only\ncredible explanation for why a republican martyr of such stature is not\ncelebrated in the names of Gaelic clubs throughout the 32 counties is that he\nwas also a Marxist, a fact that would have met with the disproval of the\nCatholic Church whose parishes have been so closely associated with the\ndevelopment of the Gaelic games movement. There is the Charlotte James\n\n\nConnolly’s GAA in Charlotte, North Carolina, although the club’s website\ngives no indication as to why Connolly’s name was chosen apart from the\nfact that the bar in the city which sponsors the club is called Connolly’s On\nFifth and sells T-shirts bearing an image of the noted republican. More\nexplicable is the Dúnedin Connollys Gaelic football club in Edinburgh,\nScotland, James Connolly’s birthplace.\nAssociation football and the Irish national question\nThe Football Association was established in England in 1863, followed by\nthe Scottish Football Association in 1873, the Football Association of\nWales in 1876 and the Irish Football Association (IFA) in 1880. Due to the\npioneering role of these four associations, they still hold four out of the\neight seats on the International Football Association Board which\ndetermines the laws of the game, the other four seats being assigned to\nFIFA. The four British associations are independent members of UEFA and\nFIFA and have come together in the past only on very rare occasions to\ncompete in the Olympic Games.\nIn Ireland, it was perhaps inevitable that a ‘British’ or ‘foreign’ game\nsuch as football would become embroiled in politics especially, albeit\nironically, once it proved in one sense to be relatively inclusive in its reach.\nAs Garnham (2004, p. 148) reports with reference to the pre-Partition era, it\nseems that association football was “both influenced and affected by the\npolitics of the day, and in some areas by allied sectarian considerations.”\nThus, “its identity was eventually to be defined by some in terms of the\nnational and political.” What is often ignored in all of this is the\ncontribution of football (or soccer) players to the struggle for Irish\nindependence as well as to Partition.\nEven before Partition, football had been affected by the various political\ncrises that had occurred in the years leading up to the creation of the Irish\nFree State. For example, during what Garnham (2004, p. 149) refers to as\n“what appeared to be the inexorable approach of Home Rule,” Belfast’s\nfootball grounds became components in the political unrest with\nGlentoran’s ground in the east of the city being used for unionist\ndemonstrations and Celtic Park in the west being used for Home Rule\nrallies and for the drilling of nationalist Irish Volunteers. Thus, “if politics\ncame to exert some influence over Irish football, it was also the case that\n\n\nfootball could have some influence and importance within Irish politics”\n(Garnham, 2004, p. 149).\nGarnham (2004, p. 162) further suggests that “as early as 1893\nfootballers in Dublin voiced their belief that they were being excluded from\ninternational honours by an IFA dominated by the representatives of the\nlarger northern clubs.” However, it was not only Dubliners who were\nconcerned with what were perceived to be pro-Belfast biases; similar\ncomplaints were being voiced in counties Armagh, Derry and Tyrone. What\nwas undeniable was that football games in Ireland were becoming more and\nmore contentious, both on and off the field of play, creating a sense that\neven had Ireland not been divided, Irish football almost certainly would\nhave been (Moore, 2015). By 1920, most competitions had been suspended\nso that “only the Irish Cup remained as a functioning all-Ireland\ntournament” (Garnham, 2004, p. 176). However, with the semi-final\nbetween Glenavon and Shelbourne in Belfast drawn, the IFA decided that\nthe Dublin club should travel north again for the replay. Shelbourne refused,\nthereby prefiguring the partition of Irish soccer (Moore, 2015).\nThe opposition of Dublin clubs to the authority of the Belfast-based\ngoverning body might at first glance seem odd given that football had long\nbeen regarded, especially by members of the GAA, as a British sport. It\nwould be wrong to assume, however, that those who favoured the game\nrather than the more explicitly nationalist Gaelic football or hurling were\nlikely to be unionist in their politics. Oscar Traynor, “a man of impeccable\nRepublican credentials” (Ó Maonaigh, 2017) who saw action throughout\nthe 1916 Easter Rising, the War of Independence and the Civil War, enjoyed\na successful playing career in Dublin and later with Belfast Celtic and from\n1948 until his death in 1963 was President of the Football Association of\nIreland (FAI), then as now the governing body in the 26 counties. In 1928,\nTraynor wrote an article for Football Sports Weekly with the title ‘The\nCrime of Playing Soccer’ (McCabe, 2011). He noted that there were many\nwho thought that his connection with Irish republicanism was incompatible\nwith his love of the so-called ‘barracks’ game, the game loved by British\nsoldiers. He wryly remarked, however, that there were many Dublin-based\nGaelic football teams whose membership was unaffected by the casualty\nfigures sustained by republicans during the Easter Rising and noted that,\namong the republicans imprisoned by the British after the Rising, many\nwere football men. Indeed, according to Ó Maonaigh (2017, p. 633), “it is\n\n\nnot surprising that the IRA’s Dublin Brigade contained a considerable\nnumber of association football players due to the sport’s popularity in the\ncapital city.” The popularity of football in other Irish cities, notably Belfast\nand Derry, is a theme to which we shall return in due course.\nSince Partition, Irish association football has had two national governing\nbodies, the IFA and the FAI, which was founded in 1921 and governs the\ngame in the Republic of Ireland, two sets of domestic competitions and two\nnational teams. Until the 1950s the northern IFA continued to select players\nfor international duty from throughout Ireland and, until the early 1970s,\nreference was still being made to Ireland rather than Northern Ireland when\nthe ‘national’ team was discussed. As the Troubles deepened, however, the\nIFA’s team, or at least its support base, became increasingly identified with\nUlster unionism even though Catholics from Northern Ireland – Pat\nJennings, Martin O’Neill, Mal Donaghy, Gerry Armstrong and others –\nwere among its more prominent players. The fact the most northern\nnationalists supported the Irish Republic’s team meant that at the level of\nfandom at least the existence of two ‘national’ soccer teams reflected the\nsectarian conflict in the North rather than the constitutional status quo\n(Fulton, 2005; Hassan, 2005). Moreover, in Northern Ireland itself, because\nthe game is so popular with members of both political traditions, it has\nfrequently provided a sporting space in which surrogate inter-community\n(and intra-community) rivalries can be fought out (Bairner and Shirlow,\n1998; Magee, 2005). Indeed, the constant threat of sectarian conflict was\none of the factors with led Celtic to withdraw from the Irish League in 1949\n(Coyle, 1999). In the early years of the Troubles, Derry City was also\nobliged to leave the league for similar reasons (Duke and Crolley, 1996).\nFurthermore, for many years – with security fears again being cited as the\nreason – Cliftonville Football Club from north Belfast was forced to play all\nof its ‘home’ games against Linfield at the latter’s Windsor Park in the\nsouth of the city. In sum, although association football may well be the\nnational sport of Ireland according to some criteria, it appears to have done\nvery little to unite the peoples of the island – a distinction it shares, albeit\nfor different reasons and, to a much greater extent, with the GAA.\nOne high-profile attempt to surmount divisions led to an all-Ireland team\nin the guise of Shamrock Rovers playing against Brazil and, at various\ntimes, all-Ireland cup competitions have re-emerged. In recent years,\nhowever, the chasm between the IFA and its southern counterparts, the FAI,\n\n\nhas remained wide. Undermining the possibility of having one governing\nbody and one national team for the whole of Ireland has been the growing\nphenomenon of young northern nationalists opting to play for the Republic\nof Ireland team rather than Northern Ireland (McGee and Bairner, 2011),\nthe best known early example of which was Manchester United’s Darron\nGibson. Considerably more interesting, however, in relation to Irish politics\nand specifically to Irish republicanism, is James McClean, currently playing\nin the English Championship for Stoke City.\nMcClean began his international career with the Northern Ireland under-\n21 team but, like a number of other Catholic players born in Northern\nIreland, he has chosen to pursue a senior international career playing for the\nRepublic of Ireland for whom he has won 65 international caps. Since 2012,\nfootball clubs in England have taken to the field of play on the Saturday\nclosest to 11 November wearing shirts embroidered with the Earl Haig\nPoppy, which was first worn as an act of remembrance for the dead of the\nFirst World War and later the Second World War. As an Irish republican\nfrom the city of Derry, however, McClean sees the poppy today not as a\nsymbol of remembrance but rather as a sign of support for the modern\nBritish military and has consistently refused to wear the specially made\nshirt. According to McClean, the poppy “stands for all the conflicts that\nBritain has been involved in,” including in his native Ireland (Stromberg,\n2017). For this he has received considerable abuse from football fans\nthroughout England and even death threats. In the 2019–20 season he was\nsubjected to extensive sectarian abuse when Stoke played away at Barnsley,\nHuddersfield Town and Millwall. In McClean, the spirit of Oscar Trainor\nlives on.\nSport and peace in Northern Ireland\nHistory and sport intertwine. As Connerton (1989, p. 3) comments,\n“concerning social memory in particular, we may note that images of the\npast commonly legitimate a present social order.” The alternative, of course,\nis that they may destabilise an already fragile present. This was certainly the\ncase in relation to debates about a proposed ‘national’ sports stadium for\nNorthern Ireland. The British government decided that the most appropriate\nlocation for a new 42,500-seater stadium was the site of the former Maze\nprison (Long Kesh as it was known to generations of loyalists and\n\n\nrepublican prisoners who were housed there from the 1970s until 2000)\n(Bairner, 2007). All the relevant parties agreed to support the initiative in\nprinciple. However, the choice of location caused controversy for a variety\nof reasons, all of which shed light on the intimate relationship between\nsport and politics in Northern Ireland. The government’s decision was\nprompted in no small measure by the fact that it already owned the land,\nthereby alleviating the fear of excessive costs which would be associated\nwith building the new stadium closer to the centre of Belfast. However,\nselecting a site which is 10 miles outside the city was clearly at odds with\nstrategies aimed at linking sport and leisure to urban regeneration and civic\nboosterism. It also depended on major developments in the transport\ninfrastructure and arguably a review of both the Regional Development\nStrategy and the Belfast Metropolitan Area Plan.\nAn additional complication arose from the fact that the former prison\nitself has such a significant place in the history of the Troubles, not least as\nthe site of the 1981 hunger strike which led to the deaths of Kevin Lynch,\nBobby Sands and eight other prisoners. More generally, the very idea that\nthe project should be referred to as a ‘national’ stadium for Northern Ireland\nwas contentious.\nPart of the unionist critique was clearly political. According to the\nAmalgamation of Official Northern Ireland Supporters’ Clubs (2006),\nalthough the SIB (Strategic Investment Board) assured us that the site\nwould be a neutral space, it is hard to believe that the site will not be\nhonoured as a place of martyrdom turning into a ghoulish tourist\nattraction. This is unlikely to endear the site to an average sports fan\nwho is not interested in such controversial and divisive symbolism.\nIn truth, there are few sports fans in Northern Ireland who are wholly\napolitical and what is likely to please one faction is almost certain to anger\nanother. Calls for the preservation of at least one of the prison’s so-called\nH-Blocks were partly answered in the preliminary plans for the new\nstadium. These proposed that, in addition to restaurants, offices, a multi-\nscreen cinema and a hotel, the surrounding site should include an\nInternational Conflict Transformation Centre with one of the old H-Blocks,\nH6 where arguably the seeds of the hunger strike were sown, being\npreserved along with the prison hospital where the hunger strikers died\n\n\n(Bairner, 2007). In the end, the project was stillborn, dashed in no small\nmeasure by divided opinions about where and how historical events should\nbe remembered.\nMore significant perhaps is the question of where the Peace Process and\nthe re-introduction of institutions of devolved government for Northern\nIreland have left nationalism and, more controversially, republicanism. Is\nformer republican prisoner Anthony McIntyre correct to claim that the\nmajority of republicans in the north of Ireland, especially in Belfast, were\nnever fully committed to the idea of a united Ireland, motivated as they\nwere primarily by the desire for social justice which could be, and arguably\nhas been, accommodated through reform within Northern Ireland? As\nMcIntyre (2008, p. 228) reminded his readers in 2004,\nbefore the Provisional IRA was founded the Unionist prime minister of\nNorthern Ireland, Terence O’Neill, pompously stated that if the\nUnionist community would only treat Catholics well and allow them\nsome prosperity, they would stop having seventeen children and come\nto live like Protestants.\nAccording to McIntyre, “his day has come.”\nHorgan and Morrison (2011, p. 662) argue that “the continued success of\na fully politicised Sinn Féin at the polls provides the most significant\nindication of the delegitimisation of the existence of these groups [the\ndissidents] and their rejection by the vast majority of the Irish republican\npopulation.” It could be argued, however, that electoral support for Sinn\nFéin in Northern Ireland does not necessarily equate to support for Irish\nunification, which is the declared raison d’être of the dissidents. Indeed,\nbased on a study of the attitudes and aspirations of contemporary Northern\nIrish Catholics, Breen (2019, p. 158) argues that “it appears Catholics may\nvote for nationalist or republican parties in elections, but would not\nnecessarily vote to unite Ireland, and abandon the British state.” On the\nother hand, according to Evans and Tonge (2012, p. 75), “there is some\nlimited evidence that the isolation of Republican ultras, although\nconsiderable, is perhaps not quite as utterly comprehensive as might\npreviously have been assumed or declared.” For their supporters, it remains\nnecessary to resist foreign occupation in response to a mandate given by the\nIrish people following the Easter Rising.\n\n\nConclusion and personal reflections\nIn late 1995, I was approached jointly by the Probation Board for Northern\nIreland and the Community Relations Council of Northern Ireland to take\npart in a project whereby academics and others would talk with prisoners on\na variety of subjects. The main aim was to capture the interest of those\nprisoners not currently taking advantage of the formal educational\nopportunities offered in the prison. It was felt that sport was a subject that\nwas likely to attract the attention of this group as well as of prisoners\nalready actively engaged in education. With this goal in mind, I paid regular\nvisits to HM Prison Maze, or Long Kesh, between March 1996 and October\n1999 (Bairner, 2016). The subjects about which I actually talked evolved\nover time with IRA prisoners asking if I would also lead sessions on\npolitical ideologies.\nAlthough most republican prisoners were satisfied with the opportunity\nwhile in prison to play what some of them consistently referred to as\n‘soccer,’ there were still debates among them about the rival merits of this\n‘foreign’ pastime and Gaelic games such as football and hurling, not only as\nsports per se but also in terms of the relationship of each to versions of Irish\nnationalism. Battle lines in these discussions normally coincided with a\nrural/urban divide with prisoners from country areas more likely to make\nthe case for Gaelic games whereas prisoners from the cities of Belfast and\nDerry were more inclined to favour ‘soccer’ or what they termed ‘football.’\nThe latter were usually supporters of Celtic Football Club in Glasgow and\neither Cliftonville Football Club in Belfast or Derry City. This division is\nwidely replicated among the nationalist population of Northern Ireland as a\nwhole. Exceptions exist, as they did in the Maze, but these only serve to\nprove the general rule.\nSupport for English football teams could become a more controversial\nmatter. One prisoner, who regularly wore his Nottingham Forest shirt to\nsessions, was chastised by supporters of Gaelic games and Celtic alike. One\neven suggested that the prisoner in question could just as easily be English\ngiven his support for Forest, the fact that he read the Mirror newspaper and\nhis love of Coronation Street, a television soap opera set in Manchester. His\nresponse to his critics was to point out that what made him different from\nmost working-class Englishmen was that he was a member of the IRA.\nWith this, what had been a relatively heated discussion came to an end.\n\n\nPerhaps the most interesting debate among IRA prisoners, not least in\nlight of the peace process and the accompanying dissident republican\nviolence, centred on the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland\ninternational football teams. It came as no surprise that few republican\nprisoners expressed any enthusiasm for the latter. Again this replicated\nattitudes among the nationalist community at large. Contrary to the general\nsupport for the Irish Republic, however, one prisoner commented that he\ncould not bring himself to support either team because both were products\nof the partition of Ireland. The 26-county Republic of Ireland, in his\nopinion, was, or should be, as much of an anathema to Irish republicans as\nthe six-county ‘statelet’ of Northern Ireland. He longed for both a\npolitically united Ireland and well as a 32-county international football\nteam. One of his fellow prisoners commented, only partly in jest, that given\nthe attitudes that prevailed within the IFA, there was actually a greater\nlikelihood of a united Ireland than a united Ireland football team. However,\nthe main point had been clearly made. Republican prisoners, and the\nrepublican movement, as a whole, were at odds in relation to the peace\nprocess and what it might mean for the ultimate goal of a 32-county\nrepublic.\nOverall the rural/urban divide was particularly apparent in relation not\nonly to their preferred sports but also to their ideological position with\nurban republicans being considerably more supportive of socialist ideas. On\nthe outside, this was also manifest in the imagery of the banner draped over\nthe perimeter fencing at Cliftonville’s home ground by the so-called\nCliftonville Red Skins (named not as an insult to native Americans, but to\nannounce the fact that they were left-wing skinheads). The banner itself\nincluded the Starry Plough emblem of Connolly’s ICA, as well as the well-\nknown image of Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara. It is not the sort of banner that one\nwould expect to see at a rural GAA match.\nAlthough some of the prisoners whom I met have gone on to become\ndissidents and some fans of Cliftonville and Derry City are no doubt\nsympathisers of radical republicanism, none of this is to argue that the\ndissident world view is exclusive to city dwellers and football fans. Far\nfrom it. However, the fact that many of the dissidents espouse a socialist\nbrand of Irish republicanism is more likely to attract young people in\ndeprived nationalist areas of Belfast and Derry than in other parts of\nNorthern Ireland. The fact that men such as James Connolly argued not\n\n\nonly for a 32-county Irish republic but for a socialist Irish republic tells us\nthat the revolution for which he fought and died undoubtedly remains\nunfinished.\nReferences\nAmalgamation of Official Northern Ireland Supporters’ Clubs 2006. The Future, 25.\nhttp://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/northern_ireland/4663512.stm.\nBairner, A. 2005. “Irish sport.” In The Cambridge Companion to Modern Irish Culture, ed. by J.\nCleary and C. Connolly, pp. 190–205. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.\nBairner, A. 2007. “From Sands to Sanchez: The making of a ‘national’ sports stadium for Northern\nIreland.” \nEntertainment \nand \nSports \nLaw \nJournal \n5 \n(1), \npp. \n1–9.\nhttp://go.warwick.ac.uk/eslj/issues/volume5/number1/bairner.\nBairner, A. 2016. “ ‘My first victim was a hurling player …’: Sport in the lives of Northern Ireland’s\npolitical prisoners.” American Behavioral Scientist 60 (9), pp. 1086–1100.\nBairner, A. and Shirlow, P. 1998. “Loyalism, Linfield and the territorial politics of soccer fandom in\nNorthern Ireland.” Space and Polity 2 (2), pp. 163–177.\nBreen, P. 2019. “Healing past wounds with more than an elastic bandage: A small-scale evaluation of\nattitudes and aspirations of contemporary Northern Irish Catholics.” National Identities 21 (2), pp.\n151–169.\nConnerton, P. 1989. How Societies Remember. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.\nCoogan, T. P. 2018. The GAA and the War of Independence. London: Head of Zeus.\nCoyle, P. 1999. Paradise Lost and Found: The Story of Belfast Celtic. Edinburgh: Mainstream\nPublishing.\nCronin, M. 1998. “Enshrined in blood: The Naming of Gaelic Athletic Association Grounds and\nClubs.” Sports Historian 18 (1), pp. 90–104.\nCronin, M. 1999. Sport and Nationalism in Ireland: Gaelic Games, Soccer and Irish Identity since\n1884. Dublin: Four Courts Press.\nCrossan, B. 2018. “St Enda’s Glengormley: A club that never took a backward step.” Irish News, 1\nDecember. www.irishnews.com/sport/2018/12/01/news/st-enda-s-glengormley-a-club-that-never-\ntook-a-backward-step-1498394/ Accessed 10 December 2018.\nCrosson, S. 2019. Gaelic Games on Film: From Silent Films to Hollywood Hurling, Horror and the\nEmergence of Irish Cinema. Cork: Cork University Press.\nde Búrca, M. 1999. The GAA: A History. Second edition. Dublin: Gill and Macmillan.\nDuke, V. and Crolley, L. 1996. Football, Nationality and the State. Harlow, Essex: Longman.\nDwyer, R. 2018. “GAA a lead player in independence struggle.” Irish Examiner, 28 October.\nwww.irishexaminer.com/breakingnews/views/analysis/gaa-a-lead-player-inindependence-struggle-\n874205.html Accessed 22 December 2019.\nEvans, J. and Tonge, J. 2012. “Menace without mandate? Is there any sympathy for ‘dissident’ Irish\nrepublicanism in Northern Ireland?” Terrorism and Political Violence 24 (1), pp. 61–78.\nFahy, D. 2001. How the GAA Survived the Troubles. Dublin: Wolfhound Press.\nFarrell, M. 1976. Northern Ireland: The Orange State. London: Pluto Press.\nFulton, G. 2005. “Northern Catholic fans of the Republic of Ireland soccer team.” In Sport and the\nIrish: Histories, Identities, Issues, ed. by A. Bairner, pp. 140–156. Dublin: University College\nDublin Press.\nFulton, G. and Bairner, A. 2007 “Sport, space and national identity in Ireland: The GAA, Croke Park\nand Rule 42.” Space and Polity 11 (1), pp. 55–74.\n\n\nGarnham, N. 2004. Association Football and Society in Pre-Partition Ireland. Belfast: Ulster\nHistorical Foundation.\nHassan, D. 2005. “Sport, identity and Irish nationalism in Northern Ireland.” In Sport and the Irish:\nHistories, Identities, Issues, ed. by A. Bairner, pp. 123–139. Dublin: University College Dublin\nPress.\nHassan, D. 2009. “The GAA in Ulster.” In The Gaelic Athletic Association 1884–2009, ed. by M.\nCronin, W. Murphy and P. Rouse, pp. 77–91. Dublin: Irish Academic Press.\nHorgan, J. and Morrison, J. F. 2011. “Here to stay? The rising threat of violent dissident\nrepublicanism in Northern Ireland.” Terrorism and Political Violence 23 (4), pp. 642–669.\nMacintyre, A. 2008. Good Friday: The Death of Irish Republicanism. New York: Ausbo Press.\nMagee, J. 2005. “Football supporters, rivalry and Protestant fragmentation in Northern Ireland.” In\nSport and the Irish: Histories, Identities, Issues, ed. by A. Bairner, pp. 172–188. Dublin:\nUniversity College Dublin Press.\nMcCabe, C. 2011. “Football Sports Weekly and Irish soccer, 1925–1928.” Media History 17 (2), pp.\n147–158.\nMcGee, D. and Bairner, A. 2011. “Transcending the borders of Irish Identity? A sociological analysis\nof the Catholic footballer in Northern Ireland.” International Review for the Sociology of Sport 46\n(4), pp. 436–455.\nMcGlinchey, M. 2019. Unfinished Business: The Politics of “Dissent” Irish Republicanism.\nManchester: Manchester University Press.\nMcKearney, T. 2011. The Provisional IRA: From Insurrection to Parliament. London: Pluto Press.\nMcKeever, J. 2009. “The coming of age of Gaelic games in Ulster.” In The Evolution of the GAA:\nUlaidh, Éire agus Eile, ed. by D. McAnallen, D. Hassan and R. Hegarty, pp. 30–41. Armagh: Stair\nUladh.\nMoore, C. 2015. The Irish Soccer Split. Cork: Atrium Cork University Press.\nÓ Maonaigh, A. 2017. “ ‘Who were the Shoneens?’: Irish militant nationalists and association\nfootball, 1913–1923.” Soccer and Society 18 (5/6), pp. 631–647.\nStromberg, N. 2017. “Why doesn’t James McClean wear a poppy on remembrance weekend?”\nIndependent, 5 November. www.independent.co.uk/sport/football/premier-league/why-james-\nmcclean-doesnt-wear-poppy-west-brom-remembrance-poppy-appeal-a8037391.html Accessed 10\nJanuary 2020.\nSugden, J. and Bairner, A. 1993. Sport, Sectarianism and Society in a Divided Ireland. Leicester:\nLeicester University Press.\nSunday Times 2005. “Comment: ‘GAA back to the future’.” 17 April 2005.\nWynne, T. and Glennon, C. 1985. Ninety Years of the Irish Hockey Union. Naas, County Kildare:\nLeinster Leader.\n\n\nChapter 2\nSport and secessionism in Scotland\nStuart Whigham\nIntroduction\nFollowing their resounding victory in the 2011 Scottish Parliament\nelections which gave the pro-independent Scottish National Party (SNP) a\nparliamentary majority, the SNP-led Scottish government entered into\nnegotiations with the coalition Westminster government. These negotiations\neventually resulted in the signing of the ‘Edinburgh Agreement’ in October\n2012 which legislated for a single-question referendum before the end of\n2014, in line with the SNP’s preference for a referendum date in the autumn\nof 2014. However, much to the disappointment of the pro-independence\n‘Yes’ campaign, the result of the 2014 Scottish independence saw 55.3 per\ncent of the electorate voting ‘No’ to Scottish independence as opposed to\n44.7 per cent voting ‘Yes’. Nonetheless, further succour for advocates of\nScottish independence has been provided by the outcome of the UK-wide\nreferendum on European Union (EU) membership, which resulted in a\nvictory for the anti-EU ‘Leave’ campaign which supported the UK’s\nwithdrawal from the EU, despite strong electoral support in Scotland to\n‘Remain’ within the EU (McEwen, 2018). Regardless of the outcome, the\nvery occurrence of the referendum on Scottish independence in September\n2014 undoubtedly illustrated that political nationalism and support for the\nprospect of Scotland’s secession from the United Kingdom has increased in\nrecent years.\n\n\nGiven this, this chapter seeks to critically examine the long-term\ndevelopment of rising support for Scottish independence, and the specific\nrole of sporting issues in relation to Scottish political nationalism at various\nhistorical junctures, up to and including the present state of affairs in the\nScottish political context at the start of the 2020s. A number of historical\nand contemporary issues which illustrate the complex interconnection\nbetween sporting, cultural and political nationalism in Scotland are\nconsidered, demonstrating that a simplistic conflation between these\ncontrasting forms and domains of nationalist sentiment is highly\nproblematic in the Scottish context.\nThe chapter will firstly explore the impact of Scotland’s comparatively\nprivileged status within international sport as a ‘stateless nation’ which\npossesses independent, representative national teams in sports such as\nfootball and rugby union, considering the extent to which this historical\nanachronism has reinforced a notion of a distinctive Scottish ‘nation’ within\nthe UK. The existence of this privileged sporting status for Scotland is\ntemporally contextualised within the historical context which led to\nScotland’s incorporation into the United Kingdom through the 1707 Act of\nUnion, illustrating how the symbolism of Scotland’s sporting independence\nduring the global spread of international sport in the post-Union period of\nthe eighteenth and nineteenth centuries simultaneously reinforced and\nundermined the nascent claims for a ‘restoration’ of Scottish political\nindependence.\nAttention will then turn to various examples which illustrate the\ninterconnection between modern sport and political nationalism in Scotland\nin the twentieth century, including the ‘Home Internationals’ between\nScotland and England which exposed political and social conflicts between\nthese two nations, the dualistic symbolism of international sporting events\nsuch as the Olympics and Commonwealth Games, and the oft-cited\ninterconnection between Scotland’s failure in the 1978 FIFA World Cup and\nthe unsuccessful campaign to (re)establish a Scottish parliament in 1979.\nThese developments are charted alongside the fluctuating, but gradually\nincreasing, support for Scottish political sovereignty which prevailed\nthroughout the twentieth century, culminating in the eventual establishment\nof a devolved Scottish Parliament in 1999.\nFinally, turning attention to the contemporary period from the turn of\ntwenty-first century to the present, exploring the use of sport as a means for\n\n\npolitical campaigning during the historically unprecedented events of the\nScottish independence referendum of 2014, as well as the political and\nconstitutional turmoil which has continued to prevail in Scotland given the\nUK’s protracted withdrawal from the EU following the 2016 UK-wide\nreferendum result on ‘Brexit’. To this end, discussion of the domain of sport\nwill focus on various contemporary sporting issues and phenomena which\noccurred during this constitutional and political maelstrom, such as the\nLondon 2012 Olympics, the 2014 Glasgow Commonwealth Games and the\nuse of sporting personalities within the various constitutional plebiscites\nduring this period.\nSport and secessionism in Scotland – the historical\nroots of the Scottish ‘nation’ in sport\nThe fragmentary nature of Scotland’s early history presents significant\nfoundational challenges to any attempts to identify the origins of the\nScottish ‘nation’. For example, it could be argued that the true origins of the\nScottish nation stem from the delineation of territories through the\nconstruction of the Roman frontier walls, or through the joining of the\nScottish and Pictish lands by Kenneth MacAlpin in 843, or by the signing\nof the Treaty of York in 1237 which legally defined the border between\nScotland and England (Mitchison, 1970). Although the Treaty of York acted\nto establish the border between Scotland and England, the onset of the\n‘Wars of Independence’ between the two countries at the end of the\nthirteenth century again represent a historical development which still\ncarries resonance for contemporary reflections on the origins of the Scottish\nnation and Scottish nationalism, in terms of both the mythology of\nScotland’s historical struggle for independence and the framing of England\nas the ‘Auld Enemy’ in this historical struggle.\nThe first such example is the popular Scottish revolt led by William\nWallace in 1297, culminating in the Scottish success over the English forces\nat Stirling Bridge in September of that year (Maclean, 2000). The\nendeavours of Wallace and his army gained heroic and legendary status in\npopular Scottish history throughout the centuries since the defeat at Falkirk,\nepitomised by the popularity of the 1995 film Braveheart, which\nmythologised Wallace’s historical endeavours (Edensor, 1997, 2002).\nFollowing Wallace, the second major Scottish uprising against English\n\n\nforces was led by Robert Bruce, culminating in conflict with a mass English\narmy under Edward II, meeting Bruce’s forces at the battle of Bannockburn\nin June 1314 (Maclean, 2000; Mitchison, 1970). Despite being significantly\noutnumbered by the English forces, the battle ended with a resounding\nunderdog victory for Bruce’s forces and re-established the independence of\nthe Scottish kingdom.\nThe narrative trope of Scotland’s underdog status invoked by\nBannockburn continues to resonate within its political and sporting\nendeavour to this day (Whigham, 2014). The recurrent framing of Scotland\nas an embattled, oppressed, but valorous nation throughout its pre-Union\nmilitary and political battles with the English is easily translated to the\ndomain of sport, whereby Scotland’s relatively scarce sporting resources\nhave resulted in an approach to sporting competition which is peppered\nwith ‘glorious failures’ where Scotland has offered a plucky yet ultimately\nunsuccessful attempt in various sporting competitions. Furthermore, to this\nvery day, England continues to act as the significant other for Scotland in\nterms of sporting competition in sports such as football and rugby union\n(Bairner, 1994; Massie, 2000; Moorhouse, 1986, 1987, 1995; Whigham and\nGibbons, 2018). In sum, despite the fact that the opportunities for\nformalised sporting competitions between Scotland and England did not\ncommence until well after the political union between the two nations, the\nsymbolic foundations for the sporting rivalry between the two nations and\nits resonance for secessionist nationalist movements can be easily identified\nin Scotland’s pre-Union history as a sovereign, independent nation.\nThe 1707 Act of Union marked the end of Scotland’s existence as an\nindependent and sovereign nation. Through the provisions of the Act, the\nseparate Scottish and English parliaments ceased to exist, replaced by a\nunified parliament of the kingdom of Great Britain to sit at Westminster\n(Devine, 1999; Hanham, 1969; Maclean, 2000). Despite the numerous\neconomic benefits to Scotland which harnessed the support of the Scottish\nParliament to agree to the Act, a great deal of animosity and reluctance to\nsupport Union was demonstrated prior to and following 1707 (Devine,\n1999; Hanham, 1969; Harvie, 1998). Despite the significant losses for the\ngovernance of Scottish society in the Act, provisions were made to ensure\nthat numerous elements of Scottish civil society were able to retain an\nelement of autonomy and distinctiveness within the Union. The Act\nlegislated for the maintenance of the ‘holy trinity’ of independent church,\n\n\nlegal and educational systems following the Union (McCrone, 1992),\nensuring that the Presbyterian and Episcopalian systems of worship would\nremain as the ‘established’ churches of Scotland and England, respectively\n(Larkin, 2011; Maclean, 2000, Pittock, 2012). Devine (1999) and Mitchison\n(1970) argue that the stability of the Union was secured due to the\neconomic benefits which Scotland exploited during the eighteenth century,\nensuring that the Scottish elite maintained their support for Scotland’s\nconstitutional status. Furthermore, for Harvie, this was due to the continued\nexistence of ‘semi-independence’ for Scotland within the Union, echoing\nthe arguments of McCrone (1992) regarding the importance of the ‘holy\ntrinity’ of independent Scottish civil society.\nHowever, while this ‘holy trinity’ of Scotland’s independent religious,\nlegal and educational systems is a little known phenomenon outside of\nScotland, sport has been argued to have mimicked the impact of the ‘holy\ntrinity’ in terms of reinforcing a distinctive sense of Scottish nationhood,\nand has in many ways been more efficacious in portraying Scotland’s\ndistinctive status on an international stage (Bairner, 1994; Jarvie and\nWalker, 1994; McCrone, 1992). Indeed, the origins of Scotland’s privileged\nstatus as an independent sporting nation lie within this very same post-\nUnion era in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, wherein the ‘home\nnations’ of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland emerged as rare\nexamples of internationally recognised representative teams in sports such\nas football and rugby despite their lack of independent statehood. This\nhistorical anachronism derives from the central role played by the British\nnations in the codification, establishment and internationalisation of sport\nsuch as football, rugby, cricket, golf, tennis and hockey (among others).\nThe unique status afforded to the ‘home nations’ in the domain of\ninternational sport also allowed for an opportunity to symbolically\nperpetuate the historical rivalry between Scotland and England during this\nperiod. Indeed, the first ever international football fixture in 1872 was\nbetween Scotland and England, marking the start of the sporting rivalry\nbetween Scotland and the ‘Auld Enemy’. As alluded to above, these\nfixtures retained a special status for Scottish fans in particular, with the pre-\nUnion history of political and historical enmity between the two nations\nincreasingly invoked throughout the historical and symbolic development\nof this rivalry (Bairner, 1994; Massie, 2000; Moorhouse, 1986, 1987;\nWhigham, 2014; Whigham and Gibbons, 2018). At this point, sport can\n\n\nthus be seem to replicated the growth of ‘romantic’ cultural nationalism in\nScotland in the early Victorian era (Devine, 1999; Harvie, 1998; Pittock,\n2008a), captured in Nairn’s (1977) contentions regarding the ‘Caledonian\nAntisyzgy’, which is epitomised by a ‘head’ versus ‘heart’ debate in the\nScottish constitutional debate and the nature of Scottish national identities,\nwhereby Scots can maintain a cultural identification with a distinct Scottish\nnation while rejecting claims of secessionist nationalist movements seeking\nto achieve Scottish independence.\nNonetheless, the 1880s saw the issue of home rule for Scotland gaining\nprominence in political discussions. Thus 1886 saw the establishment of the\nScottish Home Rule Association which aimed to engender cross-party\nsupport for Scottish home rule and the establishment of a Scottish\nparliament (Devine, 1999), with some Liberals in Scotland beginning to\nendorse the policy (Harvie, 1998). James Keir Hardie, the founder of the\nScottish Labour Party in 1888 and a co-founder of the UK-wide Labour\nParty, was also a keen supporter of Scottish home rule, ensuring that the\ncause began to receive cross-party support (Maclean, 2000; Mitchison,\n1970). Given this growing prominence for Scottish political nationalism in\nthe late nineteenth century, whether in the form of claims of additional\ndevolved powers for Scotland within the Union or secessionist nationalism\nwhich sought to re-establish an independent Scottish nation-state, attention\nwill now turn to charting the development of the relationship between sport\nand secessionist nationalism in the twentieth century.\nSport and secessionism in Scotland in the twentieth\ncentury\nSecessionist nationalist sentiment in Scotland continued to grow in the early\ntwentieth century, bolstered by the electoral momentum of parties\nsympathetic to the cause of Scottish ‘home rule’ movements during this\nperiod. Indeed, had it not been for the outbreak of the First World War in\n1914, it has been argued that the Scottish Home Rule Bill, which had\nadvanced to its second reading before the start of this conflict, would have\nlikely progressed into law (Devine, 1999; Hanham, 1969; Harvie, 1998).\nThe conflict of 1914–1918 initially appeared to have a decimating effect on\nthe progress of secessionist nationalist political movements in Scotland,\nwhether due to the economic and human costs of the war or the\n\n\nsymbolically unifying effect for Scots participating in large-scale conflict\nwith compatriots from the rest of the UK. Nonetheless, concurrently with\nthe economic decline suffered across the UK in the late 1920s and early\n1930s, the inter-war period witnessed the establishment of nationalist\nmovements in the form of the National Party of Scotland (NPS) in 1928 and\nthe Scottish Self-Government Party (SSGP) in 1932 (Harvie, 1998),\neffectively replacing the floundering home rule movement supported by the\nestablished political parties represented at the Westminster Parliament. In\n1934, the NPS and the SSGP merged to form the Scottish National Party\n(SNP), which has developed into the most effective political vehicle for\nScottish secessionist nationalism throughout the twentieth century.\nAlthough the SNP failed to achieve any significant electoral successes\nuntil the 1970s, due to the dominance of the Labour Party in the post-war\nera of Scottish politics, a further period of economic stagnation in the 1970s\nsaw the SNP begin to achieve greater success in winning representation\nwithin the ‘first-past-the-post’ electoral system of Westminster (Harvie,\n1998; Leith and Soule, 2011). The growing electoral success of the SNP has\nbeen argued to have revolved around a number of complementary\nideological and symbolic arguments, such as: (1) a narrative regarding the\n‘democratic deficit’, which sees the Scottish electorate ruled by\nConservative governments at Westminster despite a majority of Labour\nMPs in Scotland (Leith and Soule, 2011; Pittock, 2012); (2) the ‘It’s\nScotland’s Oil’ campaign of the 1970s and 1980s which emphasised a lost\neconomic boon for Scotland following the discovery of vast reserves of oil\nand gas in Scottish territory in the North Sea (Devine, 1999; Nairn, 1977);\nand (3) a post-colonial narrative which represents Scotland as a once-\nindependent nation which was subject to a process of ‘internal colonialism’\nby England through the 1707 Act of Union (Hechter, 1975; Mycock, 2012).\nSport continued to play a role in symbolically perpetuating a number of\nthese narrative tropes of secessionist nationalism in Scotland during this\nperiod. For example, the work of Moorhouse (1986, 1987) argued that Scots\nsuffered from a form of ‘repressed nationalism’ in the domain of sport,\nexpressed through resentment of their English neighbours in the annual\n‘Home International’ football fixtures between Scotland and England.\nSimilar arguments have been made by numerous other scholars of football\nand Scottish nationalism during this period (Bairner, 1994; Jarvie and\nWalker, 1994), while others have extended these arguments to the sport of\n\n\nrugby in discussions of the symbolism of the annual ‘Five Nations’\ncompetition between the four home nations and France (now ‘Six Nations’\nfollowing the addition of Italy in 2000), which pits Scotland against\nEngland for the Calcutta Cup (Bairner, 2000; Jarvie, 1993; Jarvie and Reid,\n1999; Jarvie and Walker, 1994, Kowalski, 2004; Massie, 2000).\nFurthermore, the portrayal of Scotland’s economic exploitation by its\nEnglish neighbours in the ‘It’s Scotland’s Oil’ and ‘internal colonialism’\nnarratives has also been argued to have proved analogous to the world of\nsport during this period, exemplified best by the loss of Scottish sporting\ntalent to English leagues due to greater sporting and economic opportunities\navailable in England (Moorhouse, 1987).\nThe exploits of Scottish sportspeople in individual sports such as tennis,\ngolf and the Olympic sports also provided an opportunity to reinforce a\nsense of distinct Scottish national identity. In particular, the successes of\nScottish sportspeople during this period were often given additional\nattention by the Scottish media and spectating public, thus reclaiming the\n‘Scottishness’ of these achievements even when representing the United\nKingdom as whole (Whigham, 2014). The conditional nature of the support\noffered by the Scottish media and sports fans to athletes in individual sports\nis further complicated in the case of the Commonwealth Games, given that\nthe home nations split off to compete against each other in this event\n(Haynes and Boyle, 2008: Jarvie and Reid, 1999). The political symbolism\nof the Commonwealth Games, wherein the participant nations are\ntraditionally all past territories of the British Empire, can thus be viewed as\nresonant with the ‘internal colonialism’ narrative espoused by some\nScottish nationalists with regard to the United Kingdom. The existence of\nan independent Scottish team at this event can be exploited as evidence of\nScotland’s ‘junior partner’ status within the Union as well as a symbolic\nmarker of its distinctiveness as a nation, thus acting in a Janus-faced\nmanner with regard to the validity of the claims of secessionist nationalists\n(Black and Whigham, 2017).\nThis dualistic symbolism of sport with regard the advancement of\nsecessionist nationalism in Scotland during this period is also evident in\nother examples. This argument is best captured in the comments of the\nSNP’s former leader, Jim Sillars, after his defeat in the 1992 UK general\nelection, where he dubbed Scots as ‘90-minute patriots’ who failed to\ntranslate their sporting nationalism into support for secessionist nationalist\n\n\npolitics (Jarvie and Walker, 1994; Kowalski, 2004). Such sentiments\nillustrate the fact that, notwithstanding the above arguments regarding the\nuse of nationalist symbolism within the sporting domain, the general\nconsensus within academic analyses of this period is that Scottish sporting\nnationalism did not correlate with political nationalism and, specifically,\nsupport for the re-establishment of an independent Scottish state (Bairner,\n1994; Jarvie, 1993, 2017; Jarvie and Walker, 1994).\nIndeed, one of the myriad reasons why the expression of nationalism in\nthe domain of sport failed to translate into the support for political\nnationalism lies in the traditional ethnoreligious and political divide\nbetween the supporters of the two largest football clubs in Scotland,\nRangers and Celtic. During the twentieth century, the ‘Old Firm’ clubs\ngradually captured a hegemonic position within Scottish club football, both\nin terms of their sporting successes and the size of their respective fan\nbases. However, the polarised nature of the ethnoreligious, political and\nsocietal characteristics of the supporters of these two clubs, and the heated\nrivalry between them, negated the possibility of football acting as a\nunifying force with respect to secessionist nationalist sentiment. For\nexample, historically Rangers supporters have frequently been associated\nwith overt expressions of Protestantism, Orangeism, Conservativism and\nunionism (in relation to both Scotland and Northern Ireland) (Bairner, 1994;\nBissett and McKillop, 2014; Flint and Kelly, 2013; Kowalski, 2004),\nwhereas Celtic supporters were more strongly associated with Irishness,\nCatholicism and republicanism (Kelly, 2011; Flint and Kelly, 2013). While\nthis generalisation undoubtedly runs the risk of over-simplifying and\nhomogenising the more nuanced and varied nature of the two clubs’ fan\nbases, it would be naïve to suggest that Scottish identity in the domain of\nfootball and sport more generally was unified in any way, shape or form.\nDespite the relative impotency of sport with regard to harnessing\nsecessionist nationalist sentiment throughout the twentieth century, events\nin the political domain during the later decades of the twentieth century that\nled to the re-establishment of a devolved Scottish Parliament in 1999 were\nstill frequently linked to sporting events and analogies. The aforementioned\n‘democratic deficit’ in Scottish political representation was finally\nredressed through the election of Tony Blair’s ‘New Labour’ government in\n1997, additionally significant for Scottish politics as the party had\ncommitted to a second devolution referendum following the unsuccessful\n\n\n1979 referendum on the same question (Devine, 1999; Leith and Soule,\n2011; Maclean, 2000). Indeed, with regard to the 1979 referendum, despite\nthe aforementioned fallacies regarding the impact of sport for securing\nsecessionist nationalist sentiment, the unsuccessful 1979 referendum was\nspeculated by some in the media and politics to have been at least in part\ninfluenced by Scotland’s failure at the 1978 FIFA World Cup (Bairner,\n1994; Jarvie, 1993; Jarvie and Walker, 1994).\nHowever, in the intervening period between 1979 and the second\nreferendum on Scottish devolution in 1997, Scottish politics witnessed an\nincrease in what Leith and Soule (2011) have termed a ‘small “n” political\nnationalism’, whereby a number of the traditionally unionist parties,\nincluding Labour, the Liberal Democrats and the Scottish Green Party, and\nthe Scottish Trade Unions Congress coalesced around the idea of securing\ndevolved powers for Scotland within the United Kingdom. The resounding\nsuccess of the ‘Yes-Yes’ campaign in the 1997 devolution referendum was\nthus attributed to the cross-party cooperation of all of the major political\nparties in Scotland, except for the Conservatives who pursued an anti-\ndevolution campaign (Devine, 1999; Harvie, 1998). However, sporting\nnationalist sentiment was again argued to have at the very least partially\ncontributed towards the success of the 1997 referendum by some nationalist\npoliticians, with the former SNP leader Alex Salmond suggesting that the\n‘feel-good factor’ of Scotland’s qualification for the 1998 FIFA World Cup\nFinals may have boosted the ‘Yes’ vote (Kowalski, 2004). The subsequent\n(re)establishment of the Scottish Parliament in Holyrood, Edinburgh in\n1999 thus marked an important constitutional milestone at the end of the\ntwentieth century; attention now turns to the era of post-devolution\nScotland to examine the interconnection between sport, politics and\nsecessionist nationalism in recent years.\nSport and secessionism in post-devolution Scotland\nThe early years of the new devolved Scottish Parliament appeared to have\nquashed the progress of secessionist nationalist parties such as the SNP,\nwith the first two Holyrood elections in 1999 and 2003 witnessing the\nelection of two Labour-led coalition governments within the Parliament’s\nproportional representation electoral system. However, the SNP’s decline at\nthe 2003 election marked a turning point, with the party making sufficient\n\n\ngains at the 2007 election to become the largest party in the Scottish\nParliament, against a background of growing disenchantment with Labour-\nled governments at both Holyrood at Westminster (Leith and Soule, 2011).\nThe SNP were forced to proceed as a minority government following the\n2007 election; although this limited the ability of the SNP administration to\nimplement its 2007 manifesto policies, including a proposed independence\nreferendum, the formation of the first SNP government offered the party the\nopportunity to demonstrate its ability to govern competently while\nproviding a forum for emphasising the benefits of Scottish independence\n(Dardanelli and Mitchell, 2014; Johns et al., 2013; Larkin, 2011; Leith and\nSoule, 2011).\nAt the 2011 elections, the SNP was able to further exploit dissatisfaction\nwith the Labour government following the global financial crisis of 2007–\n2008, and the return of the Scottish ‘democratic deficit’ at Westminster with\nthe establishment of the coalition between the Conservatives and the\nLiberal Democrats following the 2010 general election (Mycock, 2012).\nThe result of the 2011 Scottish Parliament elections placed the SNP in a\nposition to hold an independence referendum, with its 69 MSPs providing\nthe party with an overall majority. The SNP-led Scottish government\nentered into negotiations with the coalition Westminster government,\nresulting in the signing of the ‘Edinburgh Agreement’ in October 2012\nwhich legislated for a single-question referendum in the autumn of 2014.\nThe preferred date for the referendum immediately sparked press\nspeculation over the reasons for selecting autumn 2014, with various\ncommentators highlighting the association with the 700th anniversary of the\nBattle of Bannockburn in June 1314, and the hosting of a number of\nsporting and cultural events in the 2014 ‘Year of Homecoming’, including\nthe Glasgow Commonwealth Games and the Ryder Cup (Carrell, 2013).\nThe timing of this historical event within the long advance of secessionist\nnationalism within Scottish politics, with its close proximity to a number of\nmajor sporting events in both Scotland and the UK, thus facilitates a critical\ndiscussion of the relationship between sport and secessionist nationalism in\nthis important juncture in Scotland’s constitutional development.\nThe first such event which preceded the 2014 independence referendum\nwas the hosting of the 2012 Olympic Games in London. Given that the\nOlympics is organised along the lines of nation-states and thus means an\nintegrated Great Britain representative team, London 2012 thus acted as an\n\n\nopportunity for symbolically emphasising the united nature of ‘Team GB’\nin sport, and the UK politically. For Boyle and Haynes (2014), the Games\n‘revealed a temporary suspension in the pressing debate on Scottish\nindependence, with hegemonic Britishness and the symbolic flying of the\nUnion Jack more in evidence across the UK than had been witnessed in\nrecent decades’ (p. 91). This was particularly evident within the historical\nand contemporary portrayal of Britain within the London 2012 Olympic\nCeremony directed by Danny Boyle, which was well-received, broadly\nspeaking. However, for some commentators the Ceremony\nbore little relation to the social reality of the UK under the Coalition …\nthough Danny Boyle’s Britain is a myth, it remains a potent one. It was\nwhat persuaded Scots to meekly hand over Scotland’s oil to the British\nstate, in a gesture of almost wilful altruism, in the 1960s and 1970s.\n(Macwhirter, 2012: 34)\nDespite the SNP’s position on the symbolism of London 2012, exemplified\nby Alex Salmond’s attempts to distinguish the success of Scottish athletes\nas ‘Scolympians’ rather than members of ‘Team GB’ (Ochman, 2013), it\ncan be argued that the overall success of the Games added succour to pro-\nUnion campaigners in terms of sport’s ability to counter secessionist\nnationalist sentiment.\nHowever, in contrast, the aforementioned hosting of the 2014\nCommonwealth Games in Glasgow in much closer proximity to the\nindependence referendum created a counter-opportunity for the pro-\nsecession campaigners to draw upon the symbolism of sport to underpin\ntheir own political positions. The potential exploitation of the 2014 Games\nby the pro-independence ‘Yes’ campaign was thus pre-empted by pro-\nUnion campaigners who sought to de-politicise the event, such as the\nintervention of Labour’s former First Minister Lord McConnell, who made\nan appeal for a campaigning ‘truce’ during the period of the Games\n(Whigham, 2017). On the whole, McConnell’s intervention achieved its\ndesired goal, with politicians across the political spectrum and\nconstitutional debate predominantly avoiding making overt statements\nregarding the political importance of the 2014 Games for the forthcoming\nindependence referendum, thus neutering the potential for pro-secession\n\n\ncampaigners to harness the ‘feel-good factor’ from a successful Games for\npolitical means (Jarvie, 2017; Whigham, 2017).\nNonetheless, this ‘truce’ during the 2014 Games period did not\ncompletely preclude political framing of the event by pro-secession\ncampaigners. For the SNP, the Games were often used as an analogy for\nbroader discontentment with the constitutional status quo in other domains,\nwith the ‘democratic deficit’ of Scotland’s status within the Union used to\nillustrate the negative impact on the economic benefits of the Games for\nScotland due to Westminster policy on Air Passenger Duty (APD) and the\nloss of Value Added Tax (VAT) receipts to the UK Treasury (Whigham,\n2017). For the SNP, the successful organisation of the Games acted as an\nillustration of Scotland’s capacity for political self-governance, contributing\nto a longer-term trend of growing confidence due to the perceived success\nof the devolved Scottish Parliament as part of the party’s ‘gradualist’\nmovement towards political independence (Casanas Adam, 2014; Keating,\n2012). The examples regarding APD and VAT are therefore used to\nreinforce the SNP’s ‘public narrative’ of the constrained economic\ncircumstances of the status quo, with the need for additional fiscal powers\n‘in Scottish hands’ to eradicate the ‘democratic deficit’ (Leith and Soule,\n2011; Pittock, 2008b).\nHowever, the SNP’s framing of the 2014 Games did not go unchallenged\nby the pro-Union parties. For example, the Labour Party used the event to\nreinforce its central narrative regarding the constitutional status quo as the\n‘best of both worlds’, emphasising the importance of the economic and\nlogistical support from the UK government for the Games, as well as the\naforementioned dualistic symbolism of the event for co-existing\nexpressions of Britishness and Scottishness (Jarvie, 2017; Ochman, 2013).\nLabour also used the Games to raise issues relating to the SNP’s domestic\npolicy shortcomings, thus creating a political counter-narrative which aimed\nto undermine the SNP’s own attempts to illustrate its competence to govern\nan independent Scotland (Dardanelli and Mitchell, 2014; Johns et al., 2013;\nLarkin, 2011; Leith and Soule, 2011). Similarly, the Conservatives’\ndiscourse on the Games placed a significant emphasis on the pro-Union\nsymbolism of the event through frequent references to ‘Team GB’ and the\nUK sports system, the positive impact of London 2012 as a UK-wide event\n(Ewen 2012, Jarvie, 2017), and support for the 2014 Games from the UK\ngovernment. This approach showed that the Conservatives appreciated that\n\n\nevents such as the Games could have both a unifying and a divisive effect\nwith regard to Scottish and British identities. In sum, therefore, the 2014\nGames could be argued to have acted as something of a ‘zero-sum game’\nwith regard to its impact on support for secessionist nationalist sentiment in\nthe lead up to the 2014 independence referendum, with the event arguably\namplifying the predilections of voters on either side of the constitutional\ndebate rather than persuading undecided voters to align with either pro-\nsecession or pro-Union positions.\nOutside of the two major sporting events of London 2012 and Glasgow\n2014, sport has been embroiled in the ongoing constitutional debates in\nScotland in other manners. For example, the political positions and\nendorsements of sporting personalities were frequently courted by\ncampaigners on both sides of the constitutional divide. The pro-Union\n‘Better Together’ campaign was more successful in securing political\nendorsements, citing support from a range of personalities from football\n(Crichton, 2014), rugby (Whitaker, 2014) and other popular sports.\nTellingly, however, the vast majority of these endorsements came from\nretired Scottish athletes or international representatives, demonstrating the\nrisks for current sporting competitors of making overt political\ninterventions. These risks were illustrated in the opprobrium directed\ntowards athletes such as 800 m runner Lynsey Sharp following her\nexpressions of concern regarding the implications of a ‘Yes’ vote for the\nlevels of funding and sporting infrastructure available in an independent\nScotland in comparison to the existing UK-wide arrangements (BBC,\n2014), and cyclist Sir Chris Hoy, Scotland’s most-decorated Olympian,\nfollowing his comments that Scottish athletes might face challenges in\nterms of competing at Olympic level which were quickly framed as a tacit\nsupport for the pro-Union campaign despite Hoy’s objections (Roden,\n2013).\nPro-secession campaigners found sporting endorsements harder to come\nby, despite their overt attempts to acquire them through the creation of the\n‘Sport for Yes’ campaign group which only succeeded in gaining\nendorsements from relatively minor Scottish sporting figures (Whigham\nand May, 2017). However, the last-minute endorsement of a ‘Yes’ vote\nfrom arguably Scotland’s most successful sportsperson at the time of the\nreferendum, tennis player Sir Andy Murray, acted as a significant coup for\nsecessionist nationalist campaigners. The ‘Yes Scotland’ campaign group\n\n\nreacted to these comments by circulating an official press release,\nharnessing the comments to further boost the media coverage of Murray’s\ncomments and arguing that ‘Scotland’s leading sportsman Andy Murray\ntoday served a major last-minute boost for the independence campaign by\ndeclaring for Yes’ (Yes Scotland, 2014). This intervention witnessed a\nsimilar level of opprobrium towards Murray from pro-Union campaigners\nand social media users. Indeed, Murray later expressed regret about the\nmanner of his comments on the referendum being released via social media,\nwhile equally defending his right to express his political views and standing\nby his support for a ‘Yes’ vote (McLeman, 2016).\nConclusion\nIn conclusion, sport and secessionist nationalism can be argued to be\nuncomfortable bedfellows within the Scottish context, given the fact that\nthe distinctiveness of Scotland’s independent sporting representatives have\nsucceeded in producing sporting nationalist sentiment alone, with a mixed\ndegree of transfer of this sentiment from the sporting to the political\ndomain. As outlined above, the anachronist existence of independent\nScottish representative teams within the international sporting system\nundoubtedly possesses symbolic potential for reinforcing a sense of\nScotland’s nationhood as distinct from the UK and its other constituent\n‘home nations’; however, this symbolism is not easily harnessed by pro-\nsecession politicians to advance their political causes.\nIndeed, as the support for secessionist political movements has gradually\nincreased across time to the present state of affairs at the time of writing –\nwith the SNP currently campaigning for a second independence referendum\nin 2020 in light of the UK-wide constitutional turmoil caused by the 2016\nreferendum on the UK’s membership of the EU which led to the ‘Leave’\nvote – it can be argued that support for Scotland’s national representatives\nin football, rugby and other popular sports has declined significantly. This\nillustrates that any attempts to simplistically conflate sporting and political\nnationalism in the Scottish context is highly problematic, given the various\ncontradictory symbolic constructions of identity in Scottish sport, evidenced\nin the dualistic symbolism of events like the Olympic and Commonwealth\nGames and the polarised ethnoreligious identities of the nation’s two largest\nfootball clubs, Celtic and Rangers.\n\n\nIt can therefore be surmised that as the level of political engagement in\nScotland has been enhanced due to the various constitutional debates which\nhave been presented for consideration to the Scottish electorate in recent\nyears, sporting issues and identities are rightly relegated to the background\nfor most voters in comparison to more pressing issues such as economic,\nsocietal, ideological and environmental factors, among others. That is not to\nsay that sport does or should remain an apolitical domain within the\nScottish context; instead, the central argument here is that sporting issues do\ncarry symbolic weight in relation to the politics of secessionist nationalism\nand unionism, but that the dualistic symbolism of sport renders it a ‘zero-\nsum game’ in terms of its impact on constitutional matters. Nonetheless,\nsporting issues and personalities will undoubtedly continue to become\nembroiled in the various unresolved constitutional debates for Scotland\nwhich appear likely to fester over the near future; it therefore remains to be\nseen how the interconnection between sport and secessionist nationalism\nevolves further during this tumultuous period for Scottish politics and\nsociety.\nReferences\nBairner, A. (1994) Football and the idea of Scotland. In: G. Jarvie and G. Walker (eds.) Scottish Sport\nin the Making of the Nation: Ninety Minute Patriots? 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International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 46 (4), 418–435.\nKowalski, R. (2004) ‘Cry for us, Argentina’: Sport and national identity in late twentieth-century\nScotland. In: A. Smith and D. Porter (eds.) Sport and National Identity in the Post-War World.\nLondon: Routledge, pp. 69–87.\nLarkin, P. (2011) The politics of coalition in Scotland. Political Science, 63 (1), 61–78.\nLeith, M.S. and Soule, D. (2011) Political Discourse and National Identity in Scotland. Edinburgh:\nEdinburgh University Press.\nMaclean, F. (2000) Scotland: A Concise History. London: Thames and Hudson.\nMacwhirter, I. (2012) Identity Crisis. Sunday Herald, 12 August.\nMassie, A. (2000) Rugby. In G. Jarvie and J. Burnett (eds.) Sport, Scotland and the Scots. East\nLinton: Tuckwell, pp. 248–260.\nMcCrone, D. (1992) Understanding Scotland: The Sociology of a Stateless Nation. London:\nRoutledge.\nMcEwen, N. (2018) Brexit and Scotland: Between two unions. British Politics, 13 (1), 65–78.\nMcLeman, N. (2016) Andy Murray admits he’s keeping quiet on the Brexit debate after Scottish\nindependence \ncontroversy. \nDaily \nMirror. \nRetrieved \nfrom:\nwww.mirror.co.uk/sport/football/news/andy-murray-admits-hes-keeping-7812620.\nMitchison, R. (1970) A History of Scotland. London: Methuen & Co.\n\n\nMoorhouse, H. (1986) Repressed nationalism and professional football: Scotland versus England. In:\nJ.A. Mangan and R.B. Small (eds.) Sport, Culture, Society: International Historical and\nSociological Perspectives. London: Spon, pp. 52–59.\nMoorhouse, H. (1987) Scotland against England: Football and popular culture. International Journal\nof the History of Sport, 4 (2), 189–202.\nMoorhouse, H.F. (1995) One state, several countries: Soccer and nationality in a ‘United’ Kingdom.\nInternational Journal of the History of Sport, 12 (2), 55–74.\nMycock, A. (2012) SNP, identity and citizenship: Re-imagining state and nation. National Identities,\n14 (1), 53–69.\nNairn, T. (1977) The Break-Up of Britain: Crisis and Neo-Nationalism. London: New Left Books.\nOchman, K. (2013) Commonwealth Games and their impact on Scotland’s future in or outside the\nUnited Kingdom. International Studies, 15 (1), 75–85.\nPittock, M. (2008a) Scottish and Irish Romanticism. Oxford: Oxford University Press.\nPittock, M. (2008b) The Road to Independence? Scotland since the Sixties. London: Reaktion.\nPittock, M. (2012) Scottish sovereignty and the union of 1707: Then and now. National Identities, 14\n(1), 11–21.\nRoden, A. (2013) Cycling hero Sir Chris Hoy branded a ‘bigot’ by Scottish nationalists in online\ncampaign of abuse after raising concerns about independence. Daily Mail Online. Retrieved from:\nwww.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2332868/Cycling-hero-Sir-Chris-Hoy-branded-bigot-Scottish-\nnationalists-online-campaign-abuse-raising-concerns-independence.html.\nWhigham, S. (2014) ‘Anyone but England’? Exploring anti-English sentiment as part of Scottish\nnational identity in sport. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 49 (2), 152–174.\nWhigham, S. (2017) The SNP, Scottish Labour and Glasgow 2014: Contrasting political narratives of\nthe 2014 Commonwealth Games. Scottish Affairs, 26 (3), 271–296.\nWhigham, S. and Gibbons, T. (2018) The Auld Enemy?: Exploring the England vs. Scotland rivalry\nfrom the perspective of soccer fans. Soccer and Society, 19 (5/6), 673–686.\nWhigham, S. and May, A. (2017) ‘Sport for Yes?’: The role of sporting issues in pro-independence\npolitical discourse during the Scottish independence referendum campaign. International Journal\nof Sport Policy and Politics, 9 (3), 557–572.\nWhitaker, A. (2014) Scottish independence: Rugby legends backing ‘No’. The Scotsman, 12\nSeptember. Retrieved \nfrom: www.scotsman.com/news/politics/scottish-independence-rugby-\nlegends-backing-no-1-3539854.\nYes Scotland. (2014) Andy Murray declares for Yes. Yes Scotland. Retrieved from:\nwww.yesscotland.net/news/andy-murray-declares-for-yes.\n\n\nChapter 3\nSpeaking for Wales\nSport and secessionism in a small nation\nJohn Harris\nIntroduction\nAlmost fifty years ago Raymond Williams (1971/2003, p. 3) asked ‘Who\nspeaks for Wales? Nobody. That is both the problem and the\nencouragement’. This chapter looks at the positioning of Wales and\nconsiders both the problem and the encouragement of international sport.\nWales is a nation that competes against other nations in sports such as\nfootball and rugby union. It is also part of the wider collectives of Great\nBritain and the United Kingdom so Welsh athletes compete for Team GB in\nthe Olympic and Paralympic Games. In cricket, many of the leading Welsh\nplayers would hope to play for a team named England. Sport then, like\nmany other spheres, reflects the complex and multi-layered identities of\ncitizens in the British state. The continuous struggle to articulate and\npromote a separate Welsh identity is captured well by the following quote:\n‘For Wales – see England’. This notorious directive in the early\neditions of the Encyclopedia Britannica crystallizes all the emotion, the\nhumiliation, and the patronising indifference which helped to launch\nthe national movement in Wales.\n(Morgan, 1971, p. 153)\n\n\nEnglandandWales is a term still often used today as if it is referring to a\nsingle place. This domination means that many Welsh people have felt a\nconscious need to affirm their own separate national identity ‘in the face of\nwhat is perceived to be the continual threat of cultural genocide’ (Bowie,\n1993, p. 169). This place of course is never referred to as\nWalesandEngland, a point which clearly emphasises the hegemony of one\nnation over the other.\nWhilst space does not allow an exhaustive overview of the history of this\ncoupling a few key points are important to note to help set the scene for the\ndiscussion that follows in this chapter. The descriptor of a people as Welsh\nis said to derive from the word ‘wealh’ (foreigner). Wales is an English\nname for the land of foreigners and came into existence in the ninth and\ntenth centuries ‘as a junior partner in a Britain run by England’ (R.\nWilliams, 1985/2003, p. 67). It has of course been noted that if viewed in\nthis way the Welsh are foreigners in their own land. The fact that Wales had\nnever been a unitary kingdom meant that its union with England, formalised\nduring the Tudor period, made the integration of the two a smoother process\nthan the subsequent union with Scotland at the beginning of the 1700s.\nMost of the key decisions about Wales were made in the capital city of\nEngland but Wales finally secured its own assembly government towards\nthe end of the last millennium as part of the devolution of power from\nLondon to other parts of the United Kingdom.\nIn the twenty-first century there has been a great deal of focus given to\nthe possible break-up of Britain. A referendum on Scottish independence in\n2014 (see Whigham’s chapter in this collection) was positioned as being a\nonce-in-a-generation event but the prospect of another vote looms. The\nsubsequent decision by the United Kingdom in 2016 to leave the European\nUnion (Brexit) resulted in much uncertainty and debate about the position\nof the constituent nations going forward. Although there is support for\nseparatism, there is not as strong a lobby for independence in Wales as there\ncurrently is in Scotland. The union between Wales and England dates back\nhundreds of years and Evans (2019, p. 168) provides a succinct overview of\nthis coupling:\nSince the 1536 Act of Union, whereby Wales was politically and\nlegally incorporated into England (reflected in the enduring ‘England\nand Wales’ legal jurisdiction), Wales has historically been far more\n\n\nclosely assimilated into the English state than either Scotland or\nNorthern Ireland. It has never had the unifying political resources of a\ndistinct national civil society, press, an educational system or military,\nto bind it together.\nSome believe that Wales may be viewed as an internal colony (e.g. Hechter,\n1975). Others have suggested that a better way of describing Wales would\nbe as a dependent periphery (Evans, 1991). Williams (1983/2003) noted\nthat whilst it could be said that the Welsh people had been oppressed by the\nEnglish state for seven centuries, the English people have been oppressed\nby the English state for even longer.\nWales has its own language but according to the 2011 census only a fifth\nof the population speaks any Welsh. Representatives of the national teams\nin most sports are a combination of Welsh and English speakers. The\ndebates around language are linked closely to discussions of secessionism\nput forward by the social-democratic political party Plaid Cymru (Party of\nWales).\nIn this chapter, I will look at the interplay of sport and politics in relation\nto discussions of secessionism and consider the ways in which Wales is\n(re)positioned in international sport. After a brief overview of sport in\nWales, the focus then moves to look specifically at the importance of rugby\nunion in relation to Welsh national identity. It then develops this discussion\nin relation to contemporary major sporting events with a focus on the\nRugby World Cup. I then consider the positioning of other sports in Wales\nsuch as football and cricket before bringing the key points together in the\nconclusion. Before moving on to look at some specific cases where Wales is\npresent (and absent) in international sport, the next section outlines how the\nwork of Raymond Williams informs the discussion presented in this\nchapter.\nTheoretical framework\nIn this chapter I use the work of Raymond Williams as a lens to look at the\ntopic of secessionism. Williams, who grew up in the small Welsh village of\nPandy close to the English border, was an academic and leading cultural\ntheorist whose work transcended traditional disciplinary boundaries. He\nbegan as an Adult Education tutor in Sussex and at the time of his\n\n\nretirement was Professor of Drama at Cambridge University. Yet beyond\nthis, Williams wrote about Wales in his novels (e.g. Williams, 1960) that\nexplored the workings of a border country that had been the site of political\nand military struggle for centuries (see also, Smith, 2008; Williams, 2003).\nWilliams (1985/2003, p. 67) was to reflect upon the advantages of being\nborn and bred in this environment with its plethora of official identities:\nWales and Monmouthshire, as it was for me at school, with special\nforce since we lived in the appendage. England-and-Wales: that\nadministrative, legal and even weather-forecasting area. Wales for\nrugby but All-England for cricket. Welsh Wales and English Wales.\nWales and Cymru.\nHe also noted that whilst it was a nightmare for anyone looking for an\nofficial status it was a blessing ‘to anyone trying to think about\ncommunities and societies’ (Williams, 1985/2003, p. 67). It was his\nexperiences growing up in Pandy that he integrated into his writing on a\nhost of topics both in his academic work and in his novels. This may seem\nlike an unnecessary statement to make but is worth noting for even now\nstudents/academics may still be told to write in the third person and not\nacknowledge subjective positioning. This seems like a strange point to\nmake here for we can only see the world from our own place within it. In\nspeaking my position as the author of this chapter, I was born in south\nWales and spent most of my childhood living there. Much of my adult life\nhas been spent living and working in England, the USA and Scotland. I do\nnot claim to speak for all of Wales but note my own location here in trying\nto better understand the issues that relate to the topics discussed in this\nchapter.\nAs a student at King Henry VIII Grammar School in Abergavenny,\nWilliams played rugby for the first XV. Although noting his enthusiasm for\nwatching televised sport, commenting that it was ‘one of the very best\nthings about television’ (Williams, 1968), like other key scholars whose\nendeavours helped provide the groundwork of what we now commonly see\nreferred to as cultural studies, his work did not encompass the study of sport\nalthough occasional passing references to it are evident in observations such\nas the following discussion of Welsh culture:\n\n\nWhen we hear the word ‘culture’, some of us reach for our fancy dress.\nReal life is home, family and a job; wages and prices; politics and\ncrisis. Culture, then, is for high days and holidays: not an ordinary gear\nbut an overdrive. So if you say ‘Welsh culture’ what do you think of?\nOf bara brith and the Eisteddfod? Of choirs and Cardiff Arms Park? Of\nlove spoons and englynion? Of the national costume and the rampant\nred dragon?\n(Williams, 1975/2003, p. 5)\nHere then it is the stadium where the Welsh national team played its rugby\nmatches, Cardiff Arms Park, that is one of the things identified as what\nmost may associate with the words ‘Welsh culture’. The Arms Park, a name\nthat was often used when referring to the national stadium, stands alongside\nthe ultra-modern Principality Stadium (formerly the Millennium Stadium)\nwhich now dominates the skyline of Cardiff. The rugby ground at the centre\nof the capital city of Cardiff is perhaps one of the most famous places in the\nwhole of the rugby-playing world. I will return to discuss the importance of\nthe development of the new stadium at the same time as the formation of\nthe National Assembly for Wales later in this chapter. Before looking\nspecifically at the role of rugby union, the next section will briefly outline\nthe broader significance of sport in Wales.\nSport in Wales\nAs noted at the beginning of this chapter, sport in Wales takes many forms\nand representing your country on the international sporting stage can mean\ndifferent things. Sport can provide a particularly important site for the\npromotion of national identities for stateless nations such as Wales (Harris,\n2015). Sport Wales is responsible for the distribution of monies from both\nthe national lottery and the Welsh government and views its role as using\nsport to ‘shape Wales’ culture, identity and international profile’ (Sport\nWales, 2012, p. 22). Sport Wales (2012, p. 22) further notes that ‘We see\nsport as more than just a part of Wales’ cultural fabric. Sport defines us as a\nnation’. This powerful statement gives some indication of the importance of\nsport in contemporary Wales and highlights the wider role that it plays in an\ninternational context.\n\n\nFootball is widely considered to be the most popular team sport in the\nworld (Giulianotti and Robertson, 2009). Wales has only qualified for the\nmen’s World Cup Finals on one occasion, in 1958, when they were knocked\nout by Brazil who went on to win the trophy. After a number of near misses\nin World Cup qualifying campaigns, Wales made it to the finals of the\nEuropean Championships in 2016. With talisman Gareth Bale, who had\nwon the Champions League with Real Madrid, leading the way, Wales\nprogressed to the semi-finals of the tournament, and in November 2019\nsecured qualification for the 2020 European Championships. Bale had\nattended the same high school in Cardiff as the Wales and British & Irish\nLions rugby captain Sam Warburton and Team GB cyclist and Tour de\nFrance winner Geraint Thomas. Each of these men had succeeded at the\nvery highest level of their respective sports, but the representative honours\nthey received and the different teams they have represented highlights the\n‘fuzzy frontiers’ (Cohen, 1995) of national identities in Welsh and British\nsport.\nIt is not only men who help to define Wales as a sporting nation. In 2012,\nJade Jones won an Olympic gold medal in taekwondo and celebrated by\nrunning around the arena carrying both the Union Jack and the Flag of\nWales. It is often pointed out that Wales is not represented on the Union\nFlag but Welsh women who have won gold medals for Team GB (e.g. Tanni\nGrey-Thompson and Nicole Cooke) would have watched as the Union Jack\nwas raised to the sounds of God Save the Queen. This anthem was also\nplayed before Wales rugby union internationals for many years, although\nnow it is Hen Wlad fy Nhadau that is sung with great gusto ahead of such\nmatches. Of all the sports that Wales competes in, rugby is the one game\nthat stands apart as an activity that has long provided a means not only for\nthe Welsh to define themselves but for others to define them (see Holt,\n1990).\nThe importance of rugby union to Welsh identity\nThe historian Gwyn A. Williams (1985) wrote about how rugby was both\nWelsh national and British imperial. Here it was observed that rugby was\n‘the only field where it was possible to be simultaneously Welsh and a\ngentleman (normally a difficult undertaking), where doctor and lawyer\ncould ruck happily shoulder-to-shoulder with miner’ (Williams, 1985, p.\n\n\n221). Mackay (2010) uses rugby as the focus for the first chapter of his\nbook Understanding Contemporary Wales. Rugby is important as it\n‘continues to be prominent in representations of Wales and as a focus for\nidentification with the nation’ (Mackay, 2010, p. 21).\nWithout wishing to over-simplify, or indeed over-state the importance of\nthe sport, it was through rugby that Wales was able to be an equal, if not the\nbetter, of its bigger neighbour in a way that was not always available in\nother spheres. Williams (1983/2003) captured this well with his descriptor\nof ‘the Welsh rugby team, outrucking Chamberlain and Hoare and Halifax\nand the young toffs they’d persuaded to stand in for them’ (p. 17). These\nthree figures were not English rugby players but members of the\nestablishment, the bourgeoisie English.\nThe open professionalisation of rugby union in the mid-1990s meant that\nthe sport underwent a period of considerable change. The most significant\nchange within Wales was the creation of regional teams resulting in the\ndemise of many famous club sides. Another change that many predicted\nwould be negatively impacted by professionalism was the British and Irish\nLions touring team. Yet rather than disappear as a result of professionalism,\nthe Lions have survived and developed as a brand. They have often\ncomprised a strong Welsh core and retain an important place in the\ninternational rugby landscape (Harris, 2010). Two players from Wales\n(James Davies and Sam Cross) represented Great Britain & Northern\nIreland (GB&NI) in the men’s rugby sevens team when the sport debuted at\nthe Rio 2016 Olympic Games. The Welsh winger Jasmine Joyce was the\nonly player from outside England to be part of the women’s team at the\nsame event.\nThis ‘imagined community’ (Anderson, 1983) of a nation through the\nmedium of sport is clearly one that has a popular appeal. The identities we\nsee given prominence, including those framed in national terms, are not\nmerely invented but are part of what we might recognise as belonging to a\n‘selective tradition’ (Williams, 1961). Nations, and the continual making\nand remaking of national identity through sport, can change over time (see\nBairner, 2009; Carroll and Bairner, 2019; Harris and Vincent, 2015). G.A.\nWilliams (1985, p. 304) noted that ‘Wales is an artefact’ and that the Welsh\nas a people have lived by making and remaking themselves ‘usually within\na British context’ (p. 304). It is important to state that although these\nnational identities might be imagined this does not mean that they are\n\n\nimaginary (Bairner, 2009). National identities take many forms. Meanings\nare always produced they are never simply expressed. It is in trying to\nbetter understand aspects of this production that this chapter now turns to\nlook at the role of Wales as a host nation for major sporting events.\nMajor sporting events and national identities\nBidding for, and hosting, major international sporting events has become a\nkey part of the policies and strategies of politicians and various other\nstakeholders across the globe. Cities and nations now compete for the rights\nto stage the biggest of these with the FIFA Football World Cup (Men’s) and\nthe Summer Olympic Games being by far the two most prized mega-events\nto host (Zimbalist, 2015). Just below these two mega ‘megas’, there is\ngenerally less competition to host the next group of events, but many of\nthese are still sought after as a badge of honour that bestows upon its hosts\nthe pride and prestige associated with staging them. Although we have\nknown for some time that the bidding process for the majority of these\nevents is positioned on a very shaky platform of under-estimated costs and\nover-estimated benefits (Whitson and Horne, 2006), there continues to be a\nstrong desire to host such events.\nFor a number of nations, like Wales, who do not have the land mass,\npopulation size or economy to bid for the biggest two events mentioned\nabove, then, the Rugby World Cup is in effect the largest sporting event it\ncould ever host if we were to accept its claim to be the third biggest\nsporting event in the world (see Harris, 2010; Harris and Wise, 2019). There\nis something of a contested landscape here as other events like the Ryder\nCup, staged at the Celtic Manor resort near Newport in 2010, also lay claim\nto this title (Harris, 2015, 2018). There is still no real consensus as to who\ncan legitimately claim this particular title but the fact that it is such a\ncontested term makes it an attractive banner to use and although vested\nstakeholders might not be able to definitively prove they are part of the\nthird biggest event it is also tricky to prove that it is not.\nThere is no denying that in the two decades since devolution Wales has\ndeveloped a much stronger profile within international sport more broadly\nand that Cardiff has acquired a reputation as a city that can do an excellent\njob of staging major sporting events (Harris, 2015, 2017). The impressive\nstadium at the heart of the city with its retractable roof has been used for a\n\n\nwhole host of different sports and staged the prestigious UEFA Champions\nLeague final in 2017. Yet it would be wrong to state that this is directly\nlinked to devolution, although the focus on major events as a driver for\nwider development is important to note (see Welsh Assembly Government,\n2008). In most cases it is not the macro-political landscape, but the politics\nof sport (politics with a small ‘p’) that determines hosting opportunities.\nThe Rugby World Cup (RWC) provides an interesting case to consider here.\nThe RWC first took place in 1987. This late entry into the major events\ncalendar can be explained, in part, by the fact that rugby union did not\nbecome an openly professional sport until 1995. From the inaugural event\nhosted by Australia and New Zealand in 1987 the RWC has developed\nexponentially \nas \nthe \nwider \nincreased \ncommercialisation \nand\ncommodification of elite sport has dramatically changed the landscape of\nevents. Wales hosted some matches of the 1991 event and were designated\nas hosts in 1999.\nThe building of the Millennium Stadium (supported by lottery funding\nfrom the Millennium Commission) was viewed by many as a symbol of a\nmodern and vibrant nation (see Harris, 2015, 2017; Holden, 2011; Williams,\n2000). Holden (2011) suggests that the opening of the Millennium Stadium\nwas evidence of Wales branding itself ‘as a nation of sport, not one entirely\nbased on rugby union’ (p. 278). The physical significance of the stadium is\nclearly highlighted in the following extract from the novel Cardiff Dead:\nThe old stadium, the Arms Park, was almost invisible from the centre\nof town. You were only really aware of it when you looked at it from\nover the river in Riverside. The new stadium dominated the centre and\nyou could see it from almost anywhere in Cardiff. And, like pretty\nmuch everyone else, Tyra found it surprisingly inspiring. It suddenly\nmade you aware that Cardiff was changing, that all the bollocks you\nheard people spit on the TV about being a European capital for the new\ncentury was really true.\n(Williams, 2000, p. 231)\nWhilst largely considered to be a success in terms of showcasing Wales and\npromoting the city of Cardiff (despite the fact that the host nation lost to\nSamoa again as they had at the 1991 RWC), the tournament did not bring\nthe economic returns that were predicted (see Jones, 2001).\n\n\nThe 2015 RWC was hosted by England, although Cardiff also featured in\nthe Rugby Football Union’s bid for this event and was to be chosen as one\nof the host cities. This type of decision in international rugby is not that\nunusual, for although Wales had hosted the 1999 RWC, only one fifth of all\nmatches actually took place in the country. As Cardiff had also hosted\nmatches in the 1991 (UK) and 2007 (France) tournaments, it has been a\nhost city for every RWC ever staged in the northern hemisphere. The Visit\nEngland promotional campaign for the 2015 RWC used the words of the\nhymn Jerusalem to highlight images of ‘England’s green and pleasant land’.\nJerusalem has been put forward as a potential anthem for England’s\nsporting teams who mostly still use God Save the Queen. This, of course, is\nalso the British national anthem and in London 2012 the Welsh players in\nthe GB&NI football team did not join in the singing of the anthem (see\nHarris and Vincent, 2015).\nIn being a part of England 2015, Cardiff was a city hosting part of a\nmajor international sporting event in a country of which it is not a part. At\nface value many may be of the opinion that there is little wrong with this in\nthat Cardiff (and by extension Wales?) would share in the prestige of\nhosting this event and the predicted economic benefits that such an event\npromises to deliver. Yet whilst this is undoubtedly in some ways a good\nthing, it also neglects the complex dynamics of having a city outside the\nnational borders of the host nation involved in an event that is being used to\npromote England and tourism to England.\nWhilst I have commented on and tried to explain the joined up\nEnglandandWales in an earlier section of this chapter, it could be that we\ncan learn more from looking at a new configuration of EnglandandCardiff\nin contemporary times (see also, Harris, 2015, 2017). There was no real\nrationale for including Cardiff as part of England 2015 as there were many\nlarge football stadia in England capable of staging these matches. Yet to\nsecure support in the voting for such events there is often a great deal of\nnegotiation that takes place and the governing bodies of rugby in Wales and\nEngland have worked together many times. WalesandEngland is a strong\ncoupling as the announcement in 2015 that Cardiff, Bristol and Newport\nwill work together to form the Great Western Cities alliance highlights.\nCardiff was also admitted to the Core Cities Group in 2014, a collective of\nself-selected cities outside of Greater London, formed to promote the role\n\n\nof cities in driving economic growth. Cardiff and Glasgow are the only\ncities in this group of ten who are not located in England.\nLondon 2012 was cited as a good example of the collective strength of\nthe United Kingdom. Yet whilst the Olympic and Paralympic Games were\nevents where the constituent parts were competing as part of a wider\ncollective of Great Britain & Northern Ireland (or Team GB in\ncontemporary terminology), the RWC was titled England 2015 so having a\nWelsh city as part of this confuses the issue as to where Cardiff is and who\nWales are. This is not a new problem though, for, as Barlow (2005)\nhighlights, Wales has been variously understood as a ‘region’,\n‘principality’, ‘western extension of England’ and ‘national region’ (p.\n201). He goes on to suggest that having never been an entirely separate\nentity or a fully integrated one, confusion or denial about its status ‘has had\nobvious and far-reaching ramifications’ (Barlow, 2005, p. 201). Johnes\n(2012) notes how the conquest of Wales by England preceded the\nurbanisation of Cardiff and the surrounding areas, so by the time urban\nareas began to emerge in Wales ‘London was already well established as the\ncentre of political power for the Welsh’ (p. 510).\nTwo of the matches which took place in Cardiff during England 2015\nfeatured the ‘home’ team as Wales took on Fiji and Uruguay in the\nMillennium Stadium. The two other teams in this so-called ‘group of\ndeath’, where only the winner and runner-up proceeded to the knockout\nstages, faced the Welsh at Twickenham, London – home of the England\nrugby team. Twickenham was the venue for England versus Wales and\nWales versus Australia despite a tongue-in-cheek bid by the Welsh Rugby\nUnion to stage the England versus Wales match at the Millennium Stadium.\nThis, like the game against Australia, evidences the collective power\nexerted by those at the core of international rugby governance whereas\nthose on the periphery such as Fiji and Uruguay are not afforded the same\nconsideration (see Harris, 2010; Harris and Wise, 2019). Wales may be on\nthe periphery in many discussions of globalisation, but in the rugby-playing\nworld they are very much part of the core and continue to wield\nconsiderable influence in the sport. I will now briefly look at some related\nissues in the wider landscape of international sport and some of the\nchallenges relating to the place of Wales in relation to English and British\nidentities.\n\n\nIt’s (not) just cricket: the complexities of national\nidentities\nCricket is often thought of as a quintessentially English game (see\nMalcolm, 2009; Wagg, 2007). In addition to the 2015 RWC case discussed\nabove, Cardiff hosted an England team on another occasion in that year\nwhen it staged an international test cricket match between England and\nAustralia. Four years later and Cardiff was also one of the venues for\nmatches as England won the men’s Cricket World Cup for the first time in\n2019. The team was captained by an Irish man who had previously\nrepresented Ireland. Its star players were an all-rounder born in New\nZealand and a fast bowler born in Barbados who had become eligible for\nEngland just before the tournament began. Under the auspices of the\nEngland and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) there has been an increased Welsh\ninfluence at the elite level in the past two decades (see Holden, 2011). The\nmissing ‘W’ in the abbreviation above is perhaps more noticeable now.\nUnlike the 2015 Rugby World Cup, Wales was included in the title of the\ntournament which was marketed as England & Wales 2019. Playing for a\nteam called England represents the pinnacle for Welsh cricketers. Yet this is\nnot universally accepted. In 2017, the then First Minister for Wales, Carwyn\nJones, stated that Wales should have its own one-day international cricket\nteam and noted that it was odd to see Ireland and Scotland playing this form\nof cricket whilst Wales were not.\nA number of red postboxes were painted gold in honour of those British\nathletes who won gold medals at the London 2012 Olympic and Paralympic\nGames. This included one for Jade Jones in Flint and one for Geraint\nThomas in Cardiff. Shortly after the success of the England cricket team in\n2019, the traditional red postboxes in cities that had staged test matches\nwere painted white to celebrate the victories of the England men’s team in\n2019 and the England women’s team in 2017. This was not universally\nwelcomed in Cardiff where Yes cymru (a group promoting independence for\nWales) stickers were soon plastered all over the postbox. This reflects the\ntensions around Cardiff’s increasing prominence in major English/British\nsporting events where it is both present and absent (see Harris, 2017).\nCardiff City and Swansea City both currently compete in the second tier\nof the English football pyramid. Cardiff won the FA Cup at Wembley\nStadium, the home of English football, in 1927. A little over seventy years\n\n\nlater and the capital city of Wales staged FA Cup finals as Wembley was\nredeveloped. During this time the Millennium Stadium also hosted Football\nLeague play-off finals and became, de facto, the temporary home of English\nfootball. There has long been opposition to the unique position of the four\nUK associations within the Federation Internationale de Football\nAssociation (FIFA). The controversy around the formation of the League of\nWales in the early 1990s and the decision of some clubs to remain in the\nEnglish semi-professional pyramid structure visibly highlighted some of\nthese tensions (see Duke and Crolley, 1996). For many years the threat of\nlosing independent status was one of the reasons why the idea of a UK team\nfor football at the Olympic Games was resisted by some of the national\nassociations including the Football Association of Wales.\nFor the Olympic and Paralympic Games in Britain’s biggest city, London\n2012 was conceived and promoted as a ‘British’ games (see Coe, 2012).\nThe first competition of this event took place in Cardiff as the Millennium\nStadium was chosen as the venue for the women’s football match between\nGB&NI and New Zealand two days before the opening ceremony itself in\nLondon. There was initially much scepticism and negativity surrounding\nLondon 2012 with some disquiet expressed over the so-called ‘Plastic Brits’\n(athletes born outside of GB&NI) who had been chosen for the team. The\nsuccess of Team GB meant that the games were widely celebrated as a great\nsuccess and a reaffirmation of British identity (see Harris and Vincent,\n2015).\nYet despite the successes of London 2012 many commentators wanted to\nhighlight the strength of a particular nation or region within the wider\ncollective. Some pointed out where the country of Yorkshire would sit in\nthe London 2012 medal table if it was an independent country. Similar\nclaims were made about the achievements of Scottish athletes although both\nof these skirted over the fact that a number of these medals were won in\nteam events where the majority of the team were from a region or nation\noutside those staking the claim. There was an element of this in the\ncoverage of the Olympic Games within the Western Mail, the self-styled\nnational newspaper of Wales (Harris and Vincent, 2015), although the main\nfocus within the newspaper was on celebrating the broader success of Team\nGB.\n\n\nConcluding remarks\nDuring a time of considerable anxiety and uncertainty, there has been much\ntalk about the possible break-up of the United Kingdom. With ongoing\ndebates around Scottish independence and the significance of the Irish\nborder in discussions of Brexit, then Wales is the nation mentioned least in\nany discussion. In overall percentage terms the people of Wales, like\nEngland, voted to leave the European Union (EU), although many\nnationalists still see the future of Wales as an independent nation within the\nEU. Discussions of national identities in a British context highlight the\n‘fuzzy frontiers’ (Cohen, 1995) of Britishness that often mean that and\nEngland are used interchangeably. The tensions that surround the\nrelationship between Wales and England resurface in many spheres\nincluding sport.\nThere was remarkably little commentary about having the capital city of\nWales as part of a tournament promoted as England 2015. This perhaps\nreflects the continued hegemony of England over Wales and muddies the\nwater for those who may sometimes find themselves having to explain that\nWales is a distinct and separate country to England (this was certainly my\nexperience when living in the USA). Scholars in tourism have long\nhighlighted the difficulties in identifying and marketing Wales as a distinct\nand separate entity (e.g. Pitchford, 1998). Visit Wales, and its partners, have\nworked hard to better position the nation in a range of international tourism\nmarkets. The hosting of the Ryder Cup in 2010 offered a ‘once in a lifetime\nopportunity’ to promote golf in Wales where one of the things it was most\nfirmly positioned against was the corporateness of England (see Harris,\n2018). This seemed somewhat problematic in an event that often takes\nplace in a luxury hotel resort, but in 2015 it was the corporateness of rugby\nunion that was central to having Cardiff as a host city for England 2015.\nThe image of rugby as a classless game lends itself well to a narrative that\nis often being used to (re)position Wales as different to England but such a\ndiscourse \ndoes \nnot \nmatch \nthe \nactivities \nwhere \nthe \nincreased\ncommercialisation and commodification of elite professional sport means\nthat ticket prices continue to rise. Wales versus England is still an important\nevent in rugby union. Wales and England are connected by the border that\nruns along the length of Wales. Raymond Williams grew up in that border\n\n\ncountry and his formative experiences here shaped his work as one of the\nforemost cultural analysts of his time.\nIn his powerful treatise of contemporary Wales, Brooks (2017, p. 144)\nnotes that today ‘the Welsh live at a time of real crisis’ and suggests that we\nface an uncertain future. There are similarities here with the words some\nthree decades earlier of Gwyn A. Williams (1985, p. 305) who ended his\nimportant historical account by describing his fellow Welsh men and\nwomen as ‘nothing but a naked people under an acid rain’. To return to the\nquotation that was used at the start of this chapter, it is important to note\nthat Raymond Williams (1971/2003) believed that everybody should speak\nand have the right to speak – this was the encouragement. The problem he\nidentified was the acute economic, political and cultural strains ‘in a world\nof crude power relationships and distant parliaments’ (Williams, 1971/2003,\np. 3). For many people in Wales that power base may have shifted (a little)\nfrom London to Cardiff but a number of the same challenges remain.\nReferences\nAnderson, B. (1983). Imagined communities: Reflections on the origins and spread of nationalism.\nLondon: Verso.\nBairner, A. (2009). National sports and national landscapes: In defence of primordialism. National\nIdentities, 11, 223–239.\nBarlow, D. (2005). What’s in the ‘post’? Mass media as a ‘site of struggle’. In J. Aaron and C.\nWilliams (Eds.) Postcolonial Wales. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.\nBowie, F. (1993). Wales from within: Conflicting interpretations of Welsh identity. In S. MacDonald\n(Ed.) Inside European Identities. Oxford: Berg.\nBrooks, S. (2017). Why Wales never was: The failure of Welsh nationalism. Cardiff: University of\nWales Press.\nCarroll, G. and Bairner, A. (2019). In from the side: Exile international rugby union players in\nBritain, blood ties and national identities. National Identities, 21(4), 417–433.\nCoe, S. (2012). Running my life: The autobiography. London: Hodder & Stoughton.\nCohen, R. (1995). Fuzzy frontiers of identity: The British case. Social Identities, 1(1), 35–62.\nDuke, V. and Crolley, L. (1996). Football, nationality and the state. Harlow: Longman.\nEvans, D. (2019). Welshness in ‘British Wales’: Negotiating national identity at the margins. Nations\nand Nationalism, 25(1), 167–190.\nEvans, N. (1991). Internal colonialism? Colonization, economic development and political\nmobilization. In G. Day and G. Rees (Eds.) Regions, nations and European integration: Remaking\nthe Celtic periphery. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.\nGiulianotti, R. and Robertson, R. (2009). Globalization and football. London: Sage.\nHarris, J. (2010). Rugby union and globalization: An odd-shaped world. Basingstoke: Palgrave\nMacmillan.\nHarris, J. (2015). Keeping up with the Joneses: Hosting mega-events as a regenerative strategy in\nnation imaging, imagining and branding. Local Economy, 30(8), 961–974.\n\n\nHarris, J. (2017). A city beyond the nation: Sport, tourism and events in the remaking of Cardiff. In\nN. Wise and J. Harris (Eds.) Sport, events, tourism and regeneration. London: Routledge.\nHarris, J. (2018). A Welsh European: Golf, tourism and the remaking of national imaging.\nInternational Journal of Cultural Studies, 21(4), 405–419.\nHarris, J. and Vincent, J. (2015). Narratives of Britishness and Team GB in the national newspaper of\nWales. International Journal of Sport Communication, 8(1), 1–17.\nHarris, J. and Wise, N. (2019) (Eds.). Rugby in global perspective: Playing on the periphery.\nLondon: Routledge.\nHechter, M. (1975). Internal colonialism: The Celtic fringe in British national development.\nBerkeley, CA: University of California Press.\nHolden, R. (2011). Never forget you’re Welsh: The role of sport as a political device in post-\ndevolution Wales. Sport in Society, 14(2), 272–288.\nHolt, R. (1990). Sport and the British: A modern history. Oxford: Oxford University Press.\nJohnes, M. (2012). Cardiff: The making and development of the capital city of Wales. Contemporary\nBritish History, 26(4): 509–528.\nJones, C. (2001). Mega-events and host-region impacts: Determining the true worth of the 1999\nRugby World Cup. International Journal of Tourism Research, 3, 241–251.\nMackay, H. (2010). Rugby: An introduction to contemporary Wales. In H. Mackay (Ed.)\nUnderstanding contemporary Wales. Cardiff: University of Wales Press/Open University.\nMalcolm, D. (2009). Malign or benign? English national identities and cricket. Sport in Society,\n12(4–5), 613–628.\nMorgan, K. (1971). The age of Lloyd George: The Liberal party and British politics, 1890–1929.\nLondon: Allen and Unwin.\nPitchford, S. (1998). Identity tourism: Imaging and imagining the nation. London: Elsevier.\nSmith, D. (2008). Raymond Williams: A warrior’s tale. Cardigan: Parthian.\nSport Wales (2012). A vision for sport in Wales. Cardiff: Sport Wales.\nWagg, S. (2007). ‘To be an Englishman’: Nation, ethnicity and English cricket in the global age.\nSport in Society, 10(1), 11–32.\nWelsh Assembly Government (2008). Event Wales: A major events strategy for Wales 2010–2020.\nCardiff: Welsh Assembly Government.\nWhitson, D. and Horne, J. (2006). Underestimated costs and overestimated benefits? Comparing the\noutcomes of sports mega-events in Canada and Japan. Sociological Review, 54(2), 73–89.\nWilliams, D. (2003) (Ed.). Who speaks for Wales? Nation, culture, identity: Raymond Williams.\nCardiff: University of Wales Press.\nWilliams, G.A. (1985). When was Wales? A history of the Welsh. Harmondsworth: Penguin.\nWilliams, J. (2000). Cardiff dead. London: Bloomsbury.\nWilliams, R. (1960). Border country. London: Chatto & Windus.\nWilliams, R. (1961). The long revolution. London: Chatto & Windus.\nWilliams, R. (1968). As we see others. The Listener, 1 August.\nWilliams, R. (1971/2003). Who speaks for Wales? In D. Williams (Ed.) Who speaks for Wales?\nNation, culture, identity: Raymond Williams. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.\nWilliams, R. (1975/2003). Welsh culture. In D. Williams (Ed.) Who speaks for Wales? Nation,\nculture, identity: Raymond Williams. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.\nWilliams, R. (1983/2003). Wales and England. In D. Williams (Ed.) Who speaks for Wales? Nation,\nculture, identity: Raymond Williams. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.\nWilliams, R. (1985/2003). The shadow of the dragon. In D. Williams (Ed.) Who speaks for Wales?\nNation, culture, identity: Raymond Williams. Cardiff: University of Wales Press.\nZimbalist, A. (2015). Circus maximus: The economic gamble behind hosting the Olympics and the\nWorld Cup. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press.\n\n\nChapter 4\nA game of lions and devils\nSport as a driver and inhibitor of Flemish\nsecession\nArnout Geeraert, Edith Drieskens and Bart\nMaddens\nIntroduction\nOne does not have to be a sport fan or a Flemish nationalist to know that the\nwestern provinces of Flanders become a sea of yellow every spring, when\nthousands of cycling fans carrying Flemish flags (called the ‘Flemish Lion’\nor ‘Lion flag’) line the roads during the Flanders Classics. Without doubt,\nthe Ronde van Vlaanderen (Tour of Flanders) appeals most to one’s\nimagination here. Created in 1913, to boost the sales of a pro-Flemish\nnewspaper, this race has had a strong regionalist imprint, as it was to fill\nFlemish people with pride of their region. These efforts have been\nsuccessful: the race has become “one of the most distinctive celebrations of\na regional sporting culture in Europe” (Roberts 2015, p. 1).\nFrom the outset, lyrical news reports about Flemish cyclists promoted\nFlemish identity in an intentional, yet seemingly innocuous manner,\nillustrating that sport can be indeed “a powerful signifier of identity”\n(Houlihan 1997, p. 135). The ‘Flandriens’ – a term originally reserved for\ncyclists from East and West Flanders who participated in the race – have\nplayed a crucial role in this regard. In their conquest of cobbled hills and\n\n\nroads, whatever the weather, but always relying on perseverance and brute\nforce, they have personified, even mystified, the struggle for Flemish\nemancipation: “[p]robably more than any poet or writer, they conquered the\nbody and soul of the population at large and provided a muscular answer to\nthe widespread feeling of cultural repression by a long-time hegemonic\nFrancophone Belgian State” (Renson 1998a, p. 126). As such, sport, and\ncycling in particular, has been “a prime mover for Flemish emancipation”\n(Renson 1998b, own translation).\nThis knowledge, combined with the observation that multiple\nillustrations can be found on the European continent of how sport is used as\na political instrument, both for the “celebration” and “promotion” of\nregional identity (Roberts 2015, p. 4), makes it seem only logical that the\ntwo Flemish separatist political parties also use sport, and cycling in\nparticular, as a political resource. As such, the promotional video ads that\nwere used in the context of the May 2019 election are hardly surprising.\nNieuw-Vlaamse Alliantie (New Flemish Alliance, N-VA) presented itself as\na team that cycles with determination and perseverance in the service of\n“Vlaanderen” (Flanders) and “vooruitgang” (progress) (N-VA 2019). Real\nprogress, meaning more jobs, higher wages and more security, so the\nviewer learns in the ad, requires change. In a similar vein, though opting for\na caricatural approach, Vlaams Belang (Flemish Interest) showed a puffing\ncyclist in a yellow jersey with a Flemish Lion print. A fat and lazy Walloon\nsitting on his luggage carrier, he is surpassed by cyclists of neighbouring\ncountries. Vlaams Belang leader Tom Van Grieken states in a voiceover that\nBelgium does not progress, even though Flemish people work hard. All\n“ballast” should be removed in order to remedy the situation, hence that\nFlemish resources should no longer go to Walloons or immigrants (Vlaams\nBelang 2019).\nIn the past, however, both N-VA and Vlaams Belang opposed the\nintertwining of politics and sport within a Belgian context. These parties\nhave faced a paradoxical situation (Maddens 2017). While separatist parties\nare increasingly popular in Flanders, separatism is not. Parties like N-VA\nand Vlaams Belang obtain an increasingly large share of the vote, but only a\nsmall percentage of the voters is actually separatist. The strong popular\nsupport for national sporting teams seems to illustrate this “Flemish\nParadox” (Maddens 2017, p. 55). This is particularly so for the national\nfootball team, who came home to a sea of red when an estimated 40,000\n\n\nfans lined the streets of Brussels and filled the Grand-Place to celebrate the\n“Red Devils’ ” third place in the 2018 World Cup. The apparent ease with\nwhich yellow Flemish flags are exchanged for Belgian tricolour ones seems\nto confirm that sport is “an extremely unstable cultural source” and the\nsymbolism of events is often intense but short-lived (Houlihan 1997, p.\n135). Yet, this rule does not seem to apply to the Red Devils. The team is\nconsistently cited as one of the few institutions left along which a Belgian\nidentity can be created and sustained, especially since it has become more\nsuccessful in recent years (Swenden and Jans 2006, Tolleneer 1997).\nCommentators, marketeers, but also the players have cultivated what has\nbecome a symbiotic relationship and emphasise the unity of the\nmulticultural Red Devils (Belga 2018, Martin 2017, Mudde 2014).\nThe contrasting images of Flemish and Belgian flags reveal a tension, as\nsport events serve as vehicles for expressing both Flemish and Belgian\nidentity. This chapter shows that sport is consequently instrumentalised for\nboth separatist and unionist purposes in the case of Belgium. More\nspecifically, this chapter explores how Flemish separatist and Belgian\nunionist forces manifest themselves in relation to sport. It does so by\nidentifying the relevant actors and the institutional context in which these\nactors operate. This exercise allows for an appraisal of the role of sport in\nFlemish secession efforts. Setting the scene, the first section discusses the\ngovernment and sport structure so as to define the limitations and\nopportunities surrounding the instrumentalisation of sport. The second\nsection analyses how sport has been used to create a sharper sense of both\nnational and regional identity. The conclusion summarises the main\nfindings and explores the way forward.\nHistorical and institutional background\nIn this chapter, we show that one has to understand the functioning of\nBelgium as a federal state and thus as a system of multi-level governance in\norder to understand the interrelationship between sport and secession within\nthe country. In fact, the ads discussed above alluded to the very same thing,\ni.e. a desire for more powers, thus autonomy, for Flanders, though N-VA\nand Vlaams Belang have different views on what the endgame should look\nlike. Currently the biggest party in Belgium, N-VA has been labelled a\n“centre-right conservative party” (Maddens 2017, p. 55). It argues for\n\n\nimplementing a confederalist Belgian state structure, seeing it as a viable\nintermediate step towards establishing a Flemish republic in the long run.\nThe “far-right” Vlaams Belang, however, defends Flemish independence as\na short-term goal (Maddens 2017). However, it has always put more\nemphasis on its anti-immigration programme, for which it has been labelled\n“an antidemocratic racist party” (Maly 2016, pp. 266–267). The other\npolitical parties have therefore consistently refused to govern with the party,\neven though it currently is the second-biggest party in Flanders and the\nthird-biggest in Belgium.\nClaims for more Flemish autonomy are not new. In reality, the hollowing\nout of the Belgian state has been ongoing for many years. Created as a\nunitary state in 1830, Belgium has evolved into a federal state following a\nphased process of state reform that started in 1970. Nobody knows how\nmany more rounds will follow or what the final outcome will be, but 1993\nseems to have been a point of no return. That year, Belgium officially\nbecame a federal state with three regions (Flemish Region, Walloon Region\nand Brussels Capital Region) and three Communities (Flemish Community,\nFrench Community and German-speaking Community). The institutions of\nthe Flemish Region and the Flemish Community are merged, as a result of\nwhich six governments define Belgian governance today, i.e. one federal\none and five regional ones.\nTo the outside world, however, Belgium is mostly known for its two\nlinguistic groups and their delicate relationship: the Dutch-speaking\n‘Flemish’ and the French-speaking ‘Walloons’ (Deschouwer 2012). These\ngroups are separated by the ‘language border’, which runs across the middle\nof the country, from west to east just below Brussels. Largely speaking, the\nFlemish live in the northern part of the country, while the Walloons reside\nin the southern part. The willingness to accommodate peaceful co-existence\nbetween these two groups has driven past reform. Nearly all steps taken\nhave reduced the powers of the central state, while enhancing those of the\nfederated entities. In practice, two concerns, namely cultural and socio-\neconomic autonomy, have dominated discussions (Swenden and Jans 2006).\nCultural autonomy has been the main concern in the northern part of the\ncountry. Advocating Flemish emancipation, the Flemish movement\nemerged in reaction to French being the official language in the newly\ncreated state of Belgium, where the majority of the population spoke Dutch.\nGradually, this movement broadened its focus to include socio-economic\n\n\nissues. Today, these issues seem to be the core concern (Maddens 2017).\nThis process is very different from the southern part of the country, where\nsocio-economic autonomy has been the main, even only, concern in relation\nto devolution. Unlike in Flanders, there is no strong shared sense of\nregional identity or political parties cultivating such identity.\nA closer look at the distribution of competences shows that both these\ndrivers are represented in Belgium’s institutional structure. Echoing the\nFlemish concern for cultural autonomy, the Communities are responsible\nfor issues with an individual orientation. Examples include culture,\neducation and sport. The regions, by contrast, reflect Wallonia’s focus on\nsocio-economic \nautonomy. \nHaving \na \nterritorial \norientation, \ntheir\ncompetences include issues such as environment and agriculture. The\nfederal authorities remain competent for policies with a general interest,\nsuch as social security, foreign affairs, justice and defence.\nSport has not always been a regional competence, though. Neither has it\nalways been referred to in one breath with culture. For a long time, it was\nseen as a health issue, thus falling under the competences of the Ministry of\nHealth. This would change in the early 1960s, when coalition talks resulted\nin a typically Belgian compromise. Simply put, the socialist party agreed to\nthe catholic party’s request for a language-based split of the Ministry of\nNational Education and Culture, thus to the first decentralisation of a\nministry along communitarian lines (Gosseye 2012). In exchange, they\ndemanded that sport be transferred from the unitary Ministry of Health, a\ndepartment traditionally run by the catholic party, to these two new entities\n(Eyskens 2010, p. 659).1 A second development that resulted in the current\nstate of affairs took place a few years later, in 1970. Following the first step\nin the process of state reform, the Communities became responsible for\nsport, giving them more opportunity for pursuing their own preferences\nregarding both the promotion and subsidising of sport.2\nOn the ground, this transfer became particularly visible through the de-\nestablishment of the bilingual National Institute for Physical Education\n(NILOS-INEPS, Nationaal Instituut voor Lichamelijke Opvoeding, de Sport\nen het Openluchtleven – Institut National pour l’Education Physique et les\nSports) and the creation of the mono-lingual Dutch-speaking Bestuur voor\nLichamelijke Opvoeding, Sport en Openluchtleven (BLOSO)3 and the\nFrancophone Administration de L’Education Physique et des Sports\n(ADEPS). While the building of sport infrastructure in all corners of\n\n\nFlanders, like the implementation of large-scale ‘Sport for All’ campaigns,\nfitted into the idea of “new, democratized Flemish culture”, it was the year\n1977 that would mark the real start of government intervention in sport\n(Bloso 1985, Gosseye 2012, p. 273, Renson 2006, p. 128). That year, the\nFlemish Community used its sporting competence to introduce a decree to\nregulate subsidies for sport federations, obliging sport federations to split up\ninto separate Flemish and Francophone ‘wings’ in order to receive\nsubsidies.4\nThis is not to say that there were no Flemish-oriented sport organisations\nbefore 1977. To the contrary: a Flemish-inclined gymnastics organisation\n(Gymnastische Volkskring) was founded as early as 1868. Various other\norganisations were created during the interbellum. After the First World\nWar, the Flemish movement moved beyond mere cultural or linguistic aims\nand began striving for Flemish autonomy, while the more radical Flemish\nnationalists opted for outright secession. Their nation- and state-building\nstrategy also involved the development of a Flemish nationalist ‘pillar’, i.e.\na network of interlocking organisations. As part of that attempt, various\nFlemish sport associations were founded. They include the Flemish\nFootball Association, the Flemish Tennis Federation and the Flemish\nSwimming Union. These associations opposed the official Belgian and\noften predominantly Francophone organisations. However, due to the\ncollaboration of Flemish nationalists with the German occupier during the\nSecond World War, Flemish nationalism became discredited and its\norganisational network collapsed, along with the Flemish sport federations\n(Renson 1998b).\nThe discussions surrounding the adoption of the 1977 decree revealed\nthat there were two opposing groups in Belgian sport governance at the\ntime: “the Belgian sporting establishment”, which strongly opposed what it\nsaw as “split fever”, and a group of Flemish sport officials, which\nwelcomed the opportunity to go their own way (Renson 2006, p. 137, own\ntranslation, see also Bloso 1985, p. 8). Unsurprisingly, the first group was\ndriven by the largely French-speaking Belgian National Olympic\nCommittee (BOC), which even renamed itself Belgian Olympic and\nInterfederal Committee (BOIC) in 1978 in an “explicit attempt” to keep\nBelgian sport federations united under its umbrella (Renson 2006, p. 138,\nown translation). By the end of the 1970s, however, most of the federations\nwere organised along federated lines. The exceptions were the federations\n\n\nwith particularly rich members (such as the golf federation and the\nequestrian federation) and the most popular sport federations (such as the\nfootball federation and the basketball federation), whose budgets did not\nrely on regional funding since they had had sufficient commercial revenue\n(Thibaut, 2000, pp. 9–10). Whereas even these federations would split up in\nthe 2000s,5 the BOIC has consistently resisted political pressure to follow\nsuit (Renson 2006).\nEqually unsurprising is that BLOSO took the lead in developing an\nautonomous Flemish sport policy. It “went on to sail a resolute Flemish\ncourse” by organising, among others, the ‘Gordel’, a popular family cycling\nand walking event that was organised from 1981 (to 2012) to symbolically\naffirm the Flemish character of the increasingly French-speaking Flemish\noutskirts of Brussels (Renson 1998b, own translation).6 Though it faced\nbudget strains during the 1980s, the Flemish government tightened its grip\non sport during the 1990s through campaigns aimed at promoting the\nphysical activity of the Flemish youth. The year 1993 was particularly\nimportant here: the new step of state reform that was taken that year\nprovided impetus for a number of initiatives aimed at the international\npromotion of Flanders through sport. An important driving force behind\nthese initiatives was then Flemish minister-president Luc Vanden Brande.\nAt his behest, a Flemish judo team was established and funded by the\nFlemish government in 1993 to act as ‘Flemish cultural ambassadors’ by\nparticipating in international events with the Flemish Lion on their\nkimonos. The Flemish judo team was short-lived, however, as the European\njudo federation promptly banned the use of the Flemish Lion, considering it\na form of illegal political advertising (Thibaut 2000, p. 21). In 1994, the\nFlemish government started funding a cycling team named ‘Vlaanderen\n2002 – Eddy Merckx’ to allow young talent to join the professional ranks\nand to promote Flanders internationally (Vlaamse Raad 1994, p. 956). In\nthe same vein, in 1995, it started funding international elite sport events that\nexplicitly promoted Flanders through the association ‘Topsport Flanders\n2002’ (Thibaut 2000, pp. 22–23). It was, however, not until the end of the\n1990s that the Flemish government devised a formal policy plan for sport\n(in 1997) and appointed a minister of sport (in 1999).\nThe instrumentalisation of sport for unionist purposes\n\n\nThe institutional set-up of both the Belgian state and the private sport\nregime generates both drivers and inhibitors for those who seek to\ninstrumentalise sport for their separatist agendas. Because Flemish athletes\nmust participate in international sporting events under the Belgian flag and\nin Belgian national teams, international sport events do not provide an\nopportunity for legitimating the idea of an independent Flemish state and\nexpressing Flemish identity. On the contrary, sport provides opportunity for\npromoting Belgian unity. This section first discusses this by drawing on\nextant literature and by building on Billig’s (1995) seminal concept of\n‘banal nationalism’. Next, it explores how two types of Belgian unitary\nactors, the Belgian monarchy and Belgian sport bodies, use sport to boost\nnational unity in spite of the federalisation of Belgian sport structures.\nMitigating secessionism: sport as a metaphor for unity and a\nsource of banal nationalism\nTwo factors that make sport a political resource for promoting Belgian unity\nare palpable. First, successful multicultural Belgian sport teams provide a\nvisible metaphor for justification of the unionist argument that a division of\nthe country would be a disadvantage. Even though individual athletes also\nrepresent the nation when competing in non-domestic competitions,\nnational teams in particular “are often equated with the nation” (Grix and\nHoulihan 2014, p. 574) and, thus, “provide a valuable metaphor for the\nnation” (Houlihan 1997, p. 122). In the case of Belgium, this is particularly\ntrue when the composition of national teams reflects the cultural-ethnic mix\nof the Belgian population. When successful, these teams are an analogy to\nBelgian nationalist discourse, which habitually stresses that “a division of\nthe country into its monocultural segments would constitute an\nimpoverishment” (Maddens and Vanden Berghe 2003, p. 613). This\nexplains why the national team of Belgium’s undisputed number one sport,\nfootball, has been regarded as “a solid – and probably unique – symbol of\nnational unity unmatched by other expressions of nationalism” (Vanreusel\net al. 1999, p. 106). In fact, the Red Devils brand has never been more\nsuccessful than in recent years, thanks to the successes generated by a\ntalented generation of football players combined with very effective\nmarketing campaigns (Martiniello and Boucher 2017).7 Following the\nexample of the successful Red Devils brand, other Belgian national teams\n\n\nhave adopted English nicknames and ‘Belgian’ branding in an effort to\nunite athletes and enthuse fans, so as to achieve sportive as well as\ncommercial success (Martin 2017). Particularly the sportive successes of\nthe Red Lions (2018 men’s hockey world champions and 2019 European\nchampions), the Belgian Cats (fourth place, 2018 women’s basketball world\nchampionship), the Belgian Tornados (men’s 4 × 400 m 2018 European\nChampions and 2019 indoor European champions) have recently attracted\npublic attention. The fact that the Red Devils are no longer a unique\nphenomenon strengthens the link between sport and national unity.\nSport as a source of banal Belgian nationalism is the second factor that\nexplains why it can be employed for promoting Belgian unity. As Houlihan\nobserves, international sport competition provides an emotionally charged\noccasion for citizens to symbolically associate with the state (Houlihan\n1997, p. 121). Such competition does indeed bring about a high salience of\nBelgian symbols in news media, public discourse and public spaces\n(Martiniello and Boucher 2017). A large majority of Flemings feel\npositively about Belgian sporting success (De Rycke and De Bosscher\n2018).8 However, the effects of national sport success on feelings of\nnational pride and belonging are generally not considered sustainable\n(Elling et al. 2014). Scholars accordingly doubt that expressions of Belgian\nidentity during major sport events constitute a sustainable form of Belgian\nnationalism. De Waele and Sterck (2018) argue that the recent enthusiasm\nfor the Red Devils represents more of “a fleeting trend, an opportunity for\nBelgians to enjoy good times together at a time where the country has been\ngoing through political and social tensions for years” (p. 28). Martiniello\nand Boucher (2017) even consider the possibility that support for the Red\nDevils amounts to endorsing “a winning brand” (p. 234).9 Yet the concept\nof ‘banal nationalism’ suggests that the impact of sport on Belgian identity\nmight work on an unconscious level. Introduced by Billig’s (1995) seminal\nwork, banal nationalism denotes the manifestation of the nation on a daily\nbasis in a mundane or a banal, seemingly innocuous manner, such that\n“national identity is seldom forgotten” (Billig 1995, p. 174). In that regard,\nthe presence and celebration of Belgian symbols and the use of a Belgian\ndiscursive frame of reference in the news media during major sport events\nconstitute an unquestioned and omnipresent identity experience. At the very\nleast, it unconsciously reminds Flemings of their Belgian identity (cf. Billig\n1995). Against the background of separate Flemish political, institutional\n\n\nand media systems, international sport competition even constitutes a rare\nopportunity for Flemings to experience Belgian identity. Sport could\ntherefore be said to play a role in mitigating secessionist forces and, for as\nlong as Flemings still accept their Belgian nationality as a fact of everyday\nreality, it is arguably more difficult to construct the “subjective will” to\nform a Flemish nation (Maly 2016, p. 276).\nThe Belgian monarchy\nWhile Belgian sportive success provides an opportunity for political\ninstrumentalisation, sport is a regional competence. The central government\nthus does not have the policy tools to systematically employ sport as a\nresource for national identity management.10 The Belgian monarchy fills\nthis void most visibly by associating itself with Belgian sportive success.\nThis is no surprise, as it traditionally “serves as a federal tool for mobilising\nthe Belgian public against more regional autonomy, let alone secession” and\nis one of “few institutions of symbolic significance left along which a\nBelgian identity can be sustained or constructed” (Swenden and Jans 2006,\np. 890). The king and queen thus visibly attend important international sport\ntournaments and matches. Athletes and teams that have performed well in\ninternational tournaments are typically invited to the royal palace for a\nformal celebration in the presence of news media. After achieving third\nplace at the 2018 World Cup, for instance, the Red Devils were publicly\nhonoured by King Filip, who thanked the team “in the name of all\nBelgians” and praised its “team spirit” (in Sporza 2018). It has been argued\nthat the discursive use of “all Belgians” in the speeches of the monarch\nseeks “to marginalise the separatists” since it implies that “the proponents\nof open or hidden separatism exclude themselves from the Belgian in-group\nand in a sense become foreigners” (Maddens and Vanden Berghe 2003, p.\n612). In a similar vein, individual politicians have capitalised on the\nenthusiasm for Belgian sporting success to highlight their (party’s) pro-\nunionist stance and to contrast it with Flemish nationalists’ lukewarm or\ndownright negative attitudes towards the Belgian state. In 2015, for\nexample, a French socialist politician called upon the Belgian parliament to\napplaud the Red Devils’ first place on the official ranking of national\nfootball teams – the Flemish nationalist parties reportedly did not respond\nto her call (Belga 2015).\n\n\nSport governing bodies\nThe Belgian monarchy is not the only institution operating at the federal\nlevel that has the opportunity to promote Belgian unity through sport.\nDespite the aforementioned split of unionist sport federations, the BOIC\nthus far has managed to resist pressure to split into separate divisions. In\naddition, Belgian sport federations still exist for the simple reason that they\nhave to represent Belgium as a whole in international sport organisations,\nselecting athletes that compete in international events, and, in the case of\nsome, such as the football, basketball and hockey federations, regulating\nnation-wide competition. The majority of these federations could be\ncharacterised as “empty shell[s]” in which “the two ‘wings’ of the old\nAssociation [hold] the ‘umbrella’ together” (Bloso 1985, p. 8, own\ntranslation). Nonetheless, all retain their aforementioned competences and\nsome Belgian federations even generate significant revenue through\ninternational funds and the sale of marketing rights.\nBelgian private sport bodies are often committed to achieving a greater\ndegree of Belgian unity. Adopting slogans such as “tous ensemble/allemaal\nsamen” (all together) and “red together”, the Belgian football federation’s\nrecent marketing campaigns are deliberately aimed at expressing and\ninspiring unity (Belga 2018). This is no coincidence; in the past, players\nsuch as Vincent Kompany cited lack of unity between Flemings and\nWalloons as a key factor contributing to the underwhelming results of the\nRed Devils (Simons 2007). Such tensions have been fuelled by the Flemish\nand Walloon press, which have typically had distinct appreciations of\nspecific athletes and coaches based on their cultural-linguistic background\n(Vanreusel et al. 1999). By contrast, the current Flemish and Francophone\nmedia coverage of the Red Devils emphasises the unity of the multicultural\nteam (Mudde 2014). As mentioned, other Belgian sport federations\nrecognise that a narrative of unity provides an opportunity for bringing\ntogether Belgian fans, athletes and the media (Martin 2017). Whether\nintentional or not, such narratives could be interpreted as a discursive\ndefence of Belgian unity.\nBeyond achieving commercial and sportive goals, some sport governing\nbodies are said to have ideological motives for promoting Belgian identity\ndue to their close ties with the still existing Belgian political and economic\nelite (Stuurgroep Sportend Vlaanderen 1997, p. 29). For example, the\n\n\nBelgian football federation has been characterised as “a bastion of unitarian\nBelgicism” (Vanreusel et al. 1999, p. 103, see also above) and the Belgian\nhockey federation as “very elitist Francophone” (Renson 1998b, own\ntranslation). Like the Belgian cycling and basketball federations, they long\nresisted political pressure to split into Flemish and Francophone divisions.\nThe most prominent example in this regard, however, is the BOIC, which\ntraditionally has strong links with the Belgian monarchy and nobility and\neconomic elite (Renson 2006). According to Vanreusel et al. (1999), the\nBOIC “is traditionally a Belgian nationalist stronghold” that “acts as a\nmilitant defendant of the unitarian state” (p. 106). To this end, it capitalises\non Belgian sporting success to promote Belgian identity and construct a\nbasis for national unity. In the words of Vanreusel et al. (1999), the BOIC\n“uses a subtle nationalist vocabulary and successes by Olympic athletes are\nstrongly praised in a national Belgian context” (Vanreusel et al. 1999).\nMoreover, the BOIC’s actions have gone beyond the discursive promotion\nof Belgian identity. When, in 2003, the Flemish government considered a\nbid to organise the 2016 Olympic Games to promote the Flemish region\ninternationally, the BOIC responded that it would only support a bid that\ninvolved all Belgian regions (Renson 2006, p. 168). Then IOC president\nand former BOIC president Jacques Rogge supported this position and\nstressed that Flanders would have to involve Brussels and Wallonia in its\nbid (Killemaes 2003).\nThe instrumentalisation of sport for secessionist\npurposes\nIt is no wonder that the instrumentalisation of sport for unionist purposes\ndoes not sit well with those that seek Flemish autonomy. This section\nexplores how the Flemish nationalist parties N-VA and Vlaams Belang and\nthe Flemish movement are currently employing sport as a political resource.\nThe Flemish nationalist political parties\nThe two Flemish nationalist parties Vlaams Belang and N-VA have\ndifferent ways of dealing with the instrumentalisation of sport for unionist\npurposes. While Vlaams Belang vehemently dismisses the impact of\nsporting success on national unity (Pas 2018), N-VA has used its political\n\n\ncapital as the leading political party in Flanders to oppose new initiatives\nthat would express national unity through sport. For instance, it blocked the\nsale of Flemish plots of land necessary for the construction of a new\nnational football stadium that would be used by the Red Devils and\nBrussels football club Anderlecht (Bervoet 2017).11\nEven though both parties have been critical of the political\ninstrumentalisation of sport by Belgian nationalists and N-VA officials\ntypically underscore that sport and politics should not be mixed, they, too,\nseek to instrumentalise sport for the construction of a Flemish identity\n(Neyt 2016, Pas 2018, Taiana 2019, Van Peel 2018). For instance, Vlaams\nBelang has been advocating a split of the BOIC. Since the mid-2000s, when\nthe Red Devils were seriously underperforming and communitarian\ntensions were palpable in the team, the party has repeatedly called for the\nestablishment of a Flemish national football team that would imply the\nabolishment of the Belgian national football team (Flemish Parliament\n2005). It has been supportive of a 2010 media campaign by the Flemish\nmovement that proposed a Flemish national football team under the\nnickname Flemish Lions to promote Flemish identity (Belga 2010). This\ninitiative was abandoned as it is deemed unviable within the context of the\nrecent international success and popular support for the Red Devils (SSL\n2016). Accordingly, though certain members of Vlaams Belang are still\nsupportive of the idea of a Flemish national football team, it is currently not\na priority issue (Taiana 2019).\nBy contrast, N-VA is more ambiguous on the matter even though it has\nheld the ministerial position of sport in the Flemish government since 2009.\nOn one hand, the cabinet of Flemish minister of sport Philippe Muyters (N-\nVA) indicated that it would be supportive of initiatives to establish a\nFlemish national football team in order to incorporate Flemish football\nplayers that do not qualify for the Red Devils (SSL 2016). On the other\nhand, minister Muyters and other N-VA mandataries stress that they would\nonly seek to establish a Flemish team in the context of a politically\nindependent Flanders (Vlaams Parlement 2005, Neyt 2016). Establishing a\nfull-fledged Flemish team that would abolish the Red Devils is considered\ntoo complex and provocative (Vlaams Parlement 2005). Consequently, the\nN-VA party bureau has instructed elected party members to dodge questions\nabout the Red Devils’ performance (Demeulemeester 2014).\n\n\nN-VA’s reticent approach towards a Flemish national football team\nmirrors the party’s general political strategy. Aware that overt separatism is\nnot so popular in Flanders, N-VA considers Flemish independence a long-\nterm goal, which is to be reached through a coordinated strategy of\nbanalising nationalism (Billig 1995, Maly 2016, see above). Accordingly,\nN-VA shies away from ‘hot’ Flemish nationalism by promoting “a new\nnationalistic discourse which has succeeded in positioning the party as\n‘moderate’, ‘democratic’, ‘intellectual’, ‘rational’ and as very different from\nthe ‘closed nationalism’ of Vlaams Belang” (Maly 2016, p. 279). This\ncould explain why, in his ten-year reign as sport minister, Philippe Muyters\ntook a less voluntaristic approach towards instrumentalising sport than the\nFlemish government in the early 1990s. For instance, unlike some of his\npredecessors, he avoided sensitive issues like the split of the BOIC, which\nreceives regional funding despite remaining unitary, and the representation\nof Flanders at international sport events (Goubert 2018). Instead, Muyters\nundertook rather orthodox initiatives to manage identity and achieve\ninternational prestige through public sport policies. Most of these initiatives\nbuilt on policies that already existed. They include the funding of\ninternational sport events and a cycling team, a range of measures to\nsupport elite athlete development, and campaigns to promote the visibility\nof Flemish elite sport programmes and the presence of Flanders in\ninternational fora (Muyters 2009, 2014).\nDespite attracting criticism from Flemish nationalists (Goubert 2018),\none could argue that this soft approach towards instrumentalising sport\npermits the seemingly apolitical manifestation of Flemish symbols in daily\nlife and, in this way, provides an almost subliminal counterweight for the\nunitary sportive identity politics. This Flemish policy allows highly visible\nFlemish institutions such as Flemish sport federations and the Flemish sport\nadministration to remain uncontroversial and thus become banal and taken-\nfor-granted aspects of Flemish society. Muyters’ decision to change the\nname of the Flemish sport administration from ‘BLOSO’ – a highly\nrecognised and successful brand – to ‘Sport Vlaanderen’ (‘Sport Flanders’)\nin 2016 can be seen in the same light. Sparking little controversy, the name\nchange significantly increased the visibility of the Flemish nature of an\ninstitution that takes a central position in the governance and funding of\nrecreational and elite sport (De Boeck 2015).\n\n\nThe Flemish movement\nWhile the Flemish movement was very active in the field of sport during\nthe interbellum, as mentioned above, this was far less the case in the post-\nwar period. This neglect of sport can be attributed to three developments.\nFirst, the establishment from 1977 onwards of Flemish and hence unilingual\nDutch sport federations meant that a key goal of the movement had been\nreached. Second, the Flemish movement became dominated by intellectuals\nand the highly educated, who had a certain disdain for popular sport\n(Goubert 2018, Interview Steven Vergauwen, staff member Vlaamse\nVolksbeweging, 23 October 2019). Finally, as demonstrated above, towards\nthe end of the twentieth century, the Flemish government had taken over the\ninstrumentalisation of sport for Flemish identity management from the\nFlemish movement.\nNevertheless, it is this government policy which, at the beginning of this\ncentury, seems to have triggered a renewed interest in sport within the\nmovement. The government’s prudent approach towards sport and identity\npolitics did not sit well with the radicalised Flemish nationalists, who again\nstarted to advocate outright secession. However, because the movement\nlacked the means and the popular support to actively promote independence\nthrough sport, it opted for a softer strategy of banal nationalism by making\nthe Flemish flag as visible as possible during sportive events (cf. Billig\n1995, p. 122). For that purpose, in 2001, a specific organisation was\ncreated, namely ‘Vlaanderen Vlagt’ (‘Flanders waves the flag’).\nInspired by the Basques, who have a long tradition of waving the\nikurrina whenever a race passes through their region, the movement\nfocused on cycling. Given the close connection between cycling and\nFlemish identity, waving the Flemish flag rather than the Belgian one\nduring a cycling event is generally considered as something natural and\nnon-political. For the past two decades, Flemish nationalists have massively\ndistributed flags during the Tour of Flanders, Paris–Roubaix, the Tour de\nFrance and major Flemish cyclo-cross events. For instance, during the Tour\nof Flanders of 2019, no less than 80,000 little flags were handed to the\nspectators. That the Flemish Lion now has become an integral part of the\nscenery of cycling is considered by many Flemish nationalists as one the\nmost notable achievements of the past years (Interview Steven Vergauwen,\nstaff member Vlaamse Volksbeweging, 23 October 2019).12\n\n\nOther attempts by Flemish nationalists to instrumentalise sport have\nbeen less successful. As noted, initiatives to create a Flemish national\nfootball team in the early 2000s were in vain. The Flemish movement\nlacked the logistics and finances to pursue a plan to organise a Flemish–\nCatalan match in Barcelona and minister Muyters declined to provide\ngovernmental support (Interview Wart Van Schel, former staff member\nVlaamse Volksbeweging, 25 October 2019). When, a few years later, the\nRed Devils became successful and popular again, the Flemish movement\nrealised that any proposal to split the team would only be met with\ncontempt and ridicule.\nConclusion\nThis chapter demonstrates that sport is regarded as a potent resource for\nthose who seek more far-reaching regionalisation or a downright split of the\nBelgian state. While the Flemish movement initially instrumentalised sport\nto help accomplish the social and cultural emancipation of the Flemish\npeople, it is currently used by both the largest Flemish party N-VA and the\nFlemish movement in the context of a soft strategy of banalising Flemish\nnationalism. While the Flemish governments’ current uncontroversial\napproach towards identity management through sport fits within N-VA’s\nconscious moderate nationalist discourse, a lack of resources explains in\npart why the Flemish movement’s strategy is limited to distributing Lion\nflags during cycling events.\nBoth are, however, also confronted with the reality that a push towards\nsecessionism through sport is unviable within the context of the\ninternational success of Belgian national teams. In fact, by serving as\nmetaphors for Belgian unity, successful multicultural national teams like the\nRed Devils reinforce and confirm the Belgian nationalist discourse that a\nsplit of the country would constitute an impoverishment. Moreover,\nexpressions of Belgian identity during major sport events constitute a banal\nform of Belgian nationalism. Reminding Flemings of their Belgian identity,\nthey contribute to the acceptance of Belgian nationality as a fact of\neveryday reality. This potential role of sport in mitigating, even countering\nsecessionist forces makes it a valuable political resource for those who seek\nto protect Belgian unity.\n\n\n1\n2\n3\n4\n5\n6\n7\n8\nConcluding, it is clear that sport is both a significant driver and inhibitor\nfor Flemish secessionism. The politics and impact of the instrumentalisation\nof sport for both separatist and unionist purposes therefore deserve further\nscholarly attention. The metaphorical back and forth game between lions\nand devils, separatism and unionism in Belgian politics results in peculiar\ndynamics. These dynamics will most likely continue to be at play, unless\nthe institutional context dramatically changes, particularly if Belgium were\nto split. Until then, seas of yellow and red supporters will keep alternating\nlike the turn of the tide, as Flemings habitually express both their national\nand sub-national identities during sport events.\nAcknowledgements\nThe authors wish to thank Malaika Schwedes, Frederik Verleden and the\ninterviewees for providing valuable input. The usual disclaimer applies.\nNotes\nThe authors wish to thank Frederik Verleden for pointing this out.\nThe constitutional amendment of 24 December 1970 established that the national parliament has\nno competence in cultural affairs, which are transferred to the Cultural Councils of the\nCommunities. Article 2.9 of the law of 21 July 1971 on the competence and functioning of the\nCultural Councils for the Dutch Cultural Community and for the French Cultural Community\n[Wet betreffende de bevoegdheid en de werking van de Cultuurraden voor de Nederlandse\ncultuurgemeenschap en voor de Franse cultuurgemeenschap] defined physical education, sport\nand outdoor activity as cultural matters.\nThough the name and legal status of the agency would change multiple times, it would keep its\nBLOSO acronym until 2016, when Sport Vlaanderen was established (see below).\nAdopted on 2 March 1977. The Francophone community had no choice but to adopt a similar\ndecree and did so on 22 December 1977.\nThe equestrian federation split up in 2000, the cycling and basketball federations in 2001, the\nfootball federation in 2009, and the hockey federation in 2012.\nThe event was restyled into the less politically oriented ‘Gordelfestival’ following the split of the\nelectoral district of Brussels-Halle-Vilvoorde into the electoral districts of Brussels and Flemish\nBrabant in 2012. This split eased major political tensions between the linguistic communities.\nThe current generation of Red Devils reflects the Belgian ethno-cultural reality, as it is\nmultilingual and a significant number of players are from an immigrant background. Notice that\nthe Belgian football team which came fourth in the 1986 World Cup was predominantly\ncomposed of (white) Flemings, the most notable exception being Enzo Scifo, the Francophone\nstar player of Italian descent.\nA sense of pride for the recent achievements of the Red Devils has also been prevalent among\nsegments of Belgium’s migrant population (Martiniello and Boucher 2017). Whether the success\nof the highly multicultural Belgian national football team contributes to a stronger identification\n\n\n9\n10\n11\n12\nwith Belgium among migrants, on one hand, and more tolerance towards immigrants among\nBelgian nationals, on the other, has yet to be researched.\nNote that, on the occasion of the 2018 World Cup, Belgian brewery Anheuser-Busch InBev\nchanged the name of Jupiler, the most popular beer in Belgium, to ‘Belgium’ for five months.\nNotice, however, that the federal government can still allocate funds, for instance, for enhancing\nthe international image of Belgium. Consequently, it has funded the start of the Tour de France\nin Brussels in 2019.\nThe Brussels government definitively shelved its plans for the stadium in 2018. At that time, the\ncity had already lost its hosting privileges for the 2020 European football championship\nfollowing multiple construction delays.\nThis is all the more remarkable, as the flag shown is not the official one, but the so-called battle\nflag, featuring the Flemish Lion with black claws instead of red ones. This is comparable to the\ndistinction between the official Catalan flag and the Estelada or independence flag. The use of\nthe battle flag has recently been discredited through its association with far-right groups.\nReferences\nBelga, 2010. Muyters moet Vlaamse nationale ploeg opstarten. Brussels: Belga.\nBelga, 2015. Rode Duivels krijgen geen applaus van N-VA. Brussels: Belga.\nBelga, 2018. Rode Duivels – KBVB-campagne #REDTOGETHER benadrukt verenigende kracht\nvoetbal. 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Available from:\nwww.youtube.com/watch?v=OT6JXoETJn4 [Accessed 1 December 2019].\nNeyt, G., 2016. Vloeken N-VA-politici écht als de Rode Duivels scoren? Wij vroegen het hen. Het\nNieuwsblad [online], 28 June. Available from: www.nieuwsblad.be [Accessed 1 December 2019].\nPas, B., 2018. “We are Belgium”, Rode Duivels redden België. Doorbraak.be [online], 11 May.\nAvailable from: https://doorbraak.be/we-are-belgium-rode-duivels/ [Accessed 1 December 2019].\nRenson, R., 1998a. Sport and the Flemish Movement: Resistance and accommodation 1868–1914.\nIn: K. Deprez and L. Vos, eds. Nationalism in Belgium: Shifting identities, 1780–1995.\nBasingstoke: Macmillan, 119–126.\nRenson, R., 1998b. Sport. In: L. Simons, ed. Nieuwe encyclopedie van de Vlaamse Beweging\n[online]. Available from: https://nevb.be/wiki/Sport [Accessed 1 December 2019].\nRenson, R., 2006. Olympisch bewogen … Honderd jaar Belgisch Olympisch Interfederaal Comité.\nRoeselare: Roularta Books.\nRoberts, S.G., 2015. Introduction. In: S.G. Roberts, ed. Sport, media and regional identity. Newcastle\nupon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 1–12.\nSimons, S., 2007. Communautair probleem bij de Rode Duivels. Gazet van Antwerpen [online], 14\nAugust. Available from: www.gva.be/cnt/oid485440/archief-communautair-probleem-bij-de-rode-\nduivels [Accessed 1 December 2019].\nSporza, 2018. Koning Filip bedankt de Rode Duivels: “We zien elkaar nog terug” [online]. Available\nfrom: \nhttps://sporza.be/nl/2018/07/15/koning-filip-bedankt-de-rode-duivels-volgende-keer-\nwinnen-jull/ [Accessed 1 December 2019].\nSSL, 2016. Abchazië vs. adanië en andere topaffiches. Het Laatste Nieuws, 26 May, p. 11.\nStuurgroep Sportend Vlaanderen, 1997. Strategisch plan voor sportend Vlaanderen. Brussels:\nStuurgroep Sportend Vlaanderen.\nSwenden, W. and Jans, M.T., 2006. “Will it stay or will it go?” Federalism and the sustainability of\nBelgium. West European Politics, 29 (5), 877–894.\nTaiana, N., 2019. Le Vlaams Belang veut son équipe “nationale”. Le Vif, 4 July, pp. 24–25.\n\n\nThibaut, A., 2000. Les politiques du sport dans la Belgique federale. Courrier hebdomadaire du\nCRISP, 18, 1–45.\nTolleneer, J., 1997. Football and the duality of the Flemish in Belgium. In: S. Gehrmann, ed. Football\nand regional identity in Europe. Münster: Lit Verlag, 169–179.\nVan Peel, V., 2018. Bang van de Duivels. Doorbraak.be [online], 13 June. Available from:\nhttps://doorbraak.be/voetbal-nationalisme/ [Accessed 1 December 2019].\nVanreusel, B., Renson, R., and Tolleneer, J., 1999. Divided sports in a divided Belgium. In: J. Sugden\nand A. Bairner, eds. Sport in divided societies. Oxford: Meyer & Meyer Sport, 97–111.\nVlaams Belang, 2019. Vlamingen Verdienen Beter – Eerst Onze Mensen [online video], 5 April.\nAvailable from: www.youtube.com/watch?v=mb-Mtd22RjQ [Accessed 1 December 2019].\nVlaams Parlement, 2005. Commissie voor Cultuur, Jeugd, Sport en Media Vergadering van\n17/03/2005. Brussels: Vlaams Parlement.\nVlaamse Raad, 1994. Zitting 1993–1994, handeling nr. 22, Donderdag 13 januari 1994. Brussels:\nVlaamse Raad.\n\n\nChapter 5\nThe tug of war of nationalisms\nAgonic sports for Basque–Spanish relations\nMariann Vaczi\nIntroduction\n“The ‘sokatira’ or ‘tug of war’ of nationalism for a national team,” read a\nheadline of the centralist Spanish newspaper ABC in August 2014. “The\nBasque team will ditch ‘Spain,’ and will be ‘Basque Country’ in the World\nChampionship of ‘nations’ of the United States” (Reyero, 2014). The article\nwent on to describe that the Basque team’s participation has been recognized\nby the Tug of War International Federation, and it will compete against such\n“power houses” as the United States, Sweden, Switzerland, the Netherlands,\nGermany, Italy, and South Africa. The Spanish Constitutional Court\napproves of this participation, ABC wrote, in the absence of a Spanish\nFederation in tug of war.\nThis is precisely the objective of Basque nationalism, which has been\npromoting the ‘officialdom’ of Basque teams so that the Basque\nCountry or Catalonia could compete against Spain, and thus add weight\nto the visualization of political clashes between ‘nations’ of the State.\nThe dream is, ABC continued, “to locate the ikurrina [Basque national flag]\nas high as possible, at the same level as other countries, as its promoters\nacknowledge.” Tug of war was the first Basque sport to “have achieved this\n\n\nstatus of ‘independence,’ ” but the Basque government, the article noted, has\nbeen urging the Basque Federation of Traditional Sports (Herri Kirolak) to\nfollow suit. “Stone lifters (harrijasotzailes), wood cutters with saws\n(trontzalaris), and wood cutters with axes (aizkolaris) wouldn’t have a\nSpanish rival in international competition, either,” the article concluded.\nMuch is revealed in this passage if one is versed in the sub-texts of state–\nregion relations in Spain. First, it comes from a right-wing, Spanish\nnationalist, monarchist newspaper, the third largest in Spain. The ABC article\nmocked Basque ambitions to create regional national teams from a position\nof legal authority. Spain does not allow regional national teams in sports\nwhere there is a Spanish team, which means the Basque Country and other\nregions may only compete in marginal sports such as tug of war. The\nostentatious use of quotation marks for the word “national” with reference to\nthe Basques is an affirmation of the opposite: that the Basques are not really\na nation. That word may only be used with reference to Spain, as Article II\nof the Spanish Constitution clearly stipulates, and regions may only refer to\nthemselves as “nationalities.” When in 2010 the Spanish Supreme Court\nrejected the newly revised Catalan Statute of Autonomy because, among\nother things, the Statute referred to the region as a “nation,” one million\nCatalans went into the streets to protest under the banner “We are a nation,\nWe decide,” effectively starting the current secessionist fervor. Curiously,\nwhile Spain can be a “nation” and Catalonia and the Basque Country cannot,\nwhen it comes to the word “nationalism,” it is suddenly the other way\naround: from a monarchist centralist perspective, the n-word is strictly\nreserved for secessionist Basques and Catalans, whereas Spanish nationalism\nis referred to as “centralism,” or “constitutionalism.” And last but not least,\nABC’s condescending tone essentializes Basques through their traditional\nsports as primitive and reliant on brute physical force.\nSports become a favorite allegory for political relationships because\nathletic values such as strength, endurance, competence, or courage may be\nprojected onto the political realm (Hargreaves, 2000, p. 13) in a field whose\nmain feature is agôn (Caillois, 1961). A more perceptive commentary would\nhave remarked on the subtle irony that the Basques should be on top of the\nworld in a sport (sokatira or tug of war) that so finely empathizes with\ntraditional Basque valorizations of direct physical strength (indarra), and so\naptly embodies the region’s binary struggle (agôn) with Spain. This chapter\nwill take sport for an agonic realm of embodiment and representation, and\nitt\ne\ni\n\n\nwill revisit how the ethos and body technique of Basque sports, both modern\nand traditional, may inform Basque political culture and ideological\ndispositions.\nBasque nationalism and separatism\nToday, the Basque Country is enjoying its post-conflict peace. The Basque\nAutonomous Community (BAC) has arguably the highest degree of\nautonomy among the 17 communities of Spain, which the post-Franco\nConstitution established in a quasi-federal arrangement of devolution of\ncentral powers. The BAC has a Statute of Autonomy, a regional government,\nits own police forces, educational system, co-official Basque language, and,\nimportantly, significant fiscal autonomy compared to other regions of Spain.\nWhile pro-independence sectors do not have a majority today, Basque\nnationalism and separatism has been a central political and social experience\nin the region for more than a hundred years.\nThe modern Basque nationalist movement may be divided into three main\nepochs: the emergence, consolidation, and exile of the Basque Nationalist\nParty (1895–1959); the emergence of ETA (1959–2011); and post-ETA\npolitical aspirations. Basque nationalist ideology, symbolism, and the\nBasque Nationalist Party emerged as a result of the work of Sabino Arana\nGoiri at the end of the nineteenth century. In-group boundaries were\ndistinctively formed, as Arana’s ideology emphasized the racial and ethnic\ndistinctiveness of Basques, by which he meant Bizkaians with eight Basque\nlast names, as opposed to maketo Spaniards. Arana established the Basque\nNationalist Party (Partido Nacionalista Vasco, PNV) in 1895, which attracted\nthe bourgeois-industrial elite that became spectacularly wealthy due to the\nrichness of the area in iron ore, enabling the region to partake in the\nIndustrial Revolution in real time due to commerce with Britain, ship\nbuilding, and a booming banking sector. The PNV constituted the first\nBasque Autonomous government in 1936 in the midst of the Spanish Civil\nWar, which Catalonia also pursued and achieved. With losing the Civil War,\nand the Francoist takeover, however, autonomy was suspended as a result of\nthe regime’s aggressive centralization and homogenization efforts. The\nBasque Nationalist Party elite saw its wealth confiscated and its members\npersecuted and purged from public life, and the Basque autonomous\ngovernment fled into exile.\nfiscal autonomy : AREREIN\nFree\n\n\nThe 1959 emergence of the separatist ETA was a response to Francoist\ncultural and linguistic repression, and the absence and battle fatigue of PNV-\nstyle Basque nationalism. Initially an underground student movement that\nsought to maintain Basque culture and language against persecution, ETA\nwas a Marxist organization that turned against the bourgeois capitalism of\nthe old movement, and reached out to the working classes. ETA changed the\ndefinitions of Basqueness: instead of Basque genealogy, blood-based\nmetaphors, surnames, and religiosity, being abertzale “patriot” meant\nsympathy with the Basque political cause of liberation (MacClancy, 1993, p.\n107). ETA’s first assassination took place in 1968 as a result of a routine road\ncheck. From that point on, ETA engaged in a campaign of kidnapping and/or\nassassinating individuals who were seen as enemies of the Basque people:\nFrancoist police, politicians, and even capitalists of Basque descent. With\nFranco’s death and the Transition to democracy in the 1970s, ETA’s\nactivities did not decrease. In spite of the fact that the region was granted\none of the most advanced autonomies in Europe in 1979, ETA’s operations\ncontinued. Gradually, ETA became the greatest obstacle to channeling\nBasque nationalism into official directions; its operations could no longer be\njustified as a response to an aggressive dictatorship, and its killings included\ninnocent civilians. After several unsuccessful cease fires, it finally disbanded\nin 2011 (Murua, 2016). In a long and agonizing process, Basque nationalism\nhas consolidated in the moderate center-right conservative direction of the\nBasque Nationalist Party, and the officialdom of left-wing parties that\ncondemned the violence.\nThe peasant in every body: the rural ethos of sporting\nidentities\nEs un aldeano “he is a peasant!” a soccer fan once admiringly told me about\nIribar, the legendary goalkeeper of Athletic Club in the 1970–1980s. Iribar,\nwhose fame went beyond the borders of Spain and who was one of the most\nrevered citizens of Bilbao – a metropolitan area of almost a million – was\nhardly a “peasant.” While the word would be an insult in other languages,\naldeano is one of the greatest compliments a Basque man can receive: it\nmeans he is seen as loyal, simple, silent, and serious, as a Basque man is\nought to be by cultural mandate.\n↓Free\nd\n-\ncyffff)\nCENTOR)\n\n\nBasque sports have thrived on hard peasant virtues even in their modern\nsports that valorize strong, direct, no-nonsense play. When in 1958 Athletic\nClub de Bilbao played the final of Franco’s Generalissimo’s Cup against\nReal Madrid, something of a “national team” endorsed by Franco himself,\npeople in Bilbao sold their furniture to be able to make the trip to the capital,\nwhich they made on top of uncomfortable trucks. By then, Madrid was a\nveritable powerhouse: it had just snapped Alfredo Di Stéfano from FC\nBarcelona, and was going for the triplete, or triple championship title of\nleague, cup, and European cup. Athletic beat Real Madrid 2–0 before its\nown home crowd. The next day Athletic Club president Enrique Guzmán\nsaid on the City Hall balcony at the homecoming: “We have humiliated them\nwith once aldeanos, eleven peasants!” (in Vaczi, 2015, p. 29). Such is the\ncult of the honest, unpretentious rural man who by sheer tenacity beats\nstronger and more powerful opponents that decades later, in 1999, when\nAthletic, now in a multi-million-dollar elite sport environment, qualified for\nthe Champion’s League, star forward Julen Guerrero was celebrated as “the\nplayer [who] brought us, ‘eleven peasants,’ to Europe.”\nAs often happened with nation-building efforts in nineteenth-century\nEurope (Bauman and Briggs, 2003), the Basque nationalist elite drew on\nfolk elements, rural life, the vernacular language, and the idealized image of\npeasantry to create a sense of local identity. The cult of the simple rural man\nhas proliferated through the preferred body techniques of Basque sports,\nturning physical culture into one of the most salient manifestations of\nBasque masculinities and identities. Herri kirolak such as stone lifting, wood\nchopping, hay mowing with scythes, iron bar throwing, contests involving\nanimals such as cock fights or ram fights, the pulling of weights by draft\nanimals all manifest a strong valorization of direct physical strength (Figure\n5.1). But rural sports brought out not only the ethos and romance of the\npeasant, but also a certain brutality of rural life. Embedded in a system of\nhonor, these contests sometimes drove peasants to threaten the well-being of\ntheir animals, the fortune and subsistence of their families (Walton, 2011).\nAnimal brutality, drunkenness, pride, rancor, and impulsiveness were often\ncorollaries to these contests, essentially family feuds. Julio Medem’s award-\nwinning movie Vacas (Cows, 1992) presents precisely this world through the\nwood-cutting rivalry between two families across three generations (1875–\n1936). Against the backdrop of major historical events such as the 1875\nCarlist War and the 1936 Civil War, Vacas transmits an eerie atmosphere of\ne-\nE\nI IT\nIIEEE\nwor\nMet\n↑\niPA\nrancor htt\n\n\nmadness, incest, pride, fatality, honor, and shame bred by the claustrophobia\nof rural sociality.\n\n\n\n\nFigure 5.1\nTraditional sport (aizkolari or wood cutting) contest in\n1967 in Donosti-San Sebastián. Rural sports valued\ndirect strength, and the concept of indarra (force) had a\nparticular \nimportance \nfor \nBasque \nmasculinities \nand\nidentities.\nSource: Wikimedia Commons. Author: Kutxa Fototeka.\nAs early as 1920, urban city halls started to put a ban on the more brutal\nforms of rural sport contests involving animals, as they were seen as\nirreconcilable with the civilized image that such modern phenomena as\ntourism started to require (Walton, 2011, p. 460). There were efforts to\nchannel traditional sports toward modern forms: in 1920, Club Deportivo de\nBilbao launched a search for stone lifters and iron bar throwers to train them\nfor the hammer- and discus-throwing events at the forthcoming Antwerp\nOlympics, but nothing came of it. There was, however, one notable example\nof someone breaking out of the world of rural sports into a mainstream\nmodern sport: Paulino Uzcudun, formerly a wood-chopper champion from\nthe rural Basque province of Gipuzkoa, went on to have a successful\ninternational career as a heavy weight boxer (Walton, 2011, p. 461). Today,\nthese traditional sports lack championships, and have become folkloric\ndisplay events at fiestas in the Basque Country and the American diaspora.\nAnother sport that evolved from traditional forms of subsistence is remo,\nregatta de traineras or deep-sea rowing in a boat that was originally used for\ncatching anchovies, sardines, and, important for the Basques, whaling. The\nsport has various modalities of 4, 6, or 13 rowers and a cox, and was\nhistorically a main channel of inter-village rivalry as village teams competed\nto reach the shores of a destination town along the Bay of Biscay and the\nCantabrian Sea. Unlike farmstead-related traditional sports, remo went\nthrough modernization and, importantly, was a “presentable” spectacle: the\n1861 Santander estropada, just outside the Basque Country, was witnessed\nby Queen Isabella II. The first Kontxako Estropada was organized in San\nSebastián, and later consolidated itself as the most important championship;\nit attracted a crowd of 12,000 in 1879. The dramatic Cantabrian Sea, the\nhanging cliffs of its shores and the generally inhospitable weather of the Bay\nof Biscay turned the sport, once again, into an icon of toughness and\ntenacity. Remo resonates in particular with Basque imaginaries of maritime\nperseverance, which turned the region into famed deep-sea fishermen and\nwhalers who ventured all the way to Newfoundland (Zulaika, 1981).\nFEE\n\n\nImportantly, it also reflects the agency and independence of fishermen’s\nwives at home: even when female sport was still inconceivable, the oral\npoetry tradition (bertsolaritza) tells us that female rowers called batelerak\nexisted, as affirmed by the batelera dantza, a dance performed by women\nwith oars.\nBetween lions and foxes: the obligation to take sides\nThe Basque traditional sport par excellence is pelota, a squash-like game\nplayed against a wall, which has different modalities based on the\ninstruments used and the number of players (Figure 5.2). It is hard to\noverestimate the grasp of pelota on the Basque cultural imaginary, and the\ngame continues to nourish Basque ideas of strength, masculinity, nobleness,\nidentity, and character. In fact, González Abrisketa notes, there exists a\ncurious discrepancy between the ideological and cultural importance of the\ngame and its currently rather modest social presence (2012, p. 10) due to\nhistorical events and the spread of modern games such as soccer.\nThe first record of pelota goes back to Bilbao in 1509, to a prohibition to\nplay pelota against the walls of the Cathedral of Santiago in the old part of\ntown called Casco Viejo (González Abrisketa, 2012, p. 51). The building\nand its atrium, essentially a cemetery, acted as a central point for the town,\nand it was here that the game was first documented – curiously, hundreds of\nyears later the first Basque soccer game took place in a cemetery too (Vaczi,\n2014). At the end of the sixteenth century, a new street was built by the\nCathedral, right where pelota was played – to this day the street is called the\nCalle de la Pelota. The eighteenth and nineteenth centuries witnessed\ntransformations of the game and its consolidation, followed by it being\ncatapulted to spectacular global success by the end of the nineteenth century.\nWay before soccer would become professional, or even arrive in the Bay of\nBiscay, professional pelotaris traveled widely to play for money at the\nfrontons of Madrid, Barcelona, Buenos Aires, or Montevideo, some of which\nhad a capacity of 5000 seats (González Abrisketa, 2012, p. 64). Such was the\ngame’s popularity that it inspired several specialized newspapers: Pelotari,\nLa Chistera and La Pelota in the Basque Country (1886–1887), El Pelotari\nin Madrid (1893), and Frontón in Barcelona (1894). The game’s twentieth-\ncentury success reached its zenith as jai alai (“happy fiesta”) in North\nAmerican frontons when, in the 1950s, it attracted Hollywood stars,\n\n\npoliticians, writers, and other personages before its 1970s decline as a result\nof a players’ strike (González Abrisketa, 2017).\n\n\n\n\nFigure 5.2\nPelotaris playing against the walls of the City Hall in 1949\nin Asteasu, Gipuzkoa province.\nSource: Wikimedia Commons. Author: Kutxa Fototeka.\nPelota is a paradigmatically agonic, binary game not only in structure,\nbut also due to the system of allegiances it generated in Basque society. The\ngame emerged in the medieval social context of local blood feuds and\nfactions. These factions followed, essentially, a binary logic of loyalties:\nentire clans and lineages positioned themselves against others along two\nmajor kinship lines, the most well-known of which was the rivalry between\nthe Martínez de Oñaz and the Gamboas family (González Abrisketa, 2012,\npp. 39–40). These factions turned social life into competitive rivalry to\nestablish distinctiveness. Pelota, González Abrisketa argues, urges taking a\nposition for antagonism’s sake. It often happens that entire family lineages\nfollow players not for some ideology, but out of an obliging tradition to\nsupport the opponent of the player one’s neighbors support. The game,\ntherefore, is “antagonism in its purest state” (González Abrisketa, 2012, p.\n101), and its fans resonate with a particular rural persona called the xelebre,\nor a “villager fond of paradox”: a man who “generally defends the\nopposition (inverse) opinion from that externalized by the majority” (Baroja,\n209, p. 233).\nThe duality of the game’s agonic disposition is further reinforced by two\narchetypes pelota players embody: the lion and the fox. The proliferation of\nbeasts in political imaginaries, the ideological figuration of the wolf, the fox,\nthe lion, the lamb, the serpent, the eagle show, with Lévi-Strauss, that we\nsingle out animals not only because they are “good to eat,” but because they\nare “good to think” (1963, p. 89). The lion, or back court player, possesses\nthe culturally preferred traits of Basque indarra or strength through his\ndirect, unpretentious, honest game whose main purpose is to send the ball as\nfar back and as high as possible. The fox, or front court player, is agile,\nrapid, and conniving, his main ambition being to trick his opponent into a\nmistake. The lion embodies Basque notions of nobility, while the fox is an\narchetype of seductive, if unreliable, thrills. Importantly, it is extraordinarily\nrare that a player should possess both traits. As the Basque philosopher\nMigel de Unamuno said about the agonic contest of archetypal powers, there\nare those who “are slaves to their blood and temperament,” who follow “the\nforce of cunning, of calculus and rapidity, and those who adore and believe\nI\nif ite\n↓\nT\n&iDr\nt\n\n\nin blatant and solid strength, open and without deceit” (in González\nAbrisketa, 2012, p. 99).\nThe game’s eminently agonic and antagonistic character turned it into a\nmaster metaphor for the much acclaimed and controversial documentary\nBasque Ball: Skin against Stone (2003). The documentary tackles the\nBasque political “Troubles” through interviews with politicians, public\npersonages, and victims and perpetrators on both sides. The film is\nstructured like a pelota game: the interviewees are positioned into two\nantagonistic camps (Basque and Spanish), and their comments are produced\nin quick succession in a dialectic that resonates with the action–reaction type\nof violence between ETA and the Spanish state. Pelota exhibited the agonic\ndialectic between the Basque Country and Spain for 50 years, whereby each\nparty reacted to the reaction of the other in an effort to send blame and\nresponsibility into the field of the other. In pelota, the objective of the game\nis for one’s opponent to miss a return, a situation called huts or “void.”\n“Scoring is forcing a void,” Zulaika writes (in González Abrisketa, 2012, pp.\n7–8) about pelota, and Basque–Spanish politics, the documentary suggests,\nseems to have deployed this basic pelota strategy for decades.\nAnd finally, the binary of the game also points at how political\nantagonisms organized Basque society into two camps of “with us, or\nagainst us.” Pelota “incites men to take position” (González Abrisketa,\n2012, p. 18). There is no neutrality or withdrawal against the cultural\nmandate to take a stand. Similarly, in politics, the extreme polarization of\npositions allows for no equidistancia, or neutral stance. Part of the violence\nof the conflict was that, like a pelota game, it forced people into one camp or\nthe other, Basque nationalist or Spanish state, without the possibility of\nrejecting both, or of positioning oneself outside this moral framework.\nSuch is the association of pelota with the Basques that one of its\nmodalities, the cesta punta, gained spotlight in the media recently during the\n2019 October pro-independence civil unrest in the Catalan capital Barcelona.\nThe cesta punta is a curved basket that helps pelotaris throw the ball at a\nspeed of 170 miles per hour, which earned it the name “the fastest game in\nthe world.” In an effort to attribute terrorism-type violence to protesters, the\nSpanish centralist digital newspaper El Confidencial claimed that Basque\nseparatists trained in ETA’s violence were among the Catalan rioters. To\nsupport this argument, the medium claimed that “cesta punta basket gloves\nwere found, the kind that are used in the Basque pelota,” whose impact can\nE\n*\n\n\nbe very damaging (Fernández, 2019). One had to be an expert to use it, the\nargument went, like ETA-followers did in their own street fights (kale\nborroka) during the 1980s. This was a very random association; in reality,\nthe idea of cesta punta as a “weapon” probably came from a Western movie\nscene, where the tool is used in a fight between cowboys and Native\nAmericans. For El Confidencial, however, the pelota instruments were proof\nof professional Basque terrorists training Catalans in urban guerrilla warfare.\nThe Basque strength, the English way, and the Spanish\nfury of soccer\nSoccer arrived in the Basque Country through Bilbao’s industrial exchange\nwith Great Britain at the end of the nineteenth century. The first game was\nthe result of a challenge launched in a local daily to the British sailors and\ndock workers who were kicking around a leather ball in their free time in the\ndowntown port of the city, by the river, among cargo ships, railway lines,\nand warehouses: would the British footballmens play a friendly match\nagainst the local team? (Terrachet, 1998, p. 23). The British, who had a\ncoach, proper shoes, and a clear concept of the game, won that first game 0–\n6, but such was the success and enthusiasm about the new game that a repeat\nquickly followed. The Bilbao elite, which was generally fascinated by all\nthings British, quickly took to the game and established the first club in\n1898, called Athletic Club. A few years later the neighboring town, San\nSebastián, established Vasconia in 1902, the predecessor of what later\nbecame Real Sociedad, and Irun, on the French border, founded Irun Foot-\nBall Club in 1906.\nSoccer was endorsed by the Basque industrial elite (Díaz Noci, 2000),\nwho identified with the Basque nationalist movement. The sons of the most\ninfluential industrial-nationalist families were founders, directors, or players\nin early Basque soccer culture, as well as members of the Basque Nationalist\nParty founded only three years earlier. They saw the sport as a great way to\nadvance regeneration of the Basque race, as it showed great “compatibility\nwith established ideas of manliness” (Walton, 1999, p. 264). As the\nnewspaper Bizkaitarra wrote in 1919, “The Basque race, by conviction of its\npositive physical superiority, is one of the most saturated with this healthy\nfighting spirit and competence, synthesized by the Saxons with the word\nstruggle” (in Vaczi, 2015, p. 153).\n\n\nThe tough, physical game of the English, also called la manera inglesa,\nwas so well suited to local cultural temperaments that decades later, the\ninternationally renowned sculptor Oteiza argued it was the perfect\nexpression of the Basque soul: “the long, diagonal pass and the oblique run;\nthat is the essence of the Basque game.” The Bilbao industrial elite found\nthat the game, which entered a phase of professionalization, would provide\nBasque modernity, progress, and internationalization:\nWe shouldn’t be surprised by the type of player who is\n“internationalizable.” The Basque land, whose penchant for games of\ncollision has been demonstrated by history, offers the type of young\nman who is strong, agile and intelligent, who leaps the farmsteads and\nflips the coin of chance in the vestibule that invites him to take the first\nsteps toward the most modern of professions.\n(Sota, 1932, pp. 119–120)\nThe English game spread with such sweeping momentum that it soon\nthreatened the indigenous game pelota. Some contemporary commentators\nin the 1920s were greatly distressed by the\nmelancholy vision of a whole generation of young men and boys driven\ncrazy by the English ball, and therefore turning its back on the most\nelegant, noble and virile of sporting exercises … Between pelota and\nfootball they choose the latter, and the closed-down courts give way to\nthe stadium.\n(Eugenio Noel in Walton, 1999, p. 273)\nSoon, pelota frontons closed or paled beside the soccer stadiums of Bilbao\nand San Sebastián. The way soccer pushed pelota out in a literal sense in\nSan Sebastián was illustrative of a certain paradigm shift in Basque sport,\nand the crisis of pelota. When the question of expanding the Atocha stadium\nto a capacity of 20,000 was put before the city hall, an improvement that was\ngoing to demolish the adjacent pelota fronton, the minority voices\nsupporting the Basque national sport were sidelined by arguments that\nsoccer brought Basques the “regeneration of race,” and the international\npromotion of San Sebastián.\nThe Basque indarra or physical toughness inspired what came to be\ncalled Spanish Fury, the brand of the Spanish national team. The 1920\nSculptor : i ****\n- E\n- *\nFTJ\n\n\nOlympic Games in Antwerp, Belgium, was conspicuous for its physicality,\npassion, and force manifested, in particular, by the Basque José Mari\nBelausteguigoitia. Contemporary press accounts describe how Belauste, in a\n“predatory position,” caught a pass with “such strength that he and various\nSwedes tumbled together into the goal. It was a Herculean goal!” (Manoli de\nCastro in Burns, 2012, p. 58). The Italian Press called the team la Furia\nRossa (Red Rage), and soon they were called the Spanish Fury (Figure 5.3).\nBelauste was presented as “the soul of the Spanish team” (Díaz Noci, 2000,\np. 5) in a 1921 publication about the great figures of Spanish sport. The\nBasque player’s playing style provided the adjectives that would describe the\nSpanish Fury for decades: nobility, courage, pressure, enthusiasm, vigor,\nenergy, and spirit (Díaz Noci, 2000, p. 5).\n\n\n\n\nFigure 5.3\nThe Spanish Fury in 1920 in Antwerp.\nSource: Wikimedia Commons. Author: Unknown.\nIronically, however, the player that lent identity to the Spanish national\nteam, which in turn became one of the most important cultural icons of\nSpain, was a staunch anti-Spain Basque nationalist. Belauste was a Basque\nNationalist Party youth section member, and was later forced to go to France\nand Mexico for his nationalist activities. “It is quite ironic,” his daughter\nLorea writes, “that the ‘Spanish Fury’ should come from this Basque\nnationalist, director of the soccer team of the Basque Nationalist Party\nyouth” (in Bacigalupe, 2005, p. 29). Decades later, in the 1950s, the Basque\nforward Telmo Zarra, who was the record goalscorer of the Spanish League\nuntil Lionel Messi broke it in 2010, served too to demonstrate the\nimpetuousness of national character. After the 1950 World Cup group stage\nagainst England, what came to be called “Zarra’s goal” was celebrated as “a\nsplendid demonstration to the whole world that the traditional Hispanic\nvirtues of passion, aggression, fury, virility and impetuosity have been\ncompletely recovered in the ‘New Spain’ born out of that bloody conflict –\nthe Civil War” (Burns, 2012, p. 139).\nUnlike center-right conservative Basque nationalism and the Basque\nNationalist Party, the separatist group ETA did not systematically endorse\nsport for its nationalist purposes. The relationship between radical leftist\nnationalism and soccer has been rather ambiguous. Being a Marxist\norganization, ETA considered soccer an exploitative, capitalist “opium of the\npeople,” as indeed the Franco regime used it (Shaw et al., 1987). At the same\ntime, many Basque players sympathized with leftist abertzale pro-\nindependence nationalism, which for a while was difficult to divorce from\nthe orbit of ETA. For example, the legendary Athletic Bilbao goalkeeper\nIribar was involved in the politics of Herri Batasuna in the late 1970s, a\nparty that was later outlawed for being considered the political wing of ETA.\nIt was also Iribar who, with Kortabarria and the rest of the Athletic Bilbao\nand Real Sociedad roster, produced one of the most iconic images of post-\nFranco Spain: in late 1976 the two teams and their captains displayed the\nBasque national flag, the ikurrina, before a game, when regional cultural\nsymbols were still banned. The event was described as a “separatist orgy”\n(MacClancy, 1996, p. 193). At the same time, ETA later blackmailed at least\none soccer player, Bixente Lizarazu, to pay the so-called “revolutionary tax”\nin the 1990s, and there might have been more. And finally, in yet another\nI\nF\n\n\ntwist, the 1980s witnessed the emergence of radical fan clubs in the Basque\nCountry that had links to, and ideological affinities with, Basque leftist\nseparatism.\nRace, ethnicity, nationality, and territorial demarcation in\nsoccer\nAs is well-known in the world of soccer, Athletic Club fields Basque players\nonly. According to its statute, Athletic Club fields players who were either\nborn in the Basque Country or raised there and played in one of its youth\nacademies. As such, an Athletic line-up is a literal embodiment of the\nBasque Country, and each new player ignites important debates about its\nborders. The invariance of this tradition is only apparent, however. The\nsigning or not signing of players have been important rituals of territorial\ndemarcation, with shifting geographical imaginaries that have included\nGreat Britain, Bilbao, Bizkaia province, the Basque Autonomous\nCommunity in Spain, the historical Basque Country Euskal Herria\nstretching over to France, African immigrant communities, and the Basque\ndiasporas of the Americas.\nThe Bilbao industrial elite considered British sport as the harbinger of\ncivilization. “An Englishman is never a foreigner in Bilbao,” I was told once\nby a descendent of the nationalist-industrialist Sota family, whose members\nwere particularly known for their Anglophilia at the beginning of the\ntwentieth century. Alejandro de la Sota cultivated a bonhomie in the London\nlife of cocktails and clubs but was an inveterate bilbaíno and admired soccer\nfor what he saw were intrinsically British penchants for culture, art, science,\nphilosophy, and romance. “To have a kick is Shakespeare, it’s Nelson, it’s\nOxford, it’s Canterbury,” he jubilated in his book on the spread of soccer in\nthe Basque Country. “It is, in the end, the old and glorious England!” (1932,\np. 154). He considered the importing of the British game as one of “the\ntriumphs of Basque internationalism, which always deserves to be sealed\nwith our own personality” (Sota, 1932, p. 299). In Bilbao, anecdotes abound\nabout the English soccer player who came to work, settled down, and would\nnot return for his love of local life. Soon, however, British players dropped\noff the rosters of Athletic, while coaching remained open to internationals.\nBilbao’s most revered British figure was Mr. Pentland, who played for ten\n*\nFRED\n↓\nE\nintrinsically\n:\nL\npenchants\n: <EF\n\n\nyears and coached for seven at Athletic in the 1920s. The “Bowler Hat’s”\nsayings, mannerism, and behaviors are still fondly remembered in Bilbao.\nIn the first half of the twentieth century, “Basque” meant Bizkaian from\nthe perspective of Athletic Club, which is a definition that resonated with\nthat of Sabino Arana, founder of the Basque Nationalist Party (1895). The\n1940s and 1950s were the Club’s first Golden Age, with rosters of players\nalmost exclusively from Bilbao and Vizcaya province. The great successes\nof these decades bred important imaginaries of Basque identity: the idea that\none can be champion with a roster of players de la tierra, from the land. The\n1960s and 1970s showed regression and plummeting performance, only to\nreturn to a second Golden Age in the 1980s as Athletic Club won two league\ntitles in an increasingly sophisticated and modern football. The lineups of\nthese champion teams featured players from all the Basque provinces\nsituated in Spain: Araba, Gipuzkoa, Nafarroa, Bizkaia. It was with the end of\nthe Franco dictatorship that regions went through the re-nationalization of\nidentity. Athletic gained an increasingly nationalist character, a process\nfomented by contextual factors that characterized the 1980s: a general\nemergence of nationalist sentiments in the liberating atmosphere of post-\nFranco Spain, the renewed push for a regional Basque national team, and the\nemergence of radical Basque nationalist fan clubs.\nAn important shift in signing policy has been the consolidation of\nperformative identities as opposed to the birth-based primordial ones, which\ninserts action and agency into processes of identification as opposed to\nuncontrollable birth places and blood-based belonging. In the 1960s,\nfootballer Chus Pereda, who was born outside the Basque Country but lived\nand played in Bizkaia from an early age on, was turned down by Athletic.\nLázaro Sarabia, brother of the celebrated striker Manolo of the 1980s\nwinning team was also rejected by Athletic under the same circumstances.\nToday, this player would have no problem; one no longer has to be born\nBasque, one can become Basque by cultural and social embeddedness.\nThe 1996–97 signing of Bixente Lizarazu, from the French Basque area,\nserved to ritually confirm the boundaries of the historical Basque Country\nconsisting of four provinces in Spain and three in France. While the\nhistorical Euskal Herria is not politically recognized in any way, as opposed\nto the autonomous status of the Basque Autonomous Community in Spain or\nNavarre, it is an important political imaginary particularly for left-wing\nnationalists. Lizarazu felt uncomfortable with what he saw was “so much\n-\n\n\ntheater” of identity, as media interest in his “Basqueness” was\noverwhelming. Additionally, ETA sent Lizarazu an anonymous letter asking\nhim for “revolutionary tax,” that is ransom money, for playing in the French\nnational team and defending “the colors of an enemy state” (20minutos,\n2007). Lizarazu felt manipulated and trapped in a political game, and\ndeparted after just one season.\nIt remains to be seen if the Basque diasporas overseas, many of which\nhave very strong traditions of maintaining Basque identity and culture\n(Douglass, 2005), may become part of this Basque geographical imaginary.\nSo far, the rejection of Uruguay-born Diego Forlán in 2004 indicates that\nbeing a Basque-American, for example, might not be Basque enough.\nForlán’s Basque link was a grandmother immigrating from Hondarribia to\nArgentina and then Uruguay. The player went on to become one of the most\nvaluable strikers of the Spanish Liga with Atlético Madrid and the 2010\nWorld Cup Golden Ball Winner. Questionnaire surveys among Athletic Club\nmembers show that they are open to the extension of “Basqueness” to the\ndiasporas (Ortiz de Lazcano, 2010). Had Forlán wanted to sign with Athletic\nafter his great successes, the result might have been different.\nAfrican immigrant communities in the Basque Country, on the other\nhand, have had their breakthrough. “Iñaki Williams made history on a night\nwhen he wasn’t even expecting to make it on the pitch,” ESPN started its\nspecial report in September 2019 on Athletic Club’s signing of a home-\ngrown player of African origins on a nine-year contract (Krichko, 2019).\nWilliams scored in the ninth minute in the Olympic Stadium of Turin. “I\nscored! I scored!” he screamed exuberantly. While a goal is celebrated\neverywhere, debuts and goals in a game that is not a final rarely make\nhistory. In Bilbao, however, there are some extra-competitive considerations\nthat can turn a winter night into a historic spectacle: Williams was the first\nblack man to have scored for Athletic. In the 1950s, the Guinea-born but\nBilbao-raised player Miguel Jones was rejected by Athletic on grounds that\nhe was not born in Vizcaya province, although many think it was an easy\nexcuse as the real problem was his blackness. After the fleeting debut of\nanother black player, Jonás Ramalho, son of an African father and Basque\nmother, Athletic Club consolidated its acknowledgment of African identities\nas part of Basque ones through Williams. That night, Williams’ goal was\ncelebrated as a milestone event for Bilbao’s other iñakis: African immigrant\nstreet vendors. For one glaring instance, the distance between Iñaki on the\n\n\nscreen and the iñakis of his community who watched him longingly in the\nbars where they sold jewelry did not seem that abysmal.\nBasques needed Williams just as much as Williams needed the Basques.\nAmidst widespread admiration, Athletic’s Basque-only philosophy has\noccasionally attracted criticisms of racist exclusion. Castillo (2007)\nsuggested that one way to avoid such criticisms was to re-brand Athletic in\nthe fashion of locally grown produce, something like Eusko Label. But now,\nWilliams was proof that the club’s line-up reflected not a racialist ideology,\nbut the changing demographic realities of Bilbao, of which immigrants were\na sizable part. In a strict sense, this is not that historical. Bilbao attracted a\ngreat influx of immigrants throughout the twentieth century, from the first\nBritish players to the eventual dominance of Spanish last names on the\nroster. But Williams was a black man, and the widespread fascination with\nhis case shows how hard racial categories die. The zeal with which\nWilliams’ “Basqueness” was asserted in the media both by birth right and\nupbringing, coupled with ubiquitous qualifications like “black diamond,”\n“black pearl,” or “black star,” ultimately ended up confirming Williams’\nposition outside of normative Basqueness; the media’s “aggressive\ncolorblindness” was “ultimately just as othering” (Aquino, 2017, pp. 130–\n131).\nThe Basque-only philosophy and its sense of difference resonate with\ndeep-rooted imaginaries of Basque exceptionalism, going back to a\ndistinguished line of past-century archeologists, linguists, folklorists, and\ncultural anthropologists, who were intrigued by the real and imagined\nmysteries of Basque origins. Prefixes like “non-,” “pre-,” and “proto-”\nconstructed the Basques as a people who preceded all others in the area, who\nspoke a non-Indo-European (and pre-Indo-European) language, whose\ncustoms, traditions, and gender relations were unlike those of their\nneighbors, and whose ancient political structure of decision making\nconstituted the first proto-democracy. A similar sense of difference came\nfrom historical local rights and autonomies (fueros), as well as the title of\n“collective nobility” (hidalguía colectiva) granted to all Basques in\nexchange for border defense. Later, in the twentieth century, this sense of\ndistinction was a central element in the more formal developments of\nBasque nationalism.\nWhile Athletic Club’s Basque-only philosophy has been stretched,\ndefined, and re-defined over a hundred years, women’s bodies still can’t\n7\n-A\n\n\nquite enter this collective imaginary of national representation. While\nAthletic femenino, the women’s team founded in 2003, also recruits Basque\nplayers only, this is a fact that goes uncontemplated at best, and unknown at\nworst, in spite of the great successes of this program in women’s soccer in\nSpain. Female soccer bodies are often conceptualized as unfeminine and\ninferior at play (es ni fútbol, ni femenino “neither soccer, nor female” is a\ndisparaging \nstatement \none \nstill \nhears), \nand \ntraditional \nBasque\nconceptualizations of strength and play also hamper female players’\nacceptance among older generations. Indarra “force,” as mentioned, is\nconsidered a masculine trait. Furthermore, in the Basque language, there is a\ndistinction between bipolar, competitive games, and non-competitive\nchildren’s games: joko and jolas. The competitive, agonic, bipolar joko play\nis a men’s affair: gambling, playing mus (Basque card game), pelota,\nbertsolaria (improvisational poetry), or rural sports like wood cutting, stone\nlifting, cattle herding. These competitions have taken place in public: in bars,\nplazas, stadiums. From a traditional perspective, women are conceptualized\nas outside the joko model: woman as a jokolari “player” is a cultural\n“oddity” that makes her “conspicuously abnormal, an evidently man-nish\nwoman” (Zulaika, 1988, p. 180). Instead, woman is traditionally closer to the\njolas: the non-competitive children’s games that take place in and around the\nhome. Indeed, a visit to a women’s game on the club’s training grounds\nreveals that fútbol femenino is embedded in a feminized rural context, and is\nlargely a family event, as opposed to the tough masculinity of the urban\nstadium.\nConclusion: whose Basque country?\nBasque debates about the borders of the Basque Country often lead to\nimpasses that make it difficult to arrive at collective self-definition, and may\nsabotage the whole project of symbolic territorial demarcation. A case that\nexemplifies this is the unofficial Basque national soccer team. Historically,\nTeam Euskadi had a great role in the Civil War against fascism as a\nrepresentative of the legitimately elected and then exiled Basque\nAutonomous Government. With the outbreak of the war the Spanish soccer\nleague was suspended, but players tried to stay active and friendlies were\nplayed among the local teams that sympathized with the Basque Nationalist\nParty (Unzueta, 1999, p. 164). The aim was to raise money for an aircraft for\n\n\nthe Basque armed forces that were fighting on the Republican side. Such\nwas the success of these games that Basque Government President Aguirre,\nwho himself had been a soccer player, decided to convoke a Basque national\nteam and send it abroad to raise money. Team Euskadi went on a three-year-\nlong tour to countries like Russia, Poland, the Soviet Union, Finland,\nNorway, Denmark, Mexico, Chile, and Cuba.\nHowever, the unofficial Basque national team has also revealed\nantagonisms about just what, and whose Basque Country, the team should\nrepresent. The team has been variously called Team North (1915), Vasconia\n(1930–1931), Team Euzkadi (1937–39), Team Euskadi (1979–2007), Team\nEuskal Herria (2008), and Euskal Selekzioa (2010–present). The frequent\nname change reflects the highly contested ideological and geographical\nimaginaries of the Basque Country. For example, the seasons 2007–2009\nwere spent arguing over the names Team Euskadi versus Team Euskal\nHerria, until the players signed a petition that they would only play the\ntraditional Christmas game under the name Team Euskal Herria. The debate\nover Euskadi or Euskal Herria was clearly over the legitimate political\nboundaries of the Basque Country. The center-right Basque Nationalist Party\n(PNV), the leftist Socialist Party (PSOE), and the right-wing Popular Party\n(PP) agreed in their support of Team Euskadi, which signified the Basque\nAutonomous Community (BAC) comprising three Spanish Basque\nprovinces of Araba, Bizkaia, and Gipuzkoa. It was also the historical\ndesignation that Sabino Arana, founder of the PNV, used for the Basque\nCountry. The left-wing Basque Solidarity (EA), United Left (IU-EB), and\nthe Basque Nationalist Action (ANV) parties supported Team Euskal Herria,\na name for the historical Basque Country made up of four Spanish (CAP\nplus Navarre) and three French Basque provinces. The team was to represent\nthe Basque nation, but any attempt to pin down the boundaries of that nation\nfailed. The 2009 Christmas game got cancelled, and the team disbanded for\nthe lack of a name.\nToday, the Basque Country is resting from its decades-long Troubles.\nExcept for the PNV’s 2001 failed Ibarretxe Plan to reform the Basque\nStatute of Autonomy including the possibility of self-determination, and\nsymbolic referendums on the left, no serious efforts have been channeled\ntoward the dormant question of independence. Revealingly, in October 2019,\nthe Basque Nationalist Party-lead regional government refused to sign the\nLlotja de Mar declaration on the right of self-determination signed by 12\n\n\nregional pro-independence entities in Spain. As in Catalonia, the bulk of\nnation-building efforts have been pursued by civil society. Change in\npolitical dispositions is also visible in the body symbolism NGOs adopt, for\nexample Gure Esku Dago’s shift from the militant fist to an open palm. As\nBasque non-governmental organizations reach out to their counterparts in\nScotland and Catalonia to promote the right to vote, sports and, increasingly,\ngastronomy are deemed appropriate channels through which to pursue\npeaceful objectives.\nAcknowledgment\nAll figures in this chapter are covered by a CC-BY-SA 3.0 license:\nhttps://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en.\nReferences\n20minutos. \n2007. \nLizarazu \nreconoce \nlas \namenazas \nde \nETA. \nApril \n25.\nwww.20minutos.es/noticia/227398/0/Lizarazu/amenazas/ETA.\nAquino, M. 2017. A panther among lions: Iñaki Williams, race and Basque identity at Athletic Club de\nBilbao. Sport, Identity and Nationalism in the Hispanic World, SIBA (4), pp. 119–136.\nBacigalupe, A. 2005. Belauste: el caballero de la furia. Bilbao: Muelle de Uribitarte.\nBaroja, C. J. 2009. The Basques. Reno, NV: Center for Basque Studies Press.\nBauman, R. and C. L. Briggs. 2003. Voices of modernity: Language ideologies and the politics of\ninequality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.\nBurns, J. 2012. La Roja: A journey through Spanish football. London: Simon and Schuster.\nCaillois, R. 1961. Man, play, and games. New York: Free Press of Glencoe.\nCastillo, J. C. 2007. Play fresh, play local: The case of Athletic de Bilbao. Sport in Society 10(4), pp.\n680–697.\nDíaz Noci, J. 2000. Los nacionalistas van al fútbol: deporte, ideología y periodismo en los años 20 y\n30. \nRevista \nde \nestudios \nde \ncomunicación \n= Komunikazio \nikasketen \naldizkaria 9.\nwww.ehu.es/zer/hemeroteca/pdfs/zer09-13-diaz.pdf.\nDouglass, W. A. 2005. Amerikanuak: Basques in the new world. Reno, NV: University of Nevada\nPress.\nFernández, A. 2019. Manual antisistema para Barcelona “Decid siempre que ha sido brutalidad\npolicial.” \nwww.elconfidencial.com/espana/cataluna/2019-10-21/manual-antisistema-barcelona-\nbrutalidad-policial-554_2293648/.\nGonzález Abrisketa, O. 2012. Basque pelota: A ritual, an aesthetic. Reno, NV: Center for Basque\nStudies.\nGonzález Abrisketa, O. 2017. A Basque-American deep game: The political economy of ethnicity and\njai-alai in the United States. Studia Iberica et Americana: Journal of Iberian and Latin American\nLiterary and Cultural Studies 4, pp. 179–198.\nHargreaves, J. 2000. Freedom for Catalonia? Catalan nationalism, Spanish identity and the Barcelona\nOlympic Games. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.\n\n\nKrichko, K. 2019. Inaki Williams blazes a trail at Spain’s historic Athletic Club: “I have in my blood\nwhat it means to be Basque.” ESPN, August 21. www.espn.com/soccer/spanish-primera-\ndivision/story/3912114/inaki-williams-blazesa-trail-at-spains-historic-athletic-club-i-have-in-my-\nblood-what-it-means-to-be-basque.\nLévi-Strauss, C. 1963. Totemism. London: Beacon Press.\nMacClancy, J. 1993. Biological Basques, sociologically speaking. In Social and biological aspects of\nethnicity, ed. by M. Chapman, pp. 92–129. Oxford: Oxford University Press.\nMacClancy, J. 1996. Nationalism at play: The Basques of Vizcaya and Athletic Bilbao. In Sport,\nidentity and ethnicity, ed. by J. MacClancy, pp. 181–199. Oxford: Berg.\nMurua, I. 2016. Ending ETA’s armed campaign: How and why the Basque armed group abandoned\nviolence. London: Routledge.\nOrtiz de Lazcano, J. 2010. El delantero uruguayo Diego Forlán, su abuela vasca, y sus deseos de fichar\npor el Athlétic Club de Bilbao. www.euskalkultura.eus/espanol/noticias/el-delantero-uruguayo-\ndiego-forlan-su-abuela-vasca-y-sus-deseos-de-fichar-por-el-athletic-club-de-bilbao.\nReyero, I. 2014. La “sokatira” o el “tira y afloja” del nacionalismo por una selección nacional. ABC,\nAugust \n27. \nwww.abc.es/deportes/20140827/abci-sokatira-pais-vasco-seleccion-\n201408262015.html.\nShaw, D., P. Preston, and N. Míguez. 1987. Fútbol y franquismo. Madrid: Alianza editorial.\nSota, A. 1932. Divagaciones que nos trae el foot-ball. Bilbao: Editorial Vasca.\nTerrachet, E. 1998. 100 años de historia del Athletic de Bilbao: “caso único en el fútbol mundial”\n(L’Equipe). Bilbao: La Gran Enciclopedia Vasca.\nUnzueta, P. 1999. Fútbol y nacionalismo vasco. In Fútbol y pasiones políticas, ed. by S. Segurola, pp.\n147–169. Madrid: Editorial Debate.\nVaczi, M. 2014. Death in the cathedral: Mortuary practices in sport stadiums. Journal of the Royal\nAnthropological Institute 20(4), pp. 635–652.\nVaczi, M. 2015. Soccer, culture and society in Spain: An ethnography of Basque fandom. London:\nRoutledge.\nWalton, J. 1999. Football and Basque identity: Real Sociedad of San Sebastián, 1909–1932.\nhttps://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/83560963.pdf.\nWalton, J. K. 2011. Sport and the Basques: Constructed and contested identities, 1876–1936. Journal\nof Historical Sociology 24(4), pp. 451–471.\nZulaika, J. 1981. Terranova: The ethos and luck of deep-sea fishermen. Philadelphia, PA: Institute for\nthe Study of Human Issues.\nZulaika, J. 1988. Basque violence: Metaphor and sacrament. Reno, NV: University of Nevada Press.\n\n\nChapter 6\nVisions of building, specters of\ncollapse\nAlternative routes to secessionism in Catalonia\nMariann Vaczi\nIntroduction\nThe 2019 December Clásico between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid turned\ninto a battlefield in a literal sense. By then, street fights in Barcelona had\nbecome somewhat of a regular occurrence. As a result of the October 2019\nConstitutional Court’s decision to imprison pro-independence politicians for\n9 to 13 years, Catalan independentists blockaded the airport and the streets,\ncamped out on squares, organized demonstrations, and sometimes clashed\nwith riot police. The Clásico, already re-scheduled in the hopes of\ndecreasing tensions, was anticipated with foreboding. The policing of the\nevent was extraordinary, fans were made to open even their sandwiches at\nthe entrance, and everyone looked forward to what was imagined to be a\npitch invasion. But when the 17:14 minute mark of the first half passed, the\nmoment when fans chant In-inde-independència!, commemorating Spanish\ntakeover at the 1714 War of Spanish Succession, nothing happened. When\nthe same minute passed in the second half, I imagined organizers and police\nemitted a sigh of relief.\nFive minutes before the end, however, we knew that something was amiss\noutside the stadium. A helicopter was circling over the pitch, smoke was\npouring over the walls of the stadium, and the stench of burning plastic\n\n\npenetrated the upper terraces. The loudspeaker kept announcing that fans\nshould exit at the northern entrances, and avoid the southern ones, as well as\nthe streets. After a long wait and menacingly crowded situations, we finally\nexited Camp Nou.\nThe streets were unrecognizable. What had been the site of peaceful,\nfestive political demonstrations before the game were now a steaming,\nburning memento. The asphalt was torn up and hoarded into a heap of\nstones. The ashes of what used to be a big garbage container were simmering\nin the middle of the road. About 50 yards ahead, another one was burning in\ntremendous flames, and another 50 yards ahead, a few young people were\ndragging a third one into the middle of the road to prepare it for its burning.\nThe absurdity of the situation was enhanced by the 95,000 fans peacefully\nwalking by, or taking selfies with the flames. Around the burning container,\na large crowd gathered and sang the Catalan national anthem Els Segadors,\nlending the whole spectacle an eerie serenity as if it was some urban\nsacrificial ritual.\nI thought of the helicopter pilot circling above Camp Nou during the\ngame, and wished I could have seen what I imagined was the most striking\nspectacle of all: the iconic green field policed to the maximum and watched\nby the whole world next to the dark and smoke-filled battlefield outside,\nseparated only by the slim contour of the stadium wall. From above it must\nhave been, or so I imagined with Walter Benjamin, a “dialectical image”\n(Buck-Morss, 1991): a constellation that by its shocking juxtapositions\nyields some kind of illumination.\nAnother dialectical image comes to mind from another Clásico three\nyears earlier. As the Barça anthem started, the Camp Nou stands displayed a\ncurious formation as fans lifted up cardboard mosaic squares: the shape of a\nhuman tower. Human tower building (castells) is a 200-year-old traditional\nsport originating in the south of Catalonia. The breathtaking edifices as high\nas nine or ten human “floors” including a thousand plus performers have\nbecome a major cultural icon for the current independence movement due to\ntheir integrative ethos, collaborative body technique, and risk-taking\nambition (Vaczi, 2016). The meaning of that mosaic went unnoticed for the\nhundreds of millions of spectators globally. For Catalans, however, it was a\nwink and nod, an understanding that FC Barcelona sympathized with the\nregion’s “emancipatory nationalism” (Guibernau, 2013) embodied by the\nSisyphean efforts of nation building across the town squares of Catalonia.\n\n\nThe spectacles we organize bring space alive. In both cases above, Camp\nNou collapsed alternative routes to secessionist mobilization into a\ndialectical imagery whose constituent juxtapositions promised to cast light\non each other, and on Catalonia’s secessionist fervor. On the one hand, there\nwas football’s global visibility and its historical depth as a site of Catalan\nidentity under Franco, resonating with the bourgeois origins of Catalan\nnationalism and its capitalist mentality. On the other hand, there was the\ncastell’s grasp of people in the street, of the left-leaning working and middle\nclasses who seek low-cost sociality through Catalonia’s thriving popular\nculture and folklore. A basic assessment of Catalan secessionism may be\ncaptured by a shaky human tower (Figure 6.1): it is a vision of building for\nhalf the region, and a specter of collapse for the other half. Catalonia’s\nnationalist transformations may be traced through their preferred body\ntechniques, and this chapter will be organized around three major themes:\nphysical culture as a site of meaning and vocabulary for nationalist\nideologies; as a site of mobilization for nation building; and as a site of the\nerosion of Spanish state sovereignty.\n\n\n\n\nFigure 6.1\nThe Castellers de Vilafranca, building a record high, ten-\nlevel \ntower \nin \n2013. \nThe \nCatalan \nindependence\nmovement has deployed castells \nfor \nnation-building\npurposes \ndue \nto \ntheir \niconic \nbody \ntechnique \nand\nmobilizing potential as an old cultural performance.\nSource: Wikimedia Commons. Author: Diari AVUI.\nPhysical culture from the Catalan Renaixença (1840s–\n1880s) to the Second Republic (1931–1939)\nCatalonia, in the northeast of Spain, has claimed independence or greater\nautonomy with varying degrees of intensity. Today, it has an advanced\nautonomy as a result of the 1978 Constitutional establishment of 17\nautonomous communities in Spain, which granted each community a\nregional government and varying degrees of freedom with regard to\neducation, law enforcement, or finances. The Catalan language is co-official.\nHowever, accumulating grievances over cultural and symbolic matters, and\nthe Spanish Constitutional Court’s rejection of a new financial agreement in\n2010 aggravated state–region relations. Analysts agree that the Catalan\nindependence movement was driven less by party politics than by bottom-up\norganizations: NGOs, civil society, and cultural entities. Fifteen years ago,\nonly about 20 percent of Catalans supported the idea of independence\n(Centro de Investigaciones Sociológicas, 2005). In 2015, however, the first\npro-independence regional government was elected, with approximately half\nof voters supporting independence. While the Spanish Constitution disallows\nreferenda on the question of independence, Catalans have voted on several\nsymbolic, non-binding ones. The 2017 referendum resulted in clashes with\nthe police, hundreds of injuries, and the imprisonment of rank-and-file\nregional governmental politicians.\nSports, both traditional and modern, were at the forefront of Catalanist\nmobilization. The first body practice to have been associated with Catalanist\nideology was the sardana dance, as both emerged simultaneously during the\nnineteenth century. The use of folklore and performance as a vehicle for\nconstructing national and vernacular imaginaries was proper to the\nnineteenth-century nation-building mechanisms Europe-wide, when ruling\nelites discovered the legitimizing, authenticating power of language and folk\nelements (Bauman and Briggs, 2003; Wilson, 1973). As somewhat of an\n\n\ninvented tradition (Brandes, 1990), the sardana dance was standardized\nduring the Industrial Revolution, and spread during the Catalan Renaixença\n(1840s–1880s), an epoch of cultural and linguistic revival. As Martí i Pérez\nobserves, intellectual circles felt “the necessity to bestow a weightier\nsignificance to the traditional heritage of the land,” and the sardana offered a\n“symbiosis between a musical and a choreographic product and a specific\nidea” (1994, pp. 40–42). The ideals of nineteenth-century bourgeois\nCatalanism were perfectly embodied by this restrained circle dance that\nanyone may join: harmony, democracy, simplicity, and community. The\ndance even reflected a “cultural intimacy,” to borrow Herzfeld’s (2005)\nnotion of embarrassing local idiosyncrasies: Catalans as being “selfish\ncapitalist accumulators” (Brandes, 1990, p. 33). While human towers already\nexisted at this point, they cannot have become appropriate nationalist\nsymbols due to their associations with rowdy, working-class, masculine\nbravado. For the human tower to become a symbol for secessionist\nintegration and nation building today, it had to go through a process of\ngentrification, that is the integration of women and middle-class\nprofessionals, in the 1980s.\nGenerally, sports spread to the Iberian Peninsula from Great Britain as a\ncorollary to commercial and industrial exchanges between the two countries\nduring the Industrial Revolution. The first gimnasios and British-style sport\nclubs served as venues for urban bourgeois sociality. The industrial elite\nembraced sport as it resonated with its entrepreneurial spirit, risk taking,\nleadership, and work ethic (Magro, 2011, p. 98). The first football clubs\nwere established in the late nineteenth century, at the same time that the\nemergence and symbolic codification of Basque and Catalan nationalist\nmovements occurred (Conversi, 2000). These movements, led by local\nindustrial elites, embraced sport (Shobe, 2008a), which by the 1930s was\nconsidered a sign of ethnic and racial fitness. The emblematic FC Barcelona\npresident Josep Sunyol, who had been a politician in the Republican Left\nparty that formed the first Catalan autonomous government in 1931, wrote\nthis about sport and citizenship in his newspaper Rambla: “To speak of sport\nis to speak of race, enthusiasm, and the optimistic struggle of youth. To\nspeak of citizenship is to speak of the Catalan civilization, liberalism,\ndemocracy, and spiritual endeavour” (in Burns, 2012, p. 88). Subsequently,\nFC Barcelona supported the first Statute of Autonomy in 1932.\n\n\nPhysical culture also affected women’s roles and ideals of femininity. The\nbourgeois elite’s nineteenth-century vision of the ideal woman was the\narchetype of “the eternal feminine,” and the cult of domesticity: female\ngracefulness, modesty, purity, and moral superiority. It promoted sports that\nwould achieve this ideal. The most celebrated manifestation of this ideal was\nLilí Álvarez, an Olympian tennis player who was considered to have\npossessed “that Spanish grace” that made her so attractive in Spain and\nbeyond (Jaime Bartrolí in Torrano et al., 2013, p. 231). Later in her prologue\nto the Spanish edition of Betty Friedan’s Feminine Mystique, Álvarez argued\nfor women’s sport to help women liberate themselves from what is\nessentially an inferior and dependent position (Torrano et al., 2013, p. 248).\nIt was, at the same time, the urban elite that subverted the ideal of female\ndomesticity, as young women grew up in the emancipating urban\natmosphere of clubs, cocktails, and foxtrot. The first Catalan female\nOlympian Rosa Torras, Lilí Álvarez’s team mate at the 1924 Olympic\nGames, received a particularly libertarian upbringing from her bourgeois\nintellectual father, who decided to raise her “on the margins of all that\nsanctimoniousness that was imposed on all women, and allowed her to wear\npants, comb her hair ‘à la garçonne’ and smoke cigarettes with long cigarette\nholders” (La Vanguardia in Torrano et al., 2013, p. 227). Sports were\naccessible to the daughters of these elite, who cultivated a sense of their\nbody at Swiss ski resorts, British tennis clubs, or German spa towns.\nThe Second Spanish Republic (1931–1939) changed the bourgeois\nhegemony over physical culture – over most realms of culture, for that\nmatter. In his Homage to Catalonia (1938), Orwell describes Barcelona in\n1936 as “a town where the working class was in the saddle” (p. 6) The\nSecond Spanish Republic, which ended with Franco’s coup and takeover,\nseemed to Orwell as “really a worker’s State” (p. 6). Besides leftist\nsymbology displayed everywhere, servile forms of speech disappeared, as\ndid gestures that signified hierarchies, and there were no “well-dressed”\npeople in the streets at all. Even Real Madrid dropped the word Real\n(“royal” in Spanish) from its name to better align with the leftist spirit of the\ntimes.\nThe left-wing social and political climate helped sport reach the non-elite\nsectors, workers, universities, and women across Catalonia, and Spain\n(Martí, 2011). In particular, Catalonia spearheaded the spread of\nmountaineering and hiking clubs, which later turned into partisan-style\n\n\npockets of ideological resistance under Franco in the region, as well as in the\nBasque Country (Sullivan, 2015). Sport associations fostered such wide-\nranging political ideologies as communism, anarcho-syndicalism, Marxist\nsocialism, ethno-nationalism, and feminism. Many openly embraced\npolitical ideologies: the Federación Cultural Deportiva Obrera was\ncommunist, the Comité Català pro Esport Popular was Republican and\nCatalan nationalist, the Salud y Cultura was socialist. Some women’s\ngimnasios, such as the emblematic Club Femení i d’Esports de Barcelona\n(1928), were organized around the feminist agenda to provide a platform of\n“civic, Republican sociability” (Martí, 2011, p. 157) for the modern woman\nwho was independent, responsible, and Republican. Highly revealing of the\nleftist spirit of Barcelona was the organization of the 1936 People’s\nOlympiad (Olimpiada Popular) by an international alliance of anti-fascist\npopular movements in protest of the 1936 Nazi Games. Many athletes\nalready in town, the Olympiad was canceled due to the irruption of Franco’s\nnationalist forces, and the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War (1936–1939).\nSport under Franco (1939–1975)\nThe ensuing Franco dictatorship (1939–1975) and its conservative national\nCatholicism impacted both men and women’s sport. The regime’s\ncentralizing pressures were ensured by state control over sport and\nhomogenizing propaganda such as the promotion of the Spanish national\nteam Furia Española as the celebration of the Hispanic values of virility,\nimpetuousness, and race. The Franco regime tried to obliterate regional\nrivalries, except in the realm of football, which served two purposes: an\nopiate for the people to placate regional discontent, and a tool of nation\nbuilding for the state (Shobe, 2008b, p. 338).\nFor Catalans, FC Barcelona was a site where Catalan identity could be\ndiscreetly imagined, and a space where Catalan could be quietly spoken\namidst the general oppression of regional languages and culture. “Barça is\nlike other folkloric manifestations of our people,” Jordi Pujol, the president\nof the first post-Franco Catalan regional government said; “a reserve we can\ndraw on when other sources dry out, when the doors of normality are closed\nto us” (in Burns, 2012, p. 245). Under Franco, football club presidents were\nappointed by the regime; voting for presidents was banned in football clubs,\nas it would have provided the opportunity for an uncomfortable comparison\n\n\nwith the lack of democracy in the national order (Shaw et al., 1987, p. 122).\nFC Barcelona, however, found ways to exercise voting on minor affairs that\nfell outside the vision of state control, which helped maintain a spirit of\ndemocracy.\nThe Franco regime’s homogenizing tendencies also affected folklore and\nculture. As Ortiz writes, the regime’s intention was to “turn regionalism into\nan aesthetic and emotional element, thus making regional diversity an\nunproblematic aspect of the nation” (1999, p. 488). Regional folklore and\ntraditional sports like human tower building were in general tolerated by the\nregime as long as they did not carry subversive political meanings.\nCatalonia’s arguably oldest sport rivalry, the one between the two oldest\nhuman tower teams in the small town of Valls, shows the extent of Francoist\nideological homogenization in everyday life. The rivalry, namely, resonated\nwith social identities that the regime wanted silenced: Republican liberalism.\nThe human tower rivalry was problematic to the regime because it inserted\nambiguity and diversity of opinions (such is the nature of rivalries) where\nthe social and political should have been sutured. The Francoist City Hall of\nValls reacted by forcedly uniting the two rival teams, and aimed to turn the\nsport into the sign of a “United, Great and Free Spain” where there was\n“neither left nor right factions, only the true unity of Spaniards” (Diario\nespañol in Cervelló Salvadó, 2015, pp. 22–23). Human towers symbolized\nthe “firm foundation” on which “the edifice of the emerging Spain” would\nbe built (Félipe Sanz in Cervelló Salvadó, 2015, p. 22). A few years later,\nhowever, the Unified Team once again split as it could not contain its\nmembers’ ideological differences. Against the oppressive unification\nprojects of fascism, sport rivalry carved out a certain openness of the social\nand the political.\nFor women, the conservative Catholic agenda of the dictatorship was\ntransmitted to the population through the Sección Femenina or Women’s\nSection of the Fascist Falange party, which advocated traditional roles and\nactivities for women. The movement endorsed sports for creating strong\nmothers who are physically fit for bearing many children, and physical\neducation was extended over the general population. The spread of physical\neducation for women had a dual effect as it controlled the female body in\nsome senses, and liberated it in others. Sport ended up undermining the\nofficial discourse on the role and capacities of women, and lent economic\nagency to physical education teachers; women learned how to take care of\n\n\ntheir bodies, and “exercise muscles no one even dared to speak about” (Ofer,\n2017, p. 52).\nWith Franco’s death and the subsequent Transition to democracy, regional\nidentities, languages, and cultures once again had greater liberty to foster. In\nthe realm of modern sports, this is the period of regional re-nationalization,\nor the strengthening of peripheral nationalisms through sport, particularly\nsoccer (Llopis Goig, 2008). The liberating atmosphere of the Transition had\nan impact on women’s body culture too, which was most visible through the\nincorporation of women in the world of human towers. The Francoist ideal\nof female cleanliness and body culture was predicated on gender\nsegregation. Women’s entrance in human tower building was a breakthrough\nnot only because it allowed them to be active agents in the town square – the\npublic sphere par excellence in Mediterranean cultures – but because it also\nallowed female bodies to be treated like male ones. Formerly considered to\nbe a practice of peripheral, working-class gents de pet i rot (people of burps\nand farts), human tower building is about close body contact, touches and\ngrabs, sweat and the dirt of the street. Paradoxically, however, it was\nprecisely “all that filth” that granted female bodies equal presence, as\nprotagonists, in public culture.\nThe Barcelona Games (1992)\n“If Barcelona only had 400,000 inhabitants today, the Catalan issue wouldn’t\nexist,” Joan Tarrida, owner of the Catalan publishing house Galaxia\nGutenberg said in an interview (in Minder 2017, p. 156). Catalan\nsecessionism would not exist, or certainly not to the degree that it does, if it\nhad not been for the city’s greatest international achievement: the 1992\nOlympic Games, which turned Barcelona into not just a second capital, but a\nsymbolic equal to Madrid.\nThe Barcelona Games are all the more important considering that Madrid\nhas never been able to host the Olympics. On the eve of September 7, 2013,\nSpain was awaiting with great hope the announcement by the International\nOlympic Committee of its decision for the 2020 Summer Olympic Games.\nTo the great surprise and shock of Spanish officials, Madrid lost its bid to\nTokyo, with the Japanese economy and the fight against doping cited as the\nmain reasons. It was an embarrassing defeat – the third in a row – as Madrid\nhad bid and been rejected for the 2012 and 2016 Games. Madrid Mayor Ana\n\n\nBotella’s over-enthusiastic speech pleading the capital’s case, with a heavy\nEnglish accent, went viral and became the subject of infinite mockery, as she\ntried to sell the country as fun-loving with the phrase that made it into disco\nmusic and onto T-shirts across Spain: “there is nothing quite like a relaxing\ncup of café con leche [coffee with milk] in Plaza Mayor.” With an insecure\neconomy, and corruption scandals within her own Popular Party, the phrase\nfelt not meritorious, but an elitist insult to the 6.5 million unemployed (26\npercent) in Spain who could not quite afford such pleasures themselves.\nIt was a crushing blow for the Spanish team in yet another sense: in a\nclimate of intensifying secessionism, Catalan schadenfreude was rubbed in\ntheir face, for Barcelona had organized their Games with almost\nunanimously acknowledged smashing success. Barcelona turned into a\nmajor tourist destination due to its rebuilt beach front and renovated\ninfrastructure. The Madrid fiasco was announced only a few days before the\nCatalan National Day (Diada), when people formed a 400-km-long human\nchain that cut off the region from Spain in an act of territorial demarcation.\nIn spite of its eventual success, the paz olímpica [“Olympic peace”]\nappeared very fragile during the years of its organization, as the event\nbecame a battlefield between a wide range of ideologies and interests in\nSpain. On the right, there was Juan Antonio Samaranch, President of the\nInternational Olympic Committee, who was instrumental in winning the bid\n– but he was also a former sport minister under Franco. For the socialist-led\nSpanish government, the Olympic Games were a matter of national prestige\nafter the 1982 Soccer World Cup organized by Spain. The World Cup was\nthwarted by the intensification of ETA violence during the early years of the\nfragile post-Franco democracy, and the Spanish national team’s performance\nwas disappointing. For the moderately nationalist, center-right Catalan\ngovernment led by Jordi Pujol, the Games would serve to enhance the\nprestige of the region. Socialist Party-affiliated Barcelona Mayor Pasqual\nMaragall hoped for the renewal and modernization of Barcelona as a result\nof the urban transformations necessary for the Games. Finally, the more\nradical segments of Catalan nationalism wanted to Catalanize the Games for\ntheir own benefit.\nThese Catalanist actors consisted of NGOs and activist campaign groups\nwho demanded a greater and more respectable presence of Catalan symbols:\na dignified position for the Catalan flag, official status for the Catalan\nlanguage, the recognition and separate treatment of Catalan sport\n\n\nfederations, the separation of Catalan athletes under a Catalan flag, and the\nplaying of the Catalan anthem under a Catalan flag when a Catalan athlete\nwins gold. For years, Catalan nationalists put pressure on organizers by\noccasionally providing a foretaste of possible disruption during the Games\nthrough whistling incidents, boycotts, banners, and smuggling things in the\nOlympic venues. In September 1989 for example, the Spanish king was\njeered at the inauguration of the refurbished Olympic Stadium. At the\nreception ceremony of the arrival of the Olympic flame in Catalonia, a\nmilitant managed to display a large “Freedom for Catalonia” banner which,\nwhile the Spanish national television edited it out, swept across international\nmedia, noting that the Barcelona Olympic Games were hosted by two\ncountries really. A week before the start, at the dress rehearsal attended by\nthe public, the Spanish flag received a mortifying, loud whistling. In the end\nand quite miraculously, all parties emerged content: the Games were an\ninternational success without incidents for Spain, and a Barcelona/Catalonia\nevent for the region: “for the first time for centuries, Catalan national\nsymbols ranked equally with Spanish ones in an official act” (Hargreaves,\n2000, p. 98).\nThe organizers managed to make the Barcelona Games be seen as first\nand foremost Catalan, then international, and finally Spanish through a\nbrilliant maneuver of politically unproblematic ethnic symbols. They\nincorporated folkloric physical culture, the sardana dance and human towers\n(castells). Both were local symbols that were intimately Catalan, but\nunthreatening to Madrid. These Catalan symbols connected to the\ninternationalism of the Games, and carefully bypassed links to Spain at the\ninauguration ceremony. The circle dance sardana lent itself readily to form\nthe five Olympic rings, and the 12 human towers honored the 12 members of\nthe European Community. The transmission of internationalism through\nCatalan, and not Spanish symbols revealed that Catalonia saw itself\nbelonging to the international community before Spain, an allegiance that\ncontinues to be important in today’s secessionist context.\nCatalan sport for “Yes”\nCatalonia’s contemporary shift toward the idea of independence resulted\nfrom an accumulating bunch of grievances with Madrid in political, cultural,\nand social matters. After the Franco dictatorship ended in 1975, Spain\n\n\nembarked on its democratic Transition. The new Spanish Constitution was\ndrafted, put to referendum, and approved by 90 percent of Catalonian voters\nin 1978. In the process of formulating the Constitution, Catalonia and other\nregions, including the Basque Country, pushed for and won the Statute of\nAutonomy, which every other major political force approved. Under this\nstatute, Catalonia held its first autonomous elections in 1980, and formed the\nCatalonian parliament and autonomous government.\nSince at least the 1990s, however, Catalonia has experienced growing\ntensions with Madrid in the realms of economics and culture. These have\nincluded Madrid’s push for Spanish-language instruction in Catalonian\npublic education, difficult institutional relations and debates over linguistic\npolicy, and the battle over the Salamanca papers (Catalan Civil War\ngovernment documents that Catalans demanded be returned from\nSalamanca). The insecurities of the global economy, Catalonia’s economic\ndecline, and unemployment nourished the idea that Espanya ens roba\n(“Spain is robbing us”) by collecting more taxes from the region than what is\nreturned at redistribution.\nIssues of identity and economy came together in the political realm in\n2005, when the Catalan government accepted a new Statute of Autonomy\nthat would extend local financial powers. The Spanish General Courts,\nhowever, rejected it. In 2006, Catalonia proposed a new statute, which was\nonce again rejected four years later in 2010. Besides denying new fiscal\nautonomies, the Constitutional Court declared that the use of “nation” for\nCatalonia was unconstitutional, for that word is reserved for Spain only, and\nregions may only refer to themselves as “nationalities.” Everything about\nthis decision felt humiliating to Catalans: the time it took (four years), the\nrejection of local decision making by the Generalitat, and the denial of\nnational subjectivity. In July 2010, more than a million Catalans went to the\nstreets in response to the Constitutional Court decision under the banner “We\nare a nation, We decide.” It was the beginning of years-long civil society\nactivity that eventually pushed formal politics toward the idea of\nindependence.\nThe 2010 pro-independence rally was particularly impacting because it\ntook place on July 10, the eve of the 2010 Soccer World Cup final between\nSpain and the Netherlands. In its splendors and miseries, the Spanish\nnational team has been considered a political allegory. Historically, the\nunderperformance of the selección, variously known as the Spanish Fury or\n\n\nthe Red One, was often attributed to the lack of patriotism on the part of\nplayers from ethno-regional peripheries. After this history of conspicuous\nunderperformance, Spain once again had a chance to fix history and become\nWorld Champions. The tiki taka playing style of the Catalan players\ndominated the national team that won the historic title. That particular night\nbefore the game, with over a million Catalans claiming independence in the\nstreets, the question of what would become of Spain without one of its\ngreatest economic motors, Catalonia, gained another frightful dimension:\nwhat would become of the Spanish national team without Catalan soccer?\nCatalan athletes and clubs have been remarkably vocal about\nindependence (Whigham et al., 2019; Vaczi et al., 2019), the right to vote,\nthe 2019 sentencing, and the ensuing riots. “Although they won’t say it,”\nLondon 2012 Olympic swimmer Claudia Dasca stated, “80% of the sport\nworld wants independence” (Marca, 2017). Elite athletes and coaches have\ncampaigned for “yes,” such as football coach Pep Guardiola, the basketball\nplayer brothers Pau and Marc Gasol, cyclist Anna Ramírez, footballers Marc\nCrosas, Oriol Rosell, and Ángel Rangel. Pep Guardiola has been particularly\nvocal about Spain–Catalonia relations. He was possibly the internationally\nmost well-known face of the yellow-ribbon campaign, which started in\nOctober 2017 as a symbol of solidarity with Catalan politicians who were\narrested for organizing the non-binding referendum. Several elite sport\nclubs, including FC Barcelona, joined in social media to “reject the crushing\nof rights and liberties and the self-government of Catalonia [and to] support\nany initiative that helps us vote at the [October 2017] Referendum” (in\nCastillo Bosch, 2017).\nSport officials argue that few sectors would gain so much, and few are so\nready to leave the state as sport. While there is substantial insecurity about\nthe economic future of Catalonia after potential independence, actors in\nsport speak with remarkable self-confidence. For example, when centralists\npresent doomsday scenarios where FC Barcelona and RCD Espanyol play\nagainst sub-standard teams in a “Catalan league” of independent Catalonia,\nthe answer is quick and confident. “Any major European league would be\nhappy to have us,” former FC Barcelona president Joan Laporta told me in\nan interview, with an air of superiority. “The French, the English, the\nGerman, we have plenty to choose from with the moneys we would bring to\ntheir league.” This confidence, however, fails to consider that the Spanish\nnational team offers attractive prospects to Catalan players. Even if Catalans\n\n\ndominated the Spanish national team’s roster and playing style at the time, a\nCatalan national team would have had less chance of winning a World Cup\n(2010) and two Euro Cups (2008, 2012).\nAnother sign of Catalan self-confidence in sport is the way institutions\nprepare the scene for a smooth transition in case independence is somehow\nachieved. The Olympic Committee of Catalonia COC (Comité Olímpic de\nCatalunya) was originally established in 1989 to push Catalan interests for\nthe Olympic Games. After decades of passivity, the organization was revived\nin 2016 to work toward the international recognition of Catalan athletes as\nearly as Tokyo 2020. With the support of the Catalan Government’s General\nSecretary of Sport (Secreteria General de l’Esport), COC launched the\ncampaign Sport for Yes (l’Esport pel Sí). The COC was supported by 56\nCatalan sport federations, coordinated by the Union of Catalan Sport\nFederations (Unió de Federacions Esportives de Catalunya), which means 80\npercent of all federations in the region favored independence.\nA major contention in regional vs. state sport relations is that regions\ncannot have official teams in sports that Spain has one. That is how\nCatalonia, for example, has 21 national teams in peripheral sports, but\ncannot compete as a “nation” in major ones. According to the Plataforma\nProseleccions Esportives Catalanes, established in 1988 to work for the\nofficialdom of Catalan national teams, “the fastest way to achieve a situation\nin which Catalonia may officially compete in all sports is independence”\n(Castillo Bosch, 2017). With Catalan governmental subsidies, the Plataforma\npublished The Economic Impact of Catalonia’s Independence on Catalan\nSport Federations (Plataforma Proseleccions, 2017), a hundred-page-long,\ndetailed study with the objective of identifying and quantifying the economic\nimpact of potential independence on sport. It assessed the economic situation\nof Catalonia’s major federations and Olympic programs, and estimated the\ncosts and benefits of secession. According to the study, sport’s gross value\nadded (GVA) would grow by 7.4% in the case of independence, and the\nsport sector’s weight in the Catalan economy would increase from 1.34% to\n1.44%. Sport would bring in 2570 million euros, 176.2 million more than it\ndoes as part of Spain. The study argued that the only income football would\nlose is that coming from the Royal Spanish Football Federation (RFEF),\nwhich would be amply compensated by income generated in Catalonia\nthrough competitions, television rights, endorsements, betting and lotteries,\nsales, and Catalan government subsidies. It must be added that these are the\n\n\nfindings of a pro-independence organization; in the absence of contrary\nstudies, one may only wonder if these figures are not overly optimistic.\nPlaying for Spain\nWhile the Spanish national football team has served to promote Spanish\nidentity, virility, and values since its inception, as the Spanish Fury at the\n1920 Antwerp Olympics, the regional diversity of the roster was noteworthy:\nthe team consisted of thirteen Basque, four Catalan, and four Galician\nplayers. Regional players continued to be instrumental in the development of\nSpanish football throughout its history, even though some were openly anti-\nSpain nationalists who would have preferred to play in official regional\nnational teams, had there been any.\nA unique problem to secessionist contexts is that sub-national players\noften play for national teams with which they do not identify. This may\ncreate feelings of resentment for regional players, and suspicion for\ncentralist fans. Regional players may experience a double bind in a sense\nthat whether or not they choose to play for Spain, they will be punished. On\nthe one hand, if they choose not to play for Spain, they lose out on their\nprofessional career, and might lose their license. If they choose to play for\nSpain on the other hand, they may feel uncomfortable with Spanish identity\nimposed on them by, for example, celebratory sport chants like Yo soy\nespañol, español, español. “It’s been too long that they’ve been pressuring\nus with a sentiment that is not ours,” stated ultra-trail Catalan world\nchampion Nuria Picas, expressing the discomfort of athletes who feel more\nCatalan than Spanish (Marca, 2017). Moreover, even if a regional player is\nhappy to play for Spain, fear of backlash from their regional fan base might\nsend them into further confusion. The discomfort of having to maneuver\nbetween loyalties was visible, for example, when the Basque Markel Susaeta\nwas invited to the national team in 2012, and said he was very happy to\nrepresent “a thing,” Spain, that they “have to respect.” The player provoked\nthe anger of both regional and centralist soccer fans: from the former for\nbeing happy to play for Spain, and from the latter for not being able to utter\n“Spain.”\nA few regional players have openly rejected to play for the Spanish\nnational team on ideological grounds, while more are presumed to have\ndiscreetly turned down the offer. In the 1980s, at the height of the ETA’s\n\n\npost-Franco violence, the Basque central defender Kortabarria and the goal\nkeeper Iribar turned down the offer. “For me, there was a moment of\ncontradiction,” Iribar said in an interview about his quitting the national\nteam after 49 games; “I could no longer ask for the amnesty of Basque ETA\nprisoners, and then be ambassador of Spain with the national team” (Gómez,\n2007, p. 66). Nacho Fernandez from Galicia rejected the offer in 1995,\nsaying he was “neither interested, nor thrilled” to play for Spain. In\nCatalonia, the FC Barcelona defender Oleguer Presas politely informed the\nnational team manager Luis Aragonés about “how he saw the world,” and\ncited his lack of “sufficient commitment or sentiment” to play for Spain\n(Marca, 2012).\nOthers choose to play for Spain in spite of their ideological convictions,\nand simply look at it as part of a career best done. Former Catalan basketball\nplayer Jordi Villacampa played for Spain 158 times. “I don’t regret it,” he\nsaid in an interview. “Now, am I Catalan? Yes. Would I like to vote? Also.\nAnd I would vote yes” (Marca, 2017). FC Barcelona defender Gerard Piqué\nseems to have an approach of purposeful obfuscation about his allegiances.\nWhile he openly sympathizes with Catalanist ideology at pro-independence\nrallies and in statements supporting the yellow ribbon campaign, he is also\nthrilled to play for Spain, as if mocking the either/or allegiances that\nSpanish–Catalan identities have become. In a 2017 interview, Piqué insisted\nthat his position was “not incongruent,” and he believed that an\nindependentist, which he added “was not his case,” could play for Spain as\nthere are no regional teams, and that “an independentist has nothing against\nSpain” and might even find it “a great country” of “great people” (AS,\n2017). Piqué had been whistled at several times by centralist fans who did\nnot believe in the possibility of such double dipping, to the point that the\nplayer was contemplating leaving the national team (Vaczi et al., 2019).\nThroughout the history of Spanish soccer, centralist fans had varying\ndegrees of anxiety over whether a regional player “gives it their all” when\nplaying for Spain. Such anxieties emerge in the case of “suspect” players\nlike Piqué, or when the national team underperforms. The goal-keeping\nerrors of the Basque Luis Arconada in the EUFA Euro 1984 final against\nFrance, which cost the much-awaited title, or the disappointing, Basque-\ndominated 1982 World Cup performance of the national team posed similar\nquestions. Arconada’s wearing white socks, or the Catalan players Xavi and\nPuyol folding them over the Spanish colors might be reasons enough to\n\n\nsuspect sabotage (20 Minutos, 2007). In turn, when the Catalan player- and\nplaying-style-dominated national team won the EUFA 2008 and 2012 Euro\nfinals and the 2010 World Cup, the titles were celebrated as signs of\n“normalcy,” and proof that Spain has finally overcome its regional divisions.\nWhistling Spain\nIn May 2012, 55,000 Basque and Catalan fans packed into Madrid’s El\nCalderón stadium for the Spanish King’s Cup final between FC Barcelona\nand the Basque Athletic Club de Bilbao. King Juan Carlos himself was not\ngoing to show up for the event that bore his name, as he had been injured at\na safari hunt in Botswana a few weeks before. His son Felipe represented the\nroyal family. The Spanish national anthem was reduced to 27 seconds so that\nthe embarrassment of its being accompanied by furious whistling by regional\nfans was shortened. After the game started, Basque and Catalan fans sang\nthe well-known children’s song to mock the king’s hunt and fall:\nAn elephant was balancing on a spider’s web\nAnd as he saw he didn’t fall,\nHe called another elephant.\nTwo elephants were balancing on a spider’s web,\nAnd as they saw they didn’t fall,\nThey called another elephant.\nThree elephants …\nIt went on and on, all the way to 15 elephants, which became a haunting\nspecter as they evoked the image of Juan Carlos posing with dead wild game\non photographs. The crowd’s argument was unmistakable: the sovereignty of\nthe Spanish state was, for them, as stable as an elephant balancing on a\nspider’s web (Vaczi, 2018).\nThe first notable instance of whistling at a football game goes back to\n1925 to the regime of Primo de Rivera, who had just overthrown the\nconstitutional government in 1923 with a military coup. The dictatorship\nsuspended the 1876 Constitution, dissolved the Spanish parliament, and\nbanned political parties and regional governments. The friendly match\nbetween FC Barcelona and CE Júpiter took place in June 1925 in Catalonia.\nAt half time, when the Royal Marines played the Spanish Marcha Real, fans\n\n\nwhistled the anthem so furiously that the Marines, confused as to why the\n“Spaniards” whistled “their own anthem,” switched to God Save the Queen.\nTo their further bafflement, the British anthem met with enthusiastic\napplause. The event had major political repercussions. The stadium was shut\ndown for three months, and the president of FC Barcelona was exiled from\nSpain. According to anecdote, the Les Corts stadium would be re-opened\nonly after 12 religious practitioners had blessed it in order to exorcise the\n“malevolent separatist spirits” that had contaminated it (Burns, 2011, p.\n124).\nThe recent tradition of jeering the king started in 2009, when Athletic\nClub and FC Barcelona qualified for the King’s Cup final. As King Juan\nCarlos emerged in the VIP booth of Valencia’s Mestalla stadium, the Spanish\nnational anthem would be played, but it was not heard: 55,000 Basques and\nCatalans were standing, holding Basque and Catalan national flags high,\nwhistling in denunciation of the anthem and the royal family. The state-\nowned Radio Televisión Española reduced the sound of the whistling and\namplified the anthem to audible levels, which stirred a political controversy\nover censoring an act of free expression. The Foundation for the Defense of\nthe Spanish Nation (Denaes) sued the whistling. In spite of the National\nCourt decision that declared that whistling fell within the category of free\nexpression, pro-monarchy voices continued to call for the criminalization of\nwhistling each time the Basque and Catalan teams qualified for the Cup\nfinal. When that happened in 2012, with the elephant episode above, the\nPresident of Madrid Province Esperanza Aguirre called for the cancellation\nof the game if fans whistled. Eighty-seven years later, commentators claimed\nbefore final that Esperanza Aguirre “evoked the ghost of the dictator Primo\nde Rivera,” who shut down Barcelona’s Les Corts stadium in 1925.\nBy 2015, when again the same teams qualified, the King’s Cup final was\na veritable controversy. “Where shall we put these 70,000 pigs, because pigs\nthey are, these Basque and Catalan fans who attend the King’s Cup final to\ninsult and profane the symbols of Spain?” a TV show host asked (La\nRatonera, 2015), indicative of the passions the game generated. “I wouldn’t\neven call them Basques and Catalans,” a caller added. “They are separatists,\nseparratas [separatist rats], there is no other way to label them.” Ninety-five\nthousand Basques and Catalans packed into Barcelona’s Camp Nou stadium\nand produced a decibel that the press called “monumental,” “stratospheric,”\nand “thunderous.” Spain’s ruling conservative People’s Party qualified the\n\n\nincident as a “horror” that “offends us,” declared that the whistling\ndemonstrated a “disease part of the society suffers,” and reiterated the\nproposition that insulting Spain’s symbols should be punishable. A Spanish\nKing’s Cup final between a Basque club and a Catalan club collapses Spain’s\nregional troubles into one event, and such finals have became a tradition of\nsorts; in 2009, 2012, and 2015, the whistling in protest of the sovereign and\nthe Spanish national anthem catalyzed nation-wide debates over the sanctity\nof state symbols versus free expression, debates that found their analogs in\nthe American context through, for example, Colin Kaepernick’s kneeling\nprotests.\nConclusion\nOver the years, by the end of 2019, Spain’s regional troubles went from the\n“territorial question” through the “Catalan challenge” to the current “Catalan\ncrisis.” As the Spanish Constitution does not allow for regional referenda on\nindependence, Catalan NGOs have resorted to the organization of non-\nbinding ones. The 2017 October vote resulted in police crackdown and the\nimprisonment of Catalan pro-independence politicians. Two years later in\nOctober 2019, hundreds of thousands poured onto the streets protesting the\nSpanish Supreme Court’s decision to imprison these politicians for 9 to 13\nyears for organizing an unconstitutional referendum on independence.\nDepending on one’s position on the pro-Spain centralist and Catalan pro-\nindependence spectrum, the Supreme Court sentencing was variously\nqualified “weak” and “disappointing,” “lengthy,” “draconian,” and the\n“shame of Spain.” What these responses show is the abysmal distances that\nhave come to exist in Catalonia and Spain.\nThe Catalan sport world hurried to make formal statements that expressed\nsolidarity with imprisoned politicians. FC Barcelona stated that “prison was\nnot the solution,” only dialogue. Former Barcelona coach Pep Guardiola\nmade a video statement, in which he warned that Spain was experiencing a\n“drift toward authoritarianism,” and urged the state to “sit down and talk.”\nFormer Barcelona player Xavi posted “Vergonya, verguenza, shame,” and\ncurrent defender Piqué expressed his pride in his club’s solidarity with\nimprisoned pro-independence politicians. Girona FC, which had always\nopenly promoted the right to vote on independence, rejected the sentencing,\nand called for the liberation of “unjustly imprisoned politicians.” Even RCD\n\n\nEspanyol, the first division football club in Catalonia with historical ties to\npro-Spain identities, lamented the pain the sentences caused to individuals,\nand urged the finding of “political and democratic solutions.” The world of\nhuman towers, in turn, has led mobilizations in the street: they have built\nhuman towers at political rallies, and outside the prison where their leaders\nare held. They have displayed “Liberty for Political Prisoners” banners and\npro-independence estelada flags on top of their spectacular constructions,\nand in the town squares where they perform.\nThe 2019 October Supreme Court sentencing reached a point where\nreturn would be difficult, while Spaniards have voted four times in four\nyears at general elections due to governmental impasses the territorial\nquestion has created. With a new socialist government that has shown\nwillingness to “sit and talk,” as banners at rallies have demanded, it remains\nto be seen where the Catalan question is headed.\nReferences\n20 Minutos, 2007. Por qué la bandera española no está en las medias de Puyol y Xavi?\nwww.20minutos.es/noticia/243094/0/Espana/bandera/polemica/.\nAS, 2017. Piqué: “No es mi caso, pero un independentista podría jugar en la Selección española.”\nhttps://as.com/futbol/2017/10/04/seleccion/1507113417_902882.html.\nBauman, R. and Briggs, C.L., 2003. Voices of modernity: Language ideologies and the politics of\ninequality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.\nBrandes, S., 1990. The Sardana: Catalan dance and Catalan national identity. Journal of American\nFolklore, 103(407), pp. 24–41.\nBuck-Morss, S., 1991. The dialectics of seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project. Cambridge,\nMA: The MIT Press.\nBurns, J., 2011. Barca: A People’s Passion. London: A&C Black.\nBurns, J., 2012. La Roja: A journey through Spanish football. London: Simon and Schuster.\nCastillo Bosch, R., 2017. L’esport català s’uneix en defensa del referendum. Público, September 26.\nwww.publico.es/public/mon-l-esport-davant-l-1-l-esport-catala-s-uneix-defensa-referendum.html.\nCentro de Investigaciones Sociológicas, 2005. Barómetro Autonómico I. Cataluña. Accessed February\n7, 2016. www.cis.es/cis/export/sites/default/Archivos/Marginales/2600.\nCervelló Salvadó, A., 2015. Els Xiquest de Valls durant el primer Franquisme (1939–1960). Valls:\nCossetània.\nConversi, D., 2000. The Basques, the Catalans and Spain: Alternative routes to nationalist\nmobilisation. Reno, NV: University of Nevada Press.\nGómez, D., 2007. La patria del gol: fútbol y política en el Estado español. San Sebastián: Almed.\nGuibernau, M., 2013. Secessionism in Catalonia: After democracy. Ethnopolitics, 12(4), pp. 368–393.\nHargreaves, J., 2000. Freedom for Catalonia? Catalan nationalism, Spanish identity and the\nBarcelona Olympic Games. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.\nHerzfeld, M., 2005. Cultural intimacy: Social poetics in the nation-state. London: Routledge.\nLa Ratonera, 2015. www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ShcE7q59kg.\n\n\nLlopis Goig, R., 2008. Identity, nation-state and football in Spain: The evolution of nationalist feelings\nin Spanish Football. Soccer & Society, 9(1), pp. 56–63.\nMagro, Á.B., 2011. La escalada del deporte en España en los orígenes de la sociedad de masas, 1900–\n1936. In Atletas y ciudadanos: historia social del deporte en España (1870–2010), ed. by X.\nPujadas, pp. 89–123. Madrid: Alianza.\nMarca. 2012. Oleguer: “Sé que en la selección hubo más casos como el mío.” November 19.\nwww.marca.com/2012/11/19/futbol/seleccion/1353332835.html.\nMarca. 2017. Deportistas que quieren la independencia de Cataluña (y no se cortan en manifestarlo).\nSeptember 20. www.marca.com/otros-deportes/2017/09/20/59bc491be2704e6e428b45ca.html.\nMartí, X.P., 2011. Del barrio al estadio: deporte, mujeres y clases populares en la segunda república,\n1931–1936. In Atletas y ciudadanos: historia social del deporte en España (1870–2010), ed. by X.\nPujadas, pp. 125–167. Madrid: Alianza.\nMartí i Pérez, J., 1994. The sardana as a socio-cultural phenomenon in contemporary Catalonia.\nYearbook for Traditional Music, 26, pp. 39–46.\nMinder, R., 2017. The struggle for Catalonia: Rebel politics in Spain. Oxford: Oxford University\nPress.\nOfer, I., 2017. Forging an organic nation: Physical education, gender and class (Spain 1939–1975).\nSport, Identity and Nationalism in the Hispanic World. Studia Iberica et Americana, 4(4), pp. 35–\n57.\nOrtiz, C., 1999. The uses of folklore by the Franco Regime. Journal of American Folklore, 112(446),\npp. 479–496.\nOrwell, G., 1938. Homage to Catalonia. www.limpidsoft.com/ipad10/homagecatalonia.pdf.\nPlataforma Proseleccions. 2017. Impacte economic de la independència de Catalunya en les\nfederacions \nesportives \ncatalanes. \nApril \n3. \nhttps://seleccions.cat/wp-\ncontent/uploads/2017/05/images_pdf_EstudiFederacions_ESTUDI-IMPACTE-ECONOMIC-\nimpremta-03-04-2017B.pdf.\nShaw, D., Preston, P., and Míguez, N., 1987. Fútbol y franquismo. Madrid: Alianza.\nShobe, H., 2008a. Football and the politics of place: Football Club Barcelona and Catalonia, 1975–\n2005. Journal of Cultural Geography, 25(1), pp. 87–105.\nShobe, H., 2008b. Place, identity and football: Catalonia, catalanisme and Football Club Barcelona,\n1899–1975. National Identities, 10(3), pp. 329–343.\nSullivan, J.L., 2015. ETA and Basque nationalism: The fight for Euskadi 1890–1986. London:\nRoutledge.\nTorrano, C.V., De la Arada, R., and Turró, G., 2013. Lilí Álvarez, tenista e intelectual: entre el eterno\nfemenino y la mujer eterna. Ars Brevis, (19), pp. 216–250.\nVaczi, M., 2016. Catalonia’s human towers: Nationalism, associational culture, and the politics of\nperformance. American Ethnologist, 43(2), pp. 353–368.\nVaczi, M., 2018. Football, the beast, and the sovereign: The politics of joking relationships in Spain.\nEthnos, 83(4), pp. 706–723.\nVaczi, M., Bairner, A., and Whigham, S., 2019. Where extremes meet: Sport, nationalism, and\nsecessionism \nin \nCatalonia \nand \nScotland. \nNations \nand \nNationalism.\nhttps://doi.org/10.1111/nana.12569.\nWhigham, S., Lopez-Gonzalez, H., and Ramon, X., 2019. “Més que un joc?”: Sport and contemporary\npolitical nationalism in Scotland and Catalonia. Journal of Sport and Social Issues, 43(3), pp. 219–\n244.\nWilson, W.A., 1973. Herder, folklore and romantic nationalism. The Journal of Popular Culture, 6(4),\npp. 819–835.\n\n\nChapter 7\nFootball in Corsica\nFrom the pride of being French to the desire not\nto be?\nDidier Rey\nIntroduction\nOn Sunday, 15 July 2018, the French national football team became world\nchampions. In Corsica, celebrations of joy also took place. However,\nincidents of a distinctly anti-French character were noted in different parts\nof the island: insults, burning of tricolour flags, and clashes.\nOn Thursday, 26 July 2018, at the extraordinary session of the Assembly\nof the Corsican Community1 where autonomists and separatists are largely\nin the majority, the agenda saw the tabling of a motion with a request for\npriority review calling for Corsica’s affiliation to FIFA.2\nThese examples, which are not exhaustive, would support the idea of the\nuse of football by militants of “stateless nations”. They would show, if that\nwere necessary, the importance of the instrumentality of sport by the\nCorsican nationalist movement, and furthermore signal the failure of the\n“nationalisation of the island masses” by the French Republic.\nAlthough legitimate in appearance, the statement of facts thus\nestablished is nonetheless insufficient and biased. Indeed, what the study on\nCorsican football over more than half a century reveals is, on the contrary, a\nprofound nationalisation-Frenchification of the Corsicans, and their ardent\n\n\ndesire to be “fully French”. However, this permanent quest for Frenchness\nappears inseparable from an equally strong ethnic assertion, that of the\n“Corsican race”, constructing a particular model of integration where the\nfantasy of origins and the right of blood retain a certain power. It is this\nmodel that football was going to put to the test during the integration of the\nisland clubs into the national championships, and the confrontation with the\nOther; it was this model that football was going to undermine little by little.\nIt was this model that was gradually to weaken, without being extinguished,\nto give way finally to a reconstituted Corsican nationalism, especially in the\nstadium stands, although not without ambiguities vis-à-vis its relationship\nwith France. It is the construction and the foundations of these forms of\nnationalism and the modes of transition from one to the other through\nfootball that this chapter aims to analyse.\nTo do so, we will first of all focus on the cultural and ideological\ncontradictions exposed by the difficult integration of Corsican clubs into\nnational competitions. We will continue our analysis by looking at the\nrevival of Corsican nationalism, and will conclude with the current\nrelationships between autonomists, nationalists, and football.\nCan you be Corsican and French?\nIn the first months of 1959, French amateur competitions underwent a\nprofound transformation with the establishment of the French Amateur\nChampionship (CFA3). One of the main innovations of this championship\nwas the participation of clubs from French Algeria.4 On the other hand,\nArticle 4, which defined the composition of tournaments, excluded Corsica\nde facto from participation in the CFA, since it mentioned only sixteen\nregional champions of the Honorary Division, and not seventeen. Thus,\nAlgeria, a colonial territory (it was then a regional department5), was\nintegrated into a national competition, while a metropolitan territory,\nCorsica, was not. Emotions were high on the island, and not only in the\nworld of football. The national football authorities rectified this oversight\nthe following month, but refused to accept more than one Corsican club in\nthe CFA, unlike other French regions. And it took half a dozen years (1959–\n1965), despite the ceaseless demands of Corsicans, including their\npoliticians, before they accepted the fact. This refusal was due to the\n\n\nalleged low level of Corsican football, which resulted in their “necessary”\nmarginalisation in order not to weaken the competition. Worse was to come\nin 1965: some French amateur clubs which were gathered in Montélimar for\na roundtable discussion demanded the total exclusion of Corsicans from\nnational competitions, believing that the matches taking place on the island\nwere given to violence, but the French authorities did not satisfy their\ndemands. Therefore, expecting nothing on the amateur front, the two main\nclubs on the island, SC Bastia and AC Ajaccio6 integrated into the\nprofessional championships of France where, given their relative good\neconomic health, they were accepted at a time when these competitions\nhappened to be looking for solvent clubs. In the space of two years (1967–\n1968), they joined the First Division, the elite of French football.\nBut sport was not everything, as the omission of 1959 confirms. It was\nindeed an omission and not a “conspiracy”. A few years earlier, in 1954,\nMichel Carrère already said in a chapter devoted to football that “on the\nregional level, France is divided into 16 leagues”,7 leaving Corsica aside,\nwithout ever mentioning it anywhere. However, what this 1959 decision\nbrought home was much more than a sporting absence: it raised the\nquestion of the place of this island regional department within the nation as\na whole.\nIndeed, Corsica suffered for a long time from a lack of status, and not to\nsay of representation. In effect, where should it be situated? The question\nmay seem irrelevant, but it remains relevant. Geography maps representing\n“the hexagon” until the 1990s were not very helpful: an island confined in a\nrectangle near the Var coast, off Marseille, or even in the Bay of Biscay.\nThis was no different from the mental representation of France, which\ncontinued to exclude Corsica de facto from the hexagon, drawn without it.\nAs an example, let us remember that in Paris, at the International Exhibition\nof Art and Technology in 1937, the Corsica pavilion did not appear with\nthose of the French provinces, but was located on the Île des Cygnes, a few\nmetres from the Centre of the French Overseas Territories, in other words,\nthe pavilions of the various colonies; a kind of in-between, and not just in\nthe geographical sense. Admittedly, there could be a desire to distinguish\nthe island character of Corsica, as well as its vital links with the empire;\nnevertheless Corsica exists, not with France, but through the empire. In\n1957 – only two years before the omission by the CFA – the Regional\nAction Programme itself, although unambiguously situating Corsica among\n\n\nthe metropolitan regions, nevertheless contained a significant passage, both\nfrom the point of view of Italy’s past claims and that of the particular place\nof the island in the nation as a whole:\nDespite these favourable factors, the declining trend is still\npredominant for the moment in Corsica. To abandon it to depopulation\nand wasteland would be particularly serious at a time when Italy is\ninvesting tens of billions in the development of Sardinia. … In the face\nof these gigantic developments, the immediate future of Corsica will\ntestify for or against our national capacity for “internal colonisation”.8\nAlthough French, Corsica is not quite part of France nor really of the\nempire, thus undergoing a kind of in-between-identity situation. It was\nsurprising that the announcement made by France football about the\nacceptance of the Corsican club in the CFA figured in an article\nsymptomatically entitled Algeria and the CFA, where it read:\nDuring the same session, the Corsican Champion was integrated into\nthe South-East group, and the Algerians were not the last to appreciate\nthis gesture towards their friends of the Island of Beauty, with which\nthey have so many family ties and friendships9\nIn that respect, all other things being equal, this question of sporting\nintegration is reminiscent of what Albert Memmi wrote about other\nterritories: “It is the colonised who first wish to assimilate, and it is the\ncoloniser who refuses this”.10\nOn the Corsican side, the political support given to the fight for\nintegration was all the more firm in that it coincided with the efforts then\nmade by the political and economic world to align Corsica with the\nprinciples of common law, a step deemed essential on the path of economic\ndevelopment, but also perceived as the completion of Frenchness. In those\ntimes of struggle to save the last economic tools still viable, and to put an\nend to the “handicaps of insularity”, the integration of the Corsican teams\ninto the CFA was in the end only the sporting part of the fight, that of the\nequality with the rest of the country, especially as it was often led, directly\nor indirectly, by the same people, such as for example, Jean Zuccarelli,\n\n\npresident of the Corsican Football League and also a Corsican MP (député\nde la Corse).\nHowever, we would not fully understand the stakes of this much desired\nintegration, if we did not put it in the broader context of the consequences,\nboth ideological and political, of the Second World War in Corsica. Indeed,\nas in 1918, the conflict entrenched and increased the sense of identification\nwith the French homeland in a way that could be considered definitive.\nEspecially, the way the island was liberated strengthened the assimilationist\nargument: that the island was liberated as a result of a popular uprising\naided by French troops from Algeria (September–October 1943). The\nkeystone of this new argument, which superimposed itself on the previous\none, complemented and widened it, is made up partly by the reassessment\nof an episode of the French Revolution:\nOn 30 November 1789, Corsica gave itself up spontaneously to France.\nIt thus achieved the dream of freedom and security pursued\nunsuccessfully during centuries of struggle … For the Corsicans,\nPascal Paoli’s democratic constitution saw its complete fulfilment\nduring the Great French Revolution.11\nThe period of independence (1755–1769) was thus transcended by national\nhistory; moreover, the conquest of 1769 was eliminated from history, or at\nleast associated with the French revolutionary episode for which it set the\nstage, all in a teleological vision which “naturally” set up Corsica for its\nFrench future. On the other hand, the insurrection of 1943 gave credence to\nthe image of a France indebted to Corsica for the recovery of liberty. Thus,\nmuch more clearly than before 1939, focus was on the voluntary aspect of\nintegration into the “Great Nation”, rather than on an alleged geographical\nand historical determinism, as had often been the case until then, which\nwould have led to the “attachment” to the nation as a whole. Not to mention\nthe idea that France was also indebted to Corsica for the blood of its sons,\nwho had been present in theatres of operation during various conflicts for at\nleast a century and a half.12 Therefore, it is clear that the assimilation of\nfootball, too, was pursued as an ultimate goal, and perceived even more as a\nright after so many sacrifices made for the Motherland. The arguments put\nforward by the island press during the “Round Table” of Montélimar bear\nwitness to this:\n\n\nI expect, because otherwise hope would be totally lost … that the\nCorsicans retain their place in the French amateur championship.\nOtherwise, it would occasion the most unusual of trials … a football\nclub summoning the FFF. Talented lawyers are not in short supply,\nboth in Corsica and on the continent, no more than they were in 1914–\n1918 … 1939–1945 … the Corsicans who undertook to defend French\nsoil, and soaked it with their blood.13\nWithout its ideological background, the tenacity of the island rulers would\nbe difficult to explain. Hence the lack of understanding of the difficulties\nraised by the FFF, because for the Corsicans, it was their status as “fully\nFrench” they were denied, questioning a century of integration into the\nnation as a whole.\nBut, at the same time, we cannot ignore the numerous references to the\nvalues of the “Corsican race”, which are often mentioned not only by the\nfootball community but also by politicians of all stripes, indicating in this\nway the strength and the prominence of these ethnic and cultural\nrepresentations. The constant and multiple confrontations between the clubs\nand the national authorities amplified the culture shock that the “battles” for\nintegration exposed. On the island side, it brought out a victimism designed\nto ward off the danger of calling into question a Corsican and French\nbelonging, considered until then as “natural”. On the other side of the\nMediterranean, island football and footballers were quickly equated with\npermanent and incorrigible troublemakers, “proof” of a certain\nunacceptable foreignness.\nThe emergence of a Corsican neo-nationalism\nThe gradual revival of a Corsican neo-nationalism from the mid-1960s,\nincreased even more the conflict in the relationship between the different\nprotagonists of island football and their counterparts on the continent. This\nreappearance of a sentiment that was thought to have been extinguished\nderived from the impact of external events, where the effects of\ndecolonisation played a not insignificant role, even if it was not the only\nissue involved.\nIn 1945, Corsica underwent economic, socio-cultural as well as political\nescheat. This general slump was averted in the middle of the 1950s by the\n\n\nintervention of the state, then engaged in vast land-use planning operations\nagainst the backdrop of European construction and decolonisation. With the\nadoption of the Regional Action Plan14 by the Council of Ministers on 30\nJune 1955, the island would undergo profound changes, both political and\nsocio-economic. Originally welcomed, the agricultural policy was quickly\ndiverted from its initial goals to the benefit of returnees from North Africa,\nof whom nearly 15,000 settled in Corsica between 1962 and 1966, amongst\na local population of around 190,000. This situation was all the more badly\nreceived as Corsica was the only regional department to join the putschists\nof Algiers of 13 May 1958;15 in addition to dispossession, there was a\nfeeling of betrayal. The operation was felt as a vast attempt at\ndispossession, the sentiment further reinforced by the bad choices in tourist\npolicy, resulting in the monopolising of coastal areas by some large\ninternational groups. In 1972, the publication by the autonomists of the\nHudson Report, commissioned by state services but kept confidential,\nconfirmed that the islanders were enduring development more than they\nwere participating in it. Most Corsicans felt they were victims of vast land\ndispossession, which subordinated them to an inferior socio-economic\nclass, and suffered a distressing cultural depersonalisation. It is the\nconvergence of these elements, which are not perceived with so much\nintensity on other shores of the Mediterranean Sea, which triggered and fed\nthe crisis.\nWe must also be careful not to forget the weight of the colonial culture\nthat resulted in the interpretation of “development” as aggression and an\nattempt at colonisation, and no longer as a tool for economic development.\nIn Corsica, references to North Africa – in other words, to classical\ncolonialism – contaminated the political process itself. The regionalists,\nthen the autonomists, thereupon developed a discourse where the Corsican\nsituation was likened to that of colonial Algeria, the presence of the “Pieds-\nNoirs” and the modes of their installation apparently confirming the\naccuracy of this. The overseas experience “has so deeply nourished the\nCorsican intelligentsia that it has fossilised its colonial culture as a criterion\nof evaluation”.16 The results were, among other things, the first violent\nactions against the buildings of “settlers”, which were sometimes\ndynamited, as well as often violent land occupations. Moreover, the turn\ntaken in the “enhancement” and the prevarications of the state concerning\nregionalisation began to worry even the traditional political class which,\n\n\nfeeling a rising discontent that was growing violent, redoubled statements\nand warnings to the state and its representatives using the only comparative\nstructural analysis available to it: colonisation.\nThe gradual resurgence of Corsican national sentiment, still confused,\nambiguous but real, was one of the consequences of this deleterious\nsituation. It was further facilitated by the preservation of a feeling of ethnic\ndifference, even though this had until then served an integrationist purpose.\nThis new nationalism was notably seen with Corsican students in France.17\nThe re-appropriation of local history, its re-evaluation and its reintegration\ninto an Italian and Mediterranean setting, invalidated the teleological\ndiscourse of the island’s French destiny. The rediscovery of entire sections\nof island history, obscured or even falsified, and the reinterpretation of\ncertain assimilationist myths in an opposite direction, would reinsert the\nrecent nationalist narrative into a historical continuum, giving rise to an\ninvented tradition, a true spearhead in the objection, and finally the\ndestruction, of the teleological discourse, whose shock wave would reach\neven football.\nAs early as in 1973, the political movements, hitherto regionalist,\nasserted themselves as clearly autonomist, which no party had dared to do\nsince 1939. Among them the Action pour la Renaissance de la Corse\n(Action for the Renaissance of Corsica, ARC18) which quickly became the\nspearhead of the island’s demands. The state, for its part, committed errors\nof judgement which worsened the situation. While the government was\ncracking down on the legal movement ARC, armed clandestine groups were\nemerging. The turning point came on 21 August 1975 in Aleria, when\nautonomist activists moved into the wine cellar of a “pied-noir” to\ndenounce financial fraud. The government reacted brutally, and the\nconfrontation between the autonomists and the police forces caused two\ndeaths among the latter. A few days later, on 27 August, blood flowed again\nin Bastia during a riotous night. On 5 May 1976, amid the crashes of\nbombs, the Fronti di liberazioni naziunali di a Corsica (National Liberation\nFront of Corsica, FLNC) was born, as fruit of the fusing of various\nclandestine movements, which set as its objective the independence of\nCorsica. From then on, for forty years (1976–2014), Corsica was to live in\nthe shadow of several thousand attacks and dozens of deaths, including the\nassassination of a prefect in February 1998. In December 2015, after\ndifficult and long periods of failure and the abandonment of armed struggle,\n\n\nthe nationalist parties won the elections to the Territorial Assembly for the\nfirst time in their history, thereby opening the doors to power.\nFootball and neo-nationalism: from political second best\nto ideological commitment\nHowever, the instrumentality of football by the autonomist and nationalist\nmovements would not follow political demands, nor would it support them.\nIt was at the very beginning of the 1970s that the question of the\nrelationship between the autonomist movement and football really arose.\nThe latter, indeed, was then by far the most popular sport on the island, and\ntherefore it offered the possibility of political “visibility” like no other.\nSome activists were beginning to see the benefit of being present in this\nterrain:\n“Beware, Gauls, patience has its limits!”, “Corsica, the last French\ncolony” … Such were the slogans on banners which filled the stands of\nthe Furiani stadium on the night of Saint-Etienne’s arrival.19\nIn France, young Corsican students made the same observation and quickly\ngrasped the importance of the issue, but they could still only express it\nthrough temporary – sometimes violent – demonstrations at away games\nplayed by the island teams. Thus, Léo Battesti, then a young student, and\nfuture leader of the FLNC, remembered the impact of football on his\npolitical awareness:\nAnother fact proved undoubtedly even more decisive for my\ncommitment: Bastia’s first cup final against Marseille in the Coupe de\nFrance. It took place on 4 June 1972 … I had made a T-shirt for the\noccasion. I wrote, with adhesive letters, an original message: “Allez la\nCorse”. And there, I was inoculated for life after no less than three\nskirmishes, all caused by the slogan … I exposed, with a certain\nvivacity, my own point of view, realising that prejudices, which I\nrejected for blacks or Arabs, also concerned us … The narrow defeat\nwas a huge shock. My awareness of the Corsican problem became all\nthe more intense. From the beginning of the 1973 academic year, I\ndecided to campaign within the Nice section of ARC.20\n\n\nThe leaders, however, remained reluctant because the intellectual training of\nmost of them had hardly prepared them to conceive of sport as an\ninstrument of struggle. In order to make it happen, it took all the obstinacy\nof the journalist Victor Sinet,21 who fully understood the importance of the\nphenomenon of football in the role as a marker of national identity, a\nfortiori for a people that were considered among the autonomists a national\nminority. Although activism in the stadiums continued, it never took a\ndifferent form than that seen until then. As a result, the interest of the ARC\nin football materialised essentially through its press organ, Arritti, which\noffered the possibility of spreading the autonomist message beyond strictly\npolitical spheres, and thus bringing other Corsicans to join the fight through\nfootball.\nTherefore, the sports section of the newspaper became a permanent\nfeature, dealing on the stigmatisation – real or supposed – that the island\nclubs were subjected to by the footballing authorities, especially those\ncalling into question whether the Corsican teams belonged to the national\ncommunity. However, what would have been considered as an insult\nyesterday was now highly affirmed and displayed: not belonging to the\nFrench ensemble. A step was taken: one no longer asked for “redress”. On\nthe contrary, it was now clearly a nationalist issue, without taking the\nreflection to its final end: pure and simple separation. Too sensitive to\nappearances – and especially to symbols – the French government seemed\nto have, once again, largely overestimated the capabilities of the ARC and\nits investment in sports. Thus, in the very confused situation in August\n1975, the public authorities decided to postpone the Bastia–Nice match\nscheduled for 26 August, and put under high surveillance the Bastia–Troyes\nmatch scheduled for early September. As for the representation of the\nCorsican people by the autonomists through these articles, this remained\nstrongly marked by the vision of their pre-war predecessors, that is to say,\nabove all ethnic, as evidenced by the almost constant recourse to the term\n“race” to evoke the islanders in sporting as well as political articles. Despite\nthis, the autonomists were fond of pointing out their desire for integration of\nthe French residents on the island, at least those who agreed to blend in with\nthe Corsican people to form a “community of destiny”. For others, there\nwas no salvation.\nIt must therefore be noted that football had never become politically\n“major” in the context of the autonomist struggle; no one would ever think\n\n\nof investing in any club, even amateur ones, or setting up an unofficial\nnational team. There was also no real reflection on the sporting\nphenomenon. At the end of the day, football remained a minor element of\nthe political struggle, and it was only its “visibility” that really attracted the\nattention of the leaders of the ARC, and the movements that would follow\nit.\nThe pro-independence nationalists were now separated once and for all\nfrom the autonomists, as of the birth of the FLNC.22 Forgetting the lessons\nof a recent past of propaganda in the stadiums, and initially captivated by\nthe scent of the Third World discourse, the FLNC considered football as a\nvulgar “opium of the people”, distilled by tribes and “the colonial state” to\n“alienate the Corsican people”. Consequently, their disinterest – even their\nhostility – towards football was total. The only exception was the\nephemeral temptation of a “strong act” on the part of the FLNC, proposing\nto attack the security forces mobilised for the European final between\nBastia and Eindhoven (9 May 1978), at the risk of a bloodbath. Nothing\nhappened, some militants recoiling before the possibility of a massacre,\nabandoning the hellish spiral that their Basque and Irish counterparts had\nfailed to avoid. A few weeks later, the members of the organisation fell into\nthe hands of the police, and the “sporting question”, if there had been one,\ndisappeared from the clandestine issue. However, a few years later, it was\nslowly appearing within legal structures.\nThis interest became characteristic around the years 1985–1988 for three\nessential reasons: first, the fact that a youth faction was the spearhead of the\ndemand at a time of certain difficulties for the nationalist movement as a\nwhole. These young people were mostly interested in football. Therefore, it\nwas appropriate to give them a certain position. Then, the desire grew for\nthe nationalist press organ, U Ribombu, to become the journal of reference\nfor the island diaspora. U Ribombu tried to capture possible readership also\nthrough the medium of football, which constituted a link and a special focus\nfor Corsicans living outside. Lastly, it was impossible to avoid a cyclical\nsporting event, the return of the Ajaccio–Bastia derby in the Second\nDivision from 1986 on, which fascinated the island public. However, once\nagain, only journalistic investment characterised this nationalist interest in\nfootball. The latter remained, for the nationalists, a subordinate means of\npolitical struggle, but which in itself was of little importance. Moreover, the\nlack of follow-up and the rather heterogeneous nature of the articles clearly\n\n\nindicated the absence of any guidelines and thorough reflection on the\nphenomenon.\nIn 1989, the break-up in the nationalist camp led to the break-up of the\nunified party into three rival structures, each with its own party, press organ\nand armed wing (Table 7.1).\nThis led to all-out competition, where football became an important but\ninconstant issue. Originally limited to the journalistic field, between 1991\nand 1995, the nationalist interest in football spilled onto the sporting field\nfor the first time through its influence over the three big island clubs: AC\nAjaccio by the MPA, and GFC Ajaccio23 and SC Bastia by the CN. Given\nits weak position, the ANC were left out. However, this investment was the\nresult of particular circumstances, some sporting,24 others linked to the\nfierce political competition between the two main nationalist movements in\nthe perspective of elections to the Territorial Assembly, endowed with new\npowers (1992). Only the MPA went further by creating an ephemeral,\nunofficial Corsican national side (1991–1993). However, the outbreak of\nthe armed clash between the CN and the MPA,25 which eventually led to\nthe disappearance of the latter, put an end to the sporting experience by\nnationalists in this area (1997). Subsequently, they returned to traditional,\ninconstant, and thematically hardly innovative journalistic investment. All\nin all, like the autonomists, there was no fundamental reflection on the\nsporting phenomenon on the part of the nationalists, and football remained\na minor element in the political struggle, which was only pushed to the\nforeground by its capacity to offer “visibility” for a time.\nTable 7.1\nPolitical Party\nPress organ\nClandestine military\nstructure\nA Cuncolta Naziunalista (CN)\nU Ribombu di a Corsica\nNazione\nFLNC Historical\nChannel\nMuvimentu Per\nl’Autodeterminazione (MPA)\nPaese\nFLNC Habitual\nChannel\nAccolta Naziunale Corsa (ANC)\nA Fiara\nResistenza\nWhat remains to address is the attitude of the directors of the island\nfootball clubs, who were from good middle-class backgrounds and not\nnationalist, in the face of the grievances of autonomists and separatists.\n\n\nPrudence and opportunism guided their behaviour. The autonomist symbols\nwere temporarily instrumentalised in a commercial sense. Thus, in 1974,\nthe directors of SC Bastia, without sharing at all the ideas of their turbulent\nautonomist supporters, knew perfectly how to use the true hymn of the\nautonomists, as evidenced by the broadcasting of the song “U Culombu”26\nbefore the beginning of each match at the Furiani stadium. In a symbolic\nattempt to counter this appropriation of the sporting space by the\nautonomists – without them being paradoxically responsible for anything –\nthe prefectural authorities did not hesitate to take an interest in the results of\nthe island teams, or at least appear from time to time in the Bastia stadium.\nHowever, this was without much success, and the operation was quickly\nabandoned. After 1997, the island bourgeoisie regained control of the\nsporting associations, and only certain nationalistic figures were still\npresent in the organigrams of the clubs, which did not have great\nsignificance. As for use of the Corsican language, this had appeared on all\nthe official websites of the island clubs, but in a more symbolic than really\nmeaningful way.\nThe real novelty was not the party structures, but the supporters. The\nhistory of the latter remains to be written, but it is indisputable that, if\nCorsican football has become the marker of a new, fundamentally anti-\nFrench national identity in these first decades of the twenty-first century, it\nwas due to the actions of the supporters. Marked by the historically\nnationalist Vulgate; educated in the mythical history of Corsican football –\nfirst and foremost, SC Bastia – through social networks; and structured by\nthe modus operandi of ultra-European groups, they had transformed the\nstands of the Ajaccian and especially Bastian stadiums into a place of\nprotest and national affirmation. The text of several banners deployed at the\nFuriani stadium by the Bastia 190527 group said enough about the\nnationalist and ultra-orientation of its members: “Refugees welcome,\nFrance go home” (in English), “Welcome to the French who only stay with\nus for 90 minutes”, or “Qatar finances PSG … and terrorism”. Any\nreference to French identity was deliberately erased, and the presence of\nnational symbols, even very discreet, would be considered as an intolerable\nprovocation. Thus, in November 2015, in the aftermath of the Islamist\nattacks in Paris, the same ultra-Bastian group protested against the playing\nof the French national anthem, La Marseillaise. After several days of\ncontroversy, it was finally played, but the fans in question did not enter the\n\n\nstadium until the anthem was over. The anti-French incidents following the\nvictory of France in the World Cup in July 2018 must be seen in this light.\nCould things go further? In the summer of 2017, a new clandestine\nnationalist group emerged, while all the others had disappeared. In the\narguments justifying its creation, its members highlighted the “raids and\ndetention of many young people, without trial dates, [which] fuelled the\nfeeling of extreme injustice suffered by the Corsican people” after the\nserious incidents at the Reims–Bastia match on 13 February 2016, between\nCorsican supporters and the police force. This group has not made any\ndeclarations since then.\nIn another area, the Corsica Football Association was created, which set\nas its goal the “development and promotion of football in Corsica by legal\nmeans, especially through the organisation of conferences, debates, friendly\ngames of football, and more generally by any operation that ensures the\npromotion and sustainability of Corsican football”. It seemed to advocate a\nwillingness to pull the unofficial national side out of its passive role and to\nregister it in official competitions. However, no serious attempt was made;\nthe request for membership in FIFA submitted in July 2018 without any\nprior reflection or work looked more like media publicity than real political\nwill.\nConclusion\nThe case study that constitutes island football reminds us to be cautious,\nand encourages us to avoid hasty generalisations under the distorting prism\nof a stereotypic vision; see essentialist readings. Two conclusions may be\ndrawn in the light of the above.\nThe first conclusion concerns methods of nationalist affirmation through\nfootball. In the case of Corsica, it is obvious that the very recent character\nof nationalism clearly goes against the serious instrumentalisation of\nfootball. Hence, the lack of interest of the nationalist movement in football\nas an instrument of affirmation of identity should be noted. Indeed, beyond\na certain “agit-prop”, neither the autonomists nor the separatists are capable\nof a deep reflection on a phenomenon as complex as sport. The influence –\ndirect or indirect – on the three main clubs by the separatists is simply an\ninterlude. That is, except in the stands of stadiums: needless to say, no\nFrench flag has been seen for at least forty years.\n\n\n1\n2\n3\n4\n5\n6\n7\n8\n9\n10\n11\n12\n13\n14\n15\nThe second element, complementary to the first, concerns the genesis of\nthe construction of national identities which must be put into permanent\nperspective, including certain contradictions which have too often been\nneglected. Thus, in the insular case, a deep French nationalism coexisted for\na long time with a no less profound ethnic conscience, the affirmation of a\nlineage inscribed in the rhetoric of “blood right”. This frequently evoked\nthe values of “the Corsican race” as distinct from the “French race”, but\nwas not adversarial. Did not a prime minister, travelling to the island in\n1996, declare that the Corsicans were French by bloodshed, without this\ntriggering the slightest protest in any political family whatsoever? It is this\n“fusion of identity”, mixing territorial rights, blood right, and blood tribute,\nwhich is at risk of disintegration due to the confrontation with the Other\nsince 1959. The construction of the French identity of Corsica thus reveals\nthat, beyond the discourses, concepts of citizenship and nationality are far\nfrom being as unequivocal as they appear; without forgetting that the\nprofound impact of “the colonial adventure” on the construction of identity\ncan prove to be a capital element too often neglected. The comparison\nthrough football with other peripheral territories of the French – and\nEuropean – space deserves to be questioned vis-à-vis these concepts and the\nimperial heritage.\nNotes\n6ème Session extraordinaire de 2018, n°2018/E6/059.\nFédération internationale de football association.\nChampionnat de France amateur.\nFrance football, No. 683 of 14 April 1959, Report of the Plenary Meeting of 7 March 1959.\nThree departments in 1954; twelve in 1959.\nSporting Club Bastia and Athletic Club Ajaccio.\nMichel Carrère, 1954, p. 62.\nJournal officiel de la République française (Official Journal of the French Republic), No. 1094,\n1957, p. 18.\nFrance football, No. 707 of 29 September 1959.\nAlbert Memmi, 2002 [1961], p. 141.\nMaurice Choury, 1988 [1956], pp. 15–16. Pascal Paoli (1729–1807), Pasquale Paoli in the\nCorsican language, is the national hero of the Corsican independent government (1755–1769).\nDidier Rey, 2014.\nCorse-Matin of 15 March 1965.\nPlan d’action régionale.\nThat day, the army seized power to preserve French Algeria, overthrowing the Fourth Republic,\nand facilitating the return of General de Gaulle to power. Corsica was the only French regional\n\n\n16\n17\n18\n19\n20\n21\n22\n23\n24\n25\n26\n27\ndepartment where, thanks to local complicity, paratroopers from Algiers set up a Committee of\nPublic Safety.\nNicolas Giudici, 1997, p. 28.\nThere are no universities in Corsica since the French conquest. The new one would open its\ndoors to students in September 1981, in the city where the first existed, namely Corte.\nIt became, after 1973, Azzione per a Rinascita di a Corsica (same meaning but in the Corsican\nlanguage).\nKyrn, April/May 1970.\nLéo Battesti, 2017, pp. 32–33.\nAn cultural activist, he was a journalist for L’Équipe and France football.\nFronte di Liberazione Nazuinale di a Corsica (in French: Front de Libération nationale de la\nCorse), National Liberation Front of Corsica.\nGazélec Football Club d’Ajaccio.\nAC Ajaccio, which has long since disappeared from professional football, is languishing in the\ninsular amateur league; SC Bastia, then in Ligue 2, is a club on the slide, abandoned by the\ntraditional bourgeoisie since the Furiani disaster (5 May 1992, eighteen dead and more than\n2,300 injured due to the collapse of a temporary stand); GFC Ajaccio, also in Ligue 2, is in\nfinancial difficulties.\nWhich caused the death of fifteen people between February 1995 and July 1996; including\neleven assassinations between 13 July and 30 August 1995.\nThe marine conch. It was in this way that the call was made again for mobilisation and war from\none valley to another.\nSC Bastia was founded in 1905.\nReferences\nArchives of the Fédération Française de football. Kyrn Magazine, 1969–1981.\nLéo Battesti, La vie par-dessus tout, Bastia, Corsica Flash Éditions, 2017.\nMichel Carrère, Encyclopédie des sports modernes. Le football, Monaco/Geneva/Zurich, Union\neuropéenne d’éditions/Kister et Schmid, 1954.\nMaurice Choury, Tous bandits d’honneur! Résistance et libération de la Corse juin 1940–octobre\n1943, Ajaccio, La Marge, 1988 [1956].\nNicolas Giudici, Le crépuscule des Corses, Paris, Grasset, 1997.\nAlbert Memmi, Portrait du colonisé. Portrait du colonisateur, Paris, Folio Actuel, 2002 [1961].\nDidier Rey, La Corse, ses morts et la Guerre de 1914–1918, Vingtième siècle, no. 121, 2014.\n\n\nChapter 8\nLiving through defeat\nHungarian–Romanian relations through Szekler\nhockey\nMariann Vaczi\nIntroduction\n“There is an anecdote,” I was told early on during my stay in Szeklerland\n(Székelyföld), deep in the belly of Romania’s Carpathian mountain range,\nabout how a Romanian internet portal once asked its readers to vote for\nthe all-time best national hockey team line up. They couldn’t get further\nthan defense position, where three Szekler Hungarian names competed\n(Dezső Varga, Előd Antal, and Sándor Gál). Then, they stopped.\nCsíkszereda Sportklub, the ethnographic locus of this study, has been\ninstrumental in Romanian hockey and the national team, while Szekler–\nRomanian relations have been thwarted by ethnic tensions and violence over\nthe club’s centenarian history.\nSzeklers, also referred to as ethnic Hungarians or just Hungarians, are a\ncommunity who were detached from Hungary and annexed to Romania\nalong with Transylvania as a result of the 1920 Trianon Treaty, which\nformally ended World War I between the Allies and the Kingdom of\nHungary. While the Hungarian population has shrunk drastically elsewhere\nin Transylvania, Szeklers remain a majority minority, a kind of “internal\n\n\nperiphery” (Bottoni, 2013, p. 481). They constitute a compact enclave in\ntheir home counties Hargita, Kovászna, and parts of Maros in the\ngeographical center of Romania (see Figure 8.1). Landlocked by Romania,\nSzeklers have struggled to survive in a context where both Romania and\nHungary pursued their nationalizing projects from above, and the borders\nwere re-drawn four times between 1867 and World War II. Today,\nSzeklerland is situated in the fissures between two states: Hungary, with\nwhich it belongs linguistically and culturally, and Romania, with which it\nbelongs geographically and administratively.\nSzeklerland has no formal autonomy, and the Romanian Constitution\nallows no referendum in the question of independence. The civil society\ncalled Szekler National Council drafted a statute of autonomy in 2004, but\nthe Romanian parliament rejected it without discussion. Various imaginings\nof devolution have included Transylvania’s (including Szeklerland) re-\nannexation back to Hungary; independent Transylvania; independent Szekler\nRepublic; or a Szekler Autonomous Region within Romania. Because of the\nconstitutional restriction, however, political activism for autonomy or\nindependence has mostly remained at the level of symbolic events such as\nmarches, referenda, and human chains.\n\n\n\n\nFigure 8.1\nHungarian-speaking Szekler counties within Romania.\nSzeklers constitute a majority minority in these areas.\nSource: Wikimedia Commons. Author: Sie.\nThe main Szekler sport, ice hockey is both constitutive and reflective of\nethnic Hungarian–Romanian relations as they fluctuated over the twentieth\ncentury. Szekler players, coaches, and managers played and worked for the\nRomanian national team and the Romanian Hockey Federation for decades,\nand often even dominated them, while ethnic Hungarian–Romanian relations\nbecame aggravated in the political realm.\nThe place myths of Transylvania\nTransylvania, particularly its mountainous regions including Szeklerland,\nhas become something of a “place myth” (Light, 2009). Traveling by train\ninto the Carpathian Mountains from Budapest one has the impression, with\nStoker’s Dracula, that one is progressively “leaving the West and entering\nthe East” (1997, p. 9). In the Western imagination, Transylvania is the\nwildest, coldest, and most mysterious corner of Europe, the land of horror\nand superstition. Deep into the Carpathians, small villages are covered with\nice. Pine trees tower over the steep mountain ranges where the train seeks its\npath in the Maros river valley. No one can be seen in what one imagines are\nstreets under the snow, and the quiet of the cold is breathtaking. Only a few\nsmoking chimneys and vagabonding dogs disrupt the immobility of the\nlandscape, and suggest that there is life there, after all.\nFor many Hungarians in the state of Hungary, Transylvania is the land of\npristine, untouched beauty that is home to another place myth: the\nparticularly authentic “Hungarianness” of Szeklers. As a result of the “myth-\nproducing role” (Bottoni, 2013, p. 482) of twentieth-century cultural elites in\nthe state of Hungary, Transylvania has become a “meta-historical space”\n(Bottoni, 2013, p. 497) where the indomitable Szeklers struggled against\nRomanian rule to keep their Hungarian identity. The romantic savagery of\nthe landscape adds to the mystique of Szeklers, which consists of an\ninteriorized sense of remoteness and obduracy. “To characterize someone as\nSzekler is not only to convey that the person is Hungarian,” Brubaker et al.\nwrite; “but also to suggest that she is a particularly Hungarian Hungarian”\n(in Laihonen and Tódor, 2017, p. 364). As they say in Szeklerland, “a\n\n\nSzekler too is Hungarian, but more so.” The cult of Szeklers as the authentic\nHungarians goes back to the past century, and enjoys a particular resurgence\nthrough Hungary’s current conservative Orbán government’s nation-building\nprojects, of which Hungarian enclaves beyond state borders constitute a\ngreat part.\nThe Hungarian government has nourished this romance since Viktor\nOrbán was first president in 1998. “When they got off that train here 30\nyears ago,” the anecdote goes from a local politician of Csíkszereda; “their\nface dropped. They were shocked to find a little Hungarian world here, ten\nhours from the border into Romania.” Orbán’s conservative FIDESZ party,\nwhile not in government, pushed for a 2004 referendum in Hungary about\ngranting dual citizenship to Hungarian ethnic minorities beyond the state’s\nborders. The idea of dual citizenship created much controversy, and its left-\nwing opponents flashed the specter of “23 million Romanians invading”\nHungary for jobs (Mérce, 2017). The referendum was unsuccessful due to\nlow turnout, and the controversy left ethnic Hungarians with a bitter feeling\nof betrayal. “Calling us ‘Romanian’ is the greatest insult,” a Szekler woman\ntold me; “particularly when it comes from Hungary.”\nOnce Orbán was back in power in 2010, a law of dual citizenship for\nethnic Hungarians beyond the borders was passed. It was by then more of a\nsentimental issue rather than a practical one, for those who wanted to come\nto live in Hungary had been able to do so as both countries were EU\nmembers. But symbolic gestures have great significance in sub-national\ncontexts such as this, and Szeklers speak fondly about the day they put on\ntheir Sunday best and walked into the city hall to get their Hungarian\ncitizenship. Today, practically all have Hungarian IDs and passports, besides\nRomanian. They vote in Hungarian elections more than Romanian ones, as\nthose, they say, have greater direct impact on their lives culturally and\nfinancially. At the same time, the Orbán government’s expenditures on\ndistant, non-tax paying communities beyond Hungary’s borders, including\nsponsorship of such projects as the Szeklerland Ice Hockey Academy,\ncontinue to provoke controversy in Hungary.\nSzeklerland’s place myth is currently enhanced by two annual cultural\nevents: the Day of a Thousand Szekler Maidens folk festival in July and the\nPentecost Pilgrimage Mass in Csíksomlyó, celebrated by Pope Francis in\n2019. Hundreds of Hungarians take the Csíksomlyó Express every year from\nHungary to Szeklerland to seek what they see as the festive reunion of\n\n\nHungarian brotherhood torn apart by historical circumstances. The 14-hour\ntrain ride itself is part of a liminal transformation: a highly emotional and\nsymbolic experience as ethnic Hungarians come to greet the pilgrims at the\nrailway stations of cities that used to belong to Hungary.\nBut one must go to Szeklerland in January to understand what I wished to\nunderstand for this paper: how Szeklers managed to keep their insularity\nwhere other ethnic Hungarian communities of Transylvania shrunk radically\nover the past century. The “Szekler soul,” they suggested repeatedly, cannot\nbe understood without the cold. They call the Olt river valley, where hockey\nfirst started, “little Siberia” for the climactic phenomenon of inversion: it is\noften colder in the valley than in the mountains. “Our disadvantages turned\nout to be our advantages for survival,” former Csíkszereda Sportklub player\nand director of the Szekler Ice Hockey Academy Attila Nagy told me: “the\ncold, and what our Canadian coach referred to as our ‘tribal thinking.’ He\nsaid, in his country, native tribes lived in reservations; I said, welcome to my\nreservation!’ ” Szeklers managed to resist forced settlement and\nRomanianization that worked elsewhere in Transylvania due to, they will\nreadily admit, the “inhospitable climate,” and the “inhospitable Szekler\ntemperament.”\nIf Csíkszereda (Miercurea Ciuc in Romanian), a major Szekler city of\nabout 42,000 people, is cold enough, its hockey hall is a veritable ice pit.\nUnlike other ice rinks which have some kind of heating system, such as the\none in the rival city Brasov, Csíkszereda Sportklub’s Vákár Lajos arena has\nnone. Its socialist style working-class aesthetics of iron and concrete only\nexacerbate the feeling of cold. “I checked your outfit before you entered,”\nElőd Papp, a club official greeted me before my first game. “Two things are\nfundamental: boots and a cap. You can’t do this without them.” Seating 3000\npeople, games have an overall small-scale atmosphere where one knows\nalmost everyone else, at least by sight. A new face on the stands, or the\nabsence of an old one will be noticed. Even club management lacks a formal\norganogram; “I am something of a utility man, doing whatever comes up,”\nPapp told me.\nThe rink was so cold I could hardly wait for the break at the end of each\nthird to go, or rather tiptoe on the ice of the street with the rest of the fans to\nGrizzly’s bar to seek warmth: strong local cognac and pálinka. Sometimes\nthey are served in coffee cups back in the restaurant’s kitchen to avoid police\nwho check whether alcohol is served 50 yards within the ice rink. After\n\n\nevery home game victory, the team ceremoniously lines up on the ice before\nthe main terrace and sings the Szekler national anthem together with fans:\n“A handful of Szeklers/Dust away like rock/At the rough seas/Of the\nstruggle of nations/The flood covers our head/A hundred times over/Don’t\nlet/Transylvania perish oh God!” The cold lends anthem singing a chilling\nsolemnity as male voices thunder across the ice.\nAt a certain sensory level, the cold and toughness of hockey is revealing\nof the Szekler historical predicament. Some even envisioned ice as a solution\nto it. When I asked what form of Szekler autonomy he would like to see, a\nSzekler man told me he’d “rather have the River Olt step out of its bed,\nflood, and freeze all over so that no one can come here, and we are left\nalone.” That is very much how Szekler hockey started in the 1920s: by\ndiverting the River Olt onto a meadow, which froze by the next morning. It\nis ice that captures Szeklers’ desire for self-preservation, a desire to freeze in\ntime and place as it were, if that is the price of shrinking no more.\nTransylvania, a shrinking Magyar világ “Hungarian world”\nA literary critic once wrote that someone should write an essay about all the\ngreat events, encounters, suicides, beginnings, and endings that happened on\nrailway station platforms in world literature. Similarly, the 14-hour train ride\nfrom Budapest Keleti railway station to Szeklerland is something that\nFoucault would call a heterotopia, a “bundle of extraordinary relations”\n(Foucault and Miskowiec, 1986, pp. 23–24), which puts one in a pensive\nmode of historical reflection as the train passes through Transylvania. First\nof all, one cannot just fly in. Transilvania International Airport is a four-hour\ntrain ride away from Csíkszereda, and the Bucharest airport is just as far,\nincluding the fact that flights between Budapest and Bucharest are rare and\nrather expensive. The train leaves from Budapest twice a day, morning and\nnight, and is something of a lifeline between Hungarians in Szeklerland and\nthe “mother country.”\nThe first stop right after the Hungarian–Romanian border is Nagyvárad\n(Oradea). With a population of approximately 200,000, Nagyvárad is the\nclosest big city Hungary lost in 1920: it is a mere 6 miles away from the\nHungarian–Romanian border. For Hungarians, the city will always come to\nmind in subjunctive mode: the “what if” and “if only” those borders had\nbeen drawn a few miles to the east. Ten years before its annexation to\n\n\nRomania in 1910, Nagyvárad’s population was 90% Hungarian and 6%\nRomanian; ten years later, in 1930, the ratio was 51% and 27%, respectively;\ntoday, only about 25% of the city’s population is Hungarian. Nagyvárad was\nan important economic, cultural, educational, and religious center of the\nKingdom of Hungary. For most “mother country” Hungarians, Nagyvárad\nevokes the lives and styles of belle-époque Hungarian intellectuals enjoying\nthis “little Paris on the Körös river”: particularly those of the national poet\nEndre Ady, whose prolific writing and love life in Nagyvárad left a\npermanent mark on twentieth-century Hungarian literature.\nAbout three hours later, the train stops in Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca).\nKolozsvár is known for its aggressive display of Romanian national flags on\nevery lamp post, particularly at the train station so that the visitor has no\ndoubt about allegiances. Kolozsvár is the most important historical center\nand military fortress of Transylvania, with a current population of 320,000.\nIndicative of its thriving cultural and university life dating back to the early\nsixteenth century, Kolozsvár was home to the first Hungarian-language\nopera performance in 1882. In 1941, Kolozsvár’s Hungarian population was\nstill 88%, after which it started its heavy decline to the current ratio of 10%.\nKolozsvár is rather infamous for Hungarian–Romanian relations, which\nplummeted with the controversial mayorship of the Romanian nationalist\nGheorghe Funar between 1992 and 2004. Funar literally painted the city the\nRomanian colors blue, red, and yellow: street furniture, pavements, and\ntricolor Christmas lights were the precursor of today’s ubiquitous flag\ndisplay. Although many of these policies were revoked by his successor,\nKolozsvár lives in Hungarians’ minds as a conflicted place where street and\nbar fights have occurred for speaking Hungarian.\nAnother three hours later the train arrives at Marosvásárhely (Târgu\nMureș). Szeklers think of this city with a heavy heart. Marosvásárhely was\nconsidered the capital city of Szeklerland, but has come to constitute a\npainful, fresh wound. “We have lost it recently!” Szeklers will tell you. In\n1992, the city’s population was still 50% Hungarians; by 2002, they were in\na minority and today, out of 130,000 overall population, only 30% are\nHungarian. Even so, the city is home to the largest Hungarian community.\nMarosvásárhely also stands for the worst ethnic tensions that accumulated\nunder the communist Ceaușescu regime (1965–1989), and burst forth with\nviolent energies after its 1989 collapse. The pogrom between ethnic\nHungarians and Romanians left five dead and more than 300 injured. In\n\n\nFebruary 1990, in a spirit of reclaiming minority rights, the Hungarian writer\nAndrás Sütő convoked a demonstration in Marosvásárhely to promote\nreading and schooling in Hungarian. Radical Romanian nationalist segments\nfeared Hungarian irredentism and separatism. The Romanian far-right\nnationalist organization Uniunea Vatra Românească (Romanian Hearth\nUnion) convoked a demonstration on March 19. The crowd attacked the\nheadquarters of the Democratic Alliance of Hungarians in Romania (DAHR)\nparty. Many were trapped in the building or beaten up in the street, including\nSütő, who lost an eye. The next day, 3000 Romanian peasants and miners\nwere dispatched from neighboring villages, armed with agricultural\nequipment (Human Rights Watch, 1990). As a response, many Szeklers\nincluding World War II veterans and the Roma community also mobilized. A\nbarricade was built, buses were set on fire, and the two parties eventually\nclashed in a violent fight leaving three Hungarians and two Romanians dead.\nThe 1990 Black March of Marosvásárhely was symptomatic of what Sütő\ncalled “the terrible spiritual contamination” (BBC, 2005) of the Ceaușescu\nregime. Szeklers still blame ethnic relations on the contamination of politics.\n“We would get along just fine,” a Szekler man told me about everyday co-\nexistence with Romanians; “if only politicians above wouldn’t trigger\ntensions.”\nAccording to a 2011 Romanian census, 1.3 million Hungarian speakers\nlive in Romania, 600,000 of which claim Szekler identity (Laihonen and\nTódor, 2017, p. 363). It is very much a shrinking universe, but there are still\nsmall towns and villages where, as they say, “only the policeman is\nRomanian.” From what Szeklers have variously told me, their resistance to\nRomanianization comes down to four factors that constitute their complex of\ndefiance: the cold of the region, the absence of bilingualism, a resistance to\nintermarriages, and a temper that is “quick to pull out a pocket knife” to\ndefend their own. “Romanians were afraid of us in the military,” a man\nremembered, “they said because we always carried pocket knives. And that\nwas true, because of the ham we brought from home.” The so-called\n“Szekler bravado” (székely virtus) refers to a no-nonsense traditionalism and\nmountain-people ruggedness that holds, by comparison, “mother-country”\nHungarians a little over-civilized and pusillanimous. “We are a bit brutish,\nhardened, but deep down also sentimental, although sentiments are not much\ntalked about,” a former hockey player told me. “Education in Szeklerland is\n\n\nnot about self-confidence or individualism but rules, and the observance of\ntradition.”\nIn sub-national contexts, the state’s language tends to be spoken with\ngreater frequency due to its enforcement or cultural hegemony; Szeklers,\nhowever, hardly speak the state language Romanian. As they have access to\nmedia products from the Hungarian state, their first systematic exposure to\nRomanian takes place at school, and remains limited. Although the\nRomanian curriculum demands some competence, it is limited to\nabstractions in the lack of actual interpersonal communication. “I can\nactually discuss literary or philosophical texts in Romanian,” a young\nwoman told me. “But I couldn’t buy tomatoes at the market, or have small\ntalk with a Romanian person.” The Romanian language competence that is\nrequired for high school exams might be so taxing for Szekler youth that\nyoung ice hockey players have moved over to clubs in the Hungarian state\npartly to avoid the linguistic challenges of Romanian secondary education.\nAs for ethnic intermarriages, they are considered an almost guaranteed\nloss of Hungarian, as children in those families would likely speak\nRomanian. “When the family sits down for Sunday lunch,” I was told,\n“understandably, you want to speak your mother tongue. If someone around\nthe table is Romanian, the whole family would have to speak Romanian.”\nSzeklers’ lack of Romanian sometimes became a subject of resentment for\nstate powers. Romanian media, a journalist told me, “would remark bitterly\nafter hockey games that Hungarians knew only two phrases in Romanian:\n‘Gypsies! Go home!’ ”\nTwentieth-century politics and questions of Szekler\nautonomy\nNo matter which state it belonged to, Transylvania has always been an\nethnically and linguistically diverse region. Hungarians in Transylvania\nconstitute a case where a formerly dominant ethnic group came to be\nsubjected, by a reversal of political roles, by its neighbors. Overall in\nTransylvania, Romanians always outnumbered Hungarians including in\n1920, when the Trianon Treaty of ceding Transylvania to Romania was\nsigned. However, Hungarians concentrated and held political and\nadministrative power in the urban areas, as we saw above. Therefore,\nRomanians were a majority, but were subjugated as a “rural underclass”\n\n\n(McIntosh et al., 1995, p. 942), allowing for centuries of grievances to\naccumulate. Twentieth-century tensions were often exacerbated by\nRomanian fears of Hungarian irredentism, the “revisionism” of the borders,\nor secessionism. These fears were not without grounds: Transylvania\nalternated between Romanian and Hungarian hands, and the Hungarian state\nand ethnic Hungarians staunchly believed that the Trianon Treaty and its\nborders would be provisional.\nIn 1919, Romania signed the Minority Protections Treaty, which was to\nsecure cultural autonomy for the two major minorities of Transylvania: the\nethnic Hungarian and German Saxon communities were to enjoy freedom of\neducation and religion. However, this was poorly implemented, and both\nHungary and Germany appealed to the League of Nations to redress the\nsituation (Watson, 1994). Szekler nationalism emerged in Budapest through\nmiddle-class teachers and refugees who fled to Hungary after 1919, and\nsome visions of Szekler autonomy emerged in these years: the\nTransilvanianist Movement of the 1920s, or the Szekler National Council\nproposed a federal plan and an independent republic, respectively (Bottoni,\n2013). However, these plans had little resonance, as Szeklers were\ncommitted to returning to Hungarian rule, and the interwar Hungarian\ngovernments also felt pressured to pursue revisionism. The Second Vienna\nAward, arbitrated by Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy, re-annexed much of\nTransylvania, including Szeklerland back to Hungary between 1940 and\n1944, only to further exacerbate ethnic hostilities. After the war, following\nSoviet rule, the People’s Republic of Romania granted some level of\nautonomy to what was named the Magyar Autonomous Region between\n1952 and 1960. With a majority of 77 percent Hungarians in the region\nconcerned, Hungarian and Romanian were co-official languages, and\ncultural production in Hungarian was allowed. The Magyar Autonomous\nRegion intended to reconcile civic belonging to Romania and Szekler ethnic\nidentity—with little success (Bottoni, 2013).\nThe ensuing Ceaușescu regime (1965–1989), however, put an end to any\nautonomy aspirations. As opposed to Hungary, where communism got\nprogressively lighter after the 1956 revolution against the Soviets to the\npoint of calling it “goulash communism,” Romania got progressively worse\nby the 1980s (Turnock, 1990). Along with Albania, Romania suffered the\nmost uninterrupted and oppressive Stalinist rule among Eastern European\ncountries. Supplies were so short people received food stamps, and did not\n\n\nbuy what they needed but what the stores had. “I never forget my\ngrandmother’s little green stool that she took at 4 am to the store to sit on\nwhile waiting in line,” a Szekler man told me about his childhood in the\n1980s. “So that when it opened, she could actually buy something,\nanything.” Ceaușescu’s regime was characterized by a mixture of planned\neconomy, collectivized agriculture, and traditional right-wing mythologies\nthat exalted the homogenous nation state (Tismaneanu, 1993, p. 317).\nCeaușescu \nlaunched \nan \naggressive \nassimilation \ncampaign \nof\nRomanianization, and the German Saxon and ethnic Hungarian minorities of\nTransylvania were a serious part of development policy (Hajdú, 2013).\nSaxons had either fled or were deported back to Germany, and Hungarian\ntowns and villages were progressively Romanianized by the influx, or forced\nsettlement, of Romanians as part of the communist regime’s urbanization\nand \nindustrialization \nefforts. \nHungarian \nlanguage \nschooling \nwas\ncontinuously threatened or terminated by inserting Romanian students in\nHungarian schools and switching the language of education to Romanian.\nThe 1989 Romanian Revolution that brought down the Ceaușescu regime\nreleased a sense of overwhelming euphoria. “Because no matter what\nanyone tells you,” a Szekler man told me,\nnothing ever compared to the Revolution. Not your wedding day, not\nthe day your children were born. That fear that they might come for you\nany night, and you were gone, and no one would ever know about you\nagain … nothing compares to when that’s over.\nThe Ceaușescu regime starved its people; disappearances, deportations, and\ninformant networks were rampant all the way into the late 1980s, framed by\na personality cult that had the most grotesque outgrowths. In his blind\nmegalomania, Ceaușescu refused to accept the Gorbachevian perestroika\nthat made change inevitable elsewhere in Eastern Europe, even for\ncommunists. The Romanian Revolution stands out for its bloodshed, 1200\ndeaths, and the iconic images of the Ceaușescus’ summary execution over a\nmere ten days.\nThe Romanian Revolution brought ethnic Hungarians and Romanians\ntogether as they fought against a common enemy. There is a sense in which\nthe Revolution broke out as a result of ethnic cooperation: its direct\nprecursor was the December 16, 1989 eviction of a Hungarian protestant\npastor László Tőkés from his parish in Temesvár (Timișoara). The crowd of\n\n\nthe parishioners who protected him grew bigger and bigger, and the\ndemonstration went beyond its original cause. Anti-regime protests spread\ninto other cities and the capital Bucharest, and by Christmas Day the\nCeaușescus were dead. With the 1989 fall of the Berlin Wall, the prime\nminister of the first post-socialist Hungarian government, Imre Antall,\nemphasized in a speech the moral obligation of the “mother country”\n(Hungary) to reach out to every member of the “15 million-strong”\nHungarian community, five million of which lived in neighboring countries\nas a result of the 1920 Trianon Treaty.\nToday, Szeklers are pessimistic about the possibility of any formal\nautonomy. The Romanian constitution does not allow for a referendum about\ndecentralization, and the state argues that they comply with European Union\ndirectives about minority rights. In 2018, Romanian Prime Minister Mihai\nTudose said on television that “Szekler autonomy was out of the question,”\nadding that if Szeklers continued to hang Szekler flags on state institutions in\nSzeklerland, those who hang these flags “will hang as well” (Hungarian Free\nPress, 2018). At the same time, no political party is pushing it vehemently,\neven though the Democratic Alliance of Hungarians in Romania (DAHR)\nhas had it on its program for several years. Realistic political voices claim\nthat Szekler resources and the local economy need to be strengthened for\nautonomy aspirations. “It’s not the moment right now,” DAHR politician and\nCsíkszereda mayor Róbert Kálmán Ráduly told me.\nThere have been moments, such as the moment before Romania entered\nthe European Union. If the question of Szekler autonomy had been\nargued well and had been discussed then, perhaps something could have\nstarted. But the moment passed. We have to wait for another one.\nThe Hungarian Orbán government offers considerable financial support, and\nattempts to tie Szeklerland to the “mother country” through cultural means,\nincluding sport. This follows the twentieth-century pattern whereby\nHungarian authorities actively stimulated Szekler identity production but had\nno substantial plans of pursuing its autonomy or independence (Bottoni,\n2013).\nSzeklers’ approach to ice hockey is symptomatic of this in-between state\nwhere they are affected by both the Hungarian and the Romanian states to\nvarying degrees. Instead of autonomy or independence, the Szekler aim is to\nmake the best, if possible, of this situation. A regional national team,\n\n\nelsewhere considered as an important symbolic step before proper\nnationhood, is not high on the agenda: instead, Szekler hockey actors\nnavigate between the Hungarian and the Romanian sport, and attempt to turn\nboth to their advantage. The best players aspire to play for Hungary, which\nthey can due to their dual citizenship, while the second line is quite content\nplaying for Romania. The sport also navigates between the Hungarian and\nthe Romanian Hockey Federations, and plays in both states’ leagues.\nCsíkszereda Sportklub, the flagship hockey team of Szeklerland, plays in the\nRomanian national league as well as the Erste Liga, a kind of central\nEuropean league that consists of clubs based in Hungary, Romania, and\nAustria.\nSzekler hockey between two states\nThe beginnings of Szekler hockey are an important chapter in sport history\nand reflect the associative nature and creative imagination behind the\ncultural diffusion of sport in marginal and isolated places. One day in 1929 a\ngroup of friends, among them Lajos Vákár who is considered the founding\nfigure of Szekler hockey, went to the local movie theater in Csíkszereda.\nBefore the feature film, they showed a short news reel, which featured an ice\nhockey game from Canada. The young men were fascinated. “But why, we\ncan do this, too!” They were already avid skaters due to the long and harsh\nwinters, but had no knowledge of the game. Since they had no access to\nequipment, they reproduced it from memory of the newsreel: they made\nhockey sticks from tree branches, and bought a big piece of rubber in a\nconfectionary for a hockey puck. They already knew how to channel the\nriver onto a meadow, as skating was a beloved past time in Csíkszereda.\nNow they got wooden planks from a local merchant, and framed the ice into\na rink. The petit bourgeois origins of hockey are reflected by the associative\nnetworks on which the young men relied to get equipment: the small\nbusinesses of relatives and friends.\nThe first photographs from 1931 show the team wearing elegant white\nshirts, ties, and vests. “The game was so new,” a 90-year-old former player\nIstván Kovács, everybody’s “Pista bácsi,” told me as he showed me the old\nphotographs, “they didn’t know what to wear! But they wanted the game to\nbe a special event.” The first skates were two iron pads that they latched\nwith a key to the sole of their shoes. Eventually, a local merchant got them\n\n\nproper gloves from Vienna, but a spirit of invention was necessary all the\nway until the 1970s: sometimes they used frozen horse manure for a puck,\nand made shin pads out of old truck parts. Championships were encounters\nof cultural borrowing. “Once a Czech team gave each one of us a pair of\npants after the game,” Pista bácsi remembered. “We wore shorts, and\nmarveled at how well they stood our shots. It was because of those pants!\nWe took them home, found a similar fabric in a local textile company, and\ncopied them.”\nThe game was received with tremendous enthusiasm. In the post-Trianon\ndecade, which suddenly left the Szeklers under Romanian rule, the meanings\nof the game went beyond a mere past time. The Csíkszereda club was\nofficially registered, and became the fourth one in Romania besides\nBucharest, Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca), and Chernivtsi. They played the first\ngame in Csíkszereda in 1931, and played in the Romanian championship in\n1933. Soon, the club developed contacts with Hungarian “mother country”\nsport life, traveled to Budapest, and invited Budapest teams. Between 1940\nand 1944, when Transylvania was briefly once again re-annexed back to\nHungary, Sportklub played in the Hungarian championship. Szekler players\nwere regularly invited to the Romanian national team, and Sportklub won its\nfirst Romanian championship title in 1949.\nThe urban Hungarian, Saxon, and Jewish populations of Romania\nspearheaded the establishment of sport clubs, which were based on ethnic\nbelonging (Constantin, 2015). Old-timers remember this period as a time of\nrelatively normal ethnic co-existence in the sport sphere. Szekler players\ngenerally got along with Romanian ones in training camps, championships,\nand the national team. They spoke in rudimentary Romanian, and some\nRomanian players learned some basic Hungarian words like szalonna (ham)\nor bicska (pocket knife). For a Szekler player, playing for Romania was not\nparticularly problematic, and they enjoyed the social capital it granted them.\n“I liked training camps in Bucharest,” one of them told me at their weekly\nThursday morning reunion, which they still hold. “There were always a lot\nof girls to flirt with. We didn’t know much Romanian, but that is the best\nway to learn a language,” he added with a wink. Romanians were in the\nsame way victims to whimsical ideologies and border revisions. “One time\nat a championship abroad,” another player said, “they played an old\nRomanian national anthem. They changed so often back then … I looked at\nmy Romanian teammate next to me, and he too realized the mistake, and\n\n\nlaughed, ‘you are right!’ ” Szekler players traveled with the Romanian\nnational team to Europe, including to Western Europe, which was a special\nprivilege of athletes. The team had a collective passport, which prevented\nany possibility of defecting the communist country at international events.\nThey were going to have individual passports when they were going to go to\nthe Olympic Games in the USA. However, the satellite states boycotted it\nand they did not go. Apart from occasional favoritism for Romanian players\nin the national team, old-timers argued, the interference of ethnonationalist\npolitics was still rather minor.\nSport had an unparalleled ability to open the world for players, especially\nwithin the context of a communist regime where travel to the West was\ndenied to anyone except loyal party members. Many young people started to\nplay hockey in the 1960s and 1970s because it would give them a chance to\ntravel. Sándor Gál, arguably the best defense player of Romanian hockey,\nstarted playing in the 1960s in his village Zsögöd, and went on to participate\nin two Olympic Games and a World Championship. The Romanian national\nteam beat, in 1977, the US team that was part of a generation of players that\nmade sport history three years later with the “miracle on ice” victory against\nthe Soviets. Such a trajectory would be quite unlikely today: Gál came from\na village of 1000 inhabitants, and had no proper equipment. “I had the bad\nluck that,” he remembers, “when they brought in some equipment, I was at\nhome sick, twice! For this reason, in the first year, I worked out in the\nsummer only; in the winter I had no real skates” (Krónika Online, 2019).\nTrips to championships in Western Europe generated small-scale informal\neconomies as players brought home coveted items: Kent cigarettes and nylon\npanty hoses became the era’s iconic objects of desire, tangible proof of a\nWestern life that differed from the official state propaganda about the\n“decadent West.” Also, these trips opened up the opportunity to defect, and\nsome hazarded it: stories circulate about a Romanian player who checked his\nluggage in, went to the bathroom, and was never seen again. Gál too\nreceived a lot of offers to play abroad, but he turned them down. “Our\nparents and teachers taught us patriotism, the love of Hungarian identity and\nSzeklerland, folk music, and traditions. We are attached to our mother land”\n(Krónika Online, 2019). It is also true, a journalist added, that people were\nhighly intimidated by the communist regime. “If you defected, your relatives\nwho stayed at home would suffer all kinds of harassment and abuse.”\nHungarian–Romanian relations exacerbated with Ceaușescu’s nationalist,\n\n\nRomanianizing agenda over the 1970s and 1980s, which reverberated all the\nway into the 1990s and 2000s, and had violent manifestations in ice hockey.\nEthnic antagonism intensified through player poaching, rivalries, referee\ndecisions, brawls, and national anthem controversies.\nBlood on the ice: the Ceaușescu-era and beyond\nThere is in Csíkszereda, in front of the Vákár Lajos ice rink, a statue of two\nhockey players made of steel. Their silver strength and gracefulness\nempathize greatly with the cold of the rink and just any winter day. There is\na saying that, in Csíkszereda, only these two Szeklers have never played in\nBucharest. In order to get exemption from compulsory military service,\nSzekler players had to play either for the Romanian military sport club\nSteaua București, or the police sport club Dinamo București. For Sportklub,\nwhich for a while aspired to be the “Szekler Bilbao” for relying on home-\ngrown talent, the departure of a player to a Bucharest club would normally\nbe ultimate treason. However, dictatorial settings have a noted ability to find\nthe most effective rituals of subjugation, and the perspective of military\nservice under communism did the job. A former player, who had his military\nservice just about completed, remembered this about the recruitment tricks\nof the Bucharest police and military clubs:\nThey would approach young men at the train station before they would\nbe boarded for their military service. I was waiting at the Kolozsvár\n(Cluj-Napoca) train station before the last leg of my military training, a\nbrief summer session, for I was a university student. The coach of\nSteaua showed up and approached me. He said, come to the military\nteam to play, you’ll liberate yourself from all this hassle. This was a\nkind of psychological tactic, but I was almost done with my service and\ndidn’t need it. They accepted that.\nSzekler hockey, and particularly Sportklub, assumed an increasingly\npoliticized, ethnicized character as it positioned itself against these two\npowerful Bucharest teams that represented communist power: the military\nand the police. Any victory against them would be considered “a slap in the\nface for Ceaușescu,” although there were not very many victories to enjoy:\nbetween 1963 and 1997, Sportklub did not win a single title. On the one\n\n\nhand, both Steaua and Dinamo were extremely strong teams, partly because\nof the obligation of Szekler players to play for them. On the other hand, like\nother walks of life, not even games could always escape centrally planned\noutcomes, and referee decisions favored Bucharest teams only too often.\nDuring the Ceaușescu years, hockey games were not just a symbolic\narena of ethnic struggle, but the only space where Hungarian could be\nspoken without consequences. All other linguistic manifestations were\nconstantly threatened or harassed. Schools and education were progressively\nRomanianized. Newspapers could be printed in Hungarian, but Hungarian\ncity names could not. Csíkszereda could be printed only in Romanian\n(Miercurea Ciuc), as if obliterating the name would somehow also erase its\nproblematic referent. Creative solutions emerged such as “the city on the\nRiver Olt.” The regime banned the Csíksomlyó Pilgrimage, an important\nannual Catholic mass in Hungarian. The only place where one could sing in\nHungarian for three hours and yell things without consequences was the ice\nrink. Sometimes, Hungarian folk songs were re-written: here secretly\npolitical, here vulgar and erotic. Even yelling “referee, you are a thief!” was\ntolerated, by which they really meant the Romanian communist state that\nstole their game, their players, and their lives. “It was rather thin ice we were\nwalking with that singing,” a fan remembered with an apt metaphor. “Each\ntime I went home after a game, I expected to be arrested. But then,\nsomehow, we weren’t. They tolerated it.” Hungarian folk songs became an\ninvisible link between players and fans, which was actively nurtured. “When\nI was a coach,” Sportklub youth coach Imre Mezey remembers, “we spent\nthe summers in the hills with my team, training and learning Hungarian folk\nsongs.” To this day, fans sing an extensive repertoire of folk songs for the\nduration of the game.\nThe 1979 youth European Championship, held in Csíkszereda, shows\nhow subversive national symbols can be to a neurotic dictatorship. While\nfolk song singing was tolerated, the singing of the Hungarian national\nanthem was not. In 1979 among other teams, there was the national team of\nAustria, Hungary, and Romania. The latter was full of Szekler Hungarians, a\nsituation that was already twisted enough. As chance would have it, Hungary\nand Austria would qualify for the finals, and news spread like wildfire across\nSzeklerland: the Hungarian anthem might be played publicly at an official\nevent! Austria was a beatable opponent. Suspecting impending scandal, the\n\n\norganizers moved the game to 10 am, hoping that fewer people would attend\nas they had to go to work. “It didn’t matter,” a fan remembered.\nPeople were literally hanging from the terraces, ramps, and stairs. I\nskipped school with my friends, even though I knew I’d get a warning\nof suspension. I was standing near the rink, my usual spot, looked\naround, and noticed something curious. It wasn’t the regular hockey\ngame crowd I used to see. It was elderly women and men in their best\nclothes, wearing traditional Szekler costumes, suits, and scarves. They\ncame down from the mountains to watch the game! They heard from\ntheir priest that the Hungarian national anthem would be played here,\nand they came down to listen to it.\nThe game ended in a 5–5 draw, which sent the organizers into a dilemma.\nShould they play both national anthems? The crowd waited for an hour until\nthey decided not to play either one.\nAnthem-singing controversies continued into the 1990s and to the\npresent, particularly as the Romanian national team was increasingly\ndominated by Szeklers. Under communism, when state-run sport was\nstronger, it was very normal that an entire line would come from\nSzeklerland: “one line from Sportklub, one from Steauea, and one from\nDinamo, roughly, for the Romania team” a player remembered. After the\ncollapse of the communist regime, when the state pulled out of sport and\nRomanian hockey diminished substantially, it was not unusual that only one\nor two players would be Romanian, the rest Hungarian. This would create a\ncurious spectacle each time the Romanian national team played against the\nHungarian one: players of Team Romania sang the anthem of the opposing\nteam. Distrust of ethno-regional players in sub-national secessionist contexts\nmay cause substantial anxiety for fans (Vaczi, 2015). Tihamér Becze, a\nSzekler player in the Romanian side, said he received more than 200\nthreatening messages after such an incident, asking him what he was doing\nin the Romanian national team if he was so un-patriotic as to sing the\nopposing team’s anthem. The President of the Romanian Ice Hockey\nFederation, himself a Szekler, rushed to calm passions by arguing that Team\nRomania won that game, which clearly shows Szekler players’ dedication.\n“It is a strange situation,” a former Szekler player told me about the\nimposition of a symbolic identity, Romanian, through the national team; “but\n\n\nyou don’t approach it sentimentally. You just take it as a job that gives you\nsome opportunities.”\nThe 1990s witnessed on and off ice violence that was catalyzed by\npolitical agitation beyond sport. Romanian nationalism blossomed in the\n1990s, for example the Greater Romania Party and its controversial Vadim\nTudor; or the above-mentioned Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) mayor Gheorghe\nFunar from the Romanian National Unity Party; or the Uniunea Vatra\nRomânească (Romanian Hearth Union) from Marosvásárhely (Târgu\nMureș). “It was very normal that trips to Bucharest would end in a brawl,” a\nfan remembered games. Local police units escorted the Szekler fans’ buses\nas they traveled to Bucharest, to the point that they became friends; but those\nwho chose to go by car on their own “would surely not get away with it\nwithout a beating.” Fans used the back entrance, and needed police escort\neven to the bathroom. They were not allowed to exit together with the\nRomanian fans. Players would be assaulted in the locker room. Even so, the\nice hall was relatively safe compared to the street. Tensions culminated when\nradical nationalist football hooligans were ushered into the Bucharest ice\nrink. “It was obvious they came to fight,” a Szekler fan remembered. “They\nhad no interest in the game and knew nothing of it; they left after the second\nthird, thinking it was like football!” Petards, smoke bombs and coins\nshowered onto the rink indiscriminately, and hospital visits were frequent for\nboth fans and players.\nThe 2000 Romanian League final between Sportklub and Steaua provided\nthe most iconic pictures for the ethnic tension of those years. Four minutes\nbefore the end of the game, a fight between two players quickly escalated\nand soon, both teams were entirely involved in a massive brawl. Pockets of\n4–5 players were fighting across the ring; gloves and sticks were flying; the\nice became pink with blood. The three referees stood by and observed the\nevents. Sportklub player Salamon, a tall and forceful man, was stripped to\nhis white undershirt, soaked in blood, and half his face was covered in blood\ntoo as he swung his stick around menacingly, charging at Steaua players.\n“Everybody was beating everybody,” Sportklub goalkeeper Attila Nagy\nremembered the game:\nI can’t even remember, it just suddenly happened, and blood was\nflowing. Moreover, in ice hockey, no one intervenes, some violence is\nconsidered part of the game. The referees don’t intervene in fights, and\nthe police cannot walk on ice. So, it just had to pass. I remember we\n\n\ninsisted that the game is not invalidated; we needed that victory to win\nthe championship.\nA final point of conflict has concerned power struggles in the everyday\noperation of the Romanian Federation and the Szekler-dominated national\nteam. Frictions were unavoidable particularly when the Federation was run\nby Romanians, and the team had a Romanian coach. Hungarian language use\nin the locker room has been a source of conflict. “It happened once,” a\nformer Federation official said, “that the Romanian coach demanded that the\nboys speak Romanian, not Hungarian. The next day the parents showed up\nand took the players home.” In 2011, the Romanian player Florin Cosmin\nMarinescu asked his all Szekler teammates at a U17 training camp to speak\nin Romanian, as it was December 1, the Romanian National Day. “The\nresponse was, boys, turn off the light,” a Szekler official remembers. The\nRomanian player was battered and insulted.\nConclusion: agency, identity, and globalization\nIn spite of conflicts, hockey has constituted a social sphere where Szeklers\nhave been able to insert themselves, as agents, in their own history, probably\nmore than in most other realms of life. By making themselves, their players,\nfacilities, and competence indispensable for Romanian hockey, they carved\nout a position from where they can successfully negotiate and assert their\ninterest. Szekler hockey actors make no secret about their goal to turn\nSzeklerland into the ice hockey center of Romania, and establish their\ndominance in the Romanian Ice Hockey Federation. Currently, there are\neight ice hockey rinks in Szeklerland, and only two beyond it in Romania.\nTeams from all over Romania ask to use the state-of-the-art Szeklerland Ice\nHockey Academy facilities for training camps, to participate in their local\nTransylvania League, and use Szekler ice rinks for their games. “An\ninteresting situation of compromise emerged,” Academy director Attila\nNagy told me. “The Romanian Federation and Romanian hockey actors have\nto yield to us. They have to accept that we don’t consider this movement\n‘Romanian,’ and that we also play in the Hungarian leagues.” The Romanian\nnational team is seen as a chance to develop and travel for Szekler players\nwho cannot make it into the Hungarian one. “What would make us\nproudest,” Barna Tánczos, another Academy director said, “is that one day,\n\n\nboth the Hungarian and the Romanian national teams’ first line is made up\nof Szekler players entirely. Then, we could say we did our job well.” Instead\nof pursuing unviable breakaway strategies, Szeklers optimize their existing\nopportunities between the two systems.\nIce hockey also shows that Szekler and Romanian subjectivities remain\nmutually constitutive. There is a sense in which Szeklers need their big\nOther, an adversary against whom they can construct their identity as those\n“tribal” and “indomitable” subjects that they have been made out to be. This\nis particularly visible in sport. “It is strange, but we do miss them,” Szekler\nhockey actors said, with reference to Steaua and Dinamo (Origó, 2019). The\nviolence of the 1990s would be unthinkable now, while it is everyone’s\ndesire that Romanian hockey gets back its derbies. Furthermore, an\nadversarial relationship is reckoned to counter the internal divisive\ntendencies among Szeklers. “If we were given autonomy,” a politician told\nme, “the next day, the city of Székelyudvarhely would stand up and say they\nwanted to be independent from the Szekler state; and then Sepsiszentgyörgy;\nand then Csíkcsicsó, just to give you an example, and so on.” As a fan put it,\nthe Romanian state “miscalculated” by “just not leaving Szeklers to their\nown devices,” for the moment it had, Szeklers would have weakened\nthemselves by vicious infighting. Dissent is also demonstrated by the\nconflicting opinions that Szeklerland Ice Hockey Academy, sponsored by the\nHungarian state, has created among Szekler hockey stakeholders.\nSpecters of shrinking continue to haunt Szeklers and their sport. The\nmotivations behind the establishment of the Hockey Academy point at\nanother adversarial force: globalization. By the 2010s, approximately 30\npercent of Szekler youth players had transferred to clubs in Hungary, and the\nstate-of-the-art Academy was established in 2016 with the vision to keep\nthem at home with their families. How Szeklers will live through the\nchallenges of globalization, and what role hockey will play in it, remains to\nbe seen.\nAcknowledgments\nSpecial thanks to Előd Antal, Krisztina Becze, Tihamér Becze, Zoltán\nBecze, Imre Csató-Kovács, István Kovács, Imre Mezey, Attila Nagy, Előd\nPapp, Róbert Kálmán Ráduly, Barna Tánczos, Csíkszereda Sportklub, Tamás\n\n\nLászló and the Lokálpatrióták fan club, and the Szeklerland Hockey\nAcademy staff for their hospitality, time, and direction.\nReferences\nBBC, \n2005. \nSok \nkeserves \nküzdelem \nvár \nmég \nránk.\nwww.bbc.co.uk/hungarian/news/story/2005/03/050321_sutoandrashung.shtml.\nBottoni, S., 2013. National projects, regional identities, everyday compromises: Szeklerland in greater\nRomania (1919–1940). The Hungarian Historical Review: New Series of Acta Historica\nAcademiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 2(3), pp. 477–511.\nConstantin, P.N., 2015. Heroes, conflicts and reconciliations in Romanian–Hungarian sport\nconfrontations. Romanian Journal of History and International Studies, 2(1), pp. 69–87.\nFoucault, M. and Miskowiec, J., 1986. Of other spaces. Diacritics, 16(1), pp. 22–27.\nHajdú, Z., 2013. A comparative analysis of Hungarian and Romanian settlement development policies\nduring the state socialism. Geographia Napocensis, 7(2), pp. 19–26.\nHuman Rights Watch, 1990. www.hrw.org/reports/1990/WR90/HELSINKI.BOU-02.htm.\nHungarian Free Press, 2018. Romania’s prime minister threatens Transylvanian Hungarian politicians\nwith \nhanging. \nhttp://hungarianfreepress.com/2018/01/11/omanias-prime-minister-threatens-\ntransylvanian-hungarian-politicians-with-hanging/.\nKrónika Online, 2019. Zsögödből a téli olimpiákig. https://kronikaonline.ro/extra/zsogodbol-a-teli-\nolimpiakig-n-gal-sandorral-minden-idok-egyik-legjobb-romaniai-jegkorongozojaval-beszelgettunk.\nLaihonen, P. and Tódor, E.M., 2017. The changing schoolscape in a Szekler village in Romania: Signs\nof diversity in rehungarization. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism,\n20(3), pp. 362–379.\nLight, D., 2009. Performing Transylvania: Tourism, fantasy and play in a liminal place. Tourist\nStudies, 9(3), pp. 240–258.\nMcIntosh, M.E., Mac Iver, M.A., Abele, D.G., and Nolle, D.B., 1995. Minority rights and majority\nrule: Ethnic tolerance in Romania and Bulgaria. Social Forces, 73(3), pp. 939–967.\nMérce, \n2017. \n13 \néve \nvolt \na \nkettős \nállampolgárságról \nszóló \nnépszavazás.\nhttps://merce.hu/2017/12/05/13-eve-volt-a-kettos-allampolgarsagrol-szolo-nepszavazas/.\nOrigó, 2019. Vér, gránát, verés. www.origo.hu/sport/csapat/20190305-jegkorong-a-csikszereda-es-a-\nsteaua-bukarest-rivalizalasa-a-roman-jegkorongbajnoksagban.html.\nStoker, B., 1997. Dracula. Broadview Press.\nTismaneanu, V., 1993. The quasi-revolution and its discontents: Emerging political pluralism in post-\nCeauşescu Romania. East European Politics and Societies, 7(2), pp. 309–348.\nTurnock, D., 1990. Romania: Ceausescu’s legacy. Geography: Journal of the Geographical\nAssociation, 75(3), pp. 260–263.\nVaczi, M., 2015. “The Spanish Fury”: A political geography of soccer in Spain. International Review\nfor the Sociology of Sport, 50(2), pp. 196–210.\nWatson, C.J., 1994. Ethnic conflict and the League of Nations: The case of Transylvania, 1918–1940.\nHungarian Studies, 9(1–2), pp. 173–180.\n\n\nChapter 9\nTwo styles of engagement\nKurds and football in Turkey1\nÖmer Turan\nIntroduction\nAt a meeting in Ankara on 27 November 2019, Turkish Minister of Interior\nSüleyman Soylu lobbed explicit accusations against Amedspor, a second\nleague football club from Diyarbakır, followed soon after by the media:\nDo you know what Qandil’s latest problem is? I’ll tell you, it’s\nAmedspor. Oh, what do you do? Cemil Bayık is actually giving the\norder to ‘find 400,000 to 500,000 lira a month from here and there for\nAmedspor’. It’s a political party that the terrorist organisation supports.\nIt’s a sports club to which a terrorist organisation gives direct orders.\nCould such a thing be the case? Could such a thing be done? Cemil\nBayık explicitly gave the order to ‘support Amedspor’. Are we not\ngoing to hear this?\nSoylu believes that leaders of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (Partiya\nKarkerên Kurdistanê, PKK), which is based in permanent camps in the\nQandil Mountains of Iraq, bolstered a donation campaign to support\nAmedspor. The PKK is a clandestine, militant organisation founded by\nAbdullah Öcalan that has actively fought against the Turkish state since\n1984. It began as an armed separatist organisation but modified its original\n\n\nobjectives after the 1990s, declaring that it sought ‘a solution within\nTurkey’ to the Kurdish question (Çiçek, 2017, p. 43). Yet Turkish officials\nhave underestimated this reformulation, and the accusations of the interior\nminister were a reflection of this mind set. The next day, Amedspor\nPresident Metin Kılavuz announced that the Turkish Football Federation\nand government inspectors, with support from the Ministry of Interior, were\nauditing Amedspor and he added that Amedspor was fully transparent in\nterms of its financial records, without any wrongdoing.\nThis recent episode aptly summarises the key question of this chapter,\nwhich analyses the entanglement of Kurdish political identity with football\nand focuses on two Diyarbakır football clubs: Amedspor and\nDiyarbakırspor. Amedspor plays in the Turkish second league and\nDiyarbakırspor now plays in the third league.\nThese two clubs represent two different syntheses of football and\nKurdish identity. Amedspor is owned by the Diyarbakır Metropolitan\nMunicipality, which the Kurdish political movement governed between\n1999 and 2016; and Diyarbakırspor was known previously as a platform in\nwhich the central government was closely interested. The central\ngovernment appropriated Diyarbakırspor as a tool with which to limit the\nKurdish political demands. Former Diyarbakır Chief of Police Gaffar\nOkkan had expressed interest in the club between 1997 and 2001 when\nDiyarbakırspor managed to qualify for the Turkish Süper Lig (Super\nLeague) for the first time in fourteen years.\nThe structure of the club is a major source of these engagement styles, of\nwhich one is explicitly political and the other is more politically neutral.\nThe chapter starts with an overview, giving some snapshots about Kurds\nand the sphere of football in Turkey. The second section focuses on\nDiyarbakırspor, with a particular emphasis on the club’s history and its\npolitical stance. The third section focuses on Amedspor, where the\nemphasis on Kurdishness and the Kurdish political movement’s position is\nvisible. In the second and third sections, the chapter discusses the ways in\nwhich spectators of other teams view Diyarbakırspor and Amedspor with\nnationalist stereotypes at away matches, accusing these clubs of being\nseparatist.\nKurds in Turkey and the sphere of football\n\n\nWhat does ‘the Kurdish question’ mean? The history of the Turkish\nrepublic is that of assimilation, of constructing a homogenous nation-state\ncomposed of Sunni-Turks. This means that since the early republican\nperiod, officials have perceived Kurds as a group they must absorb into\nTurkish identity. Put differently, the essence of the Kurdish question was\nand still is that Kurds in Turkey have no right to live with a visible Kurdish\nidentity. The public use of the Kurdish language has faced systematic\nprohibition since 1925. Historian Hamit Bozarslan (2004, p. 29) maintains\nthat language was the new criterion of distinction between majority and\nminority. Numerous instances have emerged that framed the Kurds as a\nsource of insecurity since the early republican reforms. Starting with the\nonset of single-party rule (1923–1946), the discourse of the Turkish state on\nthe Kurds was predicated on the denial of Kurdishness and their political\nvisibility (Yeğen, 1999).\nThe backlash to this state repression was the rise of Kurdish political\ngroups in the late 1970s. Following the 1980 coup, the PKK became a\nmajor political actor and monopolised the Kurdish political movement. In\n1990, the People’s Labour Party (Halkın Emek Partisi, HEP) was\nestablished as the first legal Kurdish political party. Since then, they have\nformed seven successive Kurdish political parties, all of which have been\nclosed down due to Constitutional Court rulings. Currently, the largest\nKurdish party is the Peoples’ Democratic Party (Halkların Demokrasi\nPartisi, HDP). This means that, since 1990, the Kurdish political movement\nhas synchronised the armed struggle and legal political means. Starting in\n1999, the Kurdish political movement has maintained a series of electoral\nvictories in Kurdish cities, opening new trajectories for localism and claims\nof cultural identity (Watts, 2010).\nUnder these circumstances, the sphere of football was a limited milieu\nfor Kurds to express their political standpoint and identity. Four different\nsnapshots illustrate the experience of being a Kurd in the Turkish sphere of\nfootball. The first snapshot is from a friendly match between\nDiyarbakırspor and Galatasaray played in Diyarbakır in the 1995–1996\nseason. Journalist Ragıp Duran (1993) noted that Kurds in Turkey are\nmostly supporters of Galatasaray, one of Istanbul’s three dominant clubs.\nWhat is the reason for this inclination? Galatasaray’s colours are yellow and\nred, and, according to Duran, with the combination of the players’ jerseys\nwith the green grass of the pitch Kurds see the three colours symbolising\n\n\nthe Kurdish nation. Diyarbakırspor played in Turkey’s second league this\nseason. At a special match, a spectator in the Diyarbakırspor stands raised a\nsign that read: ‘We love you. And we love who loves you’ (Arhan, 2012, p.\n87). The first of these two sentences is a message to Galatasaray. The\nsecond sentence is a message to Abdullah Öcalan, the founder of the PKK\nand someone the entire public knows to be an ardent Galatasaray supporter.\nGalatasaray’s venturing to Diyarbakır for a special match, although through\nrelatively concealed means, must have been deemed an opportunity for\nDiyarbakırspor supporters to send Öcalan a message.\nThe second snapshot is from the Werder Bremen–Galatasaray match\nplayed during the Cup Winners’ Cup on 4 March 1992. In the match’s\nthirtieth minute, as many as 100 PKK sympathisers on the Bremen\ngrandstands raised the yellow, red and green flag of the PKK. PKK\nsympathisers in Europe, different than the Kurds in Turkey, supported not\nGalatasaray but its opponent. Approximately 20,000 Galatasaray\nsupporters, most of whom were Euro-Turks living in Germany, showed up\nto watch the match. They responded to the unfurled flags with a declaration\nof ‘PKK raus’ (Duran, 1992). In subsequent years, PKK flags appeared in\nthe stands numerous times at matches Turkish teams played in Europe. The\natmosphere of conflict in Turkey reflected in the tension in the European\nsphere of football.\nThe third snapshot is from the away matches that Diyarbakırspor played\nin the second league in the 1990s. Diyarbakırspor was equated with the\nPKK at these matches, though the club and football team had not adopted a\nvisible political stance. Supporters of opponent teams frequently chanted\nslogans such as ‘PKK Out’, ‘Damn You, PKK’, ‘Murderers Out’ and\n‘Martyrs Are Immortal, the Homeland Is Indivisible’.\nThe fourth snapshot was the statement of defender Şeyhmuz Suna, who\nplayed for Turkey’s fourth-largest club, Trabzonspor, between 1990 and\n1993. Suna is a native of Diyarbakır, and in 1993 he stated, ‘I am not\ndrafted to the national team because I am a Kurd’ (Duran, 1993). Suna\nmade this statement to Özgür Gündem, a newspaper close to the Kurdish\nmovement newspaper. Suna’s outburst allegedly prompted his dismissal\nfrom Trabzonspor.\nAn overall look at these four snapshots from the 1990s raises the\nquestion of how Kurdish (political) identity is entangled with football. A\nsimple answer to this question would be that the Kurds did not see football\n\n\nas a platform to showcase national pride in the 1990s, and that they were\noften followers of the hegemonic teams in Istanbul, as was the case around\nTurkey. Nevertheless, the sphere of football sometimes is considered a\nmilieu through which political choices are amplified. Second, we face a\npractice of exclusion. Diyarbakırspor, despite having no political\nengagements, is equated to the PKK, merely because it is the team of a\nKurdish city. The tension constructed through discrimination and armed\nconflict across Turkish society is reflected directly in football.\nDiyarbakırspor’s troublesome dual identity\nIt is not surprising that Diyarbakır is a milieu in Kurds’ engagement with\nfootball. For many Kurds, Diyarbakır is the symbolic capital of Kurdish\nidentity. With its population around 1,700,000, today’s Diyarbakır is an\nurban centre in south-eastern Turkey. The old city in Diyarbakır is\nsurrounded by sublime Roman city walls and due to the population boom\nsince the 1990s, the city has several new neighbourhoods. Today, the city\nhas both upper-middle-class and poor neighbourhoods. Interaction in the\nurban space is frequently in Turkish, but most of the city dwellers know\nKurdish at different levels. Since the 1990s, Diyarbakır is the stronghold of\nthe Kurdish political movement and central hub of the Kurdish lifeworld.2\nThe Diyarbakırspor club was founded in 1968 but failed to achieve\nstability despite playing some seasons in the first league.3 Starting in 1996,\nDiyarbakırspor became one of the strongest teams in the second league and\nentered the competition to ascend to the first league. According to Tanıl\nBora, an influential social scientist and prominent figure in football studies\nin Turkey, the state began to support teams in cities where Kurds lived in\neastern and south-eastern Turkey during the 1990s to help them ascend to\nthe first league. Within the context of this officially unannounced goal,\nVanspor, which ascended to the first league in 1994, was the first to receive\nsupport. The same process of budget transfers from the provincial\ngovernorate to the local team in Van occurred in the case of Diyarbakır as\nwell. However, state support for Diyarbakırspor was not limited merely to\nbudgeting. A book by local journalist Faruk Arhan provides intriguing\ndetails about this issue. For example, former Turkish Football Federation\nPresident Haluk Ulusoy in a statement said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you up to\n\n\nthe [first] league’ (Arhan, 2012, p. 101). Referees with military roots were\nemployed at Diyarbakırspor matches, and the number of penalties awarded\nin favour of Diyarbakırspor peaked at twenty-four one season.\nIn 1997, Gaffar Okkan was appointed to Diyarbakır as the new Chief of\nPolice. Okkan’s policing style was new as he encouraged the policemen to\nbe gentle towards the locals. For him, football was the tool which would\nachieve amity between the state and the people of Diyarbakır. In\nconversations with journalists, Okkan listed his objectives of shrinking the\nPeople’s Democracy Party’s (Halkın Demokrasi Partisi, HADEP) share of\nthe vote to below 10 per cent, and getting Diyarbakır up to the first league.\nOkkan attended training sessions with the football players. With Okkan’s\ninitiative, 700 police officers became members of the club. Diyarbakırspor\nPresident Mehmet İpek was unhappy with Okkan’s growing influence\nwithin the club, and Okkan was aware of this discontent, too. In June 1999,\nthe Diyarbakır police detained İpek for alleged prostitution taking place at\nhis hotel. İpek was later temporarily arrested. He was removed from his\nposition as president, and was replaced by Adnan Öktüren. Gaffar Okkan’s\noperation was successful. Incoming president Öktüren immediately visited\nPresident Bülent Ecevit and the General Staff Second Director Yaşar\nBüyükanıt, and requested the support of the state. According to Öktüren,\nDiyarbakırspor should ascend to the first league, otherwise the PKK and its\naffiliates in the region would grow stronger (Arhan, 2012, p. 99).\nIn this environment, as state support became more visible, the reactions\nDiyarbakırspor encountered at its away matches also diversified. On the one\nhand, a discourse of hate speech with the view that ‘PKK = terrorists = all\nKurds’ targeted Diyarbakırspor. On the other hand, supporters of the club’s\nopponents criticised Diyarbakırspor, calling them the ‘bastards of the state’\n(Bora, 2010). A rift began to appear within the process between the state\nsupport offered to Diyarbakırspor and the attitudes of Diyarbakırspor\nsupporters. We see from the results of the Diyarbakırspor metropolitan\nmunicipal mayoral elections since 1999 that the Kurdish political\nmovement won five elections with the support of more than 50 per cent of\nvoters. This indicates that adequate data exist to highlight the Diyarbakır\nurban population’s support for the Kurdish political movement. This\nsupport periodically revealed itself on the Diyarbakırspor terraces. For\ninstance, after a victorious match in Diyarbakır in 1998, about 15,000\nsupporters marched to HADEP’s office in the city centre, voiced chants in\n\n\nfavour of HADEP and greeted the politicians there with slogans of ‘We are\nproud of you, Diyarbakır’. Starting in the early 1990s, parallel to the rising\ndeath count of soldiers in battles with the PKK, football stands around\nTurkey adopted more nationalistic tones. The consequence of these\nnationalist winds impelled the Turkish Football Federation to play the\nIndependence March before matches. Suspicious glances again turned\ntoward Diyarbakırspor after this decision. According to some journalists,\nDiyarbakırspor football players did not sing the national anthem loud\nenough but were only lip-syncing. Most important, however, was the\nresponse in the Diyarbakırspor terraces to the Independence March. Kurds\nwho remained silent and abstained from the national anthem, after it ended,\nbegan to sing the Kurdish Herne Peş march, whose words were written by\nthe Kurdish nationalist poet Cegerxwîn (1903–1984). When the police later\nbanned the singing of this march, the fans opted to whistle it instead.4 The\nrising Kurdish political movement on the one hand, and the negative\nstigmatisation and insults, on the other hand, fortified the emphasis of the\nDiyarbakırspor fans within Kurdishness.\nThe 2000–2001 season attained critical importance for Diyarbakırspor.\nIn the middle of the season, on 20 January 2001, Gaffar Okkan was\nassassinated in the centre of the city. State support for Diyarbakırspor\ncontinued after his murder. The atmosphere became politicised in the\nsecond league, and nearly every referee call became an issue of debate.\nDiyarbakırspor, playing in Diyarbakır, won the match against Kombassan\nKonyaspor with a score of 5–1. At the match, Konyaspor players received\nfour red cards. Upon the end of the match, then member of parliament for\nKonya, Mehmet Keçiciler issued a statement: ‘If the Federation decided to\nbring Diyarbakırspor up to the first league, let them find other formulas.\nFairness should be guaranteed on the pitch’.\nThe Diyarbakırspor–Altay match played in Diyarbakır towards the end\nof the season on 13 May 2001 was something like a lynch attempt the club\nhad organised with official support. We can summarise the lynch\natmosphere created at the match, which Diyarbakırspor won 3–1, in five\nsteps. First, Turkish Radio and Television Corporation (TRT) removed the\nmatch from its live broadcast programming. Two, journalists from\nDiyarbakır freely went about their work, while journalists coming from\nIzmir and Istanbul were locked in a room by an official. Three, 150 officials\nwith badges waited on the edge of the pitch and physically interfered with\n\n\nthe Altay players. Four, small explosive substances and stones were hurled\nonto the pitch throughout the match. Five, during halftime, the exhaust of a\nworking generator was released into the Altay locker room. Altay Coach\nTurgut Uçar said after the match, ‘I thought we wouldn’t be able to get out\nof there. I felt the fear of death for the first time in my life’ (Arhan, 2012).\nIn the words of Tanıl Bora (2010), while the ‘Kurdish team’ identity\nmade Diyarbakırspor antipathetic in the eyes of Turkish nationalists, the\n‘officially favoured team’ title made them unappealing to football fans in\nthe public. Diyarbakirspor was aware of this tension, and carried a sign\nsaying ‘We are not anyone’s team but the people’s’ at the final match of the\nseason. When Diyarbakırspor ascended to the first league, not only\nDiyarbakır citizens but residents of other Kurdish provinces such as Urfa,\nMardin and Hakkari held demonstrations of joy and celebrated this\nachievement.\nDiyarbakırspor played in the highest league for five seasons before\nfalling back to the second league at the end of the 2005–2006 season. They\nreturned to the Super League during the 2009–2010 season. Bursaspor and\nDiyarbakırspor played a match during the seventh week of this season. A\ngroup of supporters for Bursaspor, known for its Turkish nationalist\ninclination, made special preparations for this match. The terraces were full\nof signs adorned with ‘How happy is the one who says I am a Turk’ (Ne\nMutlu Türküm Diyene), Ataturk’s famous slogan that represents the\nfoundation of Turkish nationalism. The insults of Bursaspor supporters\nbegan on the grounds that ‘they didn’t applaud the declaration “Damn you,\nPKK” ’, and these hostile statements persisted throughout the match.\nAlthough the rules require special announcements, no such announcements\nwere made. Slogans of ‘PKK Out’ and insults such as ‘Apo’s Bastards’ and\n‘Armenian Bastards’ echoed around the stadium. Expletives were lobbed at\nrenowned Kurdish politicians Leyla Zana and Ahmet Türk. Stones were\nthrown into the Diyarbakırspor terraces. After the match, Diyarbakırspor\nPresident Çetin Sümer, in a statement to a Kurdish broadcast of Voice of\nAmerica, said: ‘We do not want help from the state. If we did, they would\ncall us the “state team”. We are Diyarbakır’s team. We are the team of the\nKurdish nation’ (Aslan, 2009).\nThen president of the Diyarbakırspor Supporters Union Association,\nRamazan Tugay, described the Bursaspor match in a 2012 interview:\n\n\nWhat happened at that match was much different. If you repeat to a\nperson ten times, ‘You are Armenian. You are Armenian. You are\nArmenian’, that person, in the end, will break and say, ‘I am\nArmenian’. If you repeat to people ten times, ‘You are PKK’, people in\nthe end, will break and say, ‘I am PKK’. They are provocative.\nWherever we went, they chanted slogans of ‘Martyrs are immortal, the\nhomeland is indivisible!’ and ‘Damn you, PKK!’ And they do this only\nwhen they play against Diyarbakırspor. Do they chant such slogans\nwhen Bursaspor plays Fenerbahçe, for example? Let me say this, they\ncannot love their flag as much as we do. Their only action was to\ncower behind the flag. After everything they did, they pull out the flag\nand hide behind it. The flag is not loved through demonstration; the\nflag is loved from the heart. If they go to Çanakkale,5 they will see that\nthe Kurdish Mehmets and Turkish Mehmets lie side by side.6\n(Korkmaz, 2012)\nTugay’s descriptions are intriguing in viewing the relational dimension of\nthe Kurdish identity. In subsequent matches, supporters on the\nDiyarbakırspor terrace held posters that said: ‘Our skin and our eyes are\ndifferent colours, but the colour of our running tears is the same’, ‘You owe\nus an apology’ and ‘We are Kurds. We are proud. And what are you?’\nIn the second half of the season, on 6 March, Diyarbakır hosted\nBursaspor. Diyarbakırspor supporters had long awaited this match with a\nspirit of vengeance. Stones and water bottles rained down onto the pitch\nthroughout the mere seventeen minutes that the match lasted. Bursaspor\nwas forced to flee to the locker room. With a ruling from the Federation, the\nmatch was recorded as a Bursaspor victory. The following week, this time\nat an Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality Belediyespor away match,\nDiyarbakırspor received grave penalties for two matches \nwhen\nDiyarbakırspor supporters invaded the pitch. The most important\npunishment was that their remaining home games would be played without\nspectators. They lost seven of the final eight matches and descended the\nfirst league. The management crises at the club worsened when the team\nfell to the bottom of the first league, and they were successively and swiftly\nrelegated. The team was promoted to the highest professional league in\nTurkey, with visible official support, and this made its position dubious in\nterms of fair play. They had been subjected to hate speech in away matches,\n\n\nbut officials were reluctant to take necessary precautions to prevent hate\nspeech in the sphere of football, causing further problems for the team.\n‘Resist Diyarbakır resist:’ Amedspor\nAs Diyarbakırspor descended to lower leagues with diminishing support\ndue to management upheaval and a crisis the binary identity fundamentally\ncreated, a new football team in Diyarbakır began to rise: Amedspor.\nMoreover, this time, the owner of the club was the municipality – it was a\nclub that moved beyond ‘state support’.\nAs the Kurdish political movement stepped back from secessionism and\nbegan pursuing a strategy of the ‘Democratisation of Turkey’, it directed\nparticular attention towards local electoral success, which began in the 1999\nlocal elections with victories in thirty-seven municipalities and entering the\nparliament in Ankara. Local governments run by the Kurdish political\nmovement had an immense impact on the flourishing visibility of a Kurdish\nlifeworld. In 2010, Kurdish municipalities in eastern and south-eastern\nTurkey decided to begin printing in both Kurdish and Turkish water bills,\nmarriage certificates, construction and road signs and emergency, social and\ncultural notices (Boyraz and Turan, 2016). The use of the Kurdish language\nbecame more widespread and visible in the public sphere. With the\ncommencement of peace talks between the Turkish state and the PKK,\nmunicipalities in Kurdish cities found greater opportunities to display their\nidentities and worldviews. Amedspor was a by-product of this context.\nDiyarbakır Belediyespor club was founded in 1993 when the Islamist\nWelfare Party (Refah Partisi) was in power in the Diyarbakır Metropolitan\nMunicipality. Its colours were green and white. In 1999, when Feridun\nÇelik was elected metropolitan mayor from HADEP, he changed the name\nof the club to Diyarbakır Metropolitan Municipality DİSKİspor.7\nDİSKİspor was in the second league during the 2007–2008 season, after\nwhich it fell back to the third league. In 2010, DİSKİspor was dropped from\nthe club’s name and the club has since then been called Diyarbakır\nMetropolitan Belediyespor. The team earned promotion to the second\nleague in 2013 when it changed its colours to green and red.\nIn 2014, the name of the club changed again, this time to Amedspor\n(Işık, 2019).8 Thus, the city’s Kurdish name became the name of the\n\n\nfootball team.9 In the days when the name change materialised, Amedspor\nfaced off against Galatasaray in the Turkish Cup. Signs in the terrace\nreiterated the posters Diyarbakırspor supporters waved during the match\nwith Galatasaray years before: ‘We love you, we love the one who love you\neven more’ (Dorsey, 2015). As the peace process continued, the fans in the\nterraces once more delivered a message to PKK leader Öcalan.\nThe 2015–2016 season for Amedspor is pertinent in the context of this\nchapter’s main question of how Kurdish political identity became entangled\nwith football. The club played in the quarter-finals for the Turkish Cup as a\nsecond league team. Before this season had begun, the political context had\nshifted drastically, starting in the summer of 2015. The peace process\ncrumbled that year, and young Kurds dug trenches in Diyarbakır, Sur, Cizre,\nNusaybin, Silopi, İdil and other Kurdish cities in south-eastern Turkey,\naccompanied by symbolic declarations of autonomy. The AKP government\nresponded solely with militarist means to backfill the trenches. When\nmilitarism once again became the dominant framework for spatial control in\nTurkey’s Kurdish cities and towns, the stage was set to proceed with urban\nwarfare. While one party in this battle was the Revolutionary Patriotic\nYouth Movement (Yurtsever Devrimci Gençlik Hareketi, YDG-H), the\nyouth wing of the PKK seeking to defend their ‘liberated zone’ behind the\ntrenches, the other was the state security forces, comprising gendarmerie\nand police brigades. The state security forces adopted a harsh demeanour to\nwin the urban war to the extent of affording to decimate everyday life in\nparts of the city. To this end, the state resorted to strict measures including\nall-day and open-ended curfews and forcibly removing civilian populations.\nThe beginning of the urban war meant return to militarism with a high\nhuman cost (Turan, 2019). Various reports by the Office of the UN High\nCommissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), Amnesty International and\nlocal human rights organisations detail the casualties and other human costs\nin this phase of the conflict. The UN OHCHR report covers the period\nbetween July 2015 and December 2016, focusing on the security operations\nconducted by the Turkish government. The OHCHR report estimates that\n‘some 2,000 people were killed between July 2015 and August 2016,\nincluding local residents, amongst whom were women and children, as well\nas close to 800 members of the security forces’. This notes the deaths of\napproximately 1,200 residents of whom an unspecified number may have\nbeen involved in violent or non-violent actions against the state. The\n\n\nHuman Rights Foundation of Turkey (TİHV, 2016) report states that 321\ncivilian residents were killed between 16 August 2015 and 16 August 2016,\nincluding seventy-nine children, seventy-one women and thirty people over\nthe age of sixty. Another key item in the OHCHR report is the destruction\nof urban space in several Kurdish cities. The OHCHR (2017) report states\nthat ‘since July 2015, the ongoing security operations have caused\nsubstantive damage to housing, business and public buildings and spaces in\nSouth-East Turkey, ranging from minimal damage to extensive destruction’,\nmost notably in Nusaybin, Sur (in Diyarbakır city centre) and Şırnak. The\nOHCHR report estimates that 70 per cent of buildings in the eastern part of\nthe Sur neighbourhood were destroyed by shelling, and 45,000 residents\nfled the area.\nUnder these circumstances, Amedspor played Istanbul Başakşehir in the\nTurkish Cup on 28 January 2016 in Istanbul. Prominent Turkish football\nanthropologist John McManus describes the game:\nTo an almost empty stadium, the Amedspor fans started chanting:\n‘Everywhere is Cizre, everywhere is resistance’; and ‘Don’t let\nchildren die, let them come to matches’.10 Bilal Akkalu, a twenty-\neight-year-old Amedspor fan, told me about the response they received\nfrom the security forces. He described being arrested by the police,\nbeaten, shoved into the back of a van and handcuffed with his hands\nbehind his back. Some of his friends had their legs broken, and one had\nhis arm broken. Bilal says he was held for twenty-four hours, twenty of\nwhich he remained without food or water. He was released, but when\nwe spoke he still had an ongoing court case. News sources reported the\ndetention of nearly one hundred people.\n(McManus, 2019, p. 322)\nA group of Amedspor supporters explained the declaration of ‘let the\nchildren not die; let them come to the match’ by Ramazan Tugay, a leader\nof the ‘resistance’ and previous president of the Diyarbakırspor Supporters\nUnion Association:\nOur friends wrote this tune before the cup match we would play with\nBaşakşehir. When we sing that march, we allude to all children. They\nsaid, ‘You’re making PKK propaganda’. Our friends sang this song in\n\n\nthe stands, and they were detained after the match. I truly want to\nscream. If only everyone could scream freely. I say this candidly, I\nwant to scream in stadiums so that people don’t die. I want to scream to\nbring peace, love, and brotherhood. But I cannot scream. If this were a\nfree democracy, if there was freedom of thought, this would not be the\ncase.\n(Olcan, 2019)\nFew objections emerged from Turkish society in the wartime environment\nthat dominated Kurdish provinces and in a more intense manner. The\nexception of this was when Ayşe Çelik, a teacher from Diyarbakır speaking\nlive on a television show, said: ‘Are you aware of what is happening in the\ncountry’s east? The media cites what is happening here very differently. Do\nnot remain silent … People should not be dying, children should not be\ndying, mothers should not be crying’.11 More than 2,000 academics signed\na declaration entitled ‘We will not be a party to this crime!’ Of these\nsignatories, who would be named the Academics for Peace, some went to\nprison and hundreds lost their jobs or were dismissed from public positions.\nAmedspor supporters sought to challenge the wartime atmosphere. The\nTurkish Football Federation issued the club both monetary fines and the\npenalty of playing without spectators with the justification that Amedspor\nsupporters had made ideological declarations. Football player Semih\nŞentürk, who was from Başakşehir, scored a goal and, after scoring, made a\nmilitary salute.12 The Turkish Football Federation did not punish him,\nbecause it did not consider this salute ideological, unlike, according to this\nlogic, the slogan ‘let the children not die’.\nAmedspor, despite its penalties, emerged from the group of four in the\nTurkish Cup and was paired with Bursaspor in the round of the final\nsixteen. The match, on 31 January 2016, was heavily influenced by the\ntension Bursaspor had experienced with Diyarbakırspor in previous years.\nA speaker for a national TV channel (A Haber) that broadcast the match\nlive never once mentioned the name Amedspor and characterised the team\nas ‘they’. Amedspor won the match with two goals: the first from Ercan\nÇapar in the twentieth minute and the second from Deniz Naki in the sixty-\nfifth minute. Bursaspor’s one goal came in minute 90+4, ending the match\nwith a score of 2–1 and eliminating Bursaspor from the cup. The fact that a\nplayer like Deniz Naki was one of the important names on the team line-up\n\n\ndeserves mention as a key difference between Diyarbakırspor and\nAmedspor. People close to Kurdish politics were, for years, discontented\nwith Diyarbakırspor for having no players with Kurdish names such as\nBaran or Azad. Only a minority of players were from Diyarbakır and the\nteam was basically a community of apolitical players. Deniz Naki was not\nfrom Diyarbakır but he openly said, ‘I am proud to be Kurdish and Alevi’.\nNaki, born in Germany, had played at St Pauli and SC Paderborn and later\ncame to Gençlerbirliği in the Turkish Super League. He left Gençlerbirliği\nbecause he was attacked after making anti-ISIS statements on social media.\nOne of his arms bears a tattoo of the Kurdish word ‘Azadi’ (meaning\nfreedom), and the other, ‘Dersim’,13 where his family is from. Naki’s\npolitical stance corresponded to the spirit of Amedspor.\nDeniz Naki made this statement after the Bursaspor match:\nToday was a very important victory for us. We left this dirty match,\noperated against our favour, with our heads held high. In a difficult\nperiod such as this, we experience the happiness and pride of being the\nlight, however small, for our people. We did not and will not bow our\nheads as Amedspor. We went out on the field with our belief in\nfreedom, and we won. Because we planted saplings of freedom and\nhope. We owe a debt of thanks to all our politicians, artists,\nintellectuals and people who did not abandon us, and we commemorate\nand gift this victory in the name of those who have lost their lives and\nour brethren injured in the oppression that has lasted for more than fifty\ndays on our lands. Her biji Azadi (Long live freedom).\n(Fanatik, 2016)\nAfter this statement, Deniz Naki received a twelve-game suspension and a\npenalty of 19,500 liras. The club was fined 25,000 liras and penalised one\nmatch without spectators. Fenerbahçe, known as one of the three largest\nfootball clubs in the country, faced Amedspor in a subsequent tour at the\nTurkish Cup. The first match, on 9 February 2016, was played without\nspectators because of Amedspor’s penalty. I above mentioned one\ndifference between Diyarbakırspor and Amedspor and here mention a\nsecond: the overlap of sports and politics for Diyarbakırspor emerged with\nthe concealed references of its supporters. But Amedspor, as a team of a\nmunicipality managed by the Kurdish political movement, had management\n\n\nthat did not stray far from politics. An example of this arose on the pitch at\nthe Amedspor–Fenerbahçe match with a sign that read: ‘Don’t let the\nchildren die, let them come to the match’. In other words, the club had\nadopted the statement that its supporters had made and that had prompted\nits punishment. With this shared position, Amedspor raised its voice against\n‘urban war’, which was ongoing at the period and had taken the lives of\ncivilians. The sign, formed with red and green letters on a white\nbackground, certainly belonged to Amedspor. But Fenerbahçe players took\nphotographs with the Amedspor players before the match began. If we are\nto consider the distance of the sphere of football from politics, we must not\nundervalue the significance of this gesture. When the match began,\nAmedspor players did not move from their spots for almost a minute to\nprotest the penalties they had received from the previous match.\nMeanwhile, Fenerbahçe players passed the ball amongst themselves. The\nmatch ended in a 3–3 draw. Fenerbahçe won the second match in Istanbul,\neliminating Amedspor. Amedspor received a 5,000 lira fine because of the\nsign (Evrensel, 2016).\nAmedspor still plays in Turkey’s second league. With the state of\nemergency declared in 2016, the government removed the HDP co-mayors\nof Diyarbakır and appointed a kayyum (state-appointed trustee) in their\nplace. HDP won in Diyarbakır again, as expected, in the elections held on\n31 March 2019. The following August, the co-mayors were again removed\nfrom their positions, and were replaced with kayyums. The kayyum\nappointments challenged Amedspor managerially and financially because\nthe kayyum explicitly restricted the opportunities presented to Amedspor in\nthe ways in which he sought to reverse the steps taken in the HDP’s\nunderstanding of local government.\nAmedspor supporters, and primarily the Resistance group, still supported\ntheir team and did not refrain from mixing sports and politics while doing\nthis. For Amedspor, which finished off recent seasons unsuccessfully, the\ntune of ‘resist, yeah, Diyarbakır resist’ corresponded to Amedspor’s status.\nWhen the team wins a match, the supporters invite the players onto the\nterraces and sing this song together.14 The Resistance group communicates\nwith the Werder Bremen, Nürnberg, Borussia Dortmund and St Pauli fan\ngroups in Germany. St Pauli supporters organised an aid campaign for the\nResistance, money from which they transferred to the women’s football\nteam. The Resistance commemorates people of a certain political colour\n\n\nwith its choreography in the grandstands. Murdered Diyarbakır Bar\nPresident Tahir Elçi, the leftist filmmaker Yılmaz Güney, the revolutionary\nmusician Ahmet Kaya and important figure in Kurdish music and Armenian\nmusician Aram Tigran were among the names the Resistance\ncommemorated in the grandstands (Olcan, 2019).\nAmedspor continues to face insults and violence at its away games. The\nSakaryaspor–Amedspor match played in October 2018 in Adapazarı was a\nscene for both symbolic and physical violence. Before the match began, as\nplayers from the two teams warmed up on the pitch, the massive screens in\nthe stadium displayed operations the Turkish Armed Forces had conducted\nin Turkey against the PKK. The message that troops dispatched with\nhelicopters, armoured vehicles and weapons gave equated the opponent on\nthe field with the PKK. With the conclusion of the match, Sakaryaspor\nsupporters first attacked the Amedspor club and later stormed the\nAmedspor locker room and assaulted the football players and technical\nteam.15\nConcluding remarks\nA recent survey conducted by the sociologist Mesut Yeğen, between May\n2013 and May 2015, indicates that nearly half the Kurds living in Turkey\nsupport an independent Kurdish state (Yeğen et al., 2016, pp. 23, 135).\nYeğen notes that this finding is surprising because the current Kurdish\npolitical movement does not acknowledge secessionism as a political\nobjective. Yeğen’s argument is especially important when we contextualise\nKurds’ engagement with football in Turkey in the global sphere of sports\nand secessionism. The overview this chapter provided signals that the\nKurdish presence does not inject secessionism into the sphere of football in\nTurkey. The community of football supporters in Diyarbakır demonstrate\ntheir care for the competition of Istanbul clubs, as is the case in many other\nTurkish cities, and they sometimes make political statements, for instance,\nby mobilising references to Galatasaray. This suggests that the Kurds of\nDiyarbakır adore football within the context of Turkey and that it is\nimpossible to comprehend Diyarbakır’s football imagination without\nacknowledging multiple identities and belongings. Having said that, this\noverview also shows that on many occasions, even Turkish football fans\nand sometimes officials – referring back to the statement by Interior\n\n\nMinister Süleyman Soylu quoted at the beginning of the chapter – associate\nthe names Diyarbakır and Amed with the Kurdish movement, hence\nsecessionism. The two distinct styles discussed here – Diyarbakırspor’s and\nAmedspor’s styles of mixing football with politics – diverge in many ways\nto emphasise Kurdish identity, but reactions to them are remarkably similar.\nIn other words, regardless of whether Kurdish identity is visibly emphasised\nor not, both styles face harsh reactions.\nWhat conclusion might we derive from comparatively evaluating the\ndifferent styles of Diyarbakırspor and Amedspor? Certainly, one should\nnote, the politicisation of football is more restricted in the case of\nDiyarbakır. As Tanıl Bora (2005) noted once, some political actors in\nDiyarbakır were upset by seeing that Diyarbakırspor is not an Athletic\nBilbao. Amedspor’s style is much more politicised. One reason for this\ndifference is chronology; Amedspor is a club at a time when Kurdish\nidentity gained visibility and support from the local government. Alan\nBairner (2001, p. 165) has noted that ‘it is usually in the behaviour and\nattitudes of fans rather than those of the participants that the relationship\nbetween sport and identity becomes most apparent’. Diyarbakırspor is a\ngood example of this: a politically neutral club with fans who may\noccasionally express a politicised Kurdish identity. The composition is\ndrastically different in the case of Amedspor: as the fan leader Ramazan\nTugay’s story indicates, we can assume that Amedspor shares the same pool\nof fans as Diyarbakırspor. However, we see that the municipality-owned\nclub has, by default, a more politicised position. Deniz Naki, both as a\nplayer and as a public figure tells us that in the case of Amedspor the\nrelationship between sport and identity is not limited to fans.\nIn his book, The Kurds of Turkey, political scientist Cuma Çiçek argues\nthat in the Kurdish region of Turkey there are three blocs: national bloc,\nreligious blocs and economic elites. Çiçek claims that these blocs have\ndifferent priorities in mobilising resources, and adds that the central state\ninterferes with the interaction of Kurdish groups due to its infrastructural\nand despotic powers. According to Çiçek (2017, p. 73), while they do have\ncertain national sensitivities, ‘the Kurdish economic elite follows politics of\nbalance between central and local regional political powers’. The history of\nDiyarbakırspor and the club’s success in qualifying for the Turkish premier\nleague in 2001 could be seen as cooperation between Kurdish economic\nelites and the central state. The powerful figure of Gaffar Okkan, the\n\n\nDiyarbakır police chief, symbolised the despotic power of the state that\nintervened in sports competition. In some instances, prompting us to\nconsider the intervention of state infrastructural power, the Turkish Football\nFederation protected Diyarbakırspor. Whereas for Amedspor, there exists\nthe direct involvement of the Kurdish national bloc and Kurdish political\nmovement, which impact levels of politicisation differently.\nThe duality of Diyarbakırspor and Amedspor invites us to further\nconsider the multiplicity of identities in Diyarbakır. The sphere of football\nin the city encapsulates an interesting opportunity to re-evaluate the\npresence of a sizeable community in the city, seeing football as a platform\nthrough which Kurdish identities can be expressed and a context through\nwhich support from the central government can be received. With the rise of\nAmedspor, this official support no longer exists. With kayyums appointed to\nreplace the mayor, we now spectate an official intervention in reverse, this\ntime swallowing the activity of the football club.\nThe two styles of engagement in entangling football and the Kurdish\nidentity, analysed in this chapter, are not limited to Diyarbakırspor and\nAmedspor. These two styles are observable in several other football clubs in\nthe Kurdish cities of Turkey. For instance, Batman Petrolspor, which plays\nin the third league, is a good example that is similar to Diyarbakırspor’s\nstyle. The owner of the club until recently was Turkish Petroleum\nCorporation (TPAO), Turkey’s national oil company, and the club always\nfollowed a non-political path. In some cases, we even observe both styles\nwithin the same club. Cizrespor is a remarkable example of combining\nthese two styles in the 2019–2020 season. In February 2020, the club issued\nthe following press release.\nDue to the injustices we have faced in our own stadium as well as at\naway games, due to the racist and nationalist behaviour of referees, our\nclub president Maruf Sefinç has decided to pull Cizrespor out of the\nleague.\n(Topal, 2020)\nThis was a moment that typified of the second style, the Amedspor style.\nThe president of Amedspor, Metin Kılavuz wholeheartedly supported\nCizrespor’s decision to quit the league and wrote – in Kurdish – ‘Her bijî\nCizrespor’ (Long live Cizrespor). He added that Cizrespor is indeed\n\n\n1\n2\n3\n4\n5\n6\n7\n8\n9\nAmedspor to highlight the commonalities of the discrimination both teams\nsuffer. One week later, Cizrespor stepped back from the decision to quit the\nleague. Local officials, including the commander of the Cizre gendarmery\nunit, organised a meeting with the club’s board to persuade them to return,\nand the Şırnak governor promised that he would support Cizrespor,\nwhenever there was a need. Following these meetings, Cizrespor declared\nthat their sportive competition will resume. This decision can be interpreted\nas the prevalence of the first style of entangling football with Kurdish\nidentity and politics. It is plausible to think that in the rising\nauthoritarianism and democratic backsliding in Turkey, the first style will\ncontinue to dominate the football sphere in Kurdish cities.\nNotes\nI thank Pınar Dinç for her insightful comments and suggestions on earlier drafts of this chapter.\nI borrow the concept of lifeworld from Habermas. For Habermas, Lebenswelt or lifeworld is the\ngeneral or common horizon, where subjects act communicatively and always come to a common\nunderstanding. The lifeworld is formed by background convictions. In his own words, ‘this\nlifeworld background serves as a source of situation definitions that are presupposed by\nparticipants as unproblematic’ (Habermas, 1984, p. 70). Moreover, he notes that the lifeworld\nalso stores the interpretative work of the preceding generations.\nThe name of the highest professional football league in Turkey was the First League until the\n2001–2002 season, when it became the Süper Lig (Super League).\nSinging this march sometimes became the subject of trials with accusations of propaganda for\nterrorist organisations. The words of the march begin as follows: ‘Come, beautiful Kurdish\nbrothers/Let us go to the paradise homeland, brave ones/If you do not come, us girls will\nwalk/Slavery has sufficed, let victory reign’. Supporters later wrote Turkish and apolitical lyrics\nfor this march. ‘The cure for my green, red affliction/The meaning of my green, red life/Could it\nbe, here, the Istanbul sultanate/We are from Diyarbakır, lovestruck until death!’\nHere, he refers to the Gallipoli campaign of the First World War, a defensive war of the Ottoman\nArmy against the Entente powers. The Gallipoli campaign is considered an Ottoman victory,\nwith 57,263 Ottoman soldiers killed, and many other casualties.\nMehmet is the Turkish equivalent of Mohamed, and ‘Mehmetçik’, which means literally ‘little\nMehmet’, is a generic term denoting ‘Turkish soldier’, with a visible Islamic connotation.\nThe objective was for DİSKİ (Diyarbakır Su ve Kanalizasyon İdaresi, Diyarbakır Water and\nSewage Administration), which was affiliated with the Diyarbakır Municipality, to support the\nclub financially.\nThis name change sparked discomfort at the Turkish Football Federation. A monetary fine was\nissued, because the club had made the name change without notice. The existence of an amateur\nclub with the same name was later noted. The amateur club subsequently changed its name. The\nmunicipality’s club persevered with the official name ‘Amed Sportif Faaliyetler’ and with the\nname Amedspor on the club’s social media accounts.\nMeanwhile, with a decision made by the AKP government, a state institution for the first time in\n2009 broadcast television in Kurdish on TRT. The television channel, which began broadcasting\nwith the name TRT Şeş, later adopted the name TRT Kürdî. This channel began broadcasting\n\n\n10\n11\n12\n13\n14\n15\nlive the matches of lower-league teams in Kurdish provinces with commentary by presenters\nspeaking in Kurdish. This practice continues today.\nOriginal: ‘Çocuklar ölmesin, maça da gelsin’.\nLater, Ayşe Çelik entered prison with a new-born infant because of these words. The nation’s\nmost famous talk show was taken off the air starting on that date.\nThis gesture is quite common in Turkish football. Most recently UEFA reprimanded the Turkish\nFootball Federation for national team players’ military salutes during two Euro 2020 qualifier\nmatches.\nFormer name of an eastern province in Turkey, which had been changed in 1935 to Tunceli.\nWhen we consider the words of this song, we are confronted with a tale of transformation. The\ncentral political tone was preserved with this transformation but became more dignified with the\nalteration of one word. The lyrics of the original version by Grup Roj are as follows: ‘Resist,\nyeah, Diyarbakır, resist. To resist is what gives you life/stop and listen, my song is to you, trust\nin the love of the mountains’. The mountains are a direct reference to PKK members in the\nmountains and their armed conflict. On the terraces this song transformed into ‘trust in the love\nof the mountains/trust in the love of the supporters’.\nThe statement by Sakaryaspor managers that ‘We show this video before each match’ warrants\nmention to demonstrate the dimension of nationalism in Turkish football.\nReferences\nArhan, F. (2012) Diyarbakırspor: Düğünde Kalabalık, Taziyede Yalnız, Istanbul: İletişim.\nAslan, F. (2009) ‘Biz Diyarbakır’ın ve Kürt milletinin takımıyız’, Hürriyet, 9 May.\nBairner, A. (2001) Sport, Nationalism, and Globalization: European and North American\nPerspectives, Albany, NY, State University of New York Press.\nBora, T. (2005) ‘Athletic de Diyarbakır’, Radikal, 6 March.\nBora, T. (2010) ‘Yeşil-Kırmızi, Şark’ın Yıldızi: Boş Kale, Qibrak!’, Cogito, 63, 64–73.\nBoyraz, C. and Ö. Turan (2016) ‘From System Integration to Social Integration: Kurdish Challenge\nto Turkish Republicanism’, Philosophy and Social Criticism, 42(4–5), 406–418.\nBozarslan, H. (2004) Violence in the Middle East: From Political Struggle to Self-Sacrifice,\nPrinceton, NJ: Markus Wiener.\nÇiçek, C. (2017) The Kurds of Turkey: National, Religious and Economic Identities, London: I. B.\nTauris.\nDorsey, J. (2015) ‘Turkish Soccer Body Penalizes Kurdish Club amid Mounting Tensions’, Huffpost,\n16 January.\nDuran, R. (1992) ‘Kürtler Galatasaray’ı Tutmuyor mu?’, Cumhuriyet, 5 March, 16.\nDuran, R. (1993) ‘Futbolukürdî’ in Horak, R. et al. (eds.) Futbol ve Kültürü, Istanbul: İletişim, pp.\n251–260.\nEvrensel \n(2016) \n‘ \n“Çocuklar \nölmesin \nmaça \ngelsin” \npankartına \nceza’, \n16 \nFebruary,\nwww.evrensel.net/haber/272780/cocuklar-olmesin-maca-gelsin-pankartina-ceza, \naccessed \n17\nDecember 2019.\nFanatik (2016) ‘Deniz Naki’den olay yaratan açıklama’, 31 January, www.fanatik.com.tr/deniz-\nnakiden-olay-yaratan-aciklama-643805, accessed 17 December 2019.\nHabermas, J. (1984) The Theory of Communicative Action, volume 1, Reason and Rationalization of\nSociety, Boston, MA: Beacon Press.\nIşık, A. F. (2019) Amedspor: Kaos ve Direniş, Istanbul: Avesta.\nKorkmaz, E. E. (2012) ‘ “Bizde Irkçılık Yoktur(!)”: Türkiye’de Milliyetçilik ve Futbol:\nDiyarbakırspor’, unpublished graduate assignment, Mimar Sinan Fine Arts University,\nDepartment of Sociology.\n\n\nMcManus, J. (2019) Welcome to Hell? In Search for the Real Turkish Football, London: Weidenfield\nand Nicolson.\nOHCHR (2017) Report on the Human Rights Situation in South-East Turkey: July 2015 to December\n2016. \nOffice \nof \nthe \nUnited \nNations \nHigh \nCommissioner \nfor \nHuman \nRights,\nwww.ohchr.org/Documents/Countries/TR/OHCHR_South-East_TurkeyReport_10March2017.pdf,\naccessed 17 July 2017.\nOlcan, A. (2019) ‘Amedspor Taraftar Grubu Direniş’in Lideri Ramazan Tugay: Özgür olalım yahu!’,\nExpress, 170, 13–15.\nTİHV (2016) ‘TİHV Dokümentasyon Merkezi Verilerine Göre 16 Ağustos 2015–16 Ağustos 2016\nTarihleri arasında Sokağa Çıkma Yasakları ve Yaşamını Yitiren Siviller’, 21 August,\nhttps://tihv.org.tr/16-agustos-2015-20-nisan-2016-tarihleri-arasinda-sokaga-cikma-yasaklari-ve-\nyasamini-yitiren-siviller/, accessed 27 December 2019.\nTopal, F. (2020) ‘Cizrespor, ırkçı tutum nedeniyle ligden çekiliyor: TFF’ye başvuru yapıldı’,\nEvrensel, 3 February.\nTuran, Ö. (2019) ‘Return to the Status Quo Ante: Reloading Militarism before and after 15 July Coup\nAttempt’ in Çiçekoğlu, F. and Ö. Turan (eds.) The Dubious Case of a Failed Coup: Militarism,\nMasculinities, and 15 July in Turkey, Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 189–241.\nWatts, N. F. (2010) Activists in Office: Kurdish Politics and Protest in Turkey, Seattle, WA:\nUniversity of Washington Press.\nYeğen, M. (1999) ‘The Kurdish Question in Turkish State Discourse’, Journal of Contemporary\nHistory, 34(4), 555–568.\nYeğen, M. et al. (2016) Kürtler Ne İstiyor? Kürdistan’da Etnik Kimlik, Dindarlık, Sınıf ve Seçimler,\nIstanbul: İletişim.\n\n\nChapter 10\nNarratives of nationalist politics and\nsport in Sindh\nSahar Gul and Alan Bairner\nIntroduction\nAccording to Sudheep (2016, p. 31), ethnic and sectarian conflicts were\n“the common phenomena in Pakistan’s politics during the last decades of\nthe twentieth century.” Just as common in the country’s landscape is the\nsport of cricket. In fact, cricket became a popular sport throughout most of\nthe Indian sub-continent during the era of British colonial rule and remained\npopular following the partition of India and Pakistan and the subsequent\nsecession of Bangladesh from the latter. Sindh, today a province of\nPakistan, was no exception. The Sindh Cricket Association was established\nin 1922, prior to which cricket had been played in the province by Hindu,\nMuslim, British and, in particular, Parsi (Zoroastrian) enthusiasts. In 1926,\nEngland’s Marylebone Cricket Club (MCC) team visited Sindh and played\nagainst Karachi’s Muslim, Hindu and Parsi teams. However, it was not until\nDecember 1932, that the Sindh cricket team played its first first-class game\nwhen they drew with Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) in Karachi.\nAs will shortly become apparent, Sindh has made a significant\ncontribution to the development of cricket in Pakistan. However, as the\nchapter will then go on to demonstrate, discrimination based on\nethnocentric biases and favouritism has been a major factor in the selection\nprocesses in cricket which have excluded Sindhi youth from national teams.\n\n\nUrdu-speaking migrants and Punjabis have come to dominate the Pakistan\nCricket Board (PCB) and control the selection process (as they do despite\nthe fact in the bureaucratic and political institutions of the country). This is\none feature of the background against which Sindhi politics must be\nunderstood. It was also in 1932 that the first All India test team to play\nEngland was announced and it included a number of Sindhi players\nincluding Ghulam Muhammad Roonjho, Muhammad Jafar Abdullah,\nBudhaji Shanker and Naoomal Jeoomal Makhija. In 1934, the Ranji Trophy,\nfor which the Sindh team participated for thirteen years, was initiated and\nnamed in honour of Jam Ranji Jarejo, a pioneer of cricket in Sindh and ruler\nof Kachh who had also played for the England cricket team. He played in\nhis first test match against Australia in 1896, scoring centuries in both\ninnings.\nIn 1935, the Australian team played against the Sindh team in Karachi.\nIn 1944, Reg Simpson, who would go on to represent his native England\nfrom 1948 until 1955, played for Sindh while serving in the Royal Air\nForce. From 1916 to 1947, in addition to Roonjho, Makhija and Abdullah, a\nnumber of other players were introduced to the Sindh team, included\nMuhammad Ibrahim (brother of Roonjho), Gulab Rai Sapihimani\nRamchand, the outstanding batsman Gogumal Kishanchand Harisinghani,\nMinocher Jamshedji Mobed, and B. D. (Budhaji) Shankar.\nShankar was another major twentieth-century influence on cricket in\nSindh. He first played in 1922 and later co-authored a book with C. B.\nRubie, a pioneer of the Sindh Cricket Association and an English army\nofficer who made a significant contribution to the development of the sport\nin the Karachi area. Having played for the Sindh cricket team in 1945,\nKarachi-born Gulab Rai Sapihimani Ramchand migrated to India following\nPartition and played for the Indian test team against Pakistan in 1955.\nG. M. Roonjho, Sindh’s legendary fast bowler, toured England with the\nfirst Indian team in 1932, played for Sindh against Ceylon in the same year,\nand against Australia in 1935. In 1935, he was captain in the historic match\nbetween Sindh and Australia. Muhammad Jafar Abdullah was an important\nplayer in the Indus Valley Cricket team who played in the Sindh Pentagular\nCricket Tournament (SPT) as a Muslim team member. He made two double\ncenturies against Hyderabad Deccan team in 1932.\nIn 1932, Naoomal Jeoomal Makhija, who progressed to coach the\nPakistan team in 1960, had opened the batting for India in the country’s first\n\n\ntest match against England and was a member of the Sindh team from 1924\nto 1940. He made a century against Sri Lanka, and was chosen as man of\nthe tournament in the Ranji Trophy of 1938 for making a double century. In\ndomestic cricket, Sindh played in the Quaid-e-Azam Trophy from 1953 to\n1957 and then played only occasional first-class games until the 1970s\nwhen two teams representing the province again competed in the Quaid-e-\nAzam Trophy.\nIn light of this long history of cricket in Sindh, it is perhaps surprising\nthat in 2013 in the Sindh Assembly in Karachi, Provincial Law Minister\nAyaz Soomro agreed with Pakistan Muslim League-Functional (PMLF)\nlegislator, Nusrat Sehar Abbasi, that “Sindh was under-represented in the\nnational team and assured the house that the matter would be taken up with\nthe PCB.” Despite that assurance, three years later blogger Sahir Palijo\n(2016) still felt it necessary to pose the question, “Why aren’t there any\nSindhi and Baloch players in our PSL [Pakistan Super League] squads?” In\nfact, for supporters of Sindh independence, the answer was relatively\nstraightforward inasmuch as the selection of PSL squads was simply a\nreflection of the discrimination that Sindh province and Balochistan have\nfaced almost from the very formation of Pakistan.\nPalijo noted that of the fifteen-man squad that would represent\nBalochistan’s Quetta Gladiators in the PSL in 2016, only one was Baloch\nand, although Sindh’s Karachi Kings would include players born in the city,\nnone of them was actually a Sindhi speaker. The writer went on to point out\nthat “even when you consider Pakistan’s national team you won’t find any\nSindhi or Baloch player in the squad. It has been decades since a Baloch or\nSindhi donned the national team’s jersey” (Palijo, S., 2016). For this\nsituation, specifically in relation to the case of Sindh, Palijo blamed both\nthe PCB and the Sindh government for not giving young cricketers\nopportunities to develop their skills. For those with little or no interest in\ncricket, this issue might seem to be of little consequence. It is a reflection,\nhowever, of broader and arguably much more serious concerns about the\nstatus of Sindh within Pakistan, for, as Bandyopadhyay (2007, p. 102)\nnotes, “cricket’s pre-eminence in Pakistani life has also led to its\nconstruction and interpretation in terms of political transition, social\ntension, economic transformation, diplomatic relations and cultural\ndevelopment.” Before returning to cricket, therefore, let us first explain the\n\n\npolitical and cultural background against which the issues raised by Palijo\ncan best be understood.\nIdentity, language and politics in Sindh\nThe cradle of Indus civilisation, Sindh has been an independent and\nsovereign homeland for a series of brief and longer intervals since recorded\nhistory began, despite continuous invasions, attacks and occupations. The\nunique behavioural feature of Sindh’s inhabitants is that, although they have\nbeen defeated many times due to various strategic reasons, they have never\nsurrendered to invaders throughout Sindh’s history. From the sixteenth to\nthe early eighteenth century, Arghoons and Turkhans repeatedly tried to\ndivide Sindh for administrative convenience and political interests but\nSindh has always succeeded in reclaiming its geographical integrity and\ncentral political authority during a period of 5000 years of history (Gul,\n2017). In recorded history, Sindh remained an independent and sovereign\nstate during several dynasties and, despite interruptions, has been a\nsovereign country since the Moen jo Daro era which ended up with the\ninvasion of the Aryans between 1500 and 3000 BCE.\nAlthough Talibanisation has often been regarded as the main threat to the\nPakistani state, most ethnic groups in the country, including the Sindhis,\nbelieve themselves to be discriminated against by a Punjabi elite. According\nto Sudheep (2016, p. 34), “soon after the formation of Pakistan, the Muslim\nelites from West Pakistan, particularly the Mohajirs tried to implement\nUrdu as the national language,” despite the fact that it was the language\nonly of the migrants who comprised 2 per cent of the population of the new\ncountry.\nAs Das (2001, p. 105) argues,\ndecolonization of South Asia resulted in the creation of two successor\nstates along religious lines: a secular India, comprising the heartland of\nthe sub-continent, and a Muslim-majority Pakistan consisting of two\nwings, the western part of which was separated from the eastern half by\nalmost 1,500 km of Indian territory.\nSindh was the third most populous region of Pakistan at the time of\nPartition, bordering the Indian states of Rajasthan and Gujarat. A backward\n\n\nlandlord-dominated rural economy coexisted with Karachi, Pakistan’s most\nthriving commercial city. Sindh also possesses a distinct Sindhi identity.\nIndeed, as Das (2001, p. 104) informs us, “although the Union Jack was\nplanted in Sindh in 1843, the British recognised the region’s advanced\nnationality development.”\nFollowing Partition, Mohajirs, influential and often well-educated Indian\nMuslims, migrated to Sindh (Azhar and Muhammad, 2017; Sudheep, 2016).\nToday its main cities, Karachi, Hyderabad and Sukkur, are dominated by\nMohajirs while the fertile lands of northern Sindh are controlled by\nPunjabis. Sindh’s population grew by more than 81 per cent between 1998\nand 2011 as a result of further large-scale immigration. Sindhis now make\nup only 45 per cent of the province’s population.\nYet, Sindhi is one of the oldest languages of the sub-continent.\nFurthermore, as Rahman (1999, p. 26) notes, “in independent Pakistan the\nonly provinces in which the indigenous languages were the media of\ninstruction in the non-elitist state schools were Bengal and Sind.” As a\nresult, “the resistance against perceived domination by the centre came to\nbe expressed primarily through linguistic and cultural symbols” (Rahman,\n1999, p. 26). Language became a marker of Sindhi ethnic identity as well as\nhaving “utilitarian value as the language of the lower salariat” (Rahman,\n1999, p. 32). In addition, according to Kennedy (1991, p. 939), “Sindh is\nthe most ethnically diverse of Pakistan’s four provinces, due both to the\ninternational transfer of peoples into the province during, and subsequent to\npartition in 1947, and to domestic internal migration since 1947.”\nAlthough much has been written about the national narratives of Sindh,\nthere exists an important need for further critical appraisal from a\nmultiplicity of dimensions. Specifically, there is a necessity both to write\nabout trends and traditions but also to analyse the nationalist movements in\nthe light of the principles of the world’s nationalist politics. In fact, Sindhi\nnationalist politics can best be understood in relation to modern theories of\nnationalism and grounded realities. In order to make foreign scholars in the\nfield of nationalism studies understand Sindh’s case, it is necessary to\nexplicate it firstly from the perspective of historical realities, and secondly\nfrom that of international theories and experiences.\nThis should not mean that residents of Sindh who speak languages other\nthan Sindhi should be declared as aliens, which would erroneously present\n\n\nSindhis as xenophobes and Sindh as a nation suffering from national\nnarcissism.\n[W]e must not forget that in history the term nationalism has been used\nas an alternate to narcissistic racism that the world witnessed and\nexperienced in the form of Nazism and Fascism. Such type of\nnationalism is called Expansionist Nationalism, which is the most\naggressive form of asserting self-identity. Therefore, there is difference\nbetween the nationalism of oppressed and oppressing nations – without\nunderstanding \nthis \ndifference, \none \ncannot \nunderstand \nthe\ndiversifications and fragilities of the subject.\n(Gul, 2017)\nRather, previous research has drawn attention to the desire for a\nmultinational population and a multiracial identity becoming a national\nsuccess on the condition that the rights of all linguistic groups residing in\nSindh are protected so that Sindh can become a multinational and peaceful\nprovince (Gul, 2017).\nIt is important to understand Sindh in terms of the rights of the Sindhi\npopulation without making distinctions on the basis of race, religion or any\nother identity. In that way, it is possible to better understand the character of\nSindhi nationalism.\nThis chapter draws upon the first major study of modern citizenship in\nrelation to Sindh, based on the concepts of national and multiracial\nnationalist sociology (Gul, 2017). This approach seeks not only to present\nthe idea of a tolerant, multi-class Sindh but also to stimulate exploration of\nthe different possibilities of its reformation. Furthermore, it is expected that\nthis aspiration offers a rational point of view for multiracial groups and\ndifferent political parties. The narratives of Sindhi nationalism can roughly\nbe divided into three eras: 1906–1936 (the struggle for the separation of\nSindh from Bombay); 1937–1947 (before Partition); 1947-to-date (the\narguments about national existence, the share of water resources and the\nclaim of a permanent majority).\nThe political evolution of Sindhi nationalism\n\n\nSindhi ethnic nationalism developed as a response to the treatment of its\npeople (Khan, 2002). Gul (2017) has outlined how Sindh has been\nsubjected to innumerable attacks by foreigners, and the people of Sindh\nhave resisted these at different times and in different ways. These attacks\ncommenced with the Aryans who came from central Asia and were\nfollowed by Arabs, Arghoons and Turkhans. In more recent history,\nexternal oppression began with the conquest of Sindh by the British in 1843\nfollowed by forcible attachment to the Bombay Presidency in 1847.\nSecessionist tendencies were triggered in Sindh after the secession of\nEast Pakistan in 1971. East Bengal and Sindh had been the only provinces\nwhich vigorously struggled for the formation of Pakistan. When the\npolitical mandate of the Awami League in Bengal was denied, East Pakistan\n(today’s Bangladesh) was separated and G. M. Syed, a Sindhi politician and\none of the founders of Pakistan, demanded freedom for all the constituent\nnationalities of Pakistan under his political party Jeay Sindh Mahaz (Long\nlive Sindh Front). Influenced by the ideology of G. M. Syed, many\nsecessionist groups tried to claim political spaces and influence people,\nespecially the youth, with universities becoming an important hub of\ninvolvement in nationalist politics. That was the time when Sindhis\nstrengthened their perceptiveness about language, nationalism, culture and\nsovereignty on a larger scale (Azizudin cited in Chandio, 2009).\nSimultaneously, because of strong separatist tendencies, the state and\ngovernment of Pakistan adopted discriminatory policies towards Sindhis\nwhen it came to creating leisure spaces for people, especially the young,\nhence sports were also impacted. Because of huge mistrust, the government\ntried to deny active participation of Sindhi youth in mainstream sports such\nas cricket, football and hockey. In addition, because of the influence of the\nnationalist movement, a section of Sindhi youth kept themselves away from\nsuch mainstream activities.\nFor G. M. Syed, as one of the founders of Pakistan, the negation of the\nresolution of 1940 was taking place before his eyes, and the Punjabi and\nMohajirs/migrants ruling class had rendered the Bengalis, Balochs,\nPashtuns and Sindhis as their slaves from political and economic\nperspectives as a result of which had surfaced the logical conclusion to\ndivide Pakistan and give independence to Bangladesh.\nAs a result, Syed came to the conclusion that staying with Pakistan\nwould now strike a severe blow on behalf of the remaining subjugated\n\n\n‘nations’ as expressed in his writings which not only demanded the\ngeographical independence of Sindh from Pakistan but laid the foundations\nof his political thought. Although, initially, Syed sought only autonomous\nstatus for Sindh, over time he began to focus more on the need for liberation\nin the form of an independent state (Khan and Mushtaq, 2017).\nSyed argued that the residents of Sindh constituted a separate nation on\nthe basis of language, culture, historical customs and traditions and were\nentitled to make decisions about their political, economic and cultural\nfuture. Sindh had been a separate country in the sub-continent for thousands\nof years and, like other nations of the world, had a right to self-\ndetermination. The Sindhi language was fully entitled to become the\nnational and official language of the country.\nAlongside Syed, another political leader of that period who played an\nimportant role in the political and national wisdom of Sindhism was Hyder\nBakhsh Jatoi, who resigned from his post of deputy collector in the\ngovernment service to create the Sindh Hari Committee (Sindh Peasants’\nMovement). Jatoi proposed the idea of the parallel movement of national\nand sectional issues (Jatoi, 1980).\nA third prominent figure was Rasool Bux Palijo, who headed Awami\nTahrik (People’s Movement) – the progressive movement, more inclined to\nMaoist–Leninist ideological orientations. As a scholar of Sindh, Palijo’s\nwisdom and organisational abilities provided new theoretical and practical\ndimensions to Sindh’s nationalist politics. In his opinion, the fight against\nfeudalism was an essential part of the national movement. Feudalism was\nthe root of the Mohajirs’/migrants’ and Punjabi domination. Feudalism did\nnot permit Sindhis to confront their problems. In fact, weakness in the face\nof feudalism amongst the majority of Sindhis was like a disease. Nationalist\nand anti-feudalism movements should go hand in hand. The urban Sindhi\nwould not be able to save their cities until they confronted feudalism as\ntheir enemy. The Sindhi nation should first of all solve its permanent\nproblems such as poverty, looting by cruel landlords, the harbouring of\nthieves, and dogmatism in rural areas. Palijo was of the view that the\nnational movement would not succeed without rooting out feudalism. In\naddition, it should address all the problems faced by the rural population\nand it should be based on the needs and support of the people (Palijo, R. B.,\n1973).\n\n\n1\n2\n3\n4\n5\n6\nThe Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) was future president and prime\nminister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s party, which was later ‘inherited’ by his\ndaughter, Benazir, and then passed on to her son and husband, following her\nassassination in 2007. In the 1960s and 1970s, the PPP’s rhetoric was\nsocialist, Bhutto used the word socialism to attract support from the former\nSoviet Union and the concept of Islamic socialism to pacify Muslim\nclerics/Mullahs. Even after the rhetoric had subsided, however, the PPP\ncontinued to identify as a centre-left party, much of whose support base was\nin the rural areas of Sindh (Gazdar, 2008). Indeed, initially, an important\nproject for the party was the elimination of feudalism although this was\nsubsequently set aside.\nSindh nationalist politics and thinking has evolved over time, grown and\nassumed different forms during the last one and a half centuries.\nNevertheless, some common points can be found among the various\npolitical traditions. The provincial autonomy of Sindh has been the central\nargument of Sindhi nationalists (Chandio, 2007). The basis of this demand\nis composed of several core beliefs:\nSindh is the eternal, permanent, everlasting motherland of Sindhis and\nhistorical right over Sindh belongs to Sindhis alone.\nA permanent majority of Sindhis in Sindh should be protected so that\nthe historical right of Sindhis to rule Sindh can be secured.\nThe Sindhi language is the national language of Sindh and the Sindhis\nand should be given the official status of the national language of\nSindh.\nThe cities and all natural and economic resources of Sindh including\ncapital, oil, gas and coal are the national properties of Sindh and the\nSindhis, and the historical right of Sindhis over these should be\naccepted.\nIndividuals and groups residing in Sindh and speaking other languages\nare also Sindhis who believe in Sindh as their motherland and consider\nthemselves, in a political sense, part of the Sindhi nation and are\nwilling to strive for the national rights of Sindh.\nJageerdari (feudalism) is the main reason for the abject backwardness\nand subjection of Sindhis and the relief of Sindh is impossible without\nthe rule of Sindhi people over Sindh.\n\n\n7\nThe Indus river is the creator and guarantor of the history, culture and\neconomy, and any sort of dacoity/robbery involving the shape of its\nembankment, canal and barrage system will be regarded as an attack\non the nationhood of Sindh.\nIn pursuing its goals, the Sindhi nationalist struggle has been hampered by\nthe diverse range of groups that are involved, even though most of them\nhave been affiliated to the ideology of G. M. Syed. Bhutto’s execution in\n1979 and widespread alienation led to growing support in Sindh for the\nnewly established Movement for Restoration of Democracy (MRD)\namongst all sections of society in the province (Khan and Mushtaq, 2017).\nHowever, as reported by Adeel Khan (2002), despite their common anti-\nPunjabi-Mohajir rhetoric, the various opposition groups were unable to\nreconcile their clash of interests\nIn recent years, a lack of unity amongst Sindhi nationalists and the\nabsence of a unifying political organisation have hampered efforts to force\nthe Pakistan state to accommodate their demands (Bansal, 2016). Instead,\nthere have emerged numerous nationalist groups. However, despite most of\nthem being associated with the ideology of G. M. Syed, they have tended to\nbe disconnected and have failed to function as a single unit (The News,\n2007). This, then, is the background against which we shall seek to explain\nthe current relationship between sport and Sindhi identity politics.\nThere are two streams of Sindhi nationalists, that is those who believe in\nthe separation of Sindh from the federation of Pakistan and commonly\nbelieve in G. M. Syed’s political thought and a second stream comprising\nthose moderates and progressive leftist organisations that believe in gaining\nconstitutional, political, economic and cultural rights for Sindh within a\nfederal constitutional framework. There have been alliances among diverse\nnationalists and progressive organisations occasionally but such alliances\nhad never been sustained due to competing and conflicting narratives as\nwell as group interests; consequently they have not been able to exert\nsustained political pressure on state institutions and political and civilian\ngovernments.\nDespite lack of unity and ideological differences, all nationalist and\nprogressive groups have also endeavoured to speak with one voice on many\ncommon issues, that is Sindh legitimate water share, language rights,\nownership of and adequate income from natural resources, provincial\n\n\nautonomy, securing Sindh’s demographic majoritarian status in the\nprovince, and self-government for the province.\nIn such circumstances, the fate of Sindhi cricket players is now changing\ndue to various factors despite persistent obstacles at the structural levels.\nInfluential local people have taken personal measures to create cricket\ngrounds and arrange training opportunities for the Sindhi youth. Moreover,\nSindhi women have begun to play cricket thanks to local efforts at the\ndistrict level, in the absence of support from the PCB. These district-level\ninitiatives and efforts have allowed Sindhi players to reach the national and\ninternational levels. Yet there are still challenges for cricket enthusiasts to\nsurmount with structural reforms.\nSport and Sindhi identity\nMalakhro (Malh) is an ancient Sindhi form of wrestling, which dates back\n5000 years. It is one of the most popular sports among men in Gujarat in\nIndia and in Sindh province. Indeed, it is the provincial sport of Sindh.\nMatches are generally held on Fridays and holidays and are a feature of\nfairs and festivals. People with money and influence manage and organise\ncontests for famous wrestlers. In 2009, the provincial government made the\ndecision to build a new stadium in Karachi for the sport, not least to revive\nsupport for what had been an increasingly dying tradition. This commitment\ncontrasts markedly with Sahir Palijo’s (2016) description of cricket\nacademies and stadiums in inner Sindh remaining “underfunded or not\nfunctional at all.” Moreover, there is a lack of grounds outside Karachi\nwhere academies can be formed for training and playing matches.\nOther amenity measures are those that indicate that support for winter\nrecreational activities is positively related to growth rate in the population,\nemployment, income and yield performance. Demand for winter\nrecreational activities and sports such as football, kabaddi and malakhro are\nexpected to continue to increase in the rural areas of Sindh, not least\nbecause all statistically significant amenity attributes are positively related\nto economic growth in rural Sindh (Shaikh and Rahpoto, 2009). However,\nby far the most popular sport in Pakistan is cricket.\nAs we have seen, although Lahore, the capital of Punjab, played a\nsignificant part in Pakistan’s earliest encounters with cricket, by the 1920s,\nSindh was regarded by some as the first place in pre-Partition India where\n\n\nthe sport was properly organised (Samiuddin, 2014). However, following\nPartition and the waves of immigrants who arrived in the province’s largest\ncity and Pakistan’s first capital, Karachi, there were simply too many people\nand not enough space. As Samiuddin (2014, pp. 38–39) reports, “as\nopposed to the vast, open and green spaces of Lahore, there were fewer\nspaces and grounds in Karachi … There were no turf wickets and\nsometimes, as in some of the parks, there weren’t wickets of any kind at\nall.” Nevertheless, the local Parsi community in particular had promoted the\nsport, as it had in other parts of the sub-continent (Guha, 2002), as did some\nof the best schools in the city, which themselves reflected the diverse\ncharacter of the city’s and the province’s population. These schools\ncompeted for the Rubie Shield, named after the Englishman who had done\nso much for the development of cricket in Sindh before Partition\n(Samiuddin, 2014).\nAfter Partition, India and Pakistan established their own separate\nnational cricket teams. Although the relationship between the two countries\nhas frequently been tense, according to Aslam et al. (2016, p. 63), “the\ngame of cricket confirmed to be a vital connection among the public of both\nnations [who] usually tried to get together on the cricket ground or pitches\neven in the most hostile days.” As noted in the introduction, however, in the\ncase of Pakistan, the national team has not always been representative of the\npopulation as a whole, with Sindhi and Baloch players finding it difficult to\ngain selection for the national team or, more recently, for PSL squads, even\nthose representing their own provinces.\nOne national politician (ethnically Sindhi) who had supported Sindh was\nZulfikar Ali Bhutto. Born near Larkana in the province, Bhutto was the\nfourth president of Pakistan from 1971 to 1973 and the country’s ninth\nprime minister from 1973 until 1977. In addition to leading the PPP,\npursuing his socialist agenda and allowing Sindhi to become the national\nlanguage of Sindh province (Azhar and Muhammad, 2017), he was also a\ncricket devotee. Indeed, according to one of the towering figures in the\nhistory of cricket on the sub-continent, A. H. Kardar,\nhad Bhutto gone straight to Oxford instead of spending three years at\nBerkeley in the United States, he would have played first-class cricket\nnot only in England but also later in Pakistan. But those three years in\nCalifornia were to turn him into a political person.\n\n\n(1987, p. 283)\nIn his pursuit of allies and financial support, Bhutto developed a close\nrelationship with Colonel Muammar Gaddafi, which led to the renaming of\nthe Lahore cricket stadium after the Libyan leader. Inspired by the ‘ping\npong diplomacy’ that was heralded as having brought the United States and\nChina closer together, Bhutto also established the Z. A. Bhutto Institute of\nSports and Culture in order to develop the rapport between himself and the\npeople and to signify his understanding of the cultural and political value of\nsport (Oborne, 2014). Perhaps with this at least partly in mind, he persuaded\nKardar to join the PPP, which also numbered amongst its members student\nagitator Aftab Gul, who “made his Test debut for Pakistan in 1969 – while\nout on bail from criminal charges” (Heller and Oborne, 2016, p. 129).\nAlthough later Gul became disillusioned with what he regarded as Bhutto’s\npolitical opportunism, he nevertheless later joined his former leader’s legal\nteam and took down some of Bhutto’s political testament dictated while in\nhis death cell. Gul remained loyal to Bhutto’s initial political dream of a\ndemocratic, socialist Pakistan which, while predominantly Muslim, would\ntolerate all creeds and encourage free thinking. It is a dream that has also\ninspired many Sindhi nationalists. According to Heller and Oborne (2016,\np. 135), “More than any other Pakistan cricketer, Aftab Gul answers C. L.\nR. James’s famous question: what do they know of cricket who only cricket\nknow?”\nSo why are there so few Sindhi cricketers in the Pakistan\nnational team?\nOvert discrimination and the importance of political influence rather than\nmerit have been major factors in the process whereby Sindhi youth have\nbeen excluded from national teams in cricket and other sports. One of the\nauthors was told that a Baloch player scored 428 runs in an innings but\nplayed in only two test matches, and a Jamali (Sindhi/Baloch) player scored\n95 against Australia on his test debut in 1965 but was also allowed to play\nonly two test matches while Urdu-speaking migrants and Punjabis\ncontinued to dominate the PCB and control the selection process.\nAnother factor is that, in the PCB, there has been little evidence of\nindependent and honest chairmen, captains or coaches willing or able to\n\n\nensure a transparent recruitment process. This is a major reason why many\nselections have not been made on merit. One of the authors was told that\nwhen the renowned player Wasim Akram became captain of the national\nteam, he introduced some changes by bringing in cricketers from different\nethnic groups; they included Shahid Afridi, Azhar Mahmood, Abdul Razaq,\nShoaib Malik, Saqlain Mushtaq, Mohammad Yousuf and Younis Khan.\nAfter Wasim Akram stepped down, however, things reverted to the norm.\nIn addition to corruption, discrimination, favouritism and nepotism, there\nhas been a lack of infrastructure in the smaller districts and a lack of\nacademies and playground facilities in Sindh, other than in Karachi. Indeed,\nin the other cities of Sindh, only tennis cricket is played so that when\nplayers are faced with a hard ball, they fail to perform well. Learning to\nplay with a hard ball requires space and training facilities, which the smaller\ndistricts lack. Hence, they play tennis cricket for fun, not as a potential\nprofession, and have no future prospects in the sport. More generally there\nhas been a lack of cricket grounds. One of the authors was told that, in\naddition to Karachi, there needed two more big grounds in the other\ndistricts of Sindh where academies could be formed for training and also for\nplaying matches.\nThe migration of Sindhi cricketers to India has also been a factor.\nMoreover, between 1847 and 1947 cricket was played only in Karachi, with\nteams including both Sindhi Hindu and Muslim cricketers, at which point,\nSindhi Hindu cricketers migrated to India taking with them their best\nperformance records, and the Karachi grounds, especially the Karachi\nGymkhana ground, which was built in 1890, came to be controlled by the\nnew immigrants to the province with Punjabis being more influential in\ndecision-making than Urdu-speaking migrants.\nNepotism is another familiar problem. One of the authors was informed\nthat, when a selector in Larkana, a district of Sindh, was asked by the PCB\nto provide the names of his two best players, he sent his nephews. It is also\nwell-known that Karachi-based players receive proper training for which\nthey pay and then get selected. Elsewhere in Sindh, children do not have the\nopportunity to play cricket from childhood for the simple reason that\nschools do not have proper playgrounds, let alone cricket grounds.\nDespite all of these obstacles, we were informed by one of the district\nrepresentatives of the PCB that currently there are signs of positive change\nwith four cricketers from Sindh who belong to the Hyderabad and Dadu\n\n\ndistricts having been selected for PSL teams in 2020. They are Sharjeel\nKhan (Urdu-speaking from Hyderabad) for Karachi Kings, bowlers Zahid\nMehmood and Mohammad Hasnain for Quetta Gladiators and Amir Ali\nThaheem, another bowler, for Peshawar Zalmi. This might go some way at\nleast to responding positively to Sahir Palijo’s (2016) comments discussed\nearlier in this chapter. What should not be ignored is that Sindhis are\nperfectly happy to represent Pakistan at the international level. Furthermore,\nthere are undoubtedly signs of change.\nAn improving situation?\nIn recent years, a number of cricket enthusiasts have contributed greatly to\nthe advancement of young boys from the districts of Sindh other than\nKarachi. One of those is Mir Hyder Talpur (President of the Regional\nCricket Association, which is part of the PCB) who belongs to an influential\npolitical family in Hyderabad and was responsible for the creation of cricket\ngrounds in Hyderabad and Badin to train young boys to play cricket.\nMuhammad Suleman Mirani, by profession a Treasury Officer in the\nFinance Department) and himself a former cricket player, has encouraged\nand financed Sindhi boys in Larkana to play cricket. He formed Al-Shahbaz\nCricket Club in Larkana, of which he is patron and president. Shahnawaz\nDahani, who has played first-class cricket, was trained in that club. Pir\nMoazam (an artist from a very influential Sindh political family),\ncontributed to the making of the Dadu ground and also finances young\nSindhi cricketers. Since 2007, Pervaiz Ahmed Chandio from Dadu, also a\nformer player, has pledged to prepare district- and village-level boys for\nnational and international cricket.\nAmongst the Dadu boys whom Chandio has mentored, Zahid Mahmood\nBhatti and Amir Ali Thaheem played for, but were then dropped by PSL\nteams Quetta Gladiators and Peshawar Zalmi respectively. Later, however,\nAmir Ali Thaheem was selected to play for the national team in the 2020\nUnder 19 World Cup in South Africa. It is also to Chandio’s credit that, in\n2010, he organised a women’s match between Dadu and Sukkur, the first\nsuch match to be organised by the district and not by the PCB. Dadu now\nhas good cricket grounds. In Sanghar and Shikarpur and Larkana there are\ntwo grounds and Jacobabad and Khairpur Mirs a ground each. Despite these\n\n\nsuccess stories, however, discrimination and political interference can still\nhinder the progress of Sindhi cricket.\nZahid Mahmood had led the national T20 bowling statistics but was left\nout of the national team in favour of the son of a Pakistan cricket legend,\nAbdul Qadir, a friend of Prime Minster Imran Khan, a former test captain.\nIndeed, the former Chairman of the PCB Junior Selection Committee Basit\nAli had vowed that no Sindhi player would be selected. He marginalised\nSindhi player Javed Khoso, who did not have passport and was left behind\nfor that reason, though the passport could have been urgently arranged to\nkeep the brilliant player in the team – here ethnocentrisms marginalised the\nboy. Following Agha Javed and Shahid Qambrani, who had both\nrepresented Pakistan at the under-19 level, Nadir Ali and Amir Ali, both\nfrom Dadu and both left-arm spinners, played in the regional under-19\ntrophy and were in fifth and sixth places for their bowling figures.\nHowever, they were not selected for the twenty-strong national squad, and\nwhen asked why not, we were told that they were ordinary players. Ali\nAsghar Joyo, a left arm spinner, was completely ignored and we were told\nthat the current Chairman of the Junior Selection Committee, Salim Jafar\nAga Khan, gives places on merit.\nIn fact, Sindhi youth players faced double jeopardy due to a Karachi and\nLahore mind set that has given priority to Urdu- and Punjabi-speaking boys.\nIn addition, Prime Minister Imran Khan has introduced changes which will\naffect the overall future of the sport. For example, he has appointed close\nfriends to the PCB’s decision-making governing board on which no proper\nrepresentation of regions is possible as he has already abolished sixteen\nregions, leaving only six teams.\nTeams linked to banks and other institutions such the State Bank of\nPakistan, Pakistan International Airlines, the AQ Khan Laboratory etc.\nmade up twenty-eight teams; all were abolished, with several players and\nrelevant personnel losing their jobs and livelihood. Imran Khan also\nremoved ground staff who lost their income. District administrators lack the\nfunds and interest to take care of the grounds. The Prime Minister appointed\nMisbah ul Haq Niazi (a relative from his own hometown of Mianwali) to be\nnational chief selector and coach, with a salary that is equivalent to the\nformer income of all the country’s cricket ground staff. Prime Minister\nKhan has introduced a competition resembling that of Australia’s Sheffield\nShield, a model that does not necessarily suit Pakistan, compared with the\n\n\ncounty cricket system in England which makes room for its major and\nminor counties.\nFinally, the reduced number of provincial and departmental cricket teams\nreveals more prejudice; three provinces – Sindh, Balochistan, Khyber\nPakhtunkhuwa – have only three teams between them, while Punjab\nprovince has three teams itself. Second, regarding representation of the\nprovinces, although initially the proposal was floated that each team would\nbe led by its provincial chief executive who is also the chief minister, and\nthe selection of players for the provincial team would be a provincial\nmatter, this proposal was not implemented. Instead, a cricket committee\nheaded by Iqbal Qasim is responsible for the overall decision-making,\nwhich does not involve the provincial chief executives in the process of\nselection of players.\nConclusion\nWith C. L. R James’s famous question in mind, the reasons for the lack of\nSindhi cricketers in the Pakistan national team cannot be found in cricket\nitself. The explanation runs deeper than that and is to be found in the history\nand political evolution of the country itself. As a Sindhi commentator (Das,\n2001, p. 155) has argued,\nProblems of national unity in Pakistan stem from the very philosophy\nof the country – as prophesied by those who wield power. The\nphilosophy and ideology of the state negates the reality, i.e. the\nexistence of nations that together formed Pakistan. The policies and\npractices based on the philosophy and ideology of the creation of\nPakistan have obviously damaged the problems of national unity.\nSindhi nationalist sentiments have remained strong, although, according to\nKhan and Mushtaq (2017, p. 35), the separatist movement has not gained\nmuch attraction and over the years Sindhi separatists have lost ground.\nNevertheless, the secessionist movement will continue to acquire recruits\nbecause of their fear for Sindh’s survival (Das, 2001) and a less important\nbut nonetheless significant desire to see Sindhi sport flourish.\n\n\nAcknowledgements\nThe authors are grateful to Mr Asif Ali Jokhio, Clerk of the Thatta\nEducation Department and a researcher on the history of Sindh and Mr\nPervaiz Ali Chandio who contributed to the training of Sindhi players to\njoin the PSL in 2020. Both men willingly gave up their time to provide a\nwealth of invaluable information.\nReferences\nAslam, S., Hussain, S. A. and Ali, A. 2016. “Politics through Sports and Cricket Diplomacy between\nPakistan and India: A Case Study of National Daily Newspaper (Dawn Pakistan).” The\nGovernment: Research Journal of Political Science, 5, pp. 61–75.\nAzhar, M. and Muhammad, A. 2017. “Ethnic Fragmentation and Dynamics of Politics in Pakistan.”\nJournal of Political Studies, 24 (1), pp. 67–81.\nBandyopadhyay, K. 2007. “Pakistani Cricket at the Crossroads: An Outsider’s Perspective.” Sport in\nSociety, 10 (1), pp. 101–119.\nBansal, A. 2016. “Pakistan’s Other Trouble Spot.” The Indian Express, 7 October.\n(https://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/pakistan-trouble-spots-partition-talibans-\nbaloch-nationalism-sindh-nationalists-3069384/) Accessed 7 September 2018.\nChandio, J. 2007. Tabdeeli a Ja Muharik and Sindh jo Aindo (Dynamics of Change and Future of\nSindh). Hyderabad: Centre for Peace and Civil Society.\nChandio, J. 2009. Sindh Case. Hyderabad: Centre for Peace and Civil Society.\nDas, S. 2001. Kashmir and Sindh: Nation-Building, Ethnicity and Regional Politics in South Asia.\nLondon: Anthem Press.\nGazdar, H. 2008. “Pakistan’s Precious Parties.” Economic and Political Weekly, 9 February, pp. 8–9.\nGuha, R. 2002. A Corner of a Foreign Field: The Indian History of a British Sport. London: Picador.\nGul, S. 2017. Philosophy of Cosmopolitan Nationalism and Ethno-centric Collective Consciousness\nin Post-colonial Societies: Pakistan Context. Unpublished PhD thesis, Department of Philosophy,\nUniversity of Karachi, Pakistan.\nHeller, R. and Oborne, P. 2016. White and Green: Celebrating the Drama of Pakistan Cricket.\nLondon: Simon and Schuster.\nJatoi, H. B. 1980. Statement of the Accused. Karachi: Sindhica Academy.\nKardar, A. H. 1987. Memoirs of an All-rounder. Lahore: Progressive Publishers.\nKennedy, C. H. 1991. “The Politics of Ethnicity in Sindh.” Asian Survey, 31 (10), pp. 938–955.\nKhan, A. 2002. “Pakistan’s Sindhi Ethnic Nationalism: Migration, Marginalisation, and the Threat of\n‘Indianization’.” Asian Survey, 42 (2), pp. 213–229.\nKhan, S. M. and Mushtaq, M. 2017. “Sindhi Ethno-national Movement: Question of Provincial\nAutonomy.” Pakistan Vision, 18 (2), pp. 33–49.\nThe News 2007. “Time Ripe for Sindhi Nationalists to Unite.” The News, 13 November\n(www.thenews.com.pk/archive/print/79620-time-ripe-for-sindhi-nationalists-to-unite) Accessed 7\nSeptember 2018.\nOborne, P. 2014. Wounded Tiger: A History of Cricket in Pakistan. London: Simon and Schuster.\nPalijo, R. B. 1973. Subuh Theendo (Day will Dawn). Lahore: Awami Kitab Ghar.\nPalijo, S. 2016. “Why Aren’t There Any Sindhi or Baloch Players in Our PSL Squads?” The Express\nTribune Blogs, 15 February (https://blogs.tribune.com.pk/story/32354/why-arent-there-any-sindhi-\nor-baloch-players-in-our-psl-squads/) Accessed 12 October 2018.\n\n\nRahman, T. 1999. “Language, Politics and Power in Pakistan: The Case of Sindh and Sindhi.” Ethnic\nStudies Report, 17 (1), pp. 21–34.\nSamiuddin, O. 2014. The Unquiet Ones: A History of Pakistan Cricket. Noida, UP, India: Harper\nSport.\nShaikh, F. M. and Rahpoto, M. S. 2009. “The Role of Amenities and Quality of Life in Agricultural\nProductivity Rural Economic Growth: A Case Study of Sindh.” Journal of Applied Quantitative\nMethods, 4 (2), pp. 248–256.\nSudheep, M. S. 2016. “Re-imagining Nationalism: Ethnic and Religious Movements in Pakistan.”\nIJPAIR: Indian Journal of Politics and International Relations, 9, pp. 31–48.\n\n\nChapter 11\nAssembling the diasporic nation\nKabylia at the CONIFA World Football Cup\nJonathan Harris\nIntroduction\nIn the summer of 2018, thousands of people in Algeria and the diaspora\ntuned in to watch and to listen as their national football team clashed with\nother national teams from around the world. A dedicated group of fans\nfollowed the team from venue to venue, waving the national flag and\nsinging their support from the stands. The president and some of his\nofficials were present at some of the more significant games. The nation\nwas represented, national pride was at stake, and the eyes of the world,\nthrough the coverage of the international media, were upon the team.\nHowever, Algeria had not qualified for the FIFA World Cup in Russia. This\nwas the newly formed Kabyle national team competing in the CONIFA\n(Confederation of Independent Football Associations) World Football Cup\nin London, on which this chapter focuses. Other teams at the competition\nranged from unrecognised states like Abkhazia and North Cyprus, and\nestablished secessionist groups like Tibet and Tamil Eelam, to geopolitical\nanomalies like Ellan Vannin (Isle of Man) and The United Koreans in\nJapan.\nThough the tournament was on a scale far smaller than the more\nestablished competition taking place in Russia, the participation of this\nKabyle team and the related international media attention on the Kabyle\n\n\nIndependence Movement (Mouvement pour l’Autodétermination de la\nKabylie, MAK), which since 2015 has called for the self-determination of\nKabylia as an indigenous nation, charted new territory in North Africa’s\nregional politics. Its immediate effects were felt in the mobilisation of the\nKabyle diaspora and various reactions via online and mainstream media,\nbut its longer-term effects remain to be seen. The Kabylia that was\npresented to the world through online and mainstream media during the\nCONIFA tournament was a nation searching for its independence. It was a\nterritory wrongly attached to Algeria during the French colonial period,\nsuffering marginalisation and oppression at the hands of the authoritarian\nAlgerian state. As this chapter will unpack, however, the media coverage of\nKabylia at the CONIFA World Football Cup was based upon the deeply\npartisan discourse of the MAK, and presented in such a way as to suggest\nthat, beyond any question, Kabylia is a nation. Such a claim would have\nbeen unimaginable until only recently, but regional political change\nongoing since the ‘Arab Spring’, including the growth of Kabyle diaspora\ninstitutions, is providing a space for its articulation. This chapter will\nanalyse the role of this sporting event in the assemblage of diaspora and\nargue that an already existent Kabyle discourse and performance of\nsecessionism has been further developed through CONIFA’s format and\nmediatisation.\nDiaspora, sport and nationalism\nThe power of sporting spectacles to symbolically put a place ‘on the map’,\nand for athletes’ performances to represent their nations to the rest of the\nworld, has become an established theme in scholarship on the geopolitics of\nsport (Cronin and Mayall 1998, Bairner 2001, Koch 2016). In particular, the\nefforts of host nations and cities to portray themselves as developed or\npowerful have formed the focus of several recent interventions in the field\n(Horák 2017, Koch 2018, Won and Chiu 2018). International sporting\nevents are excellent examples of Billig’s classic concept of ‘banal\nnationalism’ (1995), where the national ‘symbolic repertoire’ of flags,\ncolours and anthems are deployed as a matter of course (Koch 2013).\nGlobal audiences have grown accustomed to seeing a national flag\ndisplayed alongside names on the leader boards of the Tour de France or the\nGrand Prix, for example, despite the transnational make-up of the teams\n\n\nthat compete. At the FIFA World Cup national symbols are constantly\nreproduced, from the colours that teams wear, to the songs that fans sing, to\nthe style of play on the field. CONIFA exposes and makes explicit the\npower relations that are reinforced through such practices, by replicating the\nsame national symbolic repertoire but for many of the world’s stateless\nnations and secessionist groups. Such an exposure threatens polities that\nhave succeeded in normalising their national status over that of these other\ngroups, prompting resistance to CONIFA’s activities. For example, several\nsponsors representing thousands of pounds of funding withdrew from the\n2018 tournament when Tibet was included, and the Cypriot High\nCommission wrote to the London non-league clubs hosting the matches to\nencourage them to withdraw too: “Irrespective of what CONIFA likes to\ncall itself, it is an association that provides an umbrella network for illegal\nsecessionist entities purportedly to play football” (Cypriot Embassy to the\nUK, cited in Hendicott 2019). The geopolitics of this sporting event were\ndecidedly international in scale, whilst the city where the tournament took\nplace, London, was only significant in that it is home to numerous\ndiasporas. As such, the tournament represents a unique field for the study\nnot just of sport and secessionism, but more broadly for nationalism and the\ngeopolitics of diaspora.\nScholarly uses of the term ‘diaspora’ range widely, having several\nmeanings across and often within disciplines (Brubaker 2005, Faist 2010).\nWe must therefore ask: what kind of diaspora emerged to support the\nKabyle team at the CONIFA World Cup? The cultural studies approach that\npopularised the term in the humanities in the 1990s evoked diaspora as a\nmetaphor for cultural difference and hybridity that lies outside the dominant\ncultural narrative. Whilst helpful for theorising the socio-cultural effects of\nliving away from ‘home’, this approach is often individualised and\nplaceless despite evoking spatial themes (Brah 1996). A second approach,\ntaken by scholars studying diaspora from a political science perspective,\ntheorises it as the population of a given nation-state residing outside its\nborders. It is mostly concerned with state politics, for example, state\n‘diaspora outreach’ (Koinova 2010), the projection of power beyond\nborders (Gamlen 2008), the governance of expatriate citizens (Dickinson\n2017) and the harnessing of diaspora resources for homeland development\n(Mullings 2012). As such, this work foregrounds states as the primary\nactors in defining and structuring diasporas. However, the Kabyle diaspora\n\n\nthat was made briefly visible during the CONIFA competition constitutes\nneither of these kinds of diaspora. It is not a non-essentialised narrative of\nindividual identity, disconnected from place and materiality, but neither is it\ndefined and structured by a Kabyle state engaging in ‘diaspora outreach’.\nA more suitable approach to diaspora defines it as a process, wherein the\nboundaries of nation, state, community and identity are (de)constructed\n(Mavroudi 2007). When conceptualised in this way, the making of a Kabyle\ndiaspora can be analysed as part of a wider geopolitical context constantly\nundergoing a process of assemblage (Dittmer 2014, Barrineau 2015,\nDickinson 2017). Existing work on geopolitical assemblages has drawn on\narguments originating in sociology and the study of social movements.\nSökefeld’s work on Sikh, Kashmiri and Tamil diasporas argues for a focus\non “the formation of diaspora [as] an issue of social mobilization [to\ncounter] primordialist and essentializing approaches” (2006, p. 268), citing\nSidney Tarrow’s description of social movements’ activities beyond\ncontentious politics: “they build organizations, elaborate ideologies, and\nsocialize and mobilize constituencies, and their members engage in self-\ndevelopment and the construction of collective identities” (1998, p. 3),\npartly through their ‘framing’. Movements actively ‘frame’ their concerns\nin relation to their constantly changing contexts, and diasporas are similar\nin this respect. Framing practices define what is relevant or irrelevant to a\ngiven issue, through processes of articulation. Brubaker argues that on this\nbasis diaspora should be treated “as a category of practice, project, claim\nand stance, rather than as a bounded group”. Going further, he explains that\n“the ‘groupness’ of putative diasporas, like that of putative ‘nations’, is\nprecisely what is at stake” (2005, p. 13). Geographers have similarly\nhighlighted the ambivalent, uncertain interpretations of national identity,\nparticularly in diasporas (Mavroudi 2007, 2008), but this article will make\nuse of Brubaker’s term ‘groupness’, which emphasises the collectivity of\nidentity formation that is key to senses of diaspora and nation. The\nmobilisation of diaspora communities reshapes imaginative geographies of\nthe nation ‘at home’, particularly in the absence of an established ‘home’\nnation-state (Anderson 1992). As Mulligan has put it: “Although it is\ncommonly assumed that national identity grows organically within the\nterritory of the nation or state, I contend that it might also emerge from the\nmargins – forged by diasporas” (2002, p. 221).\n\n\nThis chapter draws on two years of fieldwork with Kabyle diaspora\nactivists, and interviews with players, fans and politicians during CONIFA\n2018, to produce an account of the changing geopolitics of the Kabyle\ndiaspora. It unpacks the diaspora-scripted imaginative geographies of\nnationhood, and the work that they do, by approaching the diaspora as\n‘process’ (Mavroudi 2007, Barrineau 2015). As such, the discourses and\npractices of Kabyle participants in the CONIFA World Cup 2018 are\nanalysed as a particular moment within an ongoing process of shaping the\n‘groupness’ of the diaspora and in so doing reimagining the geography of\nKabylia. First, the chapter outlines how ideas of Kabyle nationhood have\ndeveloped and continue to develop in the process of diaspora, rather than\nemerging only in Kabylia itself. It then analyses the geopolitics at play\nduring the Kabyle team’s 2018 campaign. For the MAK and its supporters,\nit was certainly the taking part that counted, as it provided opportunities for\nmedia exposure and a platform for diaspora mobilisation in a country with\nweak diaspora institutions. Finally, it considers the role of social media in\nnot only diffusing the games, but shaping and cementing ideas of Kabyle\nnationhood in the process.\nKabylia and CONIFA 2018\nKabylia is a mountainous region in the north of Algeria, immediately to the\neast of the capital, Algiers. Home to roughly five million people, the region\nhas no official status but is widely understood to encompass at its core the\nwilayas of Tizi-Ouzou, Bejaia and Bouira. Whereas the surrounding cities\nand plains progressively ‘Arabised’ since the arrival of Islam in the seventh\ncentury, Kabylia has retained its indigenous Amazigh (Berber)1 language\nand culture, by virtue of the remoteness and density of its hilltop villages. It\nwas the last part of the Algerian littoral to be annexed by the French army,\nand Kabyles earned a reputation with their French rulers for fierce\nindependence and supposedly secular and democratic customs (Lorcin\n1999, Roberts 2014). Through the twentieth century, a disproportionately\nhigh number of Kabyles and other Amazigh moved to France for work and\nstudy, the sons of whom are among some of France’s most celebrated\nfootballers (Zinedine Zidane, Karim Benzema). In modern Algeria, regional\ndifference has made Kabylia the home of Berberism, resisting the post-\nindependence state’s attempts to establish Arabic as the sole, indigenous\n\n\nlanguage of Algerian society (Aïtel 2014). Jeunesse Sportive de Kabylie\n(JSK), whose past glories include being crowned Algeria and all-African\nchampions several times, is based in Tizi-Ouzou. During the 1970s, the club\nwas a rare outlet for the expression of Amazigh identity, but was forced to\nchange its name to erase the mention of Kabylia (Dine 2017). Persistent and\nwidespread popular protest in 1980, celebrated as the ‘Berber Spring’,\nestablished Kabylia as a bastion of cultural resistance at a time when\nAmazigh identity seemed consigned to history. Every year since, on 21\nApril, Kabyles have organised marches and demonstrations to celebrate the\nBerber Spring. In 2001, these celebrations turned to riots as the police\nlethally repressed this popular mobilisation, killing more than 120 young\nKabyles (Lacoste-Dujardin 2001). This event is now commemorated as the\n‘Black Spring’, and for many Kabyles underlines a sense of regional and\ncultural marginalisation within Algeria.\nConservative estimates number the Kabyle diaspora in Europe, which\nacts as a mirror and amplifier for Amazigh activism, at well over one\nmillion. Amazigh associations have been a staple of local associative life in\nmany French and Belgian towns and cities since the 1980s and are\nbecoming increasingly established in Quebec. Kabyle performers such as\nIdir and Lounis Aït Menguellet play to crowds of thousands in Paris and\nMontreal. Every year several thousand teenagers in France take the\nbaccalauréat in Kabyle, even though no French school offers the course as\npart of its curriculum. This well-established diaspora has a long history of\nradical Amazigh activism (Aïtel 2013), most recently becoming home to\nKabylia’s self-styled ‘government in exile’, the Anavad, led by the celebrity\nsinger-turned-politician Ferhat Mehenni. Since its declaration in 2010, the\nAnavad has developed the national independence movement (the MAK),\ndescribing Kabylia as an indigenous territory under occupation which must\nbe given the opportunity to exercise self-determination (Mehenni 2017).\nDespite having some popular support within Kabylia, most of its ministers\nlive in the diaspora where they can operate without fear of arrest or\ncensorship. Much of the Anavad’s activity is focused on what McConnell\n(2016) has termed ‘Rehearsing the State’ through the institution of state-\nlike functions such as issuing identity cards and conducting diplomacy with\nother state-like actors, for example within the European Free Alliance\n(EFA) or the Unrepresented Nations and Peoples’ Organisation (UNPO).\nSuch practices necessitate performances of nationhood, whether through\n\n\nflag-waving (the Anavad organised a popular vote to decide on the design\nof its new national flag in 2015) or singing the national anthem, (written by\nFerhat Mehenni in 2010), and have seen the established Amazigh diaspora\nin France become more ‘Kabylised’ (Harris 2019). Each year, in\ncommemoration of the Black Spring, the Anavad has organised a march of\nthousands of Kabyles in Paris. Each of these practices contributes to\nshaping the emergent diaspora and therefore nation of Kabylia, adding\nvisibility and some measure of political legitimacy to the Anavad. The new\nnational football team’s participation in the CONIFA World Football Cup\nprovided a high-profile opportunity for the Kabyle diaspora-nation to\nemerge, to assemble, to be shaped.\nThe Kabyle team was something Anavad activists had dreamt about for a\nlong time, and as with many Anavad initiatives, was a personal project of\nFerhat Mehenni’s. Football’s power to mobilise feelings of belonging had\nbeen clear within the Amazigh Movement for decades, with the JSK the de\nfacto team of Amazigh everywhere (Silverstein 2002, 2013). Each time\nAlgeria played, gaining some success in the 2014 FIFA World Cup, Kabyle\nactivists were conflicted. Their love of the game and pride in their\ncompatriots (many in the Algerian squad have Kabyle origins) clashed with\ntheir rejection of the Arabo-Islamic Algerian identity explicitly performed\nby ‘the only Arab team’ of the 2010 and 2014 FIFA World Cups, whose\nmedia coverage centred on observing Islamic rituals of prayer and fasting\nduring the month of Ramadan (Dine 2017). As a consequence, Anavad\nministers were mentioning the project of a Kabyle team, based in Paris, as\nearly as 2015. The right context for such a team to emerge arrived in 2018\nwith the CONIFA World Cup in London – easily reachable for a team\ndrawn from the diaspora. CONIFA is an umbrella organisation for football\nassociations unaffiliated with FIFA, which presents itself as a “global acting\nnon-profit organization that supports representatives of international\nfootball teams from nations, de-facto nations, regions, minority peoples and\nsports isolated territories” (CONIFA 2019). The London competition was\nthe third it had organised, and was a far larger operation than the previous\ntournaments in Abkhazia and Suomi, attracting higher participation and\nmedia exposure by virtue of its situation in such a global city (Hendicott\n2019). In order to qualify, the Kabyle team played a series of friendly\nmatches, accruing enough points to progress to the competition. Due to the\ntiming of these qualifying games, falling in the summer when French teams\n\n\nwere on vacation, the qualifying team was put together in Kabylia.\nHowever, the final team was mostly made up of players drawn from the\nlower tiers of the French league, a goalkeeper from Canada and only six\nplayers coming from Kabylia itself. According to manager Aksel Bellabaci,\nthis was always the plan. The team was first conceived of in Paris, and\nalways aimed to draw players mostly from the diaspora.\nSimilarly, the supporters that attended the CONIFA tournament were\nalready living in Europe. By coming together around the games, they\nembodied and constituted the Kabyle diaspora-as-process. MAK supporters\nfrom Paris organised a coach to transport around forty fans to London for\nthe tournament, and sold the team’s shirts in their cafes and businesses to\nraise money for the team. The Anavad’s media team travelled with them to\nreport on the tournament, including interviews with the athletes and Anavad\nministers and Kabyle-language match commentary broadcast on their\nFacebook-hosted channel Taqvaylit.TV. This meant that each game Kabylia\nplayed had a quorum of fans, who were already prepared for performances\nof nationalism, waving their new national flags and singing the new\nnational anthem. These fans would form the backdrop for all media\ncoverage of the Kabyle team’s progress, earning a reputation as “CONIFA’s\nmost passionate separatists” (Hendicott 2019) and featuring in several\njournalists’ articles covering the tournament (e.g. Andrei 2018, CNN 2018,\nRTBE 2018). As we will unpack later, as emotive as it was for fans and\nplayers for Kabylia to be represented as a nation within the CONIFA\ntournament, it was also vital to the Anavad that it curate Kabylia’s image.\nWhilst the backbone of the Kabyle support was made up of convinced\nMAK activists, several Kabyles living in the UK came to spectate, curious\nabout the idea of a national Kabylia football team. Some heard through\nword of mouth, often from UK-based acquaintances who were following\none of the other teams, and many others had seen it through social media.\nAchour had heard of the tournament from Tibetan friends and told me that\narriving at the ground to see Kabylia play was an “emotional, happy\nmoment”. As Kabyle and Tibetan teams exchanged gifts and signs of peace\nprior to the match, Achour was meeting the other Kabyles, who were telling\nhim about the MAK’s activities in the UK. Although many Kabyles have\nmade the UK their home in recent decades, only one association existed\nprior to the CONIFA tournament, organised as an Amazigh cultural\nassociation. In comparison with France and Canada, Amazigh diaspora\n\n\npractices in the UK have been small-scale and short-lived (Harris 2015).\nThe CONIFA tournament marked a transformation of the diaspora\nassemblage; the existing association changed its name to ‘Kabyle/Amazigh’\nand a new ‘Kabylian Community in the UK’ sprang up to organise a Berber\nSpring commemoration in London, inviting local politicians and a Kabyle\nacademic to attend. The diaspora assemblage was now mobilising a notion\nof Kabyle national identity rather than Amazigh cultural identity, linked to a\nmore precise and more localised geographical territory, the independence of\nwhich the Anavad continues to call for. This kind of diaspora mobilisation\nis of course what the Anavad was hoping to achieve, just as it has\ntransformed diaspora framing practices in France and Canada, ‘Kabylising’\nthem (see Harris 2019).\nAssembling the diasporic nation\nExisting scholarship on the geopolitics of diaspora has demonstrated how\ndiasporas decentre state categories (Barrineau 2015), and reconfigure\nterritory through transnational practices (Carter 2005, McConnell 2013).\nThe Kabyle diaspora assemblage around the CONIFA tournament did both\nof these things, through embodying and performing a territorially defined\nnation amongst other nations. The minds behind the concept of assemblage,\nDeleuze and Guattari, wrote that “every assemblage is basically territorial\n… [t]he territory makes the assemblage” (2003, pp. 503–504). This is often\ntaken to mean that every assemblage must be grounded in its localised\nspatio-political context, and political geographers have used this concept to\nlook in fine detail at the geopolitics of localised spaces and terrains such as\nborders and refugee camps (Megoran 2006, Ramadan 2013, Squire 2015).\nHowever, in the case of diaspora assemblage this context is transnational,\nuniting spatially non-contiguous territories, polities and structures.\nInterconnectedness through various media and communication technologies\nplays a key role in the contemporary geopolitics of diaspora, with\nmultimedia social platforms like Facebook having a particular effect\n(Bernal 2018, Harris 2020). The representation of Kabylia in diaspora at the\nCONIFA tournament was two-fold: the nation was embodied through\ngathering and mobilising, and the nation was displayed through\nperformance and mediatisation. Speaking to me during the tournament,\nAnavad Sports Minister Sab Ammar Khodja explained; “There was a\n\n\ndouble interest for us in participating in the CONIFA tournament – it\nbrought us together as Kabyles and made us visible to the world”. This\n‘double interest’ will be unpacked for the remainder of the chapter.\nIt was clear throughout that for the Kabyle activists, their team’s\nperformance on the pitch was immaterial to the success of their tournament.\nAs Kabylia lost 8–0 to Panjab in their opening game in Slough, fans\ncontinued to cheer, and the man next to me turned to say: “The result isn’t\nimportant. It’s the qualification, the training, the Kabylisation, the\nindependence”. Favourite chants from the stands included Anwar wiggi?\nIqvayliyen! (Who are these people? Kabyles!) and Kabylie Indépendant\n(Independent Kabylia). Self-appointed chant leader and “No. 1 fan” Alsas\nAït Saɛd was there with his two UK-born daughters, in Kabyle traditional\ndress. He told me he didn’t care for the MAK but was there for Kabylia. It\nwas important for him that his daughters be in a Kabyle context, hear the\nlanguage, and hopefully have good memories later in life to keep them\n“attached to their culture”. Another pair of fans had journeyed two hours\nfrom Brighton, one wearing a JSK jersey, the other the brand new Kabylia\nnational strip modelled on the Anavad’s national flag. They were similarly\nexcited to be amongst “their people” for the first time in the UK, and kept\nasking others around them when the next meetings would be after the\ntournament. For the fans, the opportunity to ‘be Kabyle’ together was\nclearly a part of the attraction – to wear Kabyle clothes and speak Kabyle,\nand in so doing to embody the nation. Far more than merely being passive\nspectators or consumers of the competition, Kabyle supporters participated\nwith their time and resources by hosting visiting fans and Anavad members,\ntransporting them to and from events, and getting items such as astro-turf\nfootball boots for some of the players. Aman spoke about the supporters’\nparticipation gratefully; “they have come from all over, their sacrifices are\nappreciated”.\nBeyond the fans, the sporting nature of the CONIFA tournament\nnecessitated the bodily representation of the nation on the pitch through its\nplayers. During the tournament, the team became the embodiment of\nKabylia, despite being mostly drawn from the diaspora. Bellabaci was\nemphatic; “It’s beautiful, we’ve brought together Kabyles from four\ncontinents to play … we’ve created a family here in London”. He explained\nthat all players trialling for the squad were required to “be Kabyle”, to be “a\nteam that speaks in [Kabylia’s] name, that speaks Kabyle, that represents\n\n\nthe Kabyle identity”. It is well established that legitimacy of certain athletes\nto represent their nations, particularly those with dual-nationality or\nimmigrant parents, is frequently put into question at major international\nsporting events as a way of policing the boundaries of the national (Cronin\nand Mayall 1998). Nationality tests are technically irrelevant in the\nCONIFA competition, as the teams are classified as ‘members’ and not\n‘nations’ (Hendicott 2019); however, for the Kabyle team and others, proof\nof national identity was important. Indeed, the tournament was nearly\nderailed by a dispute over the inclusion of an ex-Libyan international in the\nBarawa squad, which led to Ellan Vannin pulling out in protest. Kabylia’s\ncriteria for nationality were not made explicit; players did not need to speak\nKabyle, have an Anavad-issued Kabyle Identity Card or Kabyle parents, or\nlive in Kabylia; however, all players were legimitised by some combination\nof these. A dialogic process of self-identification and community validation,\ninherent in every assertion of ‘Kabyle’ identity, is made explicit in this\nexample. This dialogic process is identical to the constant reproduction of\n“groupness” in diaspora as “a category of practice, project, claim and\nstance” (Brubaker 2005, p. 13), as the Kabyle diaspora negotiates and\nreshapes the meanings, symbols and geographies of the emergent Kabyle\nnation.\nIf the Kabyle nation was gathered and performed physically at the\ngames, it was also networked and represented transnationally through the\nmediatisation of the tournament. The internet is a key political opportunity\nstructure for contemporary diasporas. It allows diasporas to mobilise,\nnetwork and communicate within and beyond their memberships.\nMatches were broadcast live on the internet by CONIFA partner\nmycujoo.tv, with over 8,000 tuning in to watch Kabylia’s first game against\nPanjab. The numbers engaging on social media were far higher, however, as\nover 124,000 watched via the Anavad’s Facebook-hosted channel\nTaqvaylit.tv. Bellabaci explained: “I’m really surprised to see how many\npeople are watching us play [online]. It’s inspiring … since our 8–0 win\n[against Tibet] all the social media sites, the Kabyle pages, were saturated\nwith images of our team”. The pages Bellabaci was referring to, such as\n“Les Kabyles de Londres”, “Tous pour un État Kabyle” or “L’Ambiance\nKabyle”, for example, regroup several thousands of users who post content\non Kabyle culture and identity several times a day. These groups, whose\nmembers are not necessarily pro-MAK, nonetheless create spaces that are\n\n\navowedly Kabyles. A Kabyle ‘groupness’ is fashioned by and through these\ngroups, as distinct from the ‘Algerian’ or even the ‘Amazigh’, which the\nAnavad then seeks to represent. Mediatisation reached beyond established\nKabyle online networks, however. Before the tournament Anavad\nambassador to the UK Anazar U Chavah explained that “[gaining visibility]\nin the UK is more important than in France, in France it’s a [media]\nblackout”. Despite staging large demonstrations in Paris, the Anavad has\nstruggled to attract any mainstream media coverage in France or Algeria,\nsomething its ministers blame on the collusion of Franco-Algerian interests.\nThe London games provided an opportunity to change this, and Anavad\nministers were ecstatic when mainstream international media organisations\nsuch as Le Monde, The Guardian, The New York Times and CNN reported\non the games, naming Kabylia and describing its territory and its people as\nthe Anavad represented it.\nHo and McConnell “propose that diasporas function as diplomatic actors\nin their own right … realizing alternative political projects through their\ninteractions with the other social actors found in diaspora assemblages”\n(2019, p. 11), and Anavad president Ferhat Mehenni certainly treated his\ntime in London as a diplomatic exercise. Accompanied by the newly\nappointed “Kabyle ambassador to the UK”, who referred to the games as\n“sporting diplomacy”, he gave talks in Cambridge and London defending\nthe project of Kabyle independence, signing and selling copies of his\nMemorandum for the Independence of Kabylia (Mehenni 2017). He also\ncreated a diplomatic incident by choosing this moment to call on Kabyles to\norganise a ‘security organisation’ to defend their communities rather than\ntrust the Algerian authorities. He explicitly linked his broadcast to Charles\nde Gaulle’s ‘Appel de Londres’ rallying the French resistance in 1940, and\nsucceeded in eliciting a public response from Algerian authorities and\npoliticians who saw his speech as a divisive and dangerous call to arms\nwhich might lead to violence. Though Mehenni’s appel did little to change\nthe situation on the ground in Kabylia, it articulated the Anavad’s desire for\nKabylia to be visible to the world as a nation seeking independence,\nexemplified in its team’s emergence alongside more well-known stateless\nnations with established diplomatic institutions, such as Tibet.\nThe Kabylia that was presented to the world, then, was a nation\nsearching for its independence, a territory wrongly attached to Algeria\nduring the French colonial period, suffering marginalisation and oppression\n\n\nat the hands of the authoritarian Algerian state. The Anavad was the Kabyle\n‘government in exile’, the legitimate representatives of the Kabyle people,\nits ministers speaking on their behalf in numerous pitch-side interviews.\nReports focused on how the players had risked arrest to play at the games,\nand their families had faced intimidation and threats back in Kabylia. Maps\nof Kabylia correlated to the territorial claim of the MAK, which in reality\nextend far wider than its core regions of popular support. Of course, there is\na measure of truth to this representation of Kabylia, and this is not to claim\nthat it is necessarily false. Whilst they were a minority, some players\ncertainly had to overcome resistance to their participation, and Kabylia\ndefinitely does exist as a distinct cultural region within Algeria. The media\ncoverage of Kabylia at the CONIFA World Football Cup, however, was\nbased upon the deeply partisan discourse of the MAK, and presented in\nsuch a way as to suggest that, beyond any question, Kabylia is a nation.\nSuch a claim would have been impossible only a decade ago, and remains a\nlive debate even within Amazigh circles. In representing Kabylia as a\nnation to the Kabyle viewers and rest of the world, with its flags and its\nfootball team, the mediatisation of the CONIFA tournament adds weight to\nthe claim that Kabylia is indeed a nation. Such a change in popular\nperceptions would have ramifications across North Africa, where regional\npolitical change is ongoing since the ‘Arab Spring’ and where other\nAmazigh groups are beginning to call for greater recognition and autonomy\n(Maddy-Weitzman 2015).\nConclusion\nWhilst not the case for every team member at CONIFA, joining and\ncompeting was performative of an intended future national independence\nfor the Kabyle team, due to the Anavad’s central role in organising its\nparticipation. Aksel Bellabaci claimed that “without Ferhat Mehenni, the\nPresident, there would never have been a Kabyle national football team”.\nDespite this he insisted that the team was “for all Kabyles, not just the team\nof the MAK”, hinting at what this chapter has sought to argue, that the\nKabyle team at the CONIFA World Football Cup mobilised a Kabyle\ndiaspora-nation, an assemblage of practices and discourses that framed the\nspaces of Kabylia and its nationhood. By bringing players and supporters\ntogether in the name of Kabylia, complete with the symbols of nationality\n\n\n1\nnow expected at international sporting events, the tournament helped\nreshape the faintly existing Amazigh diaspora in the UK into a more Kabyle\ndiaspora with links to the MAK. The mediatisation of the spectacle, greatly\nhelped by social media, meant that this representation of Kabylia as a\nnation, which is so contentious in Kabylia itself, was on display for\nhundreds of thousands of Kabyles. The mainstream media coverage of the\ntournament introduced Kabylia to new international audiences and did so in\na way that largely followed the MAK’s script. Taken along with Mehenni’s\nAppel de Londres Kabylia’s tournament was an act of secession, performed\nin diaspora, through the medium of sport.\nNote\nI have privileged the use of the ethnonym ‘Amazigh’ over ‘Berber’, but the reader will see that\nthere are times when it was appropriate to use one as opposed to the other. Both refer to the non-\nArabic, indigenous people of North Africa.\nReferences\nAïtel, F., 2013. Between Algeria and France: The origins of the Berber movement. French Cultural\nStudies, 24 (1), 63–76.\nAïtel, F., 2014. We Are Imazighen. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida.\nAnderson, B., 1992. Long-distance Nationalism: World Capitalism and the Rise of Identity Politics.\nThe Wertheim Lecture, 1992. Amsterdam: Centre for Asian Studies Amsterdam.\nAndrei, T., 2018. Samis, Tamouls, Barawanis et Kabyles ont leur Coupe du monde à Londres\n[online]. Le Monde. Available from: www.lemonde.fr/football/article/2018/06/06/samis-tamouls-\nbarawanis-et-kabyles-ont-leur-coupe-du-monde-a-londres_5310560_1616938.html [Accessed 30\nSep 2019].\nBairner, A., 2001. Sport, Nationalism, and Globalization: European and North American\nPerspectives. New York: State University of New York Press.\nBarrineau, B.C., 2015. Decentring state categories: Diaspora within a Palestinian geopolitical\nassemblage in Nicosia, Cyprus. Space and Polity, 19 (3), 244–255.\nBernal, V., 2018. Digital media, territory, and diaspora: the shape-shifting spaces of Eritrean politics.\nJournal of African Cultural Studies, 1–15.\nBillig, M., 1995. Banal Nationalism. London: Sage.\nBrah, A., 1996. Cartographies of Diaspora. London: Routledge.\nBrubaker, R., 2005. The ‘diaspora’ diaspora. Journal of Ethnic and Racial Studies, 28 (1), 1–19.\nCarter, S., 2005. The Geopolitics of Diaspora. Area, 37 (1), 54–63.\nCNN, \n2018. \nKabylia \nmake \ndebut \n[online]. \nInside \nAfrica. \nAvailable \nfrom:\nhttps://edition.cnn.com/videos/world/2018/06/28/inside-africa-kabylia-footnall-algeria-conifa-\nworld-cup-b.cnn [Accessed 1 Oct 2019].\nCONIFA, 2019. CONIFA – About us [online]. Available from: www.conifa.org/en/about-us/\n[Accessed 30 Sep 2019].\n\n\nCronin, M. and Mayall, D., 1998. Sporting Nationalisms: Identity, Ethnicity, Immigration and\nAssimilation. London: Frank Cass.\nDeleuze, G. and Guattari, F., 2003. A Thousand Plateaux: Capitalism and Schizphrenia. Minneapolis,\nMN: University of Minnesota Press.\nDickinson, J., 2017. The political geographies of diaspora strategies: Rethinking the ‘sending state’.\nGeography Compass, 11 (2), 1–12.\nDine, P., 2017. Sport in Algeria: From national self-assertion to anti-state contestation. In: P.\nCrowley, ed. Algeria: Nation, Culture and Transnationalism: 1988–2015. Liverpool: Liverpool\nUniversity Press, 203–221.\nDittmer, J., 2014. Geopolitical assemblages and complexity. Progress in Human Geography, 38 (3),\n385–401.\nFaist, T., 2010. Diaspora and transnationalism: What kind of dance partners? In: R. Bauböck and T.\nFaist, eds. Diaspora and Transnationalism: Concepts, Theories and Methods. Amsterdam:\nAmsterdam University Press, 9–34.\nGamlen, A., 2008. The emigration state and the modern geopolitical imagination. Political\nGeography, 27, 840–856.\nHarris, J., 2015. Imazighen away from home. The Middle East in London, 11 (3), 11–12.\nHarris, J., 2019. Tamazgha in France: Indigeneity and Citizenship in the Diasporic Amazigh\nMovement. Doctoral thesis. University of Cambridge.\nHarris, J., 2020. Nativist-populism, the internet and the geopolitics of indigenous diaspora. Political\nGeography, 78, 102124.\nHendicott, J., 2019. CONIFA: Football for the Forgotten: The Untold Story of Football’s Alternative\nWorld Cup. Morrisville, NC: Lulu.\nHo, E.L.E. and McConnell, F., 2019. Conceptualizing ‘diaspora diplomacy’: Territory and\npopulations betwixt the domestic and foreign. Progress in Human Geography, 43 (2), 235–255.\nHorák, S., 2017. Nation-building and sporting spectacles in authoritarian regimes: Turkmenistan’s\nAziada-2017. In: N. Koch, ed. Critical Geographies of Sport. Abingdon: Routledge, 48–63.\nKoch, N., 2013. Sport and soft authoritarian nation-building. Political Geography, 32 (1), 42–51.\nKoch, N., 2016. Introduction: Critical geographies of sport in global perspective. In: N. Koch, ed.\nCritical Geographies of Sport. Abingdon: Routledge, 1–13.\nKoch, N., 2018. The geopolitics of sport beyond soft power: Event ethnography and the 2016 cycling\nworld championships in Qatar. Sport in Society, 21 (12), 2010–2031.\nKoinova, M., 2010. Diasporas and international politics: Utilising the universalistic creed of\nliberalism for particularistic and nationalist purposes. In: R. Bauböck and T. Faist, eds. Diaspora\nand Transnationalism: Concepts, Theories and Methods. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University\nPress, 149–165.\nLacoste-Dujardin, C., 2001. Géographie culturelle et géopolitique : La révolte de la jeunesse Kabyle\npour une Algérie démocratique. Hérodote, 103 (4), 57–91.\nLorcin, P., 1999. Imperial Identities: Stereotyping, Prejudice, and Race in Colonial Algeria. Lincoln,\nNE: University of Nebraska Press.\nMaddy-Weitzman, B., 2015. A turning point? The Arab Spring and the Amazigh movement. Ethnic\nand Racial Studies, 38 (14), 2499–2515.\nMavroudi, E., 2007. Diaspora as process: (De)constructing boundaries. Geography Compass, 1 (3),\n467–479.\nMavroudi, E., 2008. Palestinians and pragmatic citizenship: Negotiating relationships between\ncitizenship and national identity in diaspora. Geoforum, 39 (1), 307–318.\nMcConnell, F., 2013. Citizens and refugees: Constructing and negotiating Tibetan identities in exile.\nAnnals of the Association of American Geographers, 103 (4), 967–983.\nMcConnell, F., 2016. Rehearsing the State: The Political Practices of the Tibetan Government-in-\nExile. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.\n\n\nMegoran, N., 2006. For ethnography in political geography: Experiencing and re-imagining Ferghana\nValley boundary closures. Political Geography, 25 (6), 622–640.\nMehenni, F., 2017. Kabylie: Mémorandum pour l’indépendance. Paris: Fauves.\nMulligan, A., 2002. A forgotten ‘Greater Ireland’: The transatlantic development of Irish\nnationalism. Scottish Geographical Journal, 118 (3), 219–234.\nMullings, B., 2012. Governmentality, diaspora assemblages and the ongoing challenge of\n‘development’. Antipode, 44 (2), 406–427.\nRamadan, A., 2013. Spatialising the refugee camp. Transactions of the Institute of British\nGeographers, 38 (1), 65–77.\nRoberts, H., 2014. Berber Government: The Kabyle Polity in Pre-Colonial Algeria. London: Tauris.\nRTBE, 2018. La Coupe du monde des peuples sans état – Le doc de 7 à la Une [online]. Available\nfrom: www.rtbf.be/info/article/detail_la-coupe-du-monde-des-peuples-sans-etat-le-doc-de-7-a-la-\nune?id=9940887 [Accessed 15 Jun 2018].\nSilverstein, P., 2002. Stadium politics: Sport, Islam and Amazigh consciousness in France and North\nAfrica. In: T. Chandler, ed. With God on Their Side: Sport in the Service of Religion. London:\nRoutledge, 37–55.\nSilverstein, P., 2013. The pitfalls of transnational consciousness: Amazigh activism as a scalar\ndilemma. The Journal of North African Studies, 18 (5), 768–778.\nSökefeld, M., 2006. Mobilizing in transnational space: A social movement approach to the formation\nof diaspora. Global Networks, 6 (3), 265–284.\nSquire, R., 2015. Rock, water, air and fire: Foregrounding the elements in the Gibraltar–Spain\ndispute. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 34 (3), 545–563.\nTarrow, S., 1998. Power in Movement: Social Movements. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.\nWon, D. and Chiu, W., 2018. Politics, place and nation: Comparing the hosting of sport events in\nKorea and Taiwan. Sport in Society, 1–39.\n\n\nChapter 12\nSport and secessionism in Biafra\nJohnny Precious Ogbah\nIntroduction\nFootball’s influence in Nigeria is best illustrated by the unprecedented 48-\nhour truce called by both factions in the Nigerian Civil War in early 1969 to\nenable fans from both Nigeria and Biafra to watch Brazilian superstar Pelé\nduring his club’s visit to Nigeria (Coren, 2011). Despite the inherent\ndangers and suspicion within both warring factions, Lieutenant Colonel\nSamuel Ogbemudia, Governor of the Midwest Region, opened the Sapelé\nBridge to enable fans to travel from Biafra to watch the match and heavily\nguarded military checkpoints were also opened (Aiyegbayo, 2019).\nOn match day, the stadium was full and civilians and soldiers from both\nsides watched the game together, united albeit for just 48 hours before they\nresumed hostilities. According to Pelé’s teammate Lima,\nIt was strange because the whole country was divided and in conflict.\nBut as soon as they found out the game was to take place the war was\nput on hold. It was a tiny pitch, I remember it well, the people arrived\ncarrying chairs on their heads in order to watch the game.\n(Mehrotra, 2016)\nNigeria is the most populous black nation in the world and most of its large\npopulation are sports lovers, either as participants or observers. According\nto a 2014 survey (Boudway, 2014) carried out by Repucom.com on global\n\n\ninterest and global participation in football in more than 30 countries,\nNigeria topped the list of citizens with an interest in football.\nSport (especially football) is such an important part of Nigeria’s culture\nthat its popularity has had a huge impact on the social, political and\neconomic fabrics of the country (Yazid, 2014). That Nigeria is a football\ncrazy country is not in doubt. To many people, football is a religion that is\nworshipped by all, irrespective of tribe, age or gender, and some Nigerians\neven strongly believe that there is a god of soccer (Akangbe, 2018).\nFootball in Nigeria often evokes great pride amongst the citizenry and\noften proves an essential diversion from the many socio-economic and\npolitical problems of the giant of Africa (Solaja, 2014). In a country\nconstantly torn apart across tribal and religious lines, football has proved to\nbe a strong unifying force, as exemplified by the remarkable wartime truce\nto allow both factions to watch Pelé play live in Nigeria.\nFast forward to 14 July 2019. The Nigerian senior national team, the\nSuper Eagles, were about to play Algeria in the semi-finals of the African\nCup of Nations in Cairo. Most of the Super Eagles were Igbos, from the\neastern part of Nigeria formerly known as Biafra, which had failed in its\nsecession bid in 1967 that led to the Nigerian Civil War. Even though\ntensions were gradually rising amid religious violence and fresh calls for\nsecession from the Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), the unity of the\nnation was strongest when they united as a football team to face outside\nopposition in competitive matches. Or so it appeared.\nAs tension grew before the game, a number of northern Nigerians from\nthe mainly Hausa/Fulani tribe went on social media to say they hoped\nNigeria would lose to Algeria because most of the Nigerian players were\nIgbos. One Northerner, Muhammad Abubakhar Dakha, wrote on Facebook\nthat Algerians are Muslims and he hates anyone who hates his Muslim\nbrothers, including Nigerian footballers from the lazy tribe of Igbos and he\nwould not support them against Algeria (Ubani, 2019).\nSport, especially football, has been the strongest bond in an\namalgamation of over 400 different ethnicities, each with its own distinctive\ncharacter (Adenrele and Olugbenga, 2012), but recent outbursts from\ndisgruntled Northern football fans and the backlash that ensued from the\nIgbos and other tribes revealed a major challenge to football’s capacity to\nunite a country divided along tribal and religious lines, a nation that was\ncreated by force by British colonial masters. Perhaps the citizens of Nigeria\n\n\nhave become so embittered with the union that not even football can hold\nthem together any longer.\nBritish complicity, amalgamation and a forced marriage\nThe marriage between the Northern and Southern Nigeria regions resembles\na pair of shears, joined together so that they cannot be separated but moving\nin opposite directions. This is not surprising in a nation where ethnic\npluralism and cultural diversity are often pervaded by a tense and volatile\natmosphere emanating from discord and rivalry amongst different tribes and\nreligions (Adenrele and Olugbenga, 2012). However, in what appeared to\nbe a period of calm during the military regimes, questions are again being\nasked about why the union was made in the first place.\nOn 1 January 1914, the amalgamation of the Northern Nigeria\nProtectorate and the Colony and Protectorate of Southern Nigeria by Lord\nFrederick Lugard, the governor of both protectorates, brought about a union\nof the diverse ethnic groups around the Benue valley, the Gulf of Guinea\nand the western Sudan, creating the Colony and Protectorate of Nigeria\n(Obi-Ani, Obi-Ani and Isiani, 2016). Before the British colonial masters\narrived and brought about the amalgamation, the area consisted of three\nmajor ethnic groups with different traditional modes of indigenous\ngovernance.\nThe Northern region, a confederation of provinces operating a feudal\nsystem of governance, was largely dominated by the Muslim and\nHausa/Fulani-speaking people who comprise about 25 per cent of the\nNigerian population (Okoh, 2018). The Western region, predominantly\nYoruba speaking, consisted of a variety of independent polities ruled by\nkings. They make up 21 per cent of Nigeria’s total population (Okoh, 2018).\nBecause of their early contact with Europeans through the coast of Lagos,\nthe Yorubas made the most progress in education, commerce and\nadministration. The Eastern region, compromising about 18 per cent of\nNigeria’s total population (Okoh, 2018), was largely dominated by the Igbo\npeople, with a governance structure based on independent village groups.\nThe Igbos made the best of Western influence, becoming educated and\nindustrious and moving freely outside their region to work as traders,\nclerks, business men and labourers (Obi-Ani, Obi-Ani and Isiani, 2016).\n\n\nThere are about 250 other different ethno-linguistic groups (Minority\nRights, 2018) in addition to the three major ethnic groups and, while\nethnicities in the Northern region were predominantly Muslim, those in the\nEastern region were predominantly Christians with those in the Southern\nUnion embracing both Islam and Christianity (NewsHour, 2007). Over\ntime, these different ethnic groups had evolved different political\ninstitutions, different cultures and different levels of economic attainment\nuntil the arrival and forceful colonization of their territories by the British\nwho merged these independent, ethnically diverse ethnicities without\nconsulting them or giving them an opportunity to reject or accept the union\n(Obi-Ani, Obi-Ani and Isiani, 2016).\nMany reasons have been given for Lugard’s forced marriage. Some\nbelieve that the British combined the two protectorates and the Lagos\nColony in order to reduce their costs and administrative burden. Others\nbelieve it was a ploy to effectively use the rich resources of the South to\ncushion the cost of administration of the much less economically\nprosperous North (Akinjide, 2017). Lord Lugard was quoted as saying that\nthe union was akin to a marriage between a rich wife of substance and\nmeans (the South) and a poor husband (the North) and that such a marriage\nwould lead to a happy life for both (McCaslin, 2018). Perhaps by portraying\nthe North as the husband who is traditionally the head of the house, Lugard\nwas subtly referring to the political supremacy of the North over the South\nfor which the British helped put the machinery in place.\nAs access to Western culture and civilization made the Yorubas and\nIgbos more educated and thus less susceptible to the whims and caprices of\nthe colonial masters, the British concocted a plan by which to maintain their\ngrip over the whole territory. They sealed off the South from the North from\n1914 to 1960 only allowing minimum contact to prevent the North from\nbeing polluted by the liberal ideas of the educated South (Akinjide, 2017).\nBelieving that more backward people were less rebellious compared with\nmore advanced people (Okpoko and Onuoha, 2020), they favoured the\nNorth politically and empowered them to dominate the other ethnicities\ndespite their lesser economic strength. This policy was summed up in the\nindependence constitution which provided for a federal structure that left\nthe North, “in a commanding position, with a potential stranglehold over\nthe political process, capable of dominating the combined weight of the\nother two regions” (Meredith, 2011, p. 77).\n\n\nCriticisms of the forced marriage\nFrom the very beginning, this forced cohabitation was controversial and\nwas met with severe criticisms (Iruonagbe and Egharevba, 2015). Richard\nAkinjide, a member of the first post-independence parliament and former\nMinister of Education, said the amalgamation was a fraud and labelled it\none of the root causes of the present-day problems of Nigeria (Akinjide,\n2017). According to him the colonial masters looked at the United\nKingdom and tried to create a structure akin to it in Nigeria without\nconsidering the glaring ethnic and cultural differences which were absent\nfrom the UK but abundant in Nigeria.\nProminent Yoruba statesman, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, a dominant\nforce in Western Nigerian politics for more than 30 years said in 1947 that\nNigeria was a mere geographical expression and not a nation, adding that\nthe word Nigerian is merely used to differentiate those who live within the\nboundaries of Nigeria and those who do not (Obi-Ani, Obi-Ani and Isiani,\n2016). Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa, who later became the Prime Minister\nof Nigeria during the first republic, also pointed out the mistake of lumping\neverybody together in hope of unity (Coleman, 1965).\nBabawale (1991) believes Nigerians who think Nigeria is one nation are\ndeceiving themselves. Ekanola (2006) echoes this, saying that despite\nNigeria’s oil riches, the country is bedevilled by problems that inhibit its\ndevelopment, many of which are the result of its origin as an artificial\ncolonial construct. Surprisingly, the Igbos were initially the least critical of\nthe amalgamation. They continued to emigrate from their homeland to the\nSouthern and Northern areas to work and trade, to freely settle down and\nform communal unions (Obi-Ani, Obi-Ani and Isiani, 2016). Respected\nIgbo politician Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe, who later became President of Nigeria,\nsaid in 1958:\nThe various communities or nationalities inhabiting this county have\ngreat traditions and a rich heritage of cultures which if pooled together,\ncan make Nigeria great and enable her to take her rightful place among\nthe family of nations.\n(quoted in Coleman, 1965, p. 328)\nSecessionist movements\n\n\nIt is interesting to note that agitation for secessionism from Nigeria was first\nraised by the Northern region around 1950. The Northerners were unhappy\nwith the way the industrious, adventurous and business-minded Igbo traders\ncame to their region and brought their different culture, values and religion.\nHaving been secluded from the South pre-independence, this intrusion did\nnot go down well. In a 1952 speech made in the Northern House of\nAssembly, Kaduna, Sir Alhaji Abubakar Tafawa Balewa said,\nThe Southern people who are swarming into this region daily in large\nnumbers are really intruders. We don’t want them and they are not\nwelcome here in the North. Since the amalgamation in 1914, the\nBritish Government has been trying to make Nigeria into one country,\nbut the Nigerian people are different in every way including religion,\ncustom, language and aspiration. The fact that we’re all Africans might\nhave misguided the British Government. We here in the North, take it\nthat ‘Nigerian unity’ is not for us.\n(quoted in Adeleye, 2012)\nWhen they could not muster enough willpower to secede, perhaps due to\ntheir close relationship with the British, the North began to vent its anger on\nhapless Igbo traders. Violent attacks on Igbos in the Northern cities of Jos\nin 1945 and Kano in 1953 clearly revealed “a pattern of Northern hatred\nand hostility towards Eastern foreigners in their towns” (Anthony, 2014).\nThe first military coup d’état in Nigeria was led by six Igbo officers and\na Yoruba officer on 15 January 1966. It was celebrated by the whole\ncountry who were tired of the political wrangling, corruption and\nincompetence on the part of the ruling elite. However, when it was\ndiscovered that the casualties were mainly prominent Northern Nigeria\nleaders and military officers such as Sir Ahmadu Bello (Premier of the\nNorthern Region and the Sardauna of Sokoto), Sir Abubakar Tafawa\nBalewa (Prime Minister of Nigeria), Chief Samuel Ladoke (Premier of the\nWestern Region) and Chief Festus Okotie Eboh (Federal Minister of\nFinance) and not a single prominent Igbo leader was killed, the Northerners\nsaw this as an Igbo strategy to dominate (Obi-Ani and Obi-Ani, 2016). This\noverlooked the fact that two Igbo officers, Major-General Aguiyi–Ironsi\nand Major Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, almost single-handedly\nfoiled the coup (Forsyth, 1992).\n\n\nThe tribalization of the coup resulted in a series of well-coordinated\nattacks carried out simultaneously in several Northern states where Igbos\nwere targeted at their homes and in churches by the combined action of\nNorthern soldiers, local government police and civilians. This culminated\non 29 July 1966 with a revenge coup by the North during which more than\n200 officers and men, mostly of Igbo origin, were systematically massacred\nby their Northern comrades in military barracks in the North (Anthony,\n2014).\nCivil War, 1967–1970\nWhat followed next was the Igbo nation’s declaration of the independence\nof the Republic of Biafra led by Major Ojukwu, one of the two Igbo men\nwho foiled the initial ‘Igbo Coup’ of January 1966. Instead of gladly\nallowing the Igbos’ secession, the North resisted the break-up of the\nalliance, with the support of their longstanding British allies and what\nensued was a bloody civil war that lasted for 30 months and left many dead,\ninjured or homeless.\nThe North’s decision was prompted by the discovery of large oil reserves\nnear Igboland and the British government’s desire to maintain its grip over\nthe whole territory, including its oil reserves. General Olusegun Obasanjo,\nonce the military head of state and subsequently civilian president,\nconfirmed this when he said that the main reason for the war was to prevent\nthe Igbos from appropriating the oil resources in the region (Duruji, 2012).\nAccording to Chibuike Uche (2008), even though the British government\nofficially maintained that its main interest in the Nigeria conflict was to\nprevent the break-up of the country along tribal lines, the true reason behind\ntheir backing their Northern allies as revealed from evidence mainly from\nthe Public Records Office (now the National Archive) in London was much\nmore complex. The evidence suggests that British oil interests were the\ndominant factor, Britain primarily interested in protecting the investments\nof Shell-BP and thus supporting a ‘One Nigeria’ solution to keep Nigerian\noil flowing in order to mitigate the impact of its domestic oil shortfalls\ncaused by the Middle East Six Day War (Public Records Office, 1967).\nTherefore, the British advised their Northern allies that maintaining one\nNigeria was in their best interests and supported them to prevent the\ndisintegration of the forced marriage (Uche, 2008).\n\n\nBritish influence on the civil war was glaring, not only giving Nigeria\nthe resources to fight the secessionists but also giving them the audacity to\ncommit atrocious war crimes without any retribution or even caution.\nAccording to Ojukwu, Nigeria could not have done one hundredth of what\nthey did without the support of British Prime Minister Harold Wilson\n(Anthony, 2014). The Biafrans accused Nigeria of genocide and a report by\nUnited States Senator Charles Goodell, after a brief study tour in 1969,\nrevealed several Nigerian strikes against civilian targets in the previous year\nalone, including nine air attacks on hospitals, the first three of which were\nclearly marked with the Red Cross (Anthony, 2014). In addition to targeting\ncivilians, the Nigerian army, despite pleas from international organizations,\nimposed blockades that prevented aid groups from delivering food and\nrelief supplies to Biafra, thus causing many children to die of kwashiorkor,\na severe form of malnutrition characterized by a distended abdomen\n(Oduah, 2017).\nNigeria did not deny its underhand tactics. The country released a\nstatement saying that it did not invent economic blockade as an instrument\nof war, the Federal Commissioner of Information Anthony Enahoro said\n“there are various ways of fighting a war. You might starve your enemy into\nsubmission, or you might kill him on the battlefield” (quoted in Anthony,\n2014, p. 217). Chief Obafemi Awolowo added the now infamous statement\nthat all is fair in war, stating that starvation is one of the weapons of war\nand that he did not see any sense in feeding enemies to allow them to fight\nharder (Ekwe-Ekwe, 2017). Soon, pictures of starving, malnourished\nBiafran children, including one on the cover of Life magazine on 12 July\n1968, shook the whole world and provoked a worldwide outcry, with many\ncondemning the barbaric actions of the Nigerian army and the support of\nthe UK government.\nJohn Lennon, British singer-songwriter and member of The Beatles\nreturned the MBE awarded him by the Queen in protest at the UK’s\ninvolvement in the Nigerian–Biafran War (Oduah, 2017). Steve Jobs, the\nco-founder of Apple reveals in his autobiography that as a 13-year-old, he\nbecame an agnostic and stopped going to church after he saw the Life\npicture of two starving Biafran children (Ebiem, 2011). Yet Britain did\nnothing to deny or even hide its backing of the Nigerian army. Furthermore,\nthe USSR, Egypt and the Arab League teamed up to support Nigeria against\nthe Biafrans in a war that the Nigerian army expected would be brief due to\n\n\nthe support they had and the seeming helplessness of the secessionists but\nwhich dragged on for almost three years before the surrender on 15 January\n1970 (Forsyth, 1992).\nNo victor, no vanquished\nUpon the surrender of the Biafran troops, the Nigerian government declared\nthere was no victor and no vanquished, a declaration apparently made in\norder to foster national unity (Oduah, 2017). However, subsequent events\nsoon showed the former Biafrans that they were a conquered people.\nAccording to Duruji (2012, p. 338), the federal government “ran the affairs\nof the country with the bitter memories of their war-time experiences as\nreflected in some of the policies of marginalization targeted at the Igbo\npeople who were in reality seen as losers that ought to be treated so”.\nIn the military, Igbos were systematically shut out from the top echelons,\nwith all officers from the rank of captain and above who fought on the\nBiafran side being dismissed from service. There were also complaints of\ndeficient infrastructural development in Igbo land and of discrimination\nagainst Igbos in terms of locating industries and projects which could have\nbeen beneficial to the local people (Duruji, 2012). Subsequently, there was\ngross under-representation in administrative positions (Liechtenstein, 2017).\nThe cold shoulder given to the Igbos became obvious by contrast with the\nmassive attention given to Northern and Western Nigeria by the federal\ngovernment (Ikpeze, 2000).\nThe federal government hit former Biafrans hard economically, stripping\nthem of their wealth with a new bank lodgement policy and, at the same\ntime as having crippled the Igbos economically, the Gowon administration\nintroduced an indigenization programme whereby shares in foreign\ncompanies operating in Nigeria were offered to Nigerian citizens but were\nunaffordable for the financially incapacitated Igbos (Ikpeze, 2000).\nFurthermore, all property previously owned by Biafrans in other parts of the\ncountry were deemed to no longer belong to the Biafrans and were\n“abandoned” assets contrary to the constitutional rights of natural residency\nand citizenship of the Igbos. The assets were subsequently seized by locals\n(Ndibe, 2011).\nThe master stroke for the suppression of the Igbos was the creation of\nstate and local government. In comparison with other areas, the South East\n\n\nregion has the least number of states and local government areas, which\nnegatively affects the allocation of resources. And because the number of\nstates and local governments are a determining factor for representation in\nthe National Assembly, this means pro-Igbo agendas easily fail to pass in\nthe Senate or Federal House of Representatives (Duruji, 2012).\nFresh agitation for Biafra\nFor three decades after the Biafran War, the Igbos appeared to be mainly\npreoccupied with quietly re-integrating into a Nigerian society, hoping to\nreturn to their pre-war position as a power bloc. Economically they had\nsurvived the political and economic policies aimed at reducing their\ncapacity (Duruji, 2009) and had made giant strides in business, trade and\nindustry, springing up from the economic post-war suppression to become\nmajor players in trade and industry, but politically they were still outcasts\n(Igbokwe, 2005). Even under military rule, no Igbo soldier or civilian has\nruled Nigeria since the war (Duruji, 2012).\nDuring this early post-war period, the clamour for self-determination by\nthe Igbos seemed to die down. However, beneath the surface, the pain\ncaused by the Igbos’ treatment lingered on, especially amongst the older\ngeneration of Biafrans. According to top Nigerian singer Onyeka Onwenu,\nthe war never ended, as she recounts how her widowed mother was beaten\ninto a coma because she dared come back to claim her property in Port\nHarcourt after the Biafran surrender (Chimaobi, 2020).\nThe advent of democracy in 1999 and the continued exclusion of the\nIgbos from power caused great disappointment to those who had believed\nthat the openness and freedom that comes with democracy would end the\nmarginalization they had suffered under the military regimes (Uwazuruike,\n2008). This disappointment led to a rise in renewed demands for Biafra\n(Duruji, 2010). More specifically, it led to the formation of the Movement\nfor the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB) led by\nChief Ralph Uwazuruike and other pro-independence groups (Onu, 2001).\nReasons for the new demands\n\n\nEghosa Osahgae, a professor of comparative politics at the University of\nIbadan, is of the opinion that the reasons behind the Biafran War have not\nchanged as the South Easterners still believe theirs is the most marginalized\nand powerless region in the country. According to him, an imbalance of\npower was what led to the war and this has intensified in recent times (DW,\n2020). Duruji (2012, p. 329) believes that “the renewed demand for Biafra\nby Igbo people is a rejection of their post-war socio-political and economic\ncondition in Nigeria” and a perception of injustice against them by the\nruling North.\nLike the pogrom before the war that led to the death of about 30,000\nIgbos and forced another estimated 1,800,000 to flee back to the East as\nrefugees, the agenda to eliminate the Igbo race from Nigeria appears not to\nhave waned or abated (Onu, 2001). According to Igbokwe (1995), religious\nriots and ethnic disturbances have occurred repeatedly in the North with the\nIgbos always the prime targets.\nIn November 2002, around 250 people were killed in the Northern state\nof Kaduna simply because Nigeria was scheduled to host that year’s edition\nof the Miss World beauty contest, which the Muslim population regarded as\nheathen and offensive (Human Rights Watch, 2002). In 2006, cartoons of\nthe Muslim Prophet Muhammad published by a Danish newspaper led to\nviolence in at least four cities in Northern Nigeria leaving a death toll of\nmore than 127 people (Vu, 2006). According to Human Rights Watch\n(2002, p. 2), thousands of lives have been lost in what appear to be religious\nclashes between Christians and Muslims but, in reality, “have been\nmotivated less by irreconcilable religious beliefs than by political disputes\nand rivalries between different ethnic and political groups”.\nReminiscent of the organized slaughter of the Igbos before the civil war,\nterrorist group Boko Haram has resorted to attacking Christians in churches\nin the North, a majority of whom happen to be Igbo residents, and Fulani\nHerdsmen have even been bold enough to attack Igbo villages. On 25 April\n2016, they invaded seven communities in the Igbo state of Enugu, killing\nscores of civilians (Igata, 2016). As in 1966, the Igbo Youths Movement\naccused the federal government of tacitly supporting these massacres by\nturning a blind eye to the terror unleashed by Boko Haram and the Fulani\nHerdsmen (Mamah and Ndujihe, 2016), bearing in mind Boko Haram and\nFulani Herdsmen were rated amongst the four deadliest terror groups in the\nworld by the Global Terrorism Index in 2015 (Buchanan, 2015).\n\n\nReno Omokri (2017) believes that since the civil war Nigeria has never\nbeen as divided as it is today, and he lays the blame on the government.\nPresident Mohammed Buhari does not hide his bias for the North with his\nappointments and he justified this when, at the United States Institute of\nPeace (USIP) in July 2015, he told the world press that the constituents that\ngave him 97 per cent of their votes (the North) cannot in all honesty expect\nto be treated equally with constituencies that gave him only 5 per cent of\ntheir votes (Sahara Reporters, 2015).\nRemi Adekoya, a Polish-Nigerian political editor is among numerous\nNigerians who believe that the country as it presently stands is not working\nand needs to be restructured for secessionist demands to decease. He\nadvocates a total overhaul of the current political infrastructure and\ndecentralization of power from central government to the regions. He points\nout that Nigeria ranks a lowly 152 out of 188 countries in the United\nNations’ Human Development Index, cannot provide basic amenities like\nelectricity and running water for its citizens and more than 60 per cent of\nNigerians live in poverty (Adekoya, 2017).\nHe wrote on The Washington Post website, “Nigeria as currently\ndesigned is failing. While separatists demand an independent state,\nmoderates demand restructuring and the president insists Nigerians must\nstick together, everyone agrees that something needs to give; the status quo\nhas become unbearable for too many Nigerians” (Adekoya, 2017).\nThe Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB), the current most vocal voice\nfor Biafran secession, does not share the belief that restructuring can\nsalvage the situation. Arguing that Nigeria is a failed state, it has called for\na referendum to give South Easterners a chance to decide if they want to\nremain or leave Nigeria. Nnamdi Kanu, the leader of IPOB, says IPOB is\nnot pushing for self-determination for the sake of it but because Nigeria is\nnot functioning (Kanu, 2019). However, the Buhari administration is not\ninterested in any form of referendum or restructuring, preferring to kill pro-\nBiafran protesters by extrajudicial executions (Gaffey, 2017a). At least 150\npro-Biafra supporters were killed between August 2015 and November\n2016 and hundreds were injured (Amnesty International, 2016).\nThe government turns a blind eye to Boko Haram but moved quickly to\nlabel IPOB a terrorist group and imprison Nnamdi Kanu without trial from\nOctober 2015 to April 2017 before succumbing to pressure and releasing\nhim on bail (Gaffey, 2017b). Soon after, they stormed his father’s house in a\n\n\nmilitary raid but Kanu escaped and resurfaced in Israel after more than a\nyear later (Kanu, 2019). Kanu is dual British-Nigerian, but the silence of the\nBritish government on the plight of their citizen illegally detained and\nalmost killed in Nigeria speaks volumes for their continued backing of the\nNorth-led Nigeria and their reluctance to right the wrongs they caused with\nthe forced marriage of 1914.\nUS President Donald Trump’s recent travel ban on Nigerians because of\nterrorist activities (Levin, 2020) is further punishment of the rest of Nigeria\nfor the actions of Northern Nigeria. Northerners rarely travel or settle\nabroad, whereas people from other regions, especially Igbos, travel and\nsettle abroad frequently (Odi, 1999).\nThe potential impact on sport of separation\nSport is such an important part of Nigeria’s culture as such that the interest\nin sport and its popularity have had huge effects on the social, political and\neconomic fabrics of Nigeria (Yazid, 2014). It has emerged as a prominent\nindustry (Aluko and Morakinyo, 2008). Sport fosters relationships and\nstrengthens bonds and has directly or indirectly aided and influenced\nbilateral relations between tribes, nations and various diverse people\n(Alebiosu, 2014). It was for a long time a strong unifying factor in Nigeria,\nbut recent developments reveal that it no longer has the grip that it used to\nhave on the citizens.\nIf Nigeria and Biafra were to go their separate ways, the impact on sport\nwould be felt by both sides, albeit to different degrees. At the administrative\nlevel, the North currently dominates. Few of the National Sports\nFederations (NSFs) are independent of the federal government, which\ngoverns them through the Federal Ministry of Sports. The ministry is then\nable to almost handpick executive boards of the NSFs even though elections\nare conducted (Ministry of Youth and Sport, 2009). Most of these elections\nare tainted with irregularities (Afolabi, 2017), but there are seldom any\nadequate legal frameworks for aggrieved parties to seek redress and\ncomplaints are often swept under the carpet while ‘chosen’ executives run\nout the course of their tenures (Guardian.ng, 2017).\nHowever, while the North controls the administration of sports in\nNigeria, their participation or involvement at national team level is minimal\nacross numerous sports. South Easterners dominate most national teams;\n\n\nonly a handful of Northern athletes reach national prominence in Nigeria’s\ncolours. In the women’s basketball team that qualified for the 2020 Tokyo\nOlympics, only Aisha Mohammed Balarabe is from the Northern region\nwhereas the rest of the players are of Igbo descent (Afrobasket, 2020). This\nis also true for the men’s team for which four of the five starters are Igbo\nand only Al-Farouq Aminu and Talib Zanna are from the North. Eight of\nthe 12 members of the squad are Igbos (Afrobasket, 2019). However, the\nNigeria Basketball Federation President is Ahmadu Musa Kida, a\nNortherner (NBBF, 2020).\nThe story is the same in most sports, especially football. Most of the\nfamous players of Nigerian descent are Igbos. In 1978, Emmanuel Okala\nbecame the first Nigerian to win the African Footballer of the Year award.\nNwankwo Kanu is the only Nigerian to win the African Footballer of the\nYear award twice. He was also the first Nigerian to win the World Club\nChampions’ Cup, the European Champions’ League, the English FA Cup\nand he was the first African to captain an Olympic gold-medal-winning\nteam. The next most decorated Nigerian player, John Mikel Obi, and one of\nthe most skilful players ever to come out of Africa, Austin Okocha, are also\nIgbos (Obasi, 2019).\nNigeria won the African Cup of Nations in 1980, 1994 and 2013. Only\none player from the North, Shefiu Mohammed in 1980, was a member of a\nvictorious team. In fact, from 1963 to date, only eight players from the\ncore-North have represented Nigeria in the Africa Cup of Nations\ntournament. The current senior national team is dominated by Igbos. In the\nlast Nations Cup in 2019, only Shehu Abdullahi was from Northern Nigeria\n(Ngobua, 2019) whereas 13 of the 23-man squad were Igbos (Soliman,\n2019).\nAccording to Aderonke Bello (2015), statistics show that about 70 per\ncent overall national participation consists of Igbo players. She attributes\nthis to various reasons, some of which are physical prowess, as Igbos are\ngenetically sturdier than the other tribes, their enterprising character,\nmentorship and support from more successful Igbo players, and a deeper\nlove of and dedication to the game. Her assertion is supported by the fact\nthat internationally, Nigerians of Igbo descent are making many more\nheadlines in various sports than their counterparts from other regions,\nespecially in the United States where migrant Igbo children have gone on to\n\n\nmake a major impact in soccer, basketball, athletics and even American\nfootball at both collegiate and professional levels (Dodd, 2017).\nFormer Nigerian international Dahiru Sadi, a Northerner, agrees with\nAderonke, saying that most players from the North lack the ambition of\ntheir Igbo counterparts and are easily satisfied with meagre earnings from\nmenial jobs rather than face challenges outside their comfort zones. He\nclaims that Northern footballers are talented but must change their\nmentality in order to succeed (Ngobua, 2019). Sadi also believes there is a\nlack of influential football agents in the North to push their players towards\nEurope. He also blames poverty for the inability of the Northern players to\nforce themselves into the limelight as talented players from the North often\nlack the resources to attend scouting programmes where scouts from\nforeign teams identify fresh talent and the Northern agents and families do\nnot invest in their young talent, unlike Igbo families and agents (Ngobua,\n2019).\nGarba Lawal, unquestionably the most successful player from the North,\nhaving won an Olympic gold medal, represented Nigeria in two Olympic\nGames (1996 and 2000), at two FIFA World Cup tournaments (1998 and\n2002) and at four Nations Cup tournaments (2000, 2002, 2004 and 2006),\ndisagrees about the lack of football agents in the North and argues that\nclubs recruit talented players irrespective of where they are from. He\nprefers to blame lack of discipline, perseverance and patience on the part of\nthe Northern players for their inability to break into the major leagues and\nlead to national team selection (Ngobua, 2019).\nLumumba Dah Adeh, a former club owner from Northern Nigeria,\nbelieves religion and cultural beliefs play a big role in the inability of\nNorthern players to go far in the game. According to him, many sublimely\nskilled Northern players suddenly give up the game as a result of their\nculture and beliefs, citing early marriage as one of the factors that forces\nthem out. He points out that, for a married man in Northern Nigeria,\nwearing shorts to play football might be seen as degrading and so when a\nplayer marries early he withdraws from the game rather than degrade his\nfamily (Ngobua, 2019).\nNorthern players have every reason to dominate the national teams, if\nonly they could show the mentality. The North is blessed with more\nfacilities than any other region due to government investments in the\nregion. Aside from the senior national team that is mostly composed of\n\n\nplayers from top European leagues, all other national teams are mainly\ncomposed of locally based players. Furthermore, most of the teams are\nhandled by local coaches. With the North’s stranglehold on the federal\ngovernment and sports administration, most of the best local coaching jobs\nare given to Northern coaches. Manu Garba and Salisu Yusuf have had\nseveral stints with the national teams recently but neither could change the\ntide of lack of Northern players in the national teams. Meanwhile despite\nthe Igbo dominance in representing Nigeria on the field of play, of the 32\npresidents of the Nigerian Football Federation since 1960, only three were\nIgbos, the last of them being Emeka Omeruo in 1997. Seven Northerners\nhave held that position and four of the last five presidents were from the\nNorth (Bello, 2016).\nInterestingly, while passion for and united support for national teams\nbegin to rapidly wane in Nigeria, the craze for international football clubs\ngrows stronger. Fans replace their support for the national teams with\nsupport for Arsenal, Chelsea, Manchester United, Real Madrid, Barcelona\nand so on (Salkida, 2012). The repercussion of this is that instead of binding\ntogether in support of the nation, fans are scattered into different sides\ndepending on which club they support. Such support then gives them the\nimpetus to wish their nation would fail because of the presence of more\nmembers from one or another tribe in their national team.\nConclusion\nPoliticians have long discovered the allure of football for Nigerians and\nused it to achieve political power. This was initiated by Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe\n(Boer, 2004) who founded Zik Athletic Club in rejection of racially\nexclusive colonial sports clubs and, during the Second World War,\norganized two football tours under the guise of supporting the war effort but\nusing the cover of these tours to give post-match speeches where he openly\ncriticized British colonial policy and pressed his demands for independence,\nreform and democracy, despite heightened wartime censorship (Boer,\n2006). This use of football as a means for mass mobilization is proof of the\nimportance of the game to Nigerians and began a trend that has continued\nand will continue.\nDuring the presidential elections in 2015, former President Goodluck\nJonathan actively featured former Super Eagles captains Nwankwo Kanu\n\n\nand Joseph Yobo (Adekoya, 2017) in his campaigns in a futile bid to retain\npower. However, the unifying grip of football over Nigerians and its power\nto transcend tribal and religious sentiments is declining rapidly as\nepitomized by the outburst by Northern fans wishing Nigerian teams to fail\nbecause they are dominated by Igbos and saying they could not support\nChristians against Muslim teams even if this meant no longer supporting the\nNigerian team.\nIf Biafrans get their wish and secede from Nigeria, their football team\nwill emerge from the break-up much stronger. Ngobua (2019) believes that\nbecause athletes from Northern Nigeria have never featured prominently in\nthe senior national team, they are nowhere near the level of players from the\nrest of the nation. Thus, separation may just be the impetus Northern\nathletes and players need to be more disciplined and determined to face\nchallenges outside their comfort zones and create more opportunities for\nthemselves to play international football because there will be less serious\ncompetition for places without the more gifted Igbos.\nAccording to Mazi Nnamdi Kanu, Lord Lugard’s move to marry the rich\nSouth to the poor North and balance the economies of both regions never\nworked. Rather all it did was create a forced union of unhappy and angry\nbedfellows (Kanu, 2019) which has led to the avoidable deaths of millions\nand to hardship, pain and poverty for many others with no reprieve in sight.\nEven though no prominent Biafran sports personality has come out to\nstrongly support the calls for secession, this is apparently out of fear of\nsanctions and attacks from the government and its agencies. There were\nreports in some blogs about moves by former Super Eagles captains Kanu,\nNwankwo, Mikel Obi and Austin Okocha to form a Biafran national team\n(Opera News, 2020). However, no reputable media group in Nigeria carried\nthis news which makes it appear to be Biafran-sponsored propaganda.\nNevertheless, none of the men have denied the reports, which might suggest\nthat the media silence was a deliberate blackout by major Nigeria-\ncontrolled media companies.\nSport used to be the biggest unifying factor in this nation, but now some\ncitizens wish their nation would lose as ethnic and religious rivalry eats\ndeep into the fabric of the country. This makes it clear and obvious that the\nordinary people have lost hope in the union and the only people fighting to\nhold it together are those who have something to gain from it. 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Available at: www.vanguardngr.com/2016/04/many-\nkilled-fulani-herdsmen-invade-enugu-communities/ [Accessed 11 February 2020].\nIgbokwe, I., 2005. Marginalization: The Highest Stage of Tribalism. Flos Carmel Magazine, (5), pp.\n5–7.\nIgbokwe, J., 1995. Igbos, 25 Years after Biafra. [Nigeria?]: Advent Communications.\nIkpeze, N. ed., 2000. Post Biafra Marginalization of the Igbos in Nigeria. In I. Amadiume and A. An-\nNaim (Eds), The Politics of Memory: Truth, Healing and Social Justice. London: Zed Books, pp.\n90–109.\nIruonagbe, C. and Egharevba, M., 2015. Unity in Diversity and National Security: The Nigerian\nSituation. Developing Country Studies, 5(4), pp. 145–152.\nKanu, N., 2019. “Soldiers Had Come to Kill Me: I Would Be Shot in the Head and Dumped in a\nShallow \nGrave”. \n[online] \nThe \nIndependent. \nAvailable \nat:\nwww.independent.co.uk/news/long_reads/nnamdi-kanu-indigenous-people-of-biafra-conflict-\n1967-a9169196.html [Accessed 18 February 2020].\nLevin, S., 2020. “Trump Is Deciding Who Is American”: How the New Travel Ban Is Tearing\nFamilies \nApart. \n[online] \nThe \nGuardian. \nAvailable \nat: \nwww.theguardian.com/us-\nnews/2020/feb/16/trump-is-deciding-who-is-american-how-the-new-travel-ban-is-tearing-\nfamilies-apart [Accessed 28 March 2020].\nLiechtenstein, P., 2017. The Igbos of Nigeria’s Southeast Have Been Marginalized Too Long.\n[online] Geopolitical Intelligence Services. Available at: https://gisreportsonline.com/biafra-\ndeserves-self-determination,2241,c.html [Accessed 3 February 2020].\nMamah, E. and Ndujihe, C., 2016. 710 Nigerians Killed by Fulani Herdsmen in 10 Months – Igbo\nYouth Movement. [online] Vanguard News. Available at: www.vanguardngr.com/2016/04/710-\nnigerians-killed-fulani-herdsmen-10-months-igbo-youth-movement/ \n[Accessed \n11 \nFebruary\n2020].\nMcCaslin, J., 2018. Lord Lugard Created Nigeria 104 Years Ago. [online] Council on Foreign\nRelations. Available at: www.cfr.org/blog/lord-lugard-created-nigeria-104-years-ago [Accessed 15\nJanuary 2020].\nMehrotra, A., 2016. When Football Stopped a War: The Incredible Tale of Pele, Football’s Greatest\nEver Player. [online] Scoopwhoop.com. Available at: www.scoopwhoop.com/Pele-Footballer-\nWho-Stopped-A-War/#.bbwme3kkc [Accessed 26 March 2020].\nMeredith, M., 2011. The State of Africa. London: Simon & Schuster.\nMinistry of Youth and Sport, 2009. National Sports Policy of Nigeria. Abuja: Ministry of Youth and\nSport.\nMinority \nRights, \n2018. \nNigeria. \n[online] \nMinority \nRights \nGroup. \nAvailable \nat:\nhttps://minorityrights.org/country/nigeria/ [Accessed 15 January 2020].\nNBBF, 2020. NBBF, Nigeria Basketball Federation – Official Governing Body of Basketball in\nNigeria. [online] Basketballnigeria.com. Available at: www.basketballnigeria.com/ [Accessed 18\n\n\nFebruary 2020].\nNdibe, O., 2011. Nigeria’s Biafran Burden. [online] Sahara Reporters. Available at:\nhttp://saharareporters.com/2011/10/31/nigeria%E2%80%99s-biafran-burden-okey-ndibe\n[Accessed 31 January 2020].\nNewsHour, \n2007. \nEthnicity \nin \nNigeria. \n[online] \nPBS \nNewsHour. \nAvailable \nat:\nwww.pbs.org/newshour/arts/africa-jan-june07-ethnic_04-05 [Accessed 14 January 2020].\nNgobua, D., 2019. Why Northerners Don’t Feature Prominently in Super Eagles. [online] Daily\nTrust. Available at: www.dailytrust.com.ng/why-northerners-dont-feature-prominently-in-super-\neagles.html [Accessed 18 February 2020].\nObasi, E., 2019. Nigeria: Can Eagles Win with Igbo Goalie? [online] allAfrica.com. Available at:\nhttps://allafrica.com/stories/201904270025.html [Accessed 19 February 2020].\nObi-Ani, N. and Obi-Ani, P., 2016. January 15 1966 Coup d’Etat Reconsidered. Nsukka Journal of\nthe Humanities, 24(2), pp. 16–26.\nObi-Ani, N., Obi-Ani, P. and Isiani, M., 2016. The Mistake of 1914: 100 Years After. Nsukka Journal\nof the Humanities, 24(2), pp. 27–35.\nOdi, A., 1999. The IGBO in Diaspora: The Binding Force of Information. Libraries & Culture,\n344(2), pp. 158–167.\nOduah, C., 2017. 50 Years On: Nigeria’s Biafra Secessionist Movement. [online] Aljazeera.com.\nAvailable at: www.aljazeera.com/indepth/features/2017/05/50-years-nigeria-biafra-secessionist-\nmovement-170529151102396.html [Accessed 30 January 2020].\nOkoh, L., 2018. A Guide to the Indigenous People of Nigeria. [online] Culture Trip. Available at:\nhttps://theculturetrip.com/africa/nigeria/articles/a-guide-to-the-indigenous-people-of-nigeria/\n[Accessed 24 March 2020].\nOkpoko, P. and Onuoha, J., 2020. Issues in Ethnic Nationalism and Democratic Consolidation. In J.\nOnuoha (Ed.), Ethnic Nationalism and Democratic Consolidation: Perspectives from Nigeria and\nthe United States of America. Nsukka: Great AP Express, pp. 1–8.\nOmokri, R., 2017. Buhari Caused Current Division in Nigeria with 5% vs 97% Speech – Reno.\n[online] Vanguard News. Available at: www.vanguardngr.com/2017/06/buhari-caused-the-current-\ndivision-in-nigeria-with-5-vs-97-speech-reno/ [Accessed 18 February 2020].\nOnu, G., 2001. Ethnicity and Conflict Management: A Case Study of MASSOB Movement in\nNigeria. \n[online] \nEthnonet-africa.org. \nAvailable \nat: \nwww.ethnonet-\nafrica.org/pubs/crossroadsonu.htm [Accessed 3 February 2020].\nOpera News, 2020. Nigerians React as Kanu Nwankwo Set to Launch Biafra Football Team on\nFebruary. \n[online] \nNews-af.feednews.com. \nAvailable \nat: \nhttp://news-\naf.feednews.com/news/detail/d15d05b419067aeb444f2a35b5046220?client=news [Accessed 25\nMarch 2020].\nPublic Records Office, 1967. Confidential 1967 Memorandum, “Nigerian Oil”. London: Public\nRecords Office, PRO/CO 221/45.\nSahara Reporters, 2015. Buhari’s Statement at the US Institute of Peace that Made Everyone Cringe.\n[online] \nSahara \nReporters. \nAvailable \nat:\nhttp://saharareporters.com/2015/07/25/buhari%E2%80%99s-statement-us-institute-peace-made-\neveryone-cringe-0 [Accessed 18 February 2020].\nSalkida, 2012. Love for European Football Transcends Violence in Northern Nigeria. [online]\nSalkida.com. Available at: https://salkida.com/love-for-european-football-transcends-violence-in-\nnorthern-nigeria/ [Accessed 28 March 2020].\nSolaja, K., 2014. Going for Goals: Unfolding Nigerian Football’s Hidden Secrets. Lagos: Extra Time\nCommunications.\nSoliman, S., 2019. Nigeria Name Final 23-Man Africa Cup of Nations Squad. [online] KingFut.\nAvailable at: www.kingfut.com/2019/06/10/nigeria-final-afcon-squad/ [Accessed 18 February\n2020].\n\n\nUbani, T., 2019. Nigerians in Shock as Northerners Support Algeria Winning Super Eagles over\nDominance of Igbo Players. [online] Tori.ng. Available at: www.tori.ng/news/126390/nigerians-\nin-shock-as-northerners-support-algeria.html [Accessed 9 January 2020].\nUche, C., 2008. Oil, British Interests and the Nigerian Civil War. The Journal of African History,\n49(1), pp. 111–135.\nUwazuruike, R., 2008. Excerpts of an interview with Chief Ralph Uwazuruike, Leader of MASSOB.\nVu, M., 2006. Churches Burned in Nigeria Riots: Death Toll Passes 127. [online]\nChristiantoday.com. \nAvailable \nat:\nwww.christiantoday.com/article/churches.burned.in.nigeria.riots.death.toll.passes.127/5481.htm\n[Accessed 4 February 2020].\nYazid, L., 2014. Sport Development; the Nigerian Way: A Review. International Journal of Physical\nEducation, Sports and Health, 1(4), pp. 20–24.\n\n\nChapter 13\n“One China with respective\ninterpretations” no more?\nThe struggle between China/PRC and\nTaiwan/ROC in sport\nYing Chiang and Tzu-hsuan Chen\nIntroduction\nThe Republic of China (ROC), Taiwan, and Chinese Taipei comprise a\nseries of synonyms with blurred distinctions for the people not familiar with\nEast Asian geopolitics. Some companies even bend to pressure from the\nPeople’s Republic of China (PRC) to make the scenario more complicated.\nIn such circumstances, the geographical name of Taiwan is replaced by\nfactually inaccurate names such as “Taiwan, China” or “Taiwan, a province\nof China” in accord with the PRC’s wishes. The attempt to annihilate\nTaiwan from international society has been consistent. In sport, “Chinese\nTaipei” replaced “the Republic of China” as the official name for the\nisland’s representatives in the International Olympics Committee (IOC) and\nits affiliated international federations. This is in keeping with many other\nscenarios involving international organizations such as the World Trade\nOrganization, Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation, and so on.\nContrary to Avery Brundage’s naïve claim that “politics has no place in\nsport,” the struggle over names between Taiwan/ROC and China/PRC is an\nexample par excellence of politics meddling with sport. Although it had a\n\n\nsimple beginning over a century ago it has become a political and\ndiplomatic conundrum for international organizations.\nThe Republic of China was established in 1912 after the Xinhai\nRevolution led by Dr Sun Yat-sen which overthrew the Qing Dynasty. From\n1912 to 1949, the Republic of China was the unchallenged name for the\nauthority which governed a territory of around 10 million square kilometers\nin East Asia. During that time, the China National Amateur Athletic\nFederation (CNAAF) was established on April 3, 1922 and was recognized\nas the representative of China in the IOC. Although China was present at\nthe 1924 Paris Olympics, the team just attended the opening ceremony. It\nwas not until 1932 that Chang-chun Liu became the first Chinese athlete to\ncompete in the Olympics, at which he competed in 100 meters and 200\nmeters sprints. Overall, 103 athletes competed for the ROC at three\niterations of the Olympics from 1932 to 1948 (Sports Affairs Council,\n2011a).\nHowever, from 1895 to 1945, Taiwan, a small island 180 kilometers\noffshore to the southeast of China across the Taiwan Strait, was a colony of\nthe Empire of Japan. The Qing Dynasty had ceded Taiwan, then a province\nof the Qing Empire, in the Treaty of Shimonoseki after the Japanese victory\nin the First Sino-Japanese War. At the 1932 Los Angeles Olympics, Hsing-\nhsien Chang, who participated in the 400 meters hurdles, became the first\nTaiwanese ever to compete in the Olympics. However, Chang had to\nrepresent Japan and compete under the Japanese name of Seiken Cho. The\ncoincidental participation of Liu and Chang at the 1932 Olympics\nsymbolized the relationship between Taiwan and China in sport. They have\nbeen on parallel yet, paradoxically, intertwined paths ever since.\nThroughout its known history, the geographical proximity to China made\nTaiwan historically influenced or directly governed by Chinese empires. Its\nabundant tropical crops, especially sugar cane, and closeness to China,\nSoutheast Asia, and Japan made it an ideal target for the expanding\nEuropean empires since its “discovery” by the Portuguese in the sixteenth\ncentury, who named it Formosa (“beautiful island”). The island was\nsubsequently occupied by the Spanish and the Dutch before it was\nreclaimed by the Qing Empire in 1683.\nAfter the Second World War, Taiwan was returned to the ROC according\nto the Cairo Declaration signed in 1943 by Chiang Kai-shek, Winston\nChurchill, and Franklin Roosevelt:\n\n\nIt is their purpose that Japan shall be stripped of all the islands in the\nPacific which she has seized or occupied since the beginning of the\nfirst World War in 1914, and that all the territories Japan has stolen\nfrom the Chinese, such as Manchuria, Formosa, and The Pescadores,\nshall be restored to the Republic of China. Japan will also be expelled\nfrom all other territories which she has taken by violence and greed.1\nAlthough Taiwan was returned to the ROC after the Second World War, the\nJapanese legacy was highly appreciated by Taiwanese of that generation.\nWhen China reclaimed sovereignty over Taiwan, the government itself was\nfocused on its engagement with Mao Zedong and the Chinese communist\narmy on the mainland. Moreover, after 50 years of separation, Taiwan and\nChina were two very different worlds. The appointed Governor of Taiwan,\nChen Yi    ) and his staff were arrogant and disrespectful towards the\npeople of the former Japanese colony. An uprising finally took place on\nFebruary 28, 1947 (the 228 Incident) which has left a deep scar on\nTaiwanese society ever since. Despite the unease in the aftermath of the 228\nIncident, the ROC administration led by Chiang Kai-shek2 and his\nKuomintang (Chinese Nationalist Party, or KMT) had to retreat to Taiwan\nafter the defeat by the communists in the Chinese Civil War.\nAlthough they were the losing side in the Civil War, the KMT and\nTaiwan were able to retain the name ROC and claimed to be the sole\nrepresentative of China in the international community in the first few\ndecades of the aftermath. The seat in the United Nations and possession of\nthe power of veto as a member of the UN Security Council constituted the\nmost notable evidence of its legitimacy. However, with the growing\npresence of the PRC on the international stage from the 1960s,\nTaiwan/ROC was on the fringe of being marginalized. Since the late 1960s,\nthe ROC’s seat in the UN was tentative. United States aid came to an end in\n1965. President John F. Kennedy suggested a “One China, One Taiwan”\npolicy beginning in 1961 and Lyndon B. Johnson followed his\npredecessor’s will. Although the Vietnam War, the Cultural Revolution, and\naggravated relations between the PRC and the Soviet Union shifted the\nAmericans’ focus away from Taiwan (particularly during the Nixon\nadministration), it was obvious that the KMT’s legitimacy to represent\nChina was in jeopardy. The PRC eventually superseded the ROC and\ninherited its permanent veto in the UN Security Council in 1971. The\n\n\ntermination of official diplomatic relations with the United States in 1979\nmarked yet another major setback for the isolated Taiwan administration\nand, since then, the ROC has become an unstable signifier. It has to be\naccompanied by qualifications, such as ROC in Taiwan, or ROC (Taiwan)\nto demarcate the reality and the difference from China/PRC.\nThe “Taiwanization” of sport nationalism\nUnder Japanese colonization from 1895 to 1945, most Taiwanese had to\nlearn how to be Japanese. Then after the Second World War, especially after\nthe KMT government withdrew from Mainland China to Taiwan in 1949,\npeople living in Taiwan began to learn how to be Chinese.\nAfter KMT-imposed Martial Law was lifted in 1987, a new Taiwanese\nconsciousness emerged and developed gradually. Taiwanese people began\nto profess their distinct Taiwaneseness. Brown (2004) argued that, since\n1987, for the obvious political purpose of justifying their distance from the\nPRC, people in Taiwan have increasingly claimed Taiwanese identity, an\namalgam of Han culture and ancestry, indigenous culture and ancestry, and\nJapanese culture (although not necessarily ancestry). The national identity\nof the Taiwanese is a conflicting, heterogeneous, plural concept.\nEver since 1949, people in Taiwan have experienced complicated and\neven conflicted feelings towards China. “China” in recent Taiwan\nnationalist discourse is not necessarily limited to political, communist\nChina, but can also imply the cultural lineage of the Middle Kingdom as a\nwhole. Hwang (2015, p. 486) argues that there has been a binary opposition\nof “Taiwanese nationalism” and “Chinese nationalism” competing with\neach other on the island since the Second World War. However, with the\nKMT being the totalitarian governing party which enforced Martial Law\nfrom 1949 to 1987, “Chinese nationalism” was legal and by default. On the\nother hand, “Taiwanese nationalism” was not only a taboo but could also be\nseen as equivalent to promoting separatism and risking being charged with\ntreason under Martial Law.\nEven six decades after the Chinese Civil War, identity fluctuation\nbetween Taiwan and China is still vibrantly contingent on which political\nside comes to power. No matter which side wins the office in modern\nTaiwan, however, PE/sport has been appropriated and become a vital\nvehicle embodying the evolution of Taiwan/ROC identity.\n\n\nIn 2011, the year of the centennial of the ROC, the ruling KMT\ngovernment published a ten-volume anthology of history of PE/sport in the\nROC. In the introduction to The Anthology on Sport for the Centennial of\nthe Republic of China: An Intellectual History of PE/Sport, the editor\nwrote:\nThe foundation of PE/sport in the ROC was formed in mainland\n(1912~1949). It had to rebuild the development after the restoration of\nTaiwan. In this process, we have to eliminate the vestiges of the ruling\nof Japan and, at the same time, duplicate the institutions that were\nestablished in mainland. Furthermore, with the ever-changing situation\nof international sport, we have to face the tough challenge from the\nother side of Taiwan Strait.\n(Sports Affairs Council, 2011b, p. 3)\nAs the embodiment of the confrontation of nationalisms in Taiwan’s history,\nPE/sport was consistently used as a means to make differences between\n“us” and “the other.” However, the “other” was not a stable signifier; it kept\nchanging in the different eras of the history of Taiwan/ROC.\nIn this chapter, we demarcate four major stages in the evolution of sport\nnationalism in accordance with major historic events of Taiwan/ROC. They\nare, (1) One China: from 1912 to 1949; (2) Two Chinas: from 1949 to 1981;\n(3) Chinese Taipei and the Olympic formula: from 1982 to 2000; and (4)\nRising of Taiwan consciousness: 2000 onwards.\nOne China: from 1912 to 1949\nFirst, in the period from 1912 to 1949, for the newborn republic that had\noverthrown an empire humiliated by the advanced Western and Japanese\npowers in numerous wars, the main function of PE/sport was to promote the\nnational identity (of China) (Sports Affairs Council, 2011a) and “to\ncultivate collectivism and fight against foreign aggression” (Lu and Fan,\n2014, p. 33). The ROC started to compete in the Far Eastern Champions\nGames in 1913, which can be seen as part of the initiation into the world of\nmodern sport. The Chinese, generally, were called “the sick men of Asia”\nand had nothing to do with the Olympic Games at the time. During this\nperiod, the advanced West was the “other” for the PE/sport nationalism for\n\n\nthe ROC. Therefore, being able to catch up with the West, or at least\nbecome associated with it, had become one of the goals. In 1922, the\nrecognition by IOC of the CNAFF was regarded as the beginning of the\nrelationship with the Olympics for Chinese (Sports Affairs Council, 2011b).\nHowever, at the same time (1895–1945), as mentioned earlier, Taiwan\nwas colonized by Japan and China and Taiwan were on parallel paths to the\nOlympics. Thus, in the 1932 Summer Olympics, Taiwan’s first Olympian,\nHsing-hsien Chang represented Japan. Meanwhile, Chang-chun Liu\nrepresented the ROC at the Olympics. From China’s perspective, Liu was\nthe first but from Taiwan’s perspective, Chang was their first. When the two\npaths converged in 1945, there appeared to be two rival historical\nperspectives vying for legitimacy. The China-centered perspective gained\nthe upper hand in the first few decades. As the official history claims, it was\n“pushing Chinese sport to a new era, raising the ROC’s national flag at the\nOlympics and setting an example to the future generations” in opposition to\nthe “Japanese attempt to legalize the Manchurian puppet state” (Lu and\nFan, 2014, p. 52). From the official narrative of the ROC, its people were\nboth Han and Chinese. “They shared the same culture and blood but\nrepresented opposing nations. Their parallel yet intertwined paths were a\n“tragedy under foreign invasion” (Sports Affairs Council, 2011a, p. 39).\nThese claims quoted from The Anthology on Sport for the Centennial of the\nRepublic of China were proof of this stance. It is understandable that\nnostalgic statements of this type were coming out of the ruling apparatus\nwhile the China-minded KMT was in power. However, it should not be\nconsidered that there was a consensus behind this view in Taiwanese civil\nsociety. On the contrary, this was solely a reflection of a ruling\nadministration that was desperately seeking any chance to reassert its\nhistorical legitimacy in official documents when feeling under threat from\nTaiwan-centered perspectives.\nTwo Chinas: from 1949 to 1981\nThe second stage of sport nationalism in Taiwan/ROC started in 1949. After\nthe defeat by the communists in the Chinese Civil War, the KMT\ngovernment had to retreat to Taiwan. During that time, being “anti-\nCommunist, anti-Soviet and reuniting the country” were the highest\nnational goals of the government (Sports Affairs Council, 2011b, p. 88) to\n\n\nfacilitate which PE/sport was appropriated by the administration. Through\nthe school system, physical education was taken to be a major means by\nwhich the youth could develop strong bodies for the nation. To this end,\nChiang Kai-shek (1887–1975) made a speech at the 6th Taiwan Provincial\nGames in 1951. He pointed out that\nThe youth are the cornerstone of our country and also the main force of\nthe anti-Communist, anti-Soviet movement. The purpose of the Games\nis for the youth to exercise for a stronger body in order to lay the\nfoundation of the revolution.\n(Sports Affairs Council, 2011a, p. 107)\nWhile the goal inherited from the first stage remained in this period, the\nmain “other” of sport nationalism had shifted from the West to the PRC.\nThe PRC started to participate in the Olympic Games in 1952. This was\nthe beginning of the confrontation between the ROC and the PRC and the\nsurfacing of the “two Chinas” issue (Lu and Fan, 2014). The IOC permitted\nboth committees to participate in the 1952 Helsinki Olympics. However,\nTaiwan/ROC decided to withdraw (Lee, Tan and Lin, 2011) when learning\nthat they were assigned the name with parentheses, that is, “China\n(Formosa),” which suggested that the ROC was not the sole representative\nof China as a whole. That was the reality that the ROC was not ready or\nwilling to accept. With the ROC’s absence, the PRC seized its opportunity.\nJust one day prior to the opening of the Games, the Chinese Olympic\nCommittee (COC) received an invitation from the Organizing Committee.\nDespite the lack of advanced transportation to fly the team from Beijing to\nHelsinki in time for the opening ceremonies, the PRC would not let slip the\nopportunity to appear on the major international stage as the representative\nof China. The Chinese athletes arrived at the athletes’ village on July 29,\nwith only five days remaining of the Olympics, and raised the flag of the\nPRC for the first time in Olympic history. However, they would not appear\nagain in the Olympics until 1984.\nOn the other hand, the KMT government continued to hold the position\nof “han zei bu liang li” (   ), meaning that “the righteous and the\nthieves do not coexist.” In other words, they insisted on and propagated the\nview that the ROC was the only legitimate government of China despite\neffectively ruling only 1/267 of the total area itself proclaimed. With\n\n\nFormosa in parentheses, it was deprived of its legitimacy as the sole\nrepresentative. The authorities refused to participate in the Olympics in\nwhich the PRC was also involved. The newspaper union in Taiwan, tightly\ncontrolled by the KMT and its apparatus at the time, made a collective\nstatement to boycott the 1952 Olympics by not publishing any Olympics-\nrelated stories (Sports Affairs Council, 2011b, p. 60).\nHowever, when it came to the 1956 Melbourne Olympics, it was\nChina/PRC who withdrew from the Games because of the presence of a\nTaiwan/ROC delegation called “Formosa-China.” According to The Official\nReport of the Organizing Committee for the Games of the XVI Olympiad\nMelbourne 1956, both the ROC and the PRC Olympic committees were\ninvited. However, the names “Peking China” and “Formosa China” were\nadopted to refer to the PRC and the ROC respectively (Cheung, 2015). This\nwas unacceptable to the PRC because they were determined to represent the\nwhole of China.\nFrom 1960 to 1968, Taiwan/ROC competed under the name Formosa-\nTaiwan or Taiwan. The Taiwan/ROC delegation was referred to as “Chinese\nRepublic of Formosa” and marched behind the name of “Formosa China” in\nthe opening ceremony, according to The Official Report of the Organizing\nCommittee for the Games of the XVII Olympiad Rome. Despite\nTaiwan/ROC’s symbolic victory as a consequence of China/PRC’s\nwithdrawal from the Rome Olympics, this nevertheless resulted in their\ndelegation marching behind an “Under Protest” sign during the opening\nceremony. However, the situation was so puzzling that even the highest\nauthorities in the IOC and the Rome LOC seemed unable to arrive at a\nconsistent name for the island. When Taiwanese decathlete C.K. Yang won\nhis silver medal in Rome, the first-ever medal in Taiwan/ROC history, the\nnoticeboard indicated that the country he represented was “Taiwan.”\nAfter Yang made his historic breakthrough for Taiwan/ROC in the\nOlympics, a song named “Welcome Ironman CK Yang” was performed on\nthe most popular variety shows at the time. The lyrics include the words,\nThe world is progressing. The Chinese son, you catch on. You set a\nfine example for our brothers of the homeland. Being gritty, tenacious\nand poised. A fine example for sport.\n(TV Weekly, 1964)\n\n\nThe ambiguous situation involving names continued to occur in the\nOlympics. At the Tokyo Games in 1964, Taiwan/ROC was allowed to carry\nthe national flag. On the other hand, the “Republic of China” in Chinese\ncharacters (     ) was put under “TAIWAN” on the nameplate.\nNevertheless, “most of the foreign athletes from Western countries would\nhardly see the difference, nor understand its meaning or significance”\n(Chang, 2010, p. 129). This was a compromise resulting from negotiation\nbetween the Deputy Director of the Taiwan/ROC delegation, Dr Liang-kuei\nChiang, and his personal friend, then Governor of Tokyo and head of the\nJapanese Olympic Committee, Ryotaro Azuma (Sports Affairs Council,\n2011a).\nTaiwan/ROC finally got its wish in 1972 with the team appearing as the\nROC in the Munich Olympics (Cheung, 2015). However, this was also the\nlast time. The “two Chinas” issue reached its crisis point at the 1976\nMontreal Games. The Canadian government started to adopt a “one-China”\npolicy under Pierre Trudeau’s administration in the early 1970s and\nrecognized the PRC as the sole representative of all of China. Thus, Taiwan\nwas denied the use of the word “China” to compete in the Olympics (Lee,\nTan and Lin, 2011). In the end, Taiwan/ROC withdrew from the 1976\nGames. This rather one-sided and downward struggle continued for\nTaiwan/ROC with the congress of the International Association of Athletics\nFederations (IAAF)3 deciding in October of 1978 not only to accept the\nPRC as a member but to grant it jurisdiction “over that territory where\nathletics was at present governed by the existing IAAF member in Taiwan.”\nLater, in April 1979, an action was brought to the English High Court and\nthe resolution was void, meaning that Taiwan/ROC remained a member of\nthe IAAF (Lauterpacht and Greenwood, 1987). This result was believed to\nhave an impact later on the IOC concerning the membership of\nTaiwan/ROC. In November of the same year, the IOC ratified, in the\nNagoya Resolution, the PRC’s Olympic Committee’s name as the “Chinese\nOlympic Committee” and it was suggested that Taiwan/ROC should remain\nin the IOC as the “Chinese Taipei Olympic Committee” (Lee, Tan and Lin,\n2011). Taiwan/ROC did not sign the agreement until 1981 in Lausanne,\nSwitzerland. Now known as the Lausanne Agreement, it established the\n“Olympic Formula” for Taiwan/ROC to compete under the name Chinese\nTaipei.\n\n\nFrom the chronicle of China/Taiwan in the Olympics from 1949 until\n1981 documented above, it is obvious that “Taiwan” was a shameful\nnational symbol to the KMT government during the confrontation between\nthe two Chinas. Therefore, they settled for the bizarre and compromised\nmoniker of Chinese Taipei. With “Chinese” still being included, they could\ncontinue to deny the reality of losing the mainland to the Communist Party\nof China (CPC).\nChinese Taipei and the Olympic Formula: from 1981 to\n2000\nDuring the third stage, from 1981 to 2000, the state apparatus and the\npeople of Taiwan started to accept the settlement of the Olympic Formula.\nThe Sarajevo Winter Olympics of 1984 marked Taiwan/ROC’s official\n“return” to the Olympic family under the name Chinese Taipei. However, as\na subtropical island, winter sport had never grabbed the public’s attention.\nTherefore, for most Taiwanese, the 1984 Los Angeles Summer Olympics\nacted as the grand return for which they had been waiting. At the 1984\nGames, Chinese Taipei’s Wen-yee Tsai won the lone medal, a bronze, in the\n60 kg class in men’s weightlifting. In addition, the Chinese Taipei baseball\nteam won a bronze medal in the exhibition event. As a baseball-crazed\nnation, the result was the most inspiring achievement and a proper reward\nfor a nation famous for its dominance in the annual Little League World\nSeries held in Williamsport, Pennsylvania (Morris, 2010). However, the\nresult itself was not good enough, considering that Taiwan/ROC was not the\nonly “China” competing at the Los Angeles Olympics. The China/PRC\ndelegation appeared in the Olympics for the first time since the 1952\nHelsinki Games and had an immediate impact by winning 15 gold, 8 silver\nand 9 bronze medals. Compared to Taiwan’s lone medal, the contrast was\nenormous. The coexistence of both sides of the Taiwan Strait made the\nTaiwanese media uncomfortable. The harsh reality of being vastly inferior\nwas difficult to accept. In the early days of the Los Angeles Olympics, the\nathletes from Chine/PRC were nowhere to be seen on TV. It was not until\nlater that footage with them in it was shown to Taiwanese audiences as a\nresult of the loosening of regulations by the government. In accordance\nwith the policy at that time, all PRC-related flags, emblems, and anthems\nwere banned from publications and from television. Throughout the\n\n\nbroadcasting of the Los Angeles Olympics, the national flag of the PRC had\nto be redacted so that Taiwan’s Chinese Television System (CTS) broadcast\ncrew had to scramble to avoid live images of the PRC flag from being\nspotted by the audience (Chou, 2016). Furthermore, the Taiwanese media\ndid not know the right way to address those athletes from China/PRC\ncollectively. The Chinese athletes became “Ta Lu Hsuan Shuo,” meaning\nathletes from the mainland, not only in broadcasts of the CTS, one of the\nthree semi-state Taiwanese terrestrial channels at that time, but also in all\nthe press. An editorial on the United Daily commented:\n[R]ecently, all the news coverage has changed the name of our\nmainland compatriots from Chung Kung Hsuan Shuo [(delegates of\nChinese Communists)] to Ta Lu Hsuan Shuo. Therefore, when Ta Lu\nHsuan Shuo win all the merits, they necessarily belong to all Chinese\npeople. We don’t have to let CPC get the credits. This breakthrough of\nthinking should be worth noting in the frontline of thinking and culture\nagainst CPC …\n Ta Lu Hsuan Shuo are also Descendants of the Fiery Emperor and\nYellow Emperor and outstanding children of Chinese. With their\nwisdom and endurance, Ta Lu Hsuan Shuo flourish in the Olympics.\nTheir performance is the honor for our mainland compatriots. The CPC\njust enslave them to decorate the façade of their regime and obscure the\nreality. We believe that many of these outstanding athletes have their\nmind yearning for freedom just like Hu Na.4 One day, we will share the\nsame goal and come under the same flag. Therefore, their\nachievements should be regarded as the pride for all Chinese people. It\nhas nothing to do with CPC’s tyranny.\n(United Daily, 1984)\nOne of the most famous scholars of Academia Sinica also expressed his\nreactions:\nAlthough these Ta Lu Hsuan Shuo represent the Chinese Communist\nregime, that does not necessarily mean they are communists or even\nsympathize with the party. As though their staff constantly showing\ntheir ugly face of United Front strategy, we don’t have to put their\nathletes into the same category.\n\n\n(Chu, 1984)\nWhen Taiwan/ROC and China/PRC collided for the first time in the arena\nof the Olympics, this started to cause rippling after effects. The press not\nonly predicted more troubles ahead but also worried about the possible\nimpact:\nReporting the Olympics is not a singular event. There will be more this\nkind of sensitive information coming up in the next few years. It is not\na proper way to deal with these objective facts by dodging it … The\npublic gradually sees through the domestic and international political\nreality. With more open communication policy, it might cause\nrecognition disparity in the short term, but it can definitely ease the\npublic to a healthy mind when facing these kinds of information.\n[Professor] Chia-ching Pan says, the reports on the Olympics might\nfrustrate some people. However, as long as the government can\ndemonstrate the capability of dealing with the problem and make the\npublic recognize the value of freedom and ways of our living, the faith\nof citizens can be thus cultivated. In so doing, we can face the reports\nof Ta Lu Hsuan Shuo’s performance with a calmer attitude. There is no\nneed to worry too much.\n(Kao, Wong and Yang, 1984)\nDespite claiming there was “no need to worry,” the anxiety hidden in the\ntexts was noticeable. First, it was time for Taiwan/ROC to face the harsh\nreality of “two Chinas” and be forced to use the problematic compromise\nmoniker of Chinese Taipei. Secondly, the disparity between results, 1\nbronze medal versus 15 gold, 8 silver and 9 bronze medals, was\nembarrassing. As previously stated, PE/sport has been appropriated by the\nstate as a proxy warrior for the Taiwan/ROC government. The implications\nof the disparity could be extended beyond mere sport to politics, the\neconomy, and so on.\nIf there was some comfort in the Los Angeles Olympics, it was that the\nname still caused some confusion for the broadcasters in the US and\nelsewhere as well for the time being, even after the settlement in the\nOlympic Formula. When decathlete Fu-an Lee carried the flag of the\nChinese Taipei Olympic Committee and led the parading Taiwanese\n\n\ndelegation, the broadcast produced by the American Broadcasting Company\nactually used the national flag of the ROC, instead of the Chinese Taipei\nNOC flag as required by the Lausanne Agreement, on top of the IOC\ncountry code TPE. There was also an introductory line indicating Chinese\nTaipei’s “Location: Island east of China.” The confusion also manifested\nitself in the Japanese broadcast by the NHK, in which kanji of “”\n(Taipei, China) was used, instead of the currently-used phonetic translation\nof Chinese Taipei in katakana “ .”\nHowever, ever since the end of the Martial Law era (1946–1987), the\nnarratives of nationalism of Taiwan/ROC have changed gradually. In the\n1990 Asian Games in Beijing, Taiwan/ROC delegates participated in a\nmajor multi-sport event on PRC soil for the first time. The three terrestrial\nTV stations decided to broadcast the opening ceremony in its entirety. On\nthe other hand, they were also prepared for potential reunification talk from\nthe then-General Secretary of the CPC Jiang Zemin. If that had happened,\nthey would have inserted commercials immediately to avoid the\npredicament. They would also have dialed down the volume of the PRC\nanthem or asked the anchors to “speak louder” to suppress the anthem if it\nwas played during their broadcast. However, they would not avoid the PRC\nflag on purpose (Wang, 1990).\nIt appeared that not only the Taiwan/ROC state apparatus but also the\npeople of Taiwan had started to accept the reality and adapt to the existence\nof China/PRC. Sport was among the first terrains on which settlement was\nreached. This also implied that Taiwan/ROC was for now becoming an\nacceptable political entity and Chinese Taipei was also becoming an\nunwelcome but acceptable name.\nThe rising of Taiwan consciousness: 2000 onwards\nAccording to Chiang (2015), the main goal of the ROC’s sport nationalism\nwas to overturn the stigma of “the sick man of Asia” before 1949.\n“Westerners” were the main “other” in the narratives of this kind of\nnationalism. During this era, the image of the Chinese, or Chung Hua,\ncovered both mainland and Taiwan. After 1949, for the KMT government\nthe main confrontation in sport nationalism was between the ROC and the\nPRC. However, there was another emerging clash of nationalisms between\n“Taiwanese nationalism” and “ROC nationalism” inside Taiwan’s civil\n\n\nsociety. With its distinct history vis-à-vis that of the Chinese mainland, the\nnarrative of being genuinely Chinese that was promulgated in Taiwan\nstarted off on shaky ground after the Second World War, especially after 50\nyears of Japanese colonization. The identities of the earlier migrants from\nthe mainland swung between two motherlands, that is, China and Japan. On\none hand, they were ethnically Han Chinese and shared common blood with\nmainlanders. On the other hand, after decades of separation and different\nmotherlands for the two groups of people, unification would now be a\ndifficult task, not least because people in Taiwan had been mistreated by the\nKMT government after it took control. The consciousness of Taiwan as an\nindependent entity from mainland China started to emerge. Even though\noccasional subversive actions were suppressed under Martial Law,\nTaiwanese consciousness was now passed on to the next generations.\nIn Taiwan, 1949 was the year of differentiation amongst the Han\npopulation. Those who immigrated before 1949 and their offspring are\ncalled “ben‐shen‐jen” () or native inhabitants. Most of this group fall\ninto the category of economic immigrants. Those who immigrated in 1949,\nwith the retreat of the KMT, and their offspring are called “wai‐shen‐jen” (  ) or people from outside the province. The latter group can be\ncategorized as political immigrants who were mostly military or\ngovernment employees. The difference between the two groups and the\npoor judgment shown by the KMT when it took over Taiwan after the\nSecond World War eventually led to the 228 Incident, in which tens of\nthousands of people were killed. The 228 Incident is mostly remembered\nsimply as the slaughter of the ben-sheng-jen by the wai-sheng-jen.\nHumiliation and sadness overwhelmingly outweigh any sense of glory or\njoy in the narratives of the ben-sheng-jen. Just as Ernest Renan argues\n(1990[1882], p. 19), “humiliation unifies more than joy does. When\nnational memories are concerned, griefs are of more value than triumphs,\nfor they impose duties, and require a common effort.” This kind of grief,\nwhich began with Japanese colonization, was taken over by the ROC and\nthe KMT, and, by then being bullied by the PRC in international arenas,\nmarks a distinct Taiwan identity.\nFor the pro‐independence camp, Taiwan is an “emerging nation.” People\nin Taiwan must bring to an end the KMT‐driven, China‐centered ideology.\nFor this camp, Taiwan has been a nation for over 400 years, when their\nancestors emigrated from southeast China. Since 1949, Taiwan has been\n\n\n“occupied” by the displaced and exiled regime of the KMT, a symbol of\nresidual Chinese political control. The full name of the KMT in Chinese is\n (Chung‐kuo‐kuo‐min‐tang, or “Chinese” Nationalist Party), which\nunderlines its character as an alien political power.\nIn 2000, Chen Shu-bian of the pro-independence Democratic\nProgressive Party was elected as the first non-KMT president and became\nknown as “Son of Taiwan.” Under his presidency, Taiwanese independence\nacquired a clearer image and a more resounding claim. During his term in\noffice from 2000 to 2008, Chen Shui‐bian tried hard to de‐Sinify the nation,\nby replacing the name of China with Taiwan for various state‐run\nenterprises and promoting the teaching in elementary schools of Hokkien,\nor Bân‐lâm‐gú, a dialect shared by ben-shen-jen but prohibited by the KMT\ngovernment during their period of totalitarian rule. In the growing shadow\nof China/PRC, the urge to ascertain “who we are” and “what Taiwan is”\ncreated unprecedented mental anxiety for many Taiwanese, as frequently\nreflected in media coverage (Chiang et al., 2015).\nBetween “Taiwanese nationalism” and “ROC nationalism” there existed\ndifferent imaginaries in the naming of national sport teams. However,\namong the various elements of everyday life, sport has proven to be one of\nthe slowest to adjust, at least nominally. On most occasions, fans still chant\n“Chung Hua Tui Chia Yu” (Go! Team Chung Hua5). Chanting “Taiwan\nChia Yu” (Go! Taiwan!) can be regarded as a political statement rather than\na neutral expression of support. Furthermore, some radical independence\nactivists regarded the chant “Chung Hua Tui Chia Yu” as a sign of self-\ncolonization and the success of brainwashing by the KMT (Wang, 2017).\nDuring the Asian Baseball Championship in 2003, an overseas\nTaiwanese Chien-liang Lin (2003) based in Japan published a piece in the\nLiberty Times calling for rectifying the name to Taiwan instead of Chinese\nTaipei. That marked the beginning of the name rectification movement in\nTaiwanese sport. A series of political moves in June 2003 included adding\nTaiwan in parentheses after the Republic of China on passport covers and\non the websites of government departments.\nIn 2004, Taiwan Television (TTV) started to refer to “Team Taiwan”\ninstead of “Team Chung Hua.” Yu Cheng, then general manager of the\ncompany, told the media that “it’s time to refer to our national team as Team\nTaiwan,” “we live in Taiwan, it’s quite normal to identify us as Taiwanese,”\n“to call our national team ‘Team Chung Hua’ was wrong” (Chiang, 2015, p.\n\n\n42). Following the Athens Olympics and ever since, as a political statement,\nthe independence-leaning Liberty Times replaced Team Chung Hua with\nTeam Taiwan in all reports on its sport pages.\nTaiwanese nationalism was raised to a new height with President Chen\nShui-bian’s pro-independence stance. It was further fueled by successful\nresults by Taiwanese athletes during this period. Taiwanization was the\nspirit of the time for PE/sport. Shih-hsin Chen and Mu-yen Chu, both\nTaekwondo athletes, won the first two Olympic gold medals in\nTaiwan/ROC history. “Pride of Taiwan” (Huang, 2004), “slugger of\nTaiwan” (Lei, 2004) and “glory of Taiwan” (Hsu and Yao, 2004) were all\nterms used to describe these athletes. Chen and Chu were both awarded The\nFifth Ranked Order of the Brilliant Star and became the first athletes to get\nthe honor in the history of Taiwan/ROC.\nChen Shui-bian seized this opportunity and further stressed his pro-\nindependence stance by saying, “We climbed to the top of the international\nstage today. We shall break through all the obstacles to make the world\nrecognize Taiwan as a country” (Chen, 2004). In addition to the Olympics,\nChien-ming Wang, a Taiwanese pitcher for the New York Yankees at that\ntime, also became a national hero. In 2006, on Double Ten Day, Taiwan’s\nnational day, Chen Shui-bian brandished an autographed baseball and a\nphoto of Wang at the end of his speech while pleading to the nation to unite\nunder his leadership and make Taiwan better, “just as Wang has\naccomplished in the US” (Chen, 2012). With the support of the political\nleadership and inspiring results in sport, Taiwanese nationalism gained\nmomentum.\nAccording to the “Changes in the Taiwanese/Chinese Identity of\nTaiwanese as Tracked in Surveys” conducted by the Election Study Center\nof National Chengchi University (2020), there has been an obvious trend in\nthe past two decades. In 1992, 46.4 per cent of the people who resided on\nthe island believed they were both Taiwanese and Chinese and only 17.6\nper cent of them identified themselves as solely Taiwanese. Meanwhile,\n25.5 per cent of people identified themselves as solely Chinese. However,\nthe percentage of people who identify as Chinese has declined steadily ever\nsince. By contrast, more and more people have identified themselves as\nsolely Taiwanese.\nAlthough de jure political independence with full sovereignty recognized\nby the UN and international societies was still an impossible dream,\n\n\nTaiwanese consciousness took root in everyday life through sport, amongst\nother things. Although this sentiment was unspeakable to international\nsociety, it resonated among the people living on this island. It is naming that\nstill haunts the people in Taiwan, a fluctuating imagined community\nwithout an agreed name.\nThe march from ROC nationalism towards Taiwan nationalism slowed\ndown as the pro-independence Chen became mired in a series of corruption\nand embezzlement scandals in his second and final term of his presidency.\nThis resulted in Ma Ying-jeou of the KMT winning the following\npresidential election in 2008 and, under Ma’s leadership, Taiwan entered\ninto its most PRC-leaning relationship. Many of Chen’s de-Sinification\npolicies were rescinded.\nMeanwhile, China/PRC was becoming a highly visible emerging global\npower. These changes on the two sides of the Taiwan Strait coincided to\nmake this a crucial phase in the transformation of national identities in\nTaiwan (Chiang et al., 2015). The pendulum continued to swing between\nTaiwanese nationalism and ROC nationalism. For example, there were two\nvery different interpretations of the Beijing Olympics in different media.\nOne considered the event as a “shared glory of all Chinese” and the other\ncommented on it as the rise of evil, even comparing it to the 1936 Berlin\nGames (Chiang, 2015). However, at the very same Olympics, Taiwan’s\nbaseball team lost to the PRC for the first time ever in an international\ntournament, a loss that was described as a day of national infamy by\nTaiwanese fans and mass media.\nThe struggle over whether to chant “Go Taiwan!” or “Go Team Chung\nhua!” continues to be a puzzle for Taiwanese fans. A younger generation of\nfootball fans has seized the opportunity to establish its Taiwanese identity\nby chanting “Go Taiwan!” or “Formosa Ale!” (Chen, 2017). A banner\nraised by these avid fans saying “All Hail Formosa” was later deemed\n“political” by the Asian Football Confederation in 2017. The Chinese\nTaipei Football Association was thus fined $4000 for the violation (Lin,\n2017). On the other hand, “Go Team Chung-hua!” chants are still the more\ncommon in other sports arenas. The pendulum of identity for people in\nTaiwan continues to swing.\n\n\nConcluding thoughts: we don’t want to be Chinese\nTaipei but we cannot be Taiwan … yet\nAfter 24 peaceful years of Chinese Taipei being the moniker of\nTaiwan/ROC in the Olympics, the tranquility was stirred in 2018. Activists\nheaded by some scholars and Chi Cheng, an Olympic medalist in the 80 m\nhurdles at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics, who used to be described by the\nKMT government as “the most patriotic athlete,” launched the name\nrectification referendum campaign in Taiwan. The proposed referendum\nasked: “Do you agree that “Taiwan” be used as the [nation’s] full name\nwhen applying for participation in international athletic competitions and\nthe 2020 Tokyo Olympics?” (Huang, 2017).\nWith the momentum going Taiwanese nationalism’s way, the referendum\nwas contradictorily voted down by a roughly 45 to 55 per cent margin. The\nactions behind this referendum were very complex and deserve another\npiece of work to examine thoroughly. To be concise, however, athletes’\ncareers were on the line as the passing of the referendum might have\njeopardized their international careers. They feared that the IOC might\nexpel Taiwan/ROC after the application of rectification was submitted. As it\ncould have been seen as a breach of the Olympic Formula, especially under\npressure from China/PRC. Even President of the Chinese Taipei Olympic\nCommittee Hong-dow Lin spoke out publicly against the referendum by\nclaiming it was against IOC rules (Formosa News, 2018). Therefore, many\nactive athletes were very vocally opposed to the referendum and their\nappeal resonated with Taiwanese citizens, as the result showed. However,\nthis should not be regarded as a commentary on name rectification itself.\nInstead, fear of China/PRC and the eligibility to participate at all in\ninternational sporting events influenced many voters (Chu, 2018).\nAfter reviewing four stages of sport nationalism and Taiwan/ROC, it is\nobvious that PE/sport has been an integral part of the nation’s identity.\nStruggles over the name of the delegation in the Olympics have reflected\ninternational political reality and the self-reflexivity of the people of\nTaiwan/ROC throughout its 108-year history.\nHowever, it is worth noting that even with the emergence and maturing\nof Taiwanese nationalism, this does not mean an undisputed narrative of\nTaiwanese nationalism has come to completion. Due to the complicated\nben-shen-jen versus wai-shen-jen rivalry and conflicts, a struggle between\n\n\n1\n2\n3\n4\n5\nROC nationalism and Taiwanese nationalism persistently haunts the people\nof Taiwan. With China/PRC gaining control over the narratives of a pan-\nChinese nation in international society, anxiety leading to an awakened\nsubjectivity of Taiwan/ROC has become a response against the trend.\nAt the time, because being a glory of Taiwan is still the highest goal for\nmost Taiwanese athletes, PE/sport also continues to serve the state on the\nway to this goal. Although which name can represent the people of Taiwan\nis still an unsettled domestic controversy, the substantial existence of\nTaiwan/ROC could still be seen by the world with the efforts of these\nathletes, even under such an awkward moniker as Chinese Taipei. That is\nthe puzzling reality of Taiwan/ROC.\nNotes\nSource: www.ndl.go.jp/constitution/e/shiryo/01/002_46/002_46tx.html.\nThis article adopts the Western convention of name order, namely, a given name followed by a\nfamily name, except for prominent political and sport figures such as Chiang Kai-shek, Chen Yi,\nChi Cheng, who were known mostly in reverse order.\nIn June 2019, the IAAF approved a rebranding of the organization to World Athletics.\nA former professional tennis player who defected from the People’s Republic of China to the\nUnited States in 1982.\nChung Hua is a term used to describe Chinese but in a more cultural and literary sense.\nReferences\nBrown, M.J. (2004) Is Taiwan Chinese? The Impact of Culture, Power, and Migration on Changing\nIdentities. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.\nChang, Chi-hsiung (2010) “De jure” vs. “de facto” discourse: Battle over ROC membership with\nIOC (1960–1964). Taiwan Historical Research, 17(2), pp. 85–129.\nChen, Min-feng (2004, Sep. 7) Bian: Wish Taiwan to get 7 golds in next Olympics. United Daily, p.\nA2.\nChen, Tzu-hsuan (2012) From the “Taiwan Yankees” to the New York Yankees: The glocal narratives\nof baseball. Sociology of Sport Journal, 29(4), pp. 546–558.\nChen, Tzu-hsuan (2017) Taiwan-Hong Kong United: A socio-historical analysis on the alliance of\nTaiwan and Hong Kong football. Asia Pacific Journal of Sport and Social Science, 6(3), pp. 216–\n230.\nCheung, H. (2015, Aug. 30) An Olympic summer to remember. Taipei Times. Retrieved from:\nwww.taipeitimes.com/News/feat/archives/2015/08/30/2003626509.\nChiang, Y. (2015) The other of inheritances: The collective anxiety of sport and nationalism in\nTaiwan society. Taiwan: A Radical Quarterly, 100, pp. 3–52 (in Chinese).\nChiang, Y., Bairner, A., Hwang, D.-J. and Chen, T.-H. (2015) Multiple margins: Sport, gender and\nnationalism in Taiwan. Asia Pacific Journal of Sport and Social Science, 4(1), pp. 19–33.\n\n\nChou, Yi (2016) As Time Goes By: Yi Chou’s Memoir across Strait, vol. 2. Taipei: China Times\nPublishing.\nChu, Meng-hsiang (2018, Nov. 28) The failure of the referendum should not be taken as Taiwanese\nlike being Chinese. Taiwan People News. Retrieved from: www.peoplenews.tw/news/2b130aa4-\nb48a-45a1-9a23-f6de018f516d.\nChu, Yun-peng (1984, Aug. 5) Why not just seeing the Olympics like beauty pageant? Ming-sheng\nDaily, p. 3.\nElection Study Center of National Chengchi University (2020) Taiwanese/Chinese identity\n(1992/06~2019/12). Retrieved from: https://esc.nccu.edu.tw/app/news.php?Sn=166#.\nFormosa News (2018, Nov. 6) Olympic name change referendum “does not violate IOC charter.”\nFormosa \nNews. \nRetrieved \nfrom: \nhttps://englishnews.ftv.com.tw/read.aspx?\nsno=CE99B8359B6AF71A2B69A3EC8348EDC9.\nHsu, Ming-li and Yao, Chieh-hsiu (2004, Sep. 3) Heroes homecoming: Crowd swarming airport to\ngreet glory of Taiwan. Liberty Times, p. 17.\nHuang, Li-hua (2004, Aug. 27) Pride of Taiwan. United Evening News, p. 3.\nHuang, Tai-lin (2017, July 9). Push for Olympic name change not political. Taipei Times. Retrieved\nfrom: www.taipeitimes.com/News/taiwan/print/2018/07/09/2003696377.\nHwang, Dong-Jhy (2015) Assessing the sociology of sport: On ethnicity and nationalism in\nTaiwanese baseball. International Review for the Sociology of Sport, 50(4–5), pp. 483–489.\nKao, Huei-yu, Wong, Tai-Sheng and Yang, Hsien-hung (1984, Aug. 17) Face the impact of the\nOlympics. The United Daily, p. 3.\nLauterpacht, E. and Greenwood, C.J. (1987) International Law Report, vol. 74. Cambridge:\nCambridge University Press.\nLee, Ping-chao, Tan, Tien-chin and Lin, Chien-yu (2011) The development of Olympic movement:\nThe controversial issues of “two Chinas” and “Chinese Taipei.” International Journal of Sport\nand Exercise Science, 11, pp. 1–11.\nLei, Kuang-han (2004, Aug. 27) Shih-hsin Chen’s kick, Taiwan’s slugger. United Evening News, p. 3.\nLin, Chien-liang (2003, Nov. 7) Representing Taiwan, why not call Team Taiwan? Liberty Times, p.\n19.\nLin, Tsung-wei (2017, March 27) Formosa banner disallowed? FA: Followed the rule. Liberty Times.\nRetrieved from https://sports.ltn.com.tw/news/breakingnews/2018127.\nLu, Zhouxiang and Fan, Hong (2014) Sport and Nationalism in China. New York: Routledge.\nMorris, Andrew (2010) Colonial Project, National Game: A History of Baseball in Taiwan. Berkeley,\nCA: University of California Press.\nRenan, Ernest ([1882] 1990) What is a nation? In: Homi Bhabha (ed.) Nation and Narration.\nLondon: Routledge, pp. 8–22.\nSports Affairs Council (2011a) The Anthology on Sport for the Centennial of the Republic of China:\nThe Olympics. Taipei: Sports Affairs Council of Executive Yuan.\nSports Affairs Council (2011b) The Anthology on Sport for the Centennial of the Republic of China:\nAn Intellectual History of PE/Sport. Taipei: Sports Affairs Council of Executive Yuan.\nTV Weekly (1964) Welcome ironman CK Yang. TV Weekly, 108, p. 32.\nUnited Daily (1984, Aug. 5) Ta Lu Hsuan Shuo. United Daily, p. 5.\nWang, Chia-yi (2017, Aug. 24) Fans chanting Chung Hua Tui Chia Yu, Tsai: Brainwashed to be\nslaves \nwithout \nknowing \nit. \nChina \nTimes. \nRetrieved \nfrom\nwww.chinatimes.com/realtimenews/20170824004819-260407?chdtv.\nWang, Chieh-chung (1990, Sep. 15) Three terrestrial channels will “filter” sensitive images in the\nAsian Games. Ming-sheng Daily, p. 10.\n\n\nChapter 14\nThe Montreal hockey nation\nEthnic and/or civic attachments?\nJack Jedwab\nIntroduction\nNational sports teams are widely believed to provide opportunities for\nCanadians for positive interaction that transcend language and cultural\ndifferences whether it is amongst sports players or fans. Across the country,\nice hockey is the sport that has traditionally been offering the most\nopportunities for bridging historic language and cultural divides. The 2006\ntelevised series viewed on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation –\nHockey: A People’s History – is described as\nchronicling the story of a game and the soul of a nation. Born as a\ngame of survival against the snow and ice of a Canadian winter,\nhockey gave a new country its first heroes and champions … hockey is\nwhere Canada’s cultures collide and rivalries divide. It’s also a game\nthat unites us like nothing else can.\n(McKinley, 2006)\nSince the 1960s, Canada has seen its fair share of language and cultural\ndisputes that have often been framed as conflicts between the majority\nFrench language province of Quebec and the rest of Canada or English\nCanada. Referendums were held in 1980 and 1995 in Quebec over whether\n\n\nthe province would remain part of the Canadian federation. In the 1995\nreferendum, advocates of Quebec sovereignty were narrowly defeated and a\nleader of the independence movement blamed the loss on the province’s\nminority ethnic voters (the non-francophones). The aftermath of the\nreferendum called for important efforts at reconciling language and cultural\ndifferences between Quebec French-speakers/francophones and English-\nspeakers/anglophones in Quebec and the broader Canadian population. In\n2019 the majority of Canada’s 37 million people were English-speaking,\nwith French as the first language for over one in five Canadians. Most\nFrench speakers reside in the province of Quebec where they constitute\nsome 80 percent of around eight million people. Language conflicts have\nbeen a defining characteristic across much of Quebec and the rest of the\ncountry’s history.\nIn Canada ice hockey can unify persons of diverse backgrounds, but it\ncan also reproduce the language and cultural conflicts that take place\noutside the arena. Tony Patoine (2015) wonders whether hockey can be\nused to support nation-building in Quebec as much as it has elsewhere in\nCanada? Could the sport be an ingredient in driving Quebec nationalist\nsentiment and supporting the goal of Quebec independence? Or does it\nindeed, as some observers insist, counteract strong nationalist sentiment and\nthicken attachment to Canada by creating opportunities for positive\ninteraction between the country’s anglophone and francophone players and\nfans? It is contended here that the answer to these questions depend upon\nthe nature and degree of identification by Quebecers with francophone\nhockey players as well as their particular connection with the province’s\nstoried team, the Montreal Canadiens. Over the course of their history, the\nMontreal Canadiens have successfully embodied varying degrees of ethnic\nand civic pride amongst their followers and that relationship will be\nexamined below.\nThe Montreal Canadiens and French Canadian\nnationalism\nFor much of the twentieth century, French Canadians viewed the Montreal\nCanadiens as the on-ice embodiment of the province’s French identity.\nFounded in 1909 the team was often referred to as the “Habs” short form\nfor “les habitants,” a term given in the seventeenth century to the original\n\n\nsettlers of “New France.” In the 1940s, the Montreal Canadiens were\nnicknamed “The Flying Frenchmen.” According to Patoine (2015) “from its\ninception, the Club Canadien or Club de Hockey Canadien (from which the\nfamous CH is derived) has represented the Canadians of that era, namely\nnot Canadian citizens of all origins, but exclusively the descendants of\nFrench settlers” (p. 11). Led by French Canadian hockey stars – Georges\nVezina, Butch Bouchard, Maurice Richard, Jean Beliveau, Guy Lafleur and\nPatrick Roy, to name only a few – the Montreal Canadiens fueled French\nCanadian pride, winning some 24 championships over the course of the\ntwentieth century, thus making them the most successful franchise in all\nmajor league sports (a dynasty rivaled only by that of the New York\nYankees).\nOn several occasions during the last century, the Montreal Canadiens\ngave French Canadians an opportunity to express their strong ethnic pride\nin an era where they felt dominated by an Anglo Canadian elite. Perhaps the\nmost important affirmation of such pride came in March 1955, as cultural\ntensions reached a height when Montreal Canadiens star player Maurice\n“the Rocket” Richard punched a linesman during a game against the Boston\nBruins. Then President of the National Hockey League (NHL), Clarence\nCampbell – seen by many as a symbol of the Anglo elite – suspended\nRichard from the NHL playoffs, which sparked rioting in Montreal amongst\nFrench Canadian fans. Richard ultimately emerged as a symbol in the\nstruggle for equality between French and English Canadians.\nThe feeling of pride elicited by Richard and other French Canadian\nhockey players of that era is nicely articulated by prominent Canadian\nwriter Roch Carrier in his iconic short story entitled ‘The Hockey Sweater.’\nRecalling the winter of 1946, Carrier (1979) wrote:\nWe all wore the same uniform as Maurice Richard, the red, white, and\nblue uniform of the Montréal Canadiens, the best hockey team in the\nworld. We all combed our hair like Maurice Richard, and, to keep it in\nplace we used a kind of glue – a great deal of glue. We laced our skates\nlike Maurice Richard, we taped our sticks like Maurice Richard. We\ncut his pictures out of all the newspapers. Truly, we knew everything\nthere was to know about him.\n(p. 1)\n\n\nAs Carrier (1979) continued to explain:\nMaurice was a simple man, a man like anybody else, tough, not terribly\nwell educated, somebody who was not blowing his own horn. He had\nchildren so he was a family man, very simple; he was a French\nCanadian like all of us. And he was tough. And he would never fear\nanybody, so we were very sensitive to that. And he became the best\nhockey player, so that was something. And he was one of us.\n(p. 1)\nIn the 1952 Quebec provincial election, the underpaid and thus aggrieved\nRocket Richard ended up campaigning for Quebec’s National Union party\nled by the ideologically Conservative Premier Maurice Duplessis (Gillis\n2011). Richard was persuaded that the agrarian and clerical-oriented\nQuebec government strongly defended French Canadians and kept the\nprovince strong inside Canada. For his part, Duplessis in turn never missed\nan opportunity to get his photo taken with Maurice Richard.\nFrom French Canadian to Quebec nationalism\nFor some observers, the Richard riots served as a kind of precursor to the\nbattles that emerged in the political arena in the early 1960s. At that time\nQuebec politicians and intellectuals departed from the conservative\nnationalism of the pre-1960s Duplessis era to a more liberal and secular\nexpression of nationalism. The unifying element of the burgeoning\nnationalism that began in the 1960s was the French language, which\nbecame central in the evolution of a Quebec-centered identity. French\nCanadian, a term rooted in common ancestry, religion, and language,\ngradually gave way to the term Québécois. Thus the ‘Canadian’ would be\nput aside and Québécois aimed at making territory and language the basis\nfor such identification. That expression of Quebec nationalism has\nencountered persistent challenges in incorporating those persons living in\nQuebec whose first language is not French. Over the decades, the attempt to\ncreate an inclusive notion to make all Quebecers feel like they are\nQuébécois has met with mixed success.\nIn the early 1960s several political parties and movements emerged in\nQuebec that advocated the separation of Quebec from the rest of Canada.\n\n\nTo this day, advocates of Quebec independence – often referred to as\nsovereignists – insist that the language and cultural divide is so profound\nbetween Québécois (referring to the 80 percent of the province of Quebec\nthat is francophone) and Canadians (referring to persons living outside of\nQuebec) that separation was necessary and inevitable. They maintain that\nQuebec was not being treated fairly within Canada and that English\nCanadians did not meaningfully acknowledge Quebec’s language and\ncultural difference (although many anglophone Quebecers consider\nthemselves to be English Canadians). Proponents of Canadian unity –\nusually called federalists – point to important shared interests between\nCanadians across language and cultural origins and talk about more than a\ncentury of shared history while acknowledging that it has been difficult at\ntimes.\nThe appeal to sports to further political ends has not been easy for either\nCanadian federalists or Quebec sovereignists. Both camps have treaded\ncarefully as they generally understand the political risks associated with\nusing the Montreal Canadiens hockey team for such purposes. After his\nretirement, Maurice Richard was careful to keep his distance from politics,\nas have other well-known players with the Montreal Canadiens. Indeed it\nwas always with some reticence that Richard allowed himself to become an\nicon for Quebec nationalists as he frequently reminded the fans that he was\n“just a hockey player” (Ha 2000, para. 6).\nGiven the divisions amongst the Quebec population around support for\nindependence and in particular in Montreal, which includes many non-\nFrench Quebecers (who are very strongly opposed to Quebec\nindependence), there would be a high risk of political backlash in the event\nthat sovereignists or federalists would use the Montreal Canadiens players\nor brand to pursue their goals. But perhaps the bigger challenge in making\nany such political recourse is the diminishing capacity of political leaders to\nassociate Richard and/or other French Canadian/Québécois players with the\nMontreal Canadiens.\nBy the end of the 1960s, a continental and global expansion of\nprofessional hockey eventually resulted in transforming the Montreal\nCanadiens into a more ethnically diverse team of players – in other words,\nthey became less French in their team’s composition. In his insightful essay\n‘Whose Sweater Is This?,’ Jean Harvey (2006) asserts that while hockey\nhas historically served to represent and give voice to French Canadian\n\n\nidentities, it was largely based on the ability of the Montreal Canadiens to\nrecruit the best French Canadian talent, thus enabling a relatively authentic\nrepresentation of French Canadian national identity. He notes that in the\nteam’s glory years they had a virtual monopoly on good French Canadian\nplayers (though he mentions that the Montreal Canadiens have always had\nan important minority of non-French players). But those recruitment efforts\nwere the result of an agreement with the NHL that gave the Montreal\nCanadiens the choice of picking two homegrown players before any other\nteam could draft them.\nIf for so many years the Canadiens could build winning hockey clubs, it\nwas in large part due to this special circumstance. Securing the finest\nhomegrown talent without having to compete with the other NHL teams\nenabled the Montreal Canadiens to recruit a Maurice Richard and other\nfuture French Canadian hockey icons. It was a key ingredient in making the\nMontreal Canadiens the Quebec team that was referred to as ‘les glorieux’\n(the glorious ones). But with the expansion of the NHL to other North\nAmerican cities in 1967, the deal that had so benefitted the Montreal\nCanadiens was revisited by the league brass and two years later the\npreferential treatment was abandoned.\nThe Montreal Canadiens continued to reap the benefits from their\npremier selections of Quebec-born players well into the 1970s and added\nsome talent from the rest of Canada and the United States where interest in\nhockey was rising and many bright young stars dreamed of playing in\nMontreal. As one devoted fan of the Montreal Canadiens put it: “The\nCanadiens in the seventies were beautiful players … their playmaking, their\nskating, and their passing was just stunning. As a kid growing up, we were\nspoiled. We just assumed that Montreal would win the [Stanley] Cup every\nyear” (Gibbs 2019, para. 5).\nAs a harbinger of things to come, the first overall selection in the NHL\ndraft in 1970 was French Quebec’s Gilbert Perrault who was going to be\nplaying for the new franchise in Buffalo, New York. Without the advantage,\nthe diversification of the players on the Montreal Canadiens roster was\ninevitable if they chose to stay competitive. Also the NHL hockey clubs\noutside of Quebec were increasingly able to select the province’s star\nfrancophone players. By consequence, those hockey fans in Quebec that\nwanted to follow some of their preferred homegrown talent would\n\n\nincreasingly have to do so at newly added ice hockey franchises in an\nincreasing number of cities to the south of Canada’s border.\nYet another obstacle to linking French Canadian/Québécois hockey\nplayers with Quebec national pride was the globalization of hockey. To stay\ncompetitive, professional hockey team owners dreamed of bringing star\nplayers from Europe to North America. Amateur hockey talent had been on\ndisplay for many years at the Winter Olympic Games and there was a\nbrewing dispute over world ice hockey superiority between the Soviet\nUnion and Canada, both believing that their players were the best in the\ngame.\nThe penultimate ice hockey showdown between Canada and the Soviet\nUnion took place in 1972. To beat the Soviets required a Canadian squad\nwith the best French, English and other Canadian players joining forces.\nSuch diverse Canadian teams would also be needed in the years ahead to\ncompete against other emerging international rivals.\nCanada narrowly won what has been hailed as the 1972 summit or\ncentury series with the winning goal in the final game scored by Ontario-\nborn Paul Henderson with the help of fellow Ontarian Phil Esposito and\nQuebec-born Yvan Cournoyer. As one Canadian politician observed: “That\nis the kind of co-operation we need in this country: An English Canadian, a\nFrench Canadian and an Italian Canadian working together to help us win a\nhockey series” (House of Commons 1994, sect. 3604).\nAfter the 1972 century series, then Canadian Prime Minister Pierre\nElliott Trudeau said that this series had done more for Canadian nationalism\nthan any politician’s speech. Despite Trudeau’s observation, over the course\nof the 1970s, Quebec’s support for separation continued to increase and in\n1976 the political party that advocated independence formed the\ngovernment of the province as it won the majority of seats in the legislature.\nOver the course of the decade, the Montreal Canadiens remained the NHL’s\ndominant winning championships in 1971 and 1973, before assembling one\nof the most talented rosters in NHL history and winning four consecutive\nchampionships. In 1976 the Montreal Canadiens won their nineteenth\nchampionship (the first of what became four consecutive championships).\nOn the night of the 1976 Parti Québécois victory, the Montreal Forum\n(then the home arena of the Montreal Canadiens) was very silent. As the\nelection results came in on the overhead scoreboard reporting the victory of\nthe Parti Québécois, thousands stood up and cheered while others were\n\n\nnervously silent. In his book The Game, then Montreal Canadiens\ngoaltender Ken Dryden (2005[1983]) wrote:\nAt that moment, people who had sat together for many years in the\ntight community of season-ticket holders learned something about each\nother that they had not known before. The last few minutes of the game\nwere very difficult. The mood in the Forum had changed … on that\nnight, the Forum became a little more like the world outside.\n(p. 25)\nMontreal Canadiens versus Toronto Maple Leafs:\ncultural or civic conflict?\nWith the relative unpopularity of ethnic nationalism in Western\ndemocracies, Quebec politicians and intellectuals have insisted that they\npractice an inclusive form of civic nationalism. Over much of the twentieth\ncentury some 20 percent of the Quebec population was not French. This\ngroup resides largely in Montreal and has often displayed a similar\nconnection to the Montreal Canadiens as their French Quebec counterparts.\nThe shared historic tie with the Montreal Canadiens between francophones\nand anglophones suggests that while the former exhibited ethnic pride\ndirected at the team’s French players, there was also a shared civic\nattachment that all Montrealers manifested towards the Habs which\ntranscended language differences. This civic pride in the Montreal\nCanadiens is often neglected in the literature that examines Quebecers’\nattachment to the team.\nThat attachment has long been given expression via the historic rivalry\nbetween the Montreal Canadiens and the city of Toronto’s hockey team the\nMaple Leafs. It was a microcosm for the broader competition between\nCanada’s two biggest cities for the status as the country’s dominant\nmetropolis. As Daniel Ross (2015) points out: “Google ‘Toronto vs.\nMontréal’ and 90 percent of the results you’ll get are about hockey. The\ncentury old rivalry between fans of the Canadiens (Habs) and the Maple\nLeafs is one of the longest and most heated in Canadian sports history”\n(para. 5).\nOver the last half of the twentieth century, while Montreal handily won\nthe on-ice competition with Toronto, off the ice Toronto increasingly\n\n\ndistanced itself from Montreal as the country’s economic epicenter. There\nwas certainly an English–French cultural dimension to the rivalry between\nthe majority English language city of Toronto and the predominantly French\nlanguage city of Montreal. But when it comes to hockey, English\nMontrealers clearly prefer the Montreal Canadiens over Toronto’s team\ndespite sharing the same language with most Torontonians.\nWhen surveyed in June 2019, some 37 percent of Montreal’s English\npopulation regarded the Montreal Canadiens as a very important marker of\nidentity compared with 17 percent of English Montrealers that believe the\nToronto Maple Leafs hockey team is a very important marker of identity\n(Leger Marketing 2019). Olivier Bauer told the Canadian Press (2009) that\nhe believes the Montreal Canadiens have played a role as a unifier and\nsocial bond between all Montrealers. This view is supported by results from\nthe June 2019 survey of Canadians which reveals that six in ten French and\nEnglish Canadians regard the Montreal Canadiens hockey team as an\nimportant marker of the country’s identity (Leger Marketing 2019).\nThe City of Montreal has frequently been at the center of Quebec\nlanguage tensions. In 1977 the government of Quebec adopted the Charter\nof the French Language (Bill 101) which called for exterior commercial\nsigns to be in French only (the legislation was amended in 1993 to allow\nEnglish on exterior commercial signs as long as the French is visibly\npredominant). But since the 1960s those languages rarely carried over to the\nMontreal Forum (where the team played until 1996) or at the Bell Centre\n(where they have since played). The Montreal Canadiens have pretty much\nbeen insulated from the language tensions that take place outside of the\narena. As some observers point out, Montreal fans cheered in both English\nand French, the hockey games often began with fans singing in French,\n“Les Canadiens sont la” (the Canadiens are here), and defeated visiting\nteams were taunted in English with the 1960s tune, “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss\nHim Goodbye.” In the twenty-first century, the fans not only cheer in both\nEnglish and French but they have added the Spanish cheer “Ole-ole-ole”\nfollowing a goal scored by the home team. As an English Montreal fan\npointed out “if you grew up in Montreal, you had these deep, deep feelings\nfor this team and for its history … a real sense of pride and believing in\nsomething” (Gibbs 2019, para. 7).\nFrom 1924 to 1996, the Montreal Forum was the arena where the iconic\nMontreal Canadiens secured the vast majority of their twentieth century\n\n\nchampionships. On March 11, 1996, the Montreal Canadiens played their\nfirst game in the new and larger Molson Centre (now the Bell Centre). Prior\nto the opening face-off, there was a ceremony where three former\nCanadiens team captains – Emile Bouchard, Maurice Richard, and Jean\nBéliveau – passed a torch to the Molson Centre’s first team captain Pierre\nTurgeon. But the successes enjoyed in the Montreal Forum have not\nfollowed the team into the Molson Centre.\nMontreal versus Quebec City: dividing loyalties on ice?\nIn 1979 the Montreal Canadiens monopoly over the hearts of French\nCanadian hockey fans was put to the test when a new Quebec-based team\njoined the National Hockey League (the team was first established in 1972\nas part of what was called the World Hockey League – competitor to the\nNHL). With the creation of the Quebec Nordiques, suddenly a competition\nemerged with the Montreal Canadiens for the attention, interest, and more\nimportantly the commercial market of Quebec’s francophone hockey fans.\nIndeed, the initial goal of the Nordiques was to model themselves after the\n1970s version of the Montreal Canadiens and they thus enlisted mostly\nfrancophone players from the minor leagues in order to fit in better with the\nFrench culture of Quebec City – the province’s capital. As Montreal hockey\nicon Jean Beliveau explained in his book My Life in Hockey, up to that\npoint, the province of Quebec was “exclusive Montreal Canadiens territory”\n(THW Archives 2020, para. 11).\nAn underlying commercial rivalry was perhaps as important as the\neventual contest that emerged between the two Quebec-based hockey\nteams. The Montreal Canadiens were owned by Molson breweries and the\nNordiques majority shareholders were their competition at the O’Keefe\nBrewing Company. It was the support of O’Keefe that helped Quebec\nCity’s initial bid for entry into the NHL. But the Montreal Canadiens\nownership was clearly unhappy about the prospect that a rival company\nwould cut into some of their beer-drinking hockey fan base and used a veto\nto block the Nordiques’ first attempt to join the NHL. That move created a\ncostly backlash and ensuing negative sentiment towards Montreal spread\nfrom the province to the rest of Canada. Molson beer was threatened with\nboycotts from fans inside and outside of Quebec. The whole thing proved to\nbe a public relations fiasco for the company. As a result, the Montreal\n\n\nCanadiens ownership was forced to reverse their decision on the Nordiques\nand endorse their entry into the NHL.\nThe Nordiques joined the NHL in 1979, at a particularly volatile political\ntime with a governing separatist party and a referendum on Quebec\nsovereignty coming in the spring of 1980. From the outset some observers\nbelieved the Quebec Nordiques sought to exploit rising nationalist\nsentiment in the province during the 1980s and 1990s. The team’s uniforms\nincluded eight fleur-de-lys, the nationalist symbol on the province of\nQuebec’s flag. The Nordiques even hired the revered Maurice Richard as\ntheir first coach (although he only stayed in that role for their first two\ngames). While the team was run by a supporter of Canadian unity – Marcel\nAubut – the Nordiques were identified as the team that was favorable to the\n‘Yes’ side in the 1980 Quebec referendum on separation. For their part, the\nMontreal Canadiens were associated with the opposition to Quebec\nindependence. But there were no real foundations for these associations as\nthe players understood that there was an unwritten rule about mixing\nhockey with politics, especially when it came to what was widely seen as\nQuebec’s most divisive political debate. When it came to conversations\nabout Quebec sovereignty/Canadian unity the hockey arena aimed at being\na politics-free zone.\nRespected Canadian sports columnist Michael Farber likened the\nQuebec–Montreal on-ice battle to a Russian doll. “Expose one layer of the\nrivalry,” he said, “and another waited beneath” (Farber 1993, para. 9). He\npointed to what became a sort of pre-game ritual between the two teams\nwhere the Nordiques coach would yell at the Montreal Canadiens coach\n‘Tonight … we’re going to cut your head off.’ He concluded that the battle\nwas a “geopolitical-cultural-business-hockey knot” being played out in the\nFrench language (Farber 1993, para. 9). The presence of the Nordiques was\nat a crucial time in the history of the Montreal Canadiens, as the team was\nundergoing a makeover with the decline of its French contingent and facing\na rival team seeking to carve out a part of the Quebec identity that for\ndecades seemed to be Montreal’s exclusive purview. Ultimately, the Quebec\nmarket appeared too small to accommodate two professional hockey teams\nand the rivalry ended in 1995 when the Quebec Nordiques were relocated to\nColorado. The Nordiques’ remaining fan base again made the Montreal\nCanadiens their preference. But the team that sought to reacquire their\n\n\nloyalties was no longer the same as it was prior to the creation of the\nNordiques.\nMontreal Canadiens: champs no more\nBy the 1980s, the growing obstacle to making the Montreal Canadiens a\nsource of national pride for Quebecers was that they stopped winning\nchampionships. Over the course of that decade they won one championship\nin 1986 and in the next decade, in 1993, they won their last one to-date. In a\n2018 article entitled ‘No Dynasty Lasts Forever: The Long, Slow Decline\nof the Montreal Canadiens,’ Paul Logothetis contends that the glory days of\nthe Habs appear to be gone for good.\nSince the 1980s, the presence of American and European players in the\nNational Hockey League has increased. Canadian-born players once made\nup 90 percent of the NHL league and at the start of the twenty-first century\ndeclined to less than half. Harvey (2006) concludes: “Today for Quebecers,\nhockey involves mixed and confused meanings” (p. 35), particularly true\nfor the Canadiens of Montreal, a club that has not been seen as ‘French’ for\nmore than 20 years.\nThe diversification of the Montreal Canadiens and their failure to win\nchampionships has not deterred Quebec and Canadian politicians from\ncontinuing to make references to the once legendary team. They generally\ndo so by appealing to Quebecers that can recall the team’s past glories and\nthus in 2010 when the Canadiens enjoyed a strong season, it evoked the\nidea of a possible resurgence of the winning ways. As the Montreal\nCanadiens made the NHL playoffs in that year, the separatist Parti\nQuébécois (PQ) as leader of the opposition to the government drew a\nparallel between the goal of making Quebec a sovereign country and the\nMontreal Canadiens’ quest for the championship. Speaking to party\nsupporters, PQ leader Pauline Marois declared:\n[T]he whole nation is vibrating in tune with a team of players who\nwere called too small, not talented enough, not proud enough to win …\nI am talking about the Montreal Canadiens … today, like Quebecers, it\nis because they played as a team, that they sacrificed themselves for the\nteam, that they can aspire to the highest honour.\n(Coyne 2010, para. 2)\n\n\nMarois concluded that “when we have solidarity, determination, pride we\ncan succeed at everything, starting with the sovereignty of Quebec” (Coyne\n2010, para. 2).\nIn response to Marois, a respected Canadian news columnist Andrew\nCoyne (2010) highlighted the irony in the separatist leader pointing to the\nMontreal Canadiens as a model for the sovereignist movement. After all,\nthey were ‘anglo’ owned with only three of the players on the 25-man roster\nbeing from Quebec and the team operated in the English language. That did\nnot go unnoticed by supporters of Quebec’s independence though. As the\nMontreal Canadiens incurred yet another failed attempt to win the\nchampionship, a Parti Québécois parliamentarian Pierre Curzi complained\nthat only three francophone Quebecers played with the Montreal Canadiens,\nwhich was part of a federalist conspiracy at work to keep Canada united.\nCurzi insisted:\nThe people who are federalists and the people who don’t wish Quebec\nto become a country, who don’t wish French to flourish, they know\nvery well that you must take over a certain number of symbols of\nidentity. And … I believe there’s been a taking possession by the\nfederal power over the [Montreal] Canadiens club.\n(National Post 2010, para. 3)\nThe owner of the Montreal Canadiens, Geoff Molson, retorted that the team\nwas “in the hockey business and not into politics” (CBC News 2010, para.\n7). He added that the team did not talk about politics in the dressing room\nand it was talent not language that was the basis for acquiring players\nincluding such francophones as Lapierre, Darche, and Pouliotthat, who\nwere playing with the team in 2010 (CBC News 2010).\nWhile not endorsing Curzi’s theory, for her part, party leader Marois\nlamented the lack of Quebec players with the Habs, “[This team is] a\nsymbol of our pride to succeed in this sport, and I think the Quebecers\nwould like to have more francophones in this team” (CBC News 2010,\npara. 11). Marois’ view isn’t out of line with opinion amongst a significant\nnumber of Quebec francophones. A 2015 national survey reveals that nearly\neight in ten French Quebecers agree that the Montreal Canadiens should\nhave a minimum percentage of Quebec-born players, a view that is shared\nby only two in ten English Quebecers. The difference is considerably less\n\n\npronounced in regard to the perceived talent of Quebec-born hockey players\nwith 49 percent of French and 41 percent of English Quebecers in\nagreement that the best Canadian players come from their home province\n(Leger Marketing 2015).\nQuebecers still share this belief despite the fact that the Montreal\nCanadiens have not secured a championship since 1993. The 2010 ACS-\nLeger survey on hockey and identity reveals that some 48 percent of\nQuebecers hold that view compared with 28 percent of Ontarians who feel\nthe best players come from their province. While that view may be in part\nmotivated by ethnic pride on the part of the Quebec’s French population,\nthe survey reveals that it is also the opinion of a significant share of\nQuebec’s English population. Quebec francophones and anglophones\nfollow the sport to roughly the same extent. The ACS-Leger survey does\npoint to a rather substantial divergence with French Quebecers, who are far\nmore likely than their English compatriots in believing that there are not\nenough Canadian-born players in professional hockey (Leger Marketing\n2010).\nPatoine (2015) wonders whether in the current context of hockey, the\nMontreal Canadiens can still be regarded as a symbol of French Canadian\npride or rather a modern, globalized, multi-ethnic team that is morphing\ninto the symbol of a Quebec-style multicultural nation? Surveys reveal that\nthere is little difference in the degree to which Canada’s francophones,\nanglophones, and allophones respectively regard hockey to be an important\npart of their national identity. Some 50 percent of each language group\nconcur that hockey is a very important part of the country’s national identity\nwith another 40 percent adding that it is somewhat important (Leger\nMarketing 2010).\nWhile many Quebecers might like to return to the era when they secured\nthe finest Quebec talent, it seems that star francophone hockey players born\nin the province no longer dream of playing with the Montreal Canadiens.\nThe team no longer holds the same allure for many of today’s players who\nappear as, if not more, attracted to teams that most value their performance\nand do so by offering the highest salaries for their services.\nFormer Montreal Canadiens player Serge Savard observed that, “it’s not\na very healthy situation. All the best players who want to play here … leave\ntown” (Logothetis 2018, para. 9). A long-time executive with the Montreal\nCanadiens, Savard along with other former Montreal Canadiens retired stars\n\n\nwere tasked with passing on their experience and knowledge to the new\nplayers. But with the passing of several of the iconic Montreal Canadiens\nplayers that tradition has been difficult to sustain. As one former Montreal\nCanadiens team captain Max Pacioretty observed:\nIt’s something the organization wants to do better and hasn’t done that\ngood of a job with is bringing the alumni around more often and\ninteracting with the players and talking about their history and legacy\nand how their teams were.\n(Logothetis 2018, para. 11)\nIn the end the American-born Pacioretty (now with the franchise in Las\nVegas) said that it was something he had to learn on his own.\nHockey’s new challenge: staying ahead of other sports\nIf hockey is dominant in Canada over other sports, it is in large measure\nexplained by its roots in the country’s history, in the important degree to\nwhich the sport is played and watched by Canadians, and the international\nsuccess the country has enjoyed in the sport. Canadian writer Douglas\nFisher once said that hockey is “ultimately woven in our Canadian self-\nimage and our mythology” (House of Commons 1994, sect. 3595).\nBut in the twenty-first century the challenge for the predominance of ice\nhockey in Quebec and elsewhere in Canada is the growing attraction to\nother professional sports. On television, radio, and in the newspapers in\nJanuary 2003 nearly three in ten Canadians surveyed by Environics said\nthey follow hockey most often, placing it ahead of any other sport but not\nsecuring the majority of the audience (Jedwab 2003). When it comes to the\nsports that Canadians follow, Kenny (2009) recounts that sociologist\nReginald Bibby finds it to be an exaggeration that Canadians live or die by\nthe National Hockey League.\nA survey conducted for the Association for Canadian Studies in 2019\nasked respondents to identify the first three choices in the sports that they\nwatched on TV or listened to on the radio as teenagers and adults\nrespectively. The survey revealed that while the majority of Canadians\nwatched/listened to hockey broadcasts as teenagers, the percentage that did\nso declined as they reached adulthood from 59 percent to 49 percent. Other\n\n\nsports also saw reductions in their respective followings from the teen to\nadult years but the share that watched/listened to basketball rose from 25\npercent that reported watching it as teens to 29 percent that did so as adults\n(Leger Marketing 2019).\nIn fairness, 2019 was an exceptional year for basketball as the sole\nCanadian team in the National Basketball Association (NBA) won its first\never championship after some 25 years in the league. The NBA’s Toronto\nRaptors caught the attention of many Canadians who have embraced the\nteam that has successfully branded itself with the popular slogan “We the\nNorth.” Indeed the 2019 survey also reveals that more Canadians see the\nToronto Raptors as a source of pride in the country (60 percent) than they\ndo the Montreal Canadiens (51 percent). But Quebecers still are more likely\nto the see the Montreal Canadiens (61 percent) as a greater source for the\ncountry than the Toronto Raptors (43 percent) (Leger Marketing 2019).\nThe 2019 ACS survey provides strong evidence for the rising popularity\nof basketball as it reveals that an important minority of Ontarians (the\nprovince where the 2019 NBA champion Toronto Raptors play) have made\nbasketball their preferred sport. Overall some 16 percent of Ontarians say\nthat basketball is the sport that they follow most often compared with 22\npercent that say it is hockey. While overall hockey remains the most\npopular, its dominance does not appear to be secure. At 34 percent in\nQuebec, hockey remains well ahead of other sports when people are asked\nwhat they follow most often. The second sport most often followed by\nQuebecers is soccer at 7 percent with basketball followed most often by a\nmere 2 percent (Leger Marketing 2019).\nAs the Montreal Canadiens have seen an important diversification in the\ncomposition of the team’s players over the past four decades, the city of\nMontreal has become increasingly multiethnic and multiracial owing to\nsignificant variation in the source countries of immigration. Many of the\nnewcomers come from countries where there is less familiarity with and/or\naffinity to ice hockey. Persons of non-European origins – referred to in\nCanada as visible minorities – are not well represented on professional ice\nhockey teams, which makes for a fast-growing segment of the Canadian\npopulation that are unable to identify teams that offer them role models.\nThe shifting demographics in Canada may increasingly favor sports like\nsoccer with its important presence of non-Europeans. Those in the business\n\n\nof marketing hockey in Canada are surely paying close attention to these\ntrends.\nCurrently, the diverse group of players in the Montreal Canadiens and\ntheir shift away from the French Canadian/Québécois-dominated roster\nmake it difficult to use them as some lever to bolster pride in Quebec. The\nQuebec nationalist movement and the segment of it that favors separation\nfrom Canada have often struggled with attracting immigrants and their\nchildren to their cause. But neither the Montreal Canadiens nor the sport of\nhockey currently offer meaningful opportunities to unite Quebecers around\na shared passion that could translate into some form of Quebec nation\nbuilding that will unite the province’s diverse linguistic and cultural groups.\nThe once ‘glorious/les glorieux’ Montreal Canadiens do not offer much to\nbolster pride in the country, nor, however, should they.\nConclusion\nChangfoot and Cullen (2011) contended that electorally, Quebec\nsovereignty aspirations waned since the start of the twenty-first century.\nWith a relatively brief exception, from 2003 to 2018 Quebec has been\ngoverned by the federalist provincial Liberal Party. In the 2018 Quebec\nelection, the Liberals were defeated by a nationalist party – the Coalition\nAvenir Quebec – that to date has manifested little interest in separation from\nCanada. At present, opinion surveys put support for Quebec sovereignty at\nbetween 30 and 35 percent. Quebec’s non-francophones remain staunchly\nopposed to Quebec’s separation from Canada and the issue gets relatively\nlittle uptake in the media. As one of Quebec’s leading pollsters has\nobserved “identity politics are still fertile ground in Quebec … a majority of\nQuebecers aren’t satisfied with Quebec’s constitutional relationship with\nCanada and they want more economic and provincial powers. But they\ndon’t want independence” (Bilefsky 2019, para. 16). With its followers\nacross all ages and backgrounds, the hockey nation in Canada has always\nbeen a greater source of unity than is the political entity within which it\nfinds itself. And the members/citizens of Canada’s hockey nation generally\nlike to ward off the potentially toxic influence of politics for their passion.\nReferences\n\n\nBilefsky, D. 2019, The reawakening of Quebec’s nationalism, The New York Times, viewed February\n10, 2020, www.nytimes.com/2019/11/01/world/canada/Bloc-Quebecois-Nationalism.html.\nCanadian Press 2009, How the 100-year-old Habs brought together a divided city, CTV News,\nviewed February 13, 2020, https://montreal.ctvnews.ca/how-the-100-year-old-habs-brought-\ntogether-a-divided-city-1.459150.\nCarrier, R. 1979, The Hockey Sweater, House of Anansi Press, Montreal.\nCBC News 2010, Habs play hockey, not politics: PMO, Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, viewed\nFebruary \n16, \n2020, \nwww.cbc.ca/news/canada/montreal/habs-play-hockey-not-politics-pmo-\n1.913043.\nChangfoot, N. and Cullen, B. 2011, ‘Why is Quebec separatism off the agenda? Reducing national\nunity crisis in the neoliberal era’, Canadian Journal of Political Science/Revue canadienne de\nscience politique, vol. 44, no. 4, pp. 769–787.\nCoyne, A. 2010, The Montreal sovereigntists: The Montreal Canadiens are the precise embodiment\nof everything the Parti Québécois has ever stood for, Macleans Magazine, viewed February 13,\n2020, www.macleans.ca/politics/ottawa/the-montreal-sovereigntists/.\nDryden, K. 2005[1983], The Game, rev. ed. J.W. Wiley, New York.\nFarber, M. 1993, Hockey’s real battle for Quebec, Montreal Gazette, viewed February 10, 2020,\nhttps://montrealgazette.com/sports/30th-anniversary-of-good-friday-brawl-between-habs-and-\nnordiques.\nGibbs, O. 2019, The Montreal Canadiens’ role in francophone culture, The McGill Tribune, viewed\nFebruary 13, 2020, www.mcgilltribune.com/sports/the-montreal-canadiens-role-in-francophone-\nculture/.\nGillis, C. 2011, Riding the Rocket: How the Montreal Canadiens’ Maurice Richard helped transform\npolitics \nin \nQuebec, \nMacleans \nMagazine, \nviewed \nFebruary \n13, \n2020,\nwww.macleans.ca/culture/riding-the-rocket/.\nHa, Tu Than 2000, ‘I am just a hockey player,’ idol of Quebec used to say, The Globe and Mail,\nviewed February 13, 2020, www.theglobeandmail.com/sports/i-am-just-a-hockey-player-idol-of-\nquebec-used-to-say/article4164282/.\nHarvey, J. 2006, ‘Whose sweater is this? The changing meanings of hockey in Quebec,’ in D.\nWhitson and R. Garneau (eds), Artificial Ice: Hockey, Culture, and Commerce, University of\nToronto Press, Toronto, pp. 29–52.\nHouse of Commons 1994, House Publications Parliamentary Debate, viewed February 10, 2020,\nwww.ourcommons.ca/DocumentViewer/en/35-1/house/sitting-58/hansard.\nJedwab, J. 2003, Participating in sports and fitness activities in Canada, Association for Canadian\nStudies, viewed February 13, 2020, https://acs-aec.ca/old/img/nouvelles/ACS-CIIM-2003EN-\nR4.pdf.\nKenny, T. 2009, Bibby finds major decline in teenage interest in pro sports, University of Lethbridge,\nviewed February 16, 2020, www.uleth.ca/unews/article/bibby-finds-major-decline-teenage-\ninterest-pro-sports#.XnisjYhKjIU.\nLeger Marketing 2010, Public Opinion Poll, Association for Canadian Studies.\nLeger Marketing 2015, Public Opinion Poll, Association for Canadian Studies.\nLeger Marketing 2019, Public Opinion Poll, Association for Canadian Studies.\nLogothetis, P. 2018, ‘No dynasty lasts forever’: The long, slow decline of the Montreal Canadiens,\nThe Guardian, viewed February 16, 2020, www.theguardian.com/sport/2018/nov/01/no-dynasty-\nlasts-forever-the-long-slow-declineof-the-montreal-canadiens.\nMcKinley, M. 2006, Hockey: A People’s History, documentary, Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.\nNational Post 2010, National Post Editorial Board: The federalist black helicopters over the Bell\nCentre, National Post, viewed February 10, 2020, https://nationalpost.com/full-comment/national-\npost-editorial-board-the-federalist-black-helicopters-over-the-bell-centre.\n\n\nPatoine, T. 2015, ‘On est Canayen ou ben on l’est pas: Hockey, nationalism, and identity in Québec\nand Canada,’ in N. Baillargeon and C. Boissinot (eds), Hockey and Philosophy, University of\nOttawa, Ottawa.\nRoss, D. 2015, Toronto vs. Montréal: A short history, Active History, viewed February 10, 2020,\nhttp://activehistory.ca/2015/05/a-tale-of-two-cities-toronto-vs-montreal-no-more/.\nTHW Archives 2020, Quebec Nordiques: A history of beer, brawls, and Van Halen, The Hockey\nWriters, viewed February 10, 2020, https://thehockeywriters.com/quebec-nordiques-beer-brawls-\nhistory/.\n\n\nIndex\nPage numbers in italics denote figures.\nAbdullah, Muhammad Jafar 171–172\nAbkhazia 186, 191\nAbrisketa, González 90–92\nAdeh, Lumumba Dah 211\nAdekoya, Remi 209\nAir Passenger Duty (APD) 48–49\nAkinjide, Richard 202–203\nAll-Ireland (Gaelic) football championship 26\nAl-Shahbaz Cricket Club, Larkana (Pakistan) 182\nAmedspor football club 154\nAmericanization, concept of 2\nAmnesty International 162\nAn Gárda Siochána 26\nAntall, Imre 144\nanti-EU ‘Leave’ campaign 39\nanti-Spain Basque nationalist 96\nAntwerp Olympic Games (1920) 89, 94, 116\nArabo-Islamic Algerian identity 191\nArab Spring 187, 196\nArhan, Faruk 157–158\nassemblage, concept of 192\nAthletic Club de Bilbao 9, 12, 88, 117\nAthletic femenino 19, 100\nathletic performance 10\nAubut, Marcel 244\nAuld Enemy 41–42\nAwolowo, Obafemi 203, 206\nAzikiwe, Nnamdi 203, 212\nBalarabe, Aisha Mohammed 210\n\n\nBalewa, Abubakar Tafawa 203–204\nbanal nationalism 11–12; concept of 73–74, 187; sport as a metaphor for unity and a source of 73–75;\nstrategy of 79\nBannockburn, battle of (1314) 41, 47\nBarcelona Olympic Games (1992) 11, 111–113; lifelong bragging rights to Catalans 13\nBasque Autonomous Community (BAC) 86, 97–98, 101; Statute of Autonomy 86\nBasque Ball: Skin against Stone (2003) 92\nBasque Country 85; Athletic Club 93, 97; Basque Nationalist Party (PNV) 86–87; Casco Viejo 90;\nClub Deportivo de Bilbao 89; emergence of ETA 86–87, 96; English way 93–97; Industrial\nRevolution 87; inter-village rivalry 90; ‘officialdom’ of Basque teams 85; political culture and\nideological dispositions 86; race, ethnicity, nationality, and territorial demarcation in soccer 97–\n100; racial and ethnic distinctiveness of 87; regeneration of race 94; revolutionary tax 97; rural\nethos of sporting identities 87–90; rural sport contests involving animals 89; Spanish fury of\nsoccer 93–97; Team Euskadi 100; traditional sports 89, 90; valorizations of direct physical\nstrength 86\nBasque Federation of Traditional Sports 85\nBasque indarra, traits of 92, 94\nBasque Korrika 10\nBasque nationalism 96; nationalist movement 86; objectives of 85; PNV-style 87; and separatism 86–\n87\nBasque nationalist movement 86, 93, 108\nBasque Nationalist Party 86–87, 93, 96, 97, 101\nBasque–Spanish relations, in sports: anti-Spain Basque nationalist 96; on Basque nationalism and\nseparatism 86–87; between lions and foxes 90–93; pelota (squash-like game) 90–91; political\nrelationships 86; revolutionary tax 98; signing of Bixente Lizarazu (1996–7) 98; Spanish Fury of\nsoccer and 93–97; ‘tug of war’ of nationalism 85\nbatelerak 90\nBauer, Olivier 242\nBecze, Tihamér 150\nBeijing Olympics (2008) 19\nBelgian: identity 69, 74–77, 80; monarchy 73, 75, 76; nationalism 74, 80; nationalist discourse 74,\n80; nationality 75, 80; National Olympic Committee (BOC) 72; Olympic and Interfederal\nCommittee (BOIC) 72\nBello, Aderonke 211\nBenjamin, Walter 105\nBerlin Olympic Games (1936): boycott of 1; as Hitler’s Olympics 1\nBerlin Wall, fall of (1989) 144\n‘Better Together’ campaign 49\nBhutto, Zulfikar Ali 177–178, 180\nBiafran War (1967–1970) 6, 200–201, 205–206; British influence on 205; ‘Igbo Coup’ of January\n1966 205; impact on sport of separation 210–212; Middle East Six Day War (1967) 205; Nigerian\nstrikes against civilian targets 205; ‘One Nigeria’ solution 205; policies of marginalization 206;\nresults of 206–207; slaughter of the Igbos 208\nBizkaitarra 94\nBlack March of Marosvásárhely (1990) 141\nBlair, Tony 46\nbody–value linkages 10\nBoko Haram 208–209\nBora, Tanıl 157, 159, 167\nBotella, Ana 111\n\n\nbourgeois capitalism 87\nBoyle, Danny 48\nBozarslan, Hamit 155\nBracken, J.K. 26\nBrande, Luc Vanden 73\nBraveheart (1995) 41\nBreffni Park, Cavan, Ireland 26\nBrexit 7, 40, 55, 64\nBritish Army 25, 28\nBritish colonial amalgamation of Nigeria 6\nBritish Empire 45\nBritish footballmens 93\nBritish God Save the Queen 11\nBritish identity 64\nBritish sports 25, 31, 58, 63, 97\nBruce, Robert 41\nBrundage, Avery 1, 219\nBuhari, Mohammed 208–209\nCairo Declaration (1943) 220\nCaledonian Antisyzgy 43\nCampbell, Clarence 237\nCanada: Charter of the French Language (Bill 101) 242; Flying Frenchmen 237; French Canadian\nidentities 240; from French Canadian to Quebec nationalism 238–241; goal of Quebec\nindependence 237, 239; language and cultural conflicts 237; language conflicts 237; Montreal\nCanadiens and French Canadian nationalism 237–238; Montreal Forum 241–242; National\nBasketball Association (NBA) 248; national sports in 236; Parti Québécois (PQ) 241, 245;\nQuebec’s National Union party 238; referendums for Quebec sovereignty 236, 244; rioting in\nMontreal 238; struggle for equality between French and English Canadians 238; Toronto Raptors\n248\nCanadian Broadcasting Corporation 236\nCanadian ice hockey: anglophone and francophone players 237; between Canada and the Soviet\nUnion 241; challenge of staying ahead of other sports 247–249; Club Canadien (Club de Hockey\nCanadien) 237; dividing loyalties in 243–244; English–French cultural dimension to rivalry 242;\nethnic pride 242; geopolitical-cultural-business-hockey knot 244; Google ‘Toronto versus\nMontréal 242; Montreal Canadiens a source of national pride for Quebecers 244–247; Montreal\nCanadiens versus Toronto Maple Leafs 241–243; Montreal versus Quebec City 243–244;\nNational Hockey League (NHL) 237, 240, 243, 245; as national sports 236; Quebec Nordiques\n243–244; Quebec’s francophone hockey fans 243\nCarrère, Michel 123\nCarrier, Roch 238\nCarroll, Stephen 22\ncartoons, of Muslim Prophet Muhammad 208\nCatalan National Day (Diada) 112\nCatalonia: Barcelona Games (1992) 111–113; Catalan identity 105; Catalan Renaixença (1840s–\n1880s) 107–109; Catalan Statute of Autonomy 86; Català pro Esport Popular 109; Catholic\nagenda of the dictatorship 110; Federación Cultural Deportiva Obrera 109; Furia Española\n(Spanish national team) 109; Homage to Catalonia (1938) 109; human towers (castells) 105, 107,\n110–111, 113, 120; independence movement 107; Industrial Revolution 107–108; issues of\nidentity and economy 113; nationalism 105, 112; nationalist movement 108; nation-building\n\n\nmechanisms 107; Olympic Committee of Catalonia COC 115; paz olímpica (“Olympic peace”)\n112; physical education for women 110; playing for Spain 115–117; politics toward the idea of\nindependence 114; process of gentrification 108; Salud y Cultura 109; sardana dance 107, 113;\nschadenfreude 111; Sección Femenina 110; secessionism, issue of 111; Second Spanish Republic\n(1931–1939) 107–109; selfish capitalist accumulators 107; separation of Catalan athletes under a\nCatalan flag 112; Spanish national anthem 117–119; sport for “Yes” 113–115; sport under Franco\n(1939–1975) 109–111; state–region relations 107; use of folklore and performance 107; whistling\nSpain 117–119\nCatholic Church 25, 29\nCeltic Football Club 35\nCentre of the French Overseas Territories 124\ncesta punta, idea of 93\nChang-chun, Liu 219, 223\nChen, Shu-bian 230–231\nChen, Yi 220\nChiang, Kai-shek 220, 223\nChien-liang, Lin 230\nChina National Amateur Athletic Federation (CNAAF) 219, 223\nChina: Cairo Declaration (1943) 220; civil war 220, 223; cultural lineage of the Middle Kingdom\n221; Cultural Revolution 221; Far Eastern Champions Games (1913) 222; First Sino-Japanese\nWar 220; “one China” issue (1912–1949) 222–223; “One China, One Taiwan” policy 221;\nparticipation in Olympics Games 219; Shimonoseki, Treaty of 220; sport nationalism 223–224;\nsports relationship with Taiwan see China–Taiwan sports relationship; “two China” issue (1949–\n1981) 223–226; Vietnam War 221; Xinhai Revolution (1912) 219\nChina–Taiwan sports relationship 219; ben-shen-jen versus wai-shen-jen rivalry 233; under Japanese\ncolonization 221; rising of Taiwan consciousness and 229–232; sport nationalism 221–224, 233;\nTa Lu Hsuan Shuo 227\nChinese nationalism 19, 221\nChinese Olympic Committee (COC) 224, 226\nChinese Taipei see Taiwan\nChinese Taipei Olympic Committee 226, 228, 232\nChurchill, Winston 220\ncivic nationalism 8, 241\nCliftonville Football Club 32, 35\nCliftonville Red Skins 36\ncollective nobility 100\nCommonwealth Games: dualistic symbolism of 40, 51; at Glasgow (2014) 14, 40, 47–48; political\nsymbolism of 45\nCommunist Party of China (CPC) 226\nCONIFA (Confederation of Independent Football Associations) World Football Cup 9–10, 16, 186–\n195\nConnolly, James 29–30, 36\nCorsica: Action for the Renaissance of Corsica (ARC) 127–128; affiliation to FIFA 122; anti-French\ncharacter 122; Bastia–Nice match 129; Bastia–Troyes match 129; Corsican and French identity\n123–126; Corsican Football League 125; emergence of neo-nationalism 126–128; football and\nneo-nationalism 128–132; French amateur clubs 123; Hudson Report (1972) 127; nationalist\nmovement 122; National Liberation Front of Corsica (FLNC) 128, 130; from political second\nbest to ideological commitment 128–132; Regional Action Programme 124, 126; “Round Table”\nof Montélimar 125\nCoyne, Andrew 245\n\n\ncricket 27, 42; as English game 10, 54, 62–64; Indus Valley Cricket team 172; in Ireland 25; in\nPakistan 9, 171–173, 176, 179–183\nCsíkszereda Sportklub 9, 135, 138, 145\ncultural genocide, threat of 54\ncultural nationalism 3, 42\nculture loss, fears of 8–9\nCurzi, Pierre 245–246\nCusack, Michael 25\nde Gaulle, Charles 195\nDemocratic Alliance of Hungarians in Romania (DAHR) 141, 144\ndemocratic deficit 7, 44, 46–49\nde Oñaz, Martínez 91\nde Unamuno, Migel 92\nDryden, Ken 241\nDungiven Gaelic Athletic Club 29–30\nDuplessis, Maurice 238\nDuran, Ragıp 156\nEaster Rising (1916) 27, 29, 31, 34\nEast Pakistan, secession of 7\nEdinburgh Agreement (2014) 14, 39, 47\nEl Confidencial 93\nelite sports: commercialisation of 60, 65; commodification of 60, 65\nemancipatory nationalism 105\nEnahoro, Anthony 206\nEnglandandCardiff 61\nEnglandandWales 54, 61\nEngland and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) 63\nErste Liga (Romanian national league) 145\nEspaña de las Autonomías 6\nETA (Basque secessionist organization) 8, 12\nethnic brotherhood, notion of 9\nethnic intermarriages 142\nethnicized recruitment policies 10\nethnonationalism 7, 15\nEuropean Free Alliance (EFA) 190\nEuropean Union (EU) 64, 145\nEuskal Herria 97–98, 101\nFarber, Michael 244\nFar Eastern Champions Games (1913) 222\nFC Barcelona 9, 12, 88, 104, 108–110, 114, 116–119, 118\nFederation Internationale de Football Association (FIFA): Football World Cup 14, 59, 186, 187;\nLeague of Wales 63\nfemale domesticity, ideal of 108\nFenians see Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB)\nFIBA Asia Champions Cup (2016) 17\nFlemish: identity 68, 73, 77–79; movement 8, 71–72, 77, 79–80; nationalism 72, 78, 80\nFlemish sport and secessionism: adoption of the 1977 decree 72; antidemocratic racist party 70;\nBelgian Cats 74; Belgian monarchy and 75; Belgian Tornados 74; centre-right conservative party\n\n\n70; claims for autonomy 70; driver and inhibitor for 80; Flemish and Francophone ‘wings’ 72;\nFlemish–Catalan match 80; Flemish Football Association 72; Flemish Lion (Lion flag) 68;\nFlemish Paradox 5, 69; Flemish Swimming Union 72; Flemish Tennis Federation 72; historical\nand institutional background of 70–73; instrumentalisation for purposes of 77–80;\ninstrumentalisation of sport for unionist purposes 73–77; issue of separatism 5, 8; judo team 73;\nmitigation of 73–75; national football team 78; National Institute for Physical Education\n(NILOS-INEPS) 71; nationalist political parties 77–79; New Flemish Alliance 69–70; Red Devils\n69, 74, 78; Red Lions 74; and regional identity 71; Ronde van Vlaanderen (Tour of Flanders) 68;\nsocio-economic issues regarding 71; sport governing bodies 76–77; struggle for emancipation 68;\nTopsport Flanders 2002 73; Vlaams Belang (Flemish Interest) 69–70; Vlaanderen 2002 – Eddy\nMerckx 73\nFlemish sport federations 72, 79\nfootball: Africa Cup of Nations tournament 210–211; Corsica’s affiliation to FIFA 122; FIFA see\nFederation Internationale de Football Association (FIFA); Football Association of Wales 63;\ninfluence in Nigeria 200; Kurdish political identity with 154–155; by militants of “stateless\nnations” 122; politicisation of 167; race, ethnicity, nationality, and territorial demarcation in 97–\n100; Spanish Fury of soccer 93–97; Spanish League 96; Turkish Süper Lig (Super League) 155\nFootball Association of Ireland (FAI) 30–32\nFootball Association of Wales 30, 63\nfootball clubs, in England 32\nFootball Sports Weekly 31\nForlán, Diego 98–99\nFoundation for the Defense of the Spanish Nation (Denaes) 118\nFrench Algeria 123\nFrench Amateur Championship (CFA) 123–124\nFrench Canadian identity 5\nFrench Revolution 125\nFrench territories, de-colonization of 7\nFriedan, Betty 108\nFulani Herdsmen 208\nFunar, Gheorghe 140, 150\nFuria Española (Spanish national team) 109\nfútbol femenino 100\nfuzzy frontiers 4, 58, 64\nGaddafi, Muammar 180\nGaelic Athletic Association (GAA) 9, 22; effect of Partition on 27; football and the Irish national\nquestion 30–32; founding of 25; and Irish secessionism 24–29; mono-culturalism 28; Northern\nIrish delegates 29; role in Northern Ireland 27; Rule 21 of 28; Rule 42 of 28; Ulster Council of\n26; vigilance from the British state 26\nGaelic games movement 3, 26; development of 29; policing of 26; rivalry between the Ulster\ncounties 26\nGál, Sándor 135, 147\ngame’s agonic disposition, duality of 92\ngender segregation 111\ngimnasios 108–109\nGlasgow Commonwealth Games (2014) 40, 47\nglobal financial crisis of 2007–2008 47\nGlobal Terrorism Index 208\nGoiri, Sabino Arana 86\n\n\nGoodell, Charles 205\nGood Friday Agreement (1998) 23\nGorbachevian perestroika 144\ngoulash communism 143\nGrand Prix 187\nGreat Britain & Northern Ireland (GB&NI) 59, 62\ngross value added (GVA) 115\ngroup of death 62\nGuerrero, Julen 88\nGul, Aftab 180–181\nHardie, James Keir 43\nHarvey, Jean 239\nHeffron, Peadar 22\nHelsinki Olympics (1952) 226\nHerri Kirolak 85, 88\nHezim, Erfan 17\nHockey: A People’s History 236\nHong Kong–China relations 17\nHong Kong Football Association (HKFA) 18\nHong Kong Special Administrative Region (SAR) 17\nHoy, Chris 49–50\nHuman Rights Watch 141, 208\nHungarian identity 137, 147\nHungarian–Romanian relations 135; on agency, identity, and globalization 151–152; bilingualism\n141; Black March of Marosvásárhely (1990) 141; blood on the ice 148–151; Ceauşescu-era and\nbeyond 148–151; under communist Ceauşescu regime (1965–1989) 141; Csíksomlyó Express\n138; Csíksomlyó Pilgrimage 149; Csíkszereda Sportklub 135, 145; Day of a Thousand Szekler\nMaidens folk festival 138; dual citizenship for ethnic Hungarians 138; Erste Liga (Romanian\nnational league) 145; ethnic intermarriages 142; ethnic tensions 141; festive reunion of Hungarian\nbrotherhood 138; Hungarian-language opera performance 140; “Hungarianness” of Szeklers 137;\nKolozsvár 139; Magyar Autonomous Region 143; Marosvásárhely 140–141; Minority\nProtections Treaty (1919) 142; place myths of Transylvania 137–139; on politics and questions of\nSzekler autonomy 142–145; on Romania and Szekler ethnic identity 143; Second Vienna Award\n143; Szekler bravado 141; Szekler counties within Romania 136, 137; Szekler hockey between\ntwo states 145–147; Szekler national anthem 139; Szekler National Council 135, 143;\nTransilvanianist Movement of the 1920s 143; Trianon Treaty (1920) 135, 142\nice hockey 237; in Canada see Canadian ice hockey; Szeklers’ approach to 145; violence in\nRomanian League final (2000) 150; World Hockey League 243\nIgbo Youths Movement 208\nIkurrina 12, 79, 85\nimagined community 10, 59, 231\nIndigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) 201, 209\nIndustrial Revolution 87, 107–108\nIndus Valley Cricket team 172\nInternational Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF) 225\nInternational Exhibition of Art and Technology (1937), Paris 124\nInternational Football Association Board 30\nInternational Olympics Committee (IOC) 1, 111, 219\ninternational tourism markets 64\n\n\nIRA’s Dublin Brigade 31\nIreland: All-Ireland football championship 26; British rule in 25; Civil War (1922–1923) 27, 29;\nEaster Rising (1916) 27, 29, 31; Football Association of Ireland (FAI) 30–32; Gaelic Athletic\nAssociation (GAA) see Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA); history of sport in 24; Home Rule\n30; independence of 29–30; Leinster Regiment Cup 25; nationalism, idea of 3, 24, 27; national\nsport of 32; political and sporting implications 25; political developments of the peace process\n29; political life in 25; Republican Hunger Strikes (1981) 28; sport and peace in 33–34; sports in\n25, 29–30; unification of 29–30, 34; urbanisation in 25; War of Independence (1919–1921) 29;\nsee also Northern Ireland\nIrish Citizen Army (ICA) 29\nIrish Football Association (IFA) 30\nIrish Free State 9, 23, 25–27, 30\nIrish League 32\nIrish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) 25–26\nIrish republicanism 23–24, 31–32, 36\nIrun Foot-Ball Club 93\n‘It’s Scotland’s Oil’ campaign 44\njageerdari (feudalism) 178\nJames, C.L. R 184\nJiang, Zemin 228\nJohnson, Lyndon B. 221\nJones, Carwyn 63\nkabaddi 179\nKabyle: Amazigh activism 190; Amazigh diaspora in France 190; Amazigh Movement 191;\nassembling the diasporic nation 192–196; banal nationalism 187; Berber Spring 190, 192; Black\nSpring 190; CONIFA World Football Cup (2018) 186, 188, 189–192; diaspora institutions 186;\ndiaspora, sport and nationalism 187–189; geopolitics of diaspora 192; geopolitics of sport 187;\n‘groupness’ of the diaspora 189, 194; Independence Movement 186; international sporting events\n187; Jeunesse Sportive de Kabylie (JSK) 189–190; Memorandum for the Independence of\nKabylia 195; mobilisation of diaspora communities 189; national identity 5; nationhood 189;\nprojection of power beyond borders 188; representation of 193; self-determination of 186\nKabyle identity 194\nKabylie Indépendant (Independent Kabylia) 193\nKanu, Nnamdi 209\nKardar, A.H. 180\nkayyum (state-appointed trustee) 165\nKeçiciler, Mehmet 159\nKennedy, John F. 221\nKerr, Ronan 22\nKhan, Adeel 178\nKhan, Imran 183\nKılavuz, Metin 154\nKontxako Estropada 90\nKoso, Javed 15\nKovács, István 146\nKurdish Diyarbakırspor football club 11, 154, 157–161\nKurdish identity 9, 11, 155, 157, 160, 166–168, 167\nKurdish movement 5, 9, 11, 156, 166\nKurdish political movement 155–159, 161, 165–167\n\n\nKurdistan Workers’ Party 154\nKurds and football in Turkey 154; Amedspor football club 9, 15, 154–155, 161–166, 167–168;\ndeclaration of ‘PKK raus’ 156; DİSKİspor 161; Diyarbakır Belediyespor club 161; Diyarbakır\nMetropolitan Belediyespor 161; Diyarbakır Metropolitan Municipality 155; Diyarbakırspor–\nAltay match 159; Diyarbakırspor Supporters Union Association 163; Herne Peş march 158;\nIndependence March 158; Islamist Welfare Party (Refah Partisi) 161; Kurdish Diyarbakırspor\nfootball club 11, 154, 157–161, 164, 167; Kurdish political identity with football 154, 157, 160;\n‘Kurdish team’ identity 159; ‘officially favoured team’ title 159; Peoples’ Democratic Party 155,\n158; People’s Labour Party 155; political movement and 155–156, 158–159, 161, 165;\npoliticisation of 167; professional league 161; Resistance group 165; Revolutionary Patriotic\nYouth Movement 162; Sakaryaspor–Amedspor match 166; sphere of 155–157; and strategy of\nthe ‘Democratisation of Turkey’ 161; Trabzonspor football club 156; Turkish Cup 162; Turkish\nFootball Federation 154, 158, 164; Turkish nationalism and 160; Werder Bremen–Galatasaray\nmatch 156\nla manera inglesa 94\nLarkin, James 29\nLawal, Garba 211\nLeague of Nations 143\nLeague of Wales 63\nLeinster Regiment Cup (Ireland) 25\nLennon, John 206\nLiang-kuei, Chiang 225\nLittle League World Series 226\nLizarazu, Bixente 96, 98\nlocal sporting talents 10\nLondon Olympic Games (2012) 16, 40, 47, 62–63\nLos Angeles Olympics (1932) 220\nLos Angeles Olympics (1984) 226\nLugard, Frederick 201–202, 213\nLundy, Colin 28\nLynch, Kevin 29, 33\nMacAlpin, Kenneth 40\nMcClean, James 32\nMcConnell, Lord 48\nMahmood, Zahid 182–183\nMakhija, Naoomal Jeoomal 171–172\nMalakhro (Malh) wrestling 179\nMao, Zedong 220\nMarois, Pauline 245–246\nMarylebone Cricket Club (MCC), England 171\nMehenni, Ferhat 190–191, 195–196\nMelbourne Olympics (1956) 224\nMellows, Liam 29\nMessi, Lionel 96\nMezey, Imre 149\nMinority Protections Treaty (1919) 142\nMirani, Muhammad Suleman 182\nMolson, Geoff 246\nMontreal Canadiens hockey team 11, 239, 242\n\n\nMontreal Olympics Games (1976) 225\nMorey, Daryl 18\nMovement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB) 207\nMurray, Andy 50\nMuyters, Philippe 78\nNagoya Resolution 225\nNagy, Attila 139, 151\nNaki, Deniz 164–165, 167\nnational fitness 10\nnationalist symbolism, use of 45, 107, 244\nNational Liberation Front of Corsica (FLNC), Corsica 12, 128\nnational re-territorialization, strategies for 10\nnational sovereignty 3\nnation-state representatives 10\nNazi Germany 143\nNigeria: administration of sports in 210; Africa Cup of Nations tournament 210–211; agitation for\nBiafra 207; Boko Haram 208–209; British complicity, amalgamation and a forced marriage 201–\n203; Civil War in see Biafran War (1967–1970); Colony and Protectorate of Southern Nigeria\n201–202; criticisms of the forced marriage 203; ethno-linguistic groups in 202; Federal Ministry\nof Sports 210; football’s influence in 200–201, 210; Fulani Herdsmen 208; Hausa/Fulani tribe\n201; Igbo Youths Movement 208; Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) 201, 209; military coup\nd’état in 204; Movement for the Actualization of the Sovereign State of Biafra (MASSOB) 207;\nNational Sports Federations (NSFs) 210; Northern Nigeria Protectorate 201; pogrom against Igbo\ntribe 208; political and economic policies 207; ranking in United Nations’ Human Development\nIndex 209; reasons for the new demands for Biafra 208–209; religious clashes between Christians\nand Muslims 208; secessionist movements in 204–205; tribalization of the coup 204; violence\nagainst publication of cartoons of Prophet Muhammad by Danish newspaper 208; Zik Athletic\nClub 212\n‘90-minute patriots’ 12\nnobility, Basque notions of 92\nNorth Cyprus 186\nNorthern Ireland: Belfast Metropolitan Area Plan 33; Community Relations Council of 34;\nInternational Conflict Transformation Centre 33; ‘national’ sports stadium for 33; Peace Process\n34; preliminary plans for the new stadium 33; Probation Board for 34; Regional Development\nStrategy 33; relationship between sport and politics in 33; rural/urban divide 36; sport and peace\nin 33–34; Strategic Investment Board (SIB) 33; support for English football teams 35\nObasanjo, Olusegun 205\nÖcalan, Abdullah 154, 156\nOffice of the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) 162\nOfficial Report of the Organizing Committee for the Games of the XVI Olympiad Melbourne, The\n(1956) 224\nOkala, Emmanuel 210\nOkkan, Gaffar 155, 157, 158, 159, 167\nOld Firm 12\nOmokri, Reno 208\n“One China, One Taiwan” policy 221\nOrbán, Viktor 138\nOsahgae, Eghosa 208\nÖzgür Gündem (newspaper) 156\n\n\nPacioretty, Max 247\nPakistan Cricket Board (PCB) 171, 179; decision-making governing board 183\nPakistan People’s Party (PPP) 177\nPakistan Super League (PSL) 15, 172\nPalijo, Rasool Bux 177\nPalijo, Sahir 172–173, 179, 182\nParalympic Games 10, 54, 62–63\nPartition of Ireland (1921) 6\nPartiya Karkerên Kurdistanê (PKK) see Kurdistan Workers’ Party\nPatoine, Tony 237\nPearse, Patrick 29\npelota (squash-like game) 90–92\npelota frontons 94\nPerrault, Gilbert 240\nphysical education, for women 110\nphysical fitness 10\nPicas, Nuria 116\nping pong diplomacy 180\nPlastic Brits 64\nPolice Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI) 22\nPope Francis 138\nPower, John Wyse 26\nPujol, Jordi 109\nQuebec Nordiques 11, 243\nQuebec referendum, on separation 236, 244\nQuébécois identity 5\nRadio Televisión Española 118\nRáduly, Róbert Kálmán 144\nRamalho, Jonás 99\nRanji Jarejo, Jam 171\nReal Madrid 12, 58, 88, 104, 109, 212\nReal Sociedad 12, 93, 96\nRegional Action Plan (France) 8, 126\nrepressed nationalism, in sports 44\nrevolutionary tax 97–98\nRichard, Maurice 237–240, 244\nRio Olympic Games (2016) 59\nRomanian Hearth Union 141, 150\nRomanian Hockey Federation 14, 145, 150–151\nRomanian nationalism 150\nRomanian Revolution 7, 144\nRoonjho, G.M. 171–172\nRoosevelt, Franklin 220\nRoss, Daniel 242\n“Round Table” of Montélimar 125\nRoyal Irish Constabulary (RIC) 26\nRoyal Spanish Football Federation (RFEF) 115\nRubie, C.B. 172\n\n\nrugby: as classless game 65; England versus Wales match 62; importance in Welsh identity 58–59;\nprofessionalisation of 59; Rugby World Cup (RWC) 13, 56, 60; Visit England promotional\ncampaign 61; Welsh Rugby Union 62\nrural/urban divide 36\nSadi, Dahiru 211\nSalmond, Alex 46, 48\nSands, Bobby 33\nSavard, Serge 247\nScotland: 90-minute patriots 45, 1707 Act of Union 40–42, 44; anti-EU ‘Leave’ campaign 39; Auld\nEnemy 41–42; Bannockburn, battle of (1314) 41, 47; economic exploitation by England 44;\nEdinburgh Agreement (2012) 14, 39, 47; electoral system of Westminster 44; exploits of Scottish\nsportspeople in individual sports 44; failure in the 1978 FIFA World Cup 40, 46; ‘Five Nations’\ncompetition 44; ‘holy trinity’ of independent Scottish civil society 42; ‘Home International’\nfootball fixtures with England 44; Home Internationals 40; Home Rule Bill 43; incorporation into\nthe United Kingdom 40; ‘internal colonialism’ by England 44; ‘It’s Scotland’s Oil’ campaign 44;\nLabour Party 44; nationalism of 41; National Party of Scotland (NPS) 43; origins of privileged\nstatus of 42; Parliament elections 39, 47; political nationalism of 39, 43; referendum on Scottish\nindependence 55; restoration of political independence 40; ‘romantic’ cultural nationalism in 42;\nScottish National Party (SNP) 39, 43, 44, 48; Scottish Self-Government Party (SSGP) 43;\nsecessionist nationalism in 44; secessionist nationalist political movements in 43; sport and\nsecessionism in see Scotland, sport and secessionism in; as stateless nation 39; success over the\nEnglish forces at Stirling Bridge 41; uprising against English forces 41; Wars of Independence\n41; ‘Yes-Yes’ campaign 46; York, Treaty of (1237) 40\nScotland, sport and secessionism in 40–50; anti-devolution campaign 46; ‘Better Together’ campaign\n49; historical roots of the Scottish ‘nation’ in sport 40–43; impact of sport for securing 46;\npolitics of 51; in post-devolution period 46–50; ‘Sport for Yes’ campaign 50; in twentieth century\n43–46; Year of Homecoming (2014) 47\nScottish ‘democratic deficit’ 7\nScottish Football Association 30\nScottish Home Rule Association 43\nScottish independence referendum (2014) 13\nSección Femenina 110\nsecessionist movements 2; complex and volatile 4–6; geo-political dislocations 6–7; legal, economic\nand ideological considerations 7–8; multiplicity of identities 4\nsecessionist nationalism, politics of 51\nSecond Vienna Award 143\nŞentürk, Semih 164\nShamrock Rovers 32\nSillars, Jim 12, 45\nSimpson, Reg 172\nSindh (Pakistan): Al-Shahbaz Cricket Club, Larkana (Pakistan) 182; anti-Punjabi-Mohajir rhetoric\n178; Awami Tahrik (People’s Movement) 177; Balochistan’s Quetta Gladiators 173; demographic\nmajoritarian status 178; development of cricket in 171; ethnic and sectarian conflicts 171; ethnic\nidentity 174; fight against feudalism 177; identity, language and politics in 173–175; identity\npolitics 178; Indus Valley Cricket team 172; kabaddi 179; Karachi Gymkhana ground 181;\nMalakhro (Malh) wrestling 179; migration of Sindhi cricketers to India 181; Movement for\nRestoration of Democracy (MRD) 178; nepotism, problem of 182; Pakistan Super League (PSL)\n172; Pentagular Cricket Tournament (SPT) 172; political evolution of Sindhi nationalism 175–\n179; Quaid-e-Azam Trophy 172; Ranji Trophy 171; selection processes in cricket 171; Sindh\n\n\nCricket Association 171–172; Sindh Hari Committee (Sindh Peasants’ Movement) 176; Sindhi\ncricketers, in Pakistan national team 181–182; sport and Sindhi identity 179–181; winter\nrecreational activities and sports 179; Z.A. Bhutto Institute of Sports and Culture 180\nSinn Féin (Northern Ireland) 5, 22, 34; Good Friday Agreement (1998) 23; membership of 28;\nposition regarding policing 22\nsoccer see football\nsocial justice 34\nSoylu, Süleyman 154\nSpanish Civil War (1936–1939) 87, 109\nSpanish Fury 93–97, 114–115\nSpanish League 96\nSpanish Marcha Real 11, 118\nSpanish nationalism 86\nSpanish state sovereignty 105\nsplit fever 15\n‘Sport for Yes’ campaign 50\nsporting excellence 12–15\nsporting nationalism 12, 45\nsport management 11\nsport–nationalism relationship 1\nsport rivalry 110\nsports: cultural and political value of 180; geopolitics of 187; as metaphor for unity 73–75; as sites of\nsub-national struggle 9–11; as source of banal nationalism 73–75; symbolic representations\nthrough 12; symbolic struggles in 11–12; women’s discrimination in 19\nsport stadiums 9–10\nSport Wales 57\nstate–region antagonisms 4\nstate–region relations 5\nstate sovereignty, deconstruction of 4\nStephens, James 29\nStoker’s Dracula 137\nstreet fights (kale borroka) 93\nSümer, Çetin 160\nSuna, Şeyhmuz 156\nSunday Times, The 28\nSun, Yat-sen 16, 219\nSunyol, Josep 108\nSütő, András 141\nSyed, G.M. 176, 178\nSzekler: identity 141, 145; National Council 135, 143; nationalism 143\nSzeklerland Ice Hockey Academy 138–139, 152\nTaiwan: anti-Communist movement 223; anti-Soviet movement 223; ben-shen-jen 229–230; Cairo\nDeclaration (1943) 220; China sovereignty over 220; Chinese Civil War 220, 223; Chinese Taipei\nOlympic Committee 226; Chinese Television System (CTS) 226; distancing from China 221;\nFebruary 28, 1947 (the 228 Incident) uprising 220; Kuomintang (Chinese Nationalist Party, or\nKMT) 220–221; Martial Law era (1946–1987) 221–222, 228; Nagoya Resolution 225; Olympic\nFormula 226–229; Provincial Games 223; sport nationalism 223–224; sports relationship with\nChina see China–Taiwan sports relationship; “Taiwanization” of sport nationalism 221–222; Ta\nLu Hsuan Shuo 227; wai-shen-jen 229\n\n\nTaiwanese: consciousness 221, 229–232; nationalism 221–222, 229–233\nTalpur, Mir Hyder 182\nTa Lu Hsuan Shuo 227–228\nTarrida, Joan 111\nTőkés, László 144\nTokyo Olympics (2020) 210, 232\nTorras, Rosa 108\nTour de France 58, 79, 187\nTour of Flanders (Ronde de Vlaandeeren) 10, 68, 79\nTraditional Games of Ethnic Minorities 16\nTransilvanianist Movement of the 1920s 143\nTransylvania: Black March of Marosvásárhely (1990) 141; dual citizenship for ethnic Hungarians\n138; ethnic Hungarian communities of 138, 143; Kolozsvár 140; Marosvásárhely 140–141;\nMinority Protections Treaty (1919) 142; myth-producing role 137; place myths of 137; as\nshrinking magyar világ “Hungarian world” 139–142; Szekler soul 138\nTransylvania League 14, 151\nTraynor, Oscar 31, 32\nTrianon Treaty (1920) 135, 142, 144\nTrudeau, Pierre Elliott 225, 241\nTrump, Donald 209\nTudose, Mihai 144\nTugay, Ramazan 160, 163, 167\nTug of War International Federation 85\nTurkish: Football Federation 154, 157–158, 164, 167; Independence March, by Kurds 11;\nnationalism 160; Petroleum Corporation (TPAO) 168; Radio and Television Corporation (TRT)\n159\nUche, Chibuike 205\nUEFA Champions League 60\nUEFA European Championship (1984) 14\nUEFA European Championship (2020) 58\nUlster Council 26, 28\nUlster football championship 26\nUlusoy, Haluk 157\nUnited Kingdom (UK): break-up of 55, 64; England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) 63; ‘home\nnations’ of 42; Labour Party 49; Scotland’s incorporation into 40\nUnited Nations (UN): Human Development Index 209; Security Council 221\nUnited States Institute of Peace (USIP) 208–209\nUniunea Vatra Românească see Romanian Hearth Union\nUnrepresented Nations and Peoples’ Organisation (UNPO) 190\nurban bourgeois sociality 108\nurban war 162, 165\nUwazuruike, Ralph 207\nUzcudun, Paulino 89\nVákár, Lajos 139, 145, 148\nValue Added Tax (VAT) 48–49\nVan Grieken, Tom 69\nVergauwen, Steven 79–80\nVietnam War 221\nVillacampa, Jordi 116\n\n\nVoice of America 160\nWalesandEngland 54, 61\nWales, sport and secessionism in: Act of Union (1536) 55; cricket 62; devolution of power 55;\nEngland and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) 63; football 57–58; Great Western Cities alliance 62;\nimagined community 59; League of Wales 63; national identity of 13, 56, 58–64;\nprofessionalisation of rugby union 59; representatives of the national teams 55; Rugby Football\nUnion 61; Ryder Cup (2010) 64; sports culture 57–58; theoretical framework of 56–57; UEFA\nChampions League 60; Visit England promotional campaign 61; World Cup qualifying\ncampaigns and 58\nWallace, William 41\nWar of Spanish Succession (1714) 104\nWelsh national identity 13, 56, 58–64; building of Millennium Stadium 60, 62; complexities of 62–\n64; hosting of international test cricket match 63; importance of rugby union to 58–59;\ninternational sporting events 61; major sporting events and 59–62\nWelsh Rugby Union 62\nWestern Mail 64\nWestmoreland, Lord 25\nWilliams, Gwyn A. 58–59, 65\nWilliams, Raymond 54, 56, 65\nWilson, Harold 205\nwomen’s discrimination in sport 19\nWorld War: first 43, 135, 220; second 125, 141\nxelebre (villager fond of paradox) 92\nXinhai Revolution (1912) 219\nXinjiang Flying Tigers 17\nXinjian Tianshan Leopard FC 17\nYeğen, Mesut 166\n‘Yes Scotland’ campaign 50\nYork, Treaty of (1237) 40\nZ.A. Bhutto Institute of Sports and Culture, Pakistan 180\nZarra, Telmo 96\nZik Athletic Club 212\n\n\nFull Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at\nhttps://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=cimw20\nIndonesia and the Malay World\nISSN: 1363-9811 (Print) 1469-8382 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/cimw20\nDiscrimination, sport and nation building among\nIndonesian Chinese in the 1950s\nTaufiq Tanasaldy & Catherine Palmer\nTo cite this article: Taufiq Tanasaldy & Catherine Palmer (2019) Discrimination, sport and\nnation building among Indonesian Chinese in the 1950s, Indonesia and the Malay World,\n47:137, 47-65, DOI: 10.1080/13639811.2019.1559564\nTo link to this article:  https://doi.org/10.1080/13639811.2019.1559564\nPublished online: 22 Jan 2019.\nSubmit your article to this journal \nArticle views: 428\nView related articles \nView Crossmark data\nCiting articles: 1 View citing articles \n\n\nDISCRIMINATION, SPORT AND NATION BUILDING AMONG\nINDONESIAN CHINESE IN THE 1950s\nTaufiq Tanasaldy and Catherine Palmer\nABSTRACT\nThis article examines the attempts to promote sport among\nIndonesian athletes during the 1950s. Drawing on archival and\nsecondary\nsources\nfrom\nthe\nperiod\nimmediately\nafter\nIndependence, the article analyses the processes and practices\nthrough\nwhich\nethnic\nChinese\nathletes\nin\nIndonesia\nwere\npositioned\nin\nopposition\nto\nthe\nIndigenous\nathletes\nand\nprogressively marginalised from competitive sport on the national\nand international stage. The article argues that some of the\nattempts to counter these practices through affirmative action\npolicies\nand\nstrategies\nimposed\nby\nthe\nnew\nIndonesian\ngovernment led to forms of boundary-making or discrimination\nthat were enforced to better promote the achievements of\nIndigenous athletes at a time when its ethnic Chinese citizens\nwere visibly dominant in some sporting arenas. The study of\nethnic discrimination by the Indonesian government of the time\nprovides a compelling example of the ways in which dominant\nand historical discourses of nationalism may be contested by\nchallenges to the legitimacy of athletic identities.\nKEYWORDS\naffirmative action; Chinese;\nIndonesia; nation building;\nnationalism; sport\nIntroduction\nThe idea of ‘the nation’ is among the most important constructions of collective identity.\nAs a focus for the articulation of particular sentiments and loyalties, it is a powerful means\nof mustering large groups of people for certain social and political ends (Palmer 2001). Far\nfrom neutral, nations and nationalisms are, as Desai (2009) notes, ‘political ideologies, but\nof a special sort: they define and determine the nature and limits of the modern commu-\nnities that are nation-states’. While the ‘cultural politics of these nationalisms certainly fea-\ntured some more or less uncritical celebration of the “national culture”’ (Barker 2008),\nmost nations are ‘cross-cut by and cut across ethnic boundaries, making the task of\n“forging” the nation necessary’ (Desai 2009: 424). Even those that seek to be inclusive\nnot least by advancing the case of multiculturalism are founded upon certain core\nbeliefs, which are in turn rooted in ethnic or racial conceptions of the nation, as to\nwhat citizenship entails (Barker 2008: 523).\nThe majority of Southeast Asian countries are, borrowing from J.S. Furnivall’s works in\nthe 1940s, plural societies. The nature of these plural societies means that maintaining\nunity after the departure of the powerful colonial masters was a challenge for many.\nFor Indonesia, the concept of the nation ripened only in the last 50 years before its\n© 2019 Editors, Indonesia and the Malay World\nCONTACT Taufiq Tanasaldy\ntaufiq.tanasaldy@utas.edu.au\nINDONESIA AND THE MALAY WORLD\n2019, VOL. 47, NO. 137, 47–65\nhttps://doi.org/10.1080/13639811.2019.1559564\n\n\nindependence in 1945. The first recognised nationalist organisation began in 1908 (Tarling\n2004), however it took another two decades before young people from many regions of the\nDutch East Indies (now Indonesia) gathered in Jakarta to pledge their belonging to one\nhomeland, nation and language, that was Indonesia (Maier 2005: 523). This short\nnation-founding journey was not enough to bond such a diverse country, as evidenced\nby a series of devastating regional rebellions in the first decade after its Independence\n(see Feith and Lev 1963). The Indonesian government undoubtedly understood the chal-\nlenges of building unity, some of which are aptly summarised below:\nmaintaining the unity of what had been the Dutch East Indies [did not appear to] be easy.\nThis was not because of unbridgeable ‘primordial’ differences between the various groups\nthat inhabited the islands but because of recent political history. The anti-colonial struggle\nhad included many kinds of movements, and most had first mobilised on the basis of regional\nor religious identity.\n(Barker 2008: 523)\nOne of the major social divisions that continued to influence Indonesia’s social fabric post-\nIndependence involved its ethnic Chinese population. And, to understand this, their social\nhistory and relations with the indigenous community (locally known as pribumi or, in\nearlier times, as bumiputera) to be briefly introduced.1\nThe relations between the ethnic Chinese and the Indigene during the colonial times\nwere generally peaceful, but at times violence broke out, such as in Java in 1912, 1918\nand 1931. Some of these were the result of economic competition between the two com-\nmunities (Wilmott 1961: 27). The indigenous community did not have a ‘genuine middle\nclass in a commercial sense’ at least to the early decades of the 20th century and this\ndiffered greatly from the ethnic Chinese, particularly from the totok background who\nwere active in business (Twang 1979: 67–70).2 The better position of the Chinese, particu-\nlarly in the retail sector, was therefore given, and this continued after the Indonesia’s inde-\npendence. To bridge the economic gap between the two groups, the Indonesian\ngovernment implemented a few economic policies. In the ratified document in 1949\nwhere the Dutch recognised Indonesia’s sovereignty, the Indonesian delegate inserted a\nclause to protect the economically weak groups (Twang 1979: 72), which clearly refers\nto the Indigenous. The implementation of such protection can be seen from the early\n1950s, when the government introduced the Fortress Programme (Program Benteng),\nAsaat Movements, and regulations to indigenise rice mills and harbour facilities. In\n1959, the government introduced PP10 that banned the Chinese from retail businesses\nin areas below the level of district capital (for full discussions on these economic measures\nsee Suryadinata 2005). These affirmative policies while providing many incentives to the\nIndigene, brought hardship to the Chinese.\nAnother crucial problem with serious ramifications pertains to the citizenship status of\nthe Chinese. Their legal status in the archipelago was a complex issue to the extent that ‘six\n1The literature on the Indonesian Chinese is rich. Those written in Indonesian were particularly abundant after the collapse\nof the New Order regime. This section only gives an overview on aspects that are relevant and discussed in this article.\nThose interested in the wider social and political journey of the Chinese in this country can refer to more general works\nsuch as Willmott (1961), Coppel (1983), Setiono (2003) and Suryadinata (2005).\n2Totok are those who were freshly arrived in the archipelago and still very much oriented to China. Totok is contrasted with\nthe peranakan who were born in Indonesia and had absorbed significant local cultural practices (for further elaboration\non both communities see Suryadinata (2005: 78–87).\n48\nT. TANASALDY AND C. PALMER\n\n\ncitizenship laws and four international treaties failed to settle the matters’ (Wilmott 1961:\n16). During the Dutch colonial era, the main source of contention of all stakeholders was\nwhether they were citizens of China or the Netherlands, and whether this status was appli-\ncable just for those who were born in the Dutch East Indies, or those who were born over-\nseas, or both. Such ambiguities persisted after Indonesia gained independence as China\ncontinued to adhere to its jus sanguinis approach – extending citizenship to those born\nfrom Chinese parents regardless of the place of birth. At the same time, Indonesian citi-\nzenship laws also provided citizenship status, with a few variations over time, to the ethnic\nChinese population. This has further ramifications because citizenship status determines\ncertain rights and privileges, such as those affecting business ownerships, education and\nother forms of social participation, including sporting events, as will be explained later.\nIn short, because of this ambiguity, the Chinese in Indonesia, both aliens and citizens\nalike, were subjected to extra and/or unnecessary scrutiny. Both governments eventually\nagreed to end the ambiguity by signing a treaty in 1958 which gave ethnic Chinese the\noption to choose their citizenship.3\nLinked to the citizenship issue was the question of political loyalties. Chinese allegiance\nhad been divided mostly between those pro-Dutch and those pro-China in the early 20th\ncentury. It was only from the late 1920s, or, at least, the early 1930s that a small section of\nthe community started to voice their allegiance and support for the future Indonesia.\nDuring the independence war (1945–1949), the Chinese were accused of supporting the\nDutch, although a not insignificant number sympathised with and chose to fight alongside\nthe Indonesians,4 while many others were simply allying with those who could offer better\nprotection and more stability. These questions of loyalties coupled with past economic\ngrievances resulted in many anti-Chinese incidents during the independence war.5\nAnother issue is the cultural identity of the ethnic Chinese that had been retained in\nextensive social organisations and schools, and which had been allowed to continue\nuntil after the departure of the Dutch. By the mid 1960s, to facilitate integration of the\nChinese into the larger Indonesian community and to remove exclusivity, the Indonesian\ngovernment introduced new regulations. In education, from the 1950s, the government\nimposed changes in the curriculum and the selection of teachers. Chinese schools were\nonly allowed at larger towns for students with foreign citizenship status. Schools predomi-\nnantly attended Indonesian Chinese or those owned by the pro-China Nationalists were\nconverted into public schools.6 Chinese newspapers were banned (1960–1963), before\n3See detailed discussions on citizenships of the ethnic Chinese in Wilmott (1961), Coppel (2002) and Suryadinata (2005).\nThe terms ‘ethnic Chinese’ or ‘Chinese descent’ are used in this article to refer to the Chinese who were living in Indo-\nnesia. Reflecting the complexity of their citizenship status(es) as explained above, and depending on the period when\nthese terms were used, the Chinese could be Dutch nationals/subjects, Chinese nationals, Indonesian nationals, or\nholding multiple nationalities. From the mid 1950s, those terms refer to the Chinese in Indonesia who were at least\nholding Indonesian citizenship. On a few occasions the term ‘Indonesian Chinese’ is used as a contrast to the ethnic\nChinese (i.e. those who did not hold Indonesian citizenship).\n4Siauw (2010) gives a few names of ethnic Chinese who fought alongside the Indonesians against the Dutch.\n5See Setiono (2003: chapter 31). There are many episodes of anti-Chinese riots in the archipelago. In the mid 18th century\nabout 10,000 Batavian Chinese were murdered by the Dutch (Setiono 2003: chapter 8). In the first decade of the 20th\ncentury, significant conflicts against the ethnic Chinese and their interests erupted in Kudus and some other towns in\nJava. Post-Independence Indonesia also saw anti-Chinese sentiments. There was a serious conflict in 1963 in\nBandung, and following the 1965 coup anti-Chinese riots erupted in many parts of Indonesia. When Suharto resigned\nin May 1998, massive anti-Chinese riots broke out in several cities in Indonesia.\n6Suryadinata (2005: 135-140) discusses the condition of Chinese education in Indonesia during this period. Within the pro-\nChina faction of ethnic Chinese in Indonesia in the 1950s, there were those who supported the Communist People’s\nRepublic of China (PRC) and those who were for the Nationalist Republic of China (ROC). ROC and those supportive\nINDONESIA AND THE MALAY WORLD\n49\n\n\nbeing allowed to publish again after requirements that the editorial board be comprised of\nIndonesian nationals and that their reporting be Indonesia-oriented. Despite the efforts of\nthe government and the Chinese community, they continued to be regarded as aliens by a\nlarge sector of the Indigenes.7\nThe uncertainties and tensions in turn provided the backdrop for particular practices of\nnation building that could then be articulated through sporting activities and events.\nThrough both discrimination and affirmative action strategies and policies, certain\nforms of boundary-making or tacit discrimination were enforced to better promote the\nachievements of the Indigenous Indonesian athletes at a time when the ethnic Chinese\nwere dominant in sport. It is also argued that the political situation in the 1950s and\nthe government’s efforts to blur the ethnic line in sport, provided the athletes of\nChinese descent with no other option but to assimilate into the national sporting\nagenda, and gradually lose their prominence in ‘exclusive’ sports.\nTo elaborate this argument, the article first introduces some of the key debates in sport,\nnationalism and nation building, in South and Southeast Asia and in Indonesia more specifi-\ncally. It then examines the Indonesian government’s attempts in the 1950s to promote sport\namong Indigenous athletes and discusses the challenges faced by ethnic Chinese athletes.\nSources are drawn from interviews conducted in 2015 with ethnic Chinese athletes from\nthe 1950s and 1960s, as well as newspaper archives and sporting literature. With the excep-\ntions of sources who have expressly wanted to be named such as Tan Joe Hok, Tan Liong\nHouw, and Oei Sik Tjong, the others remain anonymous. Sources were well known athletes\nor coaches in football, badminton, swimming, diving, and water polo in the 1950s and 1960s.\nThe authors also interviewed a few younger athletes. Most of the interviewees still live in\nIndonesia, while a few have relocated to countries such as the United States and Canada.\nSport, nationalism, and nation building\nThe relationship between sport and the development of national identity is by no means a\nnew field of study (Cronin and Mayall 1998; Hargreaves 2000; Bairner 2008, 2009, 2015).\nIn most contemporary cultures, the ideas, images and ideologies of national identity are\nvery often carried through sporting events and ceremonies (Porter and Smith 2005; Silk\net al. 2005). As Whitson and Macintosh (1993: 1) point out, sport is one of a number\nof cultural practices that have an important place in ‘representing nations to the outside\nworld’ and in ‘mobilising national sentiments’ among citizens within particular nations.\nAs Allison (2000) argues, ‘whether we are talking about nationalism or patriotism or\nthe development and expression of national identity … it is clear that a national dimension\nis an important part of sport’. For Miller et al. (2001: 31), ‘the sporting body bears trium-\nphant national mythologies in a double way, extending the body to encompass the nation\nand compressing it to obscure the social divisions that threaten national unity’.\nWhile the coupling of sport and nationalism is seen in many contemporary sporting\nevents, it is important to acknowledge the importance of historical context in nation build-\ning. As Bairner (2015: 375) argues:\nof ROC were accused of abetting the regional rebellions in Indonesia, and as a result, enterprises, associations, newspa-\npers and schools with ties with the ROC were outlawed or nationalised (Thee 2006: 86).\n7See the relevant discussions in Suryadinata (2005: 9–41).\n50\nT. TANASALDY AND C. PALMER\n\n\n… the most powerful form of national performance today may be seen in sport, understand-\ning tensions between not only the national and global, but also between the nation-state and\nthe historic nation and between nationality and national identity remain key challenges.\n(italics in original)\nMills (2001) notes the importance of historical, largely colonial events, in shaping the nar-\nrative of national identity in South Asia. While Mills’ focus is on India, his broad charac-\nterisation of the importance of historical events in forging contemporary understandings\ncertainly holds elsewhere in the region. Firstly, the influences of the colonial powers and\nsports in their colonies are well established. British imperialism, for example, imported its\n‘national sport’, cricket, to its colonies, and it has remained popular throughout the Com-\nmonwealth. Taiwan and South Korea play baseball that shares a similar style to their colo-\nnial master, Japan (Cho 2012: 535; Harney 2013: 23). Similarly, the Dutch influenced the\nsports played in the Dutch East Indies, presently Indonesia. Brown (2008: 438) noted that\nkorfball and kasti which were popular in the Dutch East Indies, were also popular in the\nNetherlands, but not in other parts of the world. He further noted that all of the sports in\nthe biannual national games in the early 1950s were introduced to the region during the\nDutch colonial era (Brown 2008: 438–439). Secondly, sports could play a role in the\ngrowing nationalism and help shape national identity vis-à-vis the colonial masters, par-\nticularly in the racialised environment where sports and sport-clubs were divided along\nethnic lines.\nIndonesia, unsurprisingly, also experienced a troubled history in terms of colonial\nlineages in the development of sport, the construction of national identity, and the\nrelationship between the two. Societies and social activities, including those of sports in\nthe Dutch East Indies were commonly although not always strictly, divided along\nethnic lines: the European, ‘Foreign Oriental’ (who were mostly Chinese), and Indigen-\nous.8 The ethnic Chinese, for example, had their own ‘national’ or at least ‘all-Java’\nleagues and regular competitions for football, badminton, tennis, weight-lifting, swim-\nming, and some other sports. Membership of those organisations generally was also exclu-\nsive to the ethnic Chinese. Similar assertions can be extended to the Dutch/European and\nto the Indigenous organisations. One clear example in sports is the separate football\nleagues organised by the Dutch/European, Chinese, and the Indigenous.9\nThis ethnic arrangement further cemented group identity. Some Indigenes formed\n‘national’ sporting clubs that had supported nationalist movements in the colony\n(Brown 2006: 76; Colombijn 2000: 183). Similarly, the Chinese via sporting events were\neager to show the awakening of the Chinese nation, whereas the Dutch/European\nmight use the sporting events to show their ‘colonial’ superiority. Such a system not\nonly created a sense of distinctiveness among those ethnic groups, thus separating\nthem, but most damagingly, placing them in competition with each other. This ethnic\n8The Dutch/Europeans in the East Indies had their own schools, as did the Chinese, and the Indigenous. Similarly, social and\nleisure clubs were commonly based on ethnic lines, and in some matters such as civil registration and business, subjected\nto different systems. For legal matters related to business, for example, ethnic Chinese were to follow the European laws;\nbut they were to follow laws applicable to the Indigenous for some other legal cases. Coppel (2002) and Lindsey (2005)\ndiscuss this racial classification, including the fluidity of the arrangements.\n9The names of the leagues have evolved, but before World War II, the Dutch/European league was Nederlandsch-Indische\nVoetbal Unie (NIVU), the Chinese one was Hwa Nan Voetbal Bond (HNVB), while the Indigenous one was Persatoean\nSepak Raga Seloeroeh Indonesia (PSSI). On some instances of the interplay among these leagues, see Colombijn\n(2000) and Aji (2010).\nINDONESIA AND THE MALAY WORLD\n51\n\n\ndivision continued to plague Indonesia and the country’s sport after Independence. In\nsport, with the departure of the Dutch, the problem was the domination of Chinese vis-\nà-vis the Indigenous group. Breaking down the ethnic divides in order to create a\nstrong national unity remained a challenge.\nWhile the literature on sport and nationalism is wide ranging, in an early piece, Beacom\n(1998) noted that critical investigations of the relationship of sport to national identity\nusually fall into one of three camps: (i) the development of characteristics perceived as\nexclusive to the community or nation, (ii) the elevation of national status in the inter-\nnational arena contributed to by success in sport – either by individuals or groups and\n(iii) sports considered Indigenous or native to a community or region. Echoing Mills\n(2001) and Bromber et al. (2013), the example of discrimination and nation building\nthrough sport in Indonesia in the 1950s brings together domains (ii) and (iii) whereby\nsport becomes a site through which the past can be invoked to serve the selective interests\nof the political present (Andrews 2006).\nFollowing this, typologies of nationalism are common. As Desai (2009: 401) notes,\n‘nationalisms tend to be classified, if at all, in trans-historical “ideal-typical” distinctions,\nmade by Hroch for example, between early and formative phases of nationalisms and later\nphases’. Other debates about nationalism have drawn a distinction between different kinds\nof nationalism, notably the emergence of ethnic nationalism as distinct from civic nation-\nalism. As Shulman (2002: 554) notes, ‘the distinction between civic and ethnic nationalism\nis one of the most widely employed conceptual building blocks in the study of ethnic\nrelations and nationalism’. Thus, ‘a simple classificatory scheme has arisen that dis-\ntinguishes nations as civic, political, or territorial on one hand, versus ethnic or cultural\non the other’ (Shulman 2002: 555).\nThe Southeast Asian context is significant for the study of sports cultures, given the\nimportance of the region to expanding sports consumer markets, the sports labour\nforce and the large sector of the global poor living in the South Asian region (Biyanwila\n2018: 9). As Brown (2006: 72) notes, ‘in South Asian sports studies, the field is crowded\nwith discussions of games developed by and dominated by the British. Cricket and\nsoccer, of course, have attracted the most attention’. Of concern for this article, sports pol-\nicies that were produced in response to some of the practices which emerged from nation\nbuilding in Southeast Asia have not been fully explored in the literature. Worth noting for\nthe case of Singapore is the writing of Horton (2002) that discusses, among others, the\nefforts of the Singaporean government to use sports to reduce sectional communalism\nthat was quite divisive. Like the case of Dutch East Indies, the sport clubs in colonial Sin-\ngapore were formed along ethnic lines. Similarly, Chan (2016) looks at ways the ruling\nparty in Singapore used sports as an agent of social engineering. In the case of Indonesia,\nAdams (2002) studies the relations between the sports, the state ideology (Pancasila), and\nnation building process. Colombijn (2002) focuses on the historical and political aspects of\nfootball. There he explores the interplay between nationalism and sport in the Dutch East\nIndies. Brown (2006) studies how badminton evolved, the domination of the Chinese in\nthe sport, and how it influenced some political processes. Brown (2008) investigates\nnational games in the 1950s and their an important role in the nation building process\nin Indonesia. Tanasaldy (2017), examines the roots of prominent Indonesian Chinese\nin sport in the 1950s and 1960s. As for the focus on the Indonesian Chinese, while the\nnumber of publications is rich and diverse, those that focus on their role in sport in the\n52\nT. TANASALDY AND C. PALMER\n\n\npast are scarce. This study will add to the growing literature. It aims to help better under-\nstand the links between the role of Indonesian Chinese in sports, their experiences and\npolicies of the Indonesian government in the framework of nation building.\nSport, nationalism and Indonesia\nWe turn now to those policies in sport that directly affected the ethnic Chinese and how\nthey reacted in the context of nation building post-Independence. While nation building is\na process consciously pursued in many newly independent countries, this was even more\ncrucial for Indonesia. As an exemplary plural society that was extremely diverse, socio-cul-\nturally, ethnically and religiously, this effort involved finding a solution to its ‘Chinese\nproblem, namely a lifestyle that was quite separate from the rest of the community, the\nsignificant role of the Chinese in many aspects of post-Independent Indonesia, and the\nperception of their questionable loyalties to the nation.\nAlong with other newly independent countries, sport in Indonesia had the capacity to\ncontribute to the nation-building process, as it could enhance social integration by bring-\ning together people (athletes and spectators alike) of different socio-cultural backgrounds\n(Adams 2002). The first president, Sukarno, started overt efforts to use sport to unify the\nIndonesian people (see for example, Brown 2008: 434). In 1948, when the country was still\nin turmoil over domestic rebellion (the Communist rebellion in Java in September of that\nyear) and during the revolutionary wars (1945–1949) against the Dutch colonials who\nwished to reoccupy the archipelago, the country commenced its first national sport\ngames, a biennial tradition that continues to this day. Referring to the National Sport\nGames (Pekan Olahraga Nasional, popularly known as PON) in the early 1950s, Brown\n(2008: 445) observes that the journeys of the young athletes from various parts of Indo-\nnesia and their experiences in these games could have had the effect of creating the ‘ima-\ngined community’, similar to the integrative outcome of education.\nA few years after securing the first international sport title in badminton in 1959 that\nhad raised the prestige of the country,10 Sukarno built a large sport complex in Jakarta to\nhost the fourth Asian Games in 1962 and then in the following year, the first GANEFO\n(Games of the New Emerging Forces) were held. The Games were successfully launched\nand further propelled Indonesia to the fore of international attention.11 The hosting of and\nachievements in these international sporting events, however, were not only important to\nIndonesia’s international status, it was also ostensibly meant to unify its people through\ncultural imaginings of one-ness; a shared trope in the imagined community. Using\nsport in this respect, however, was not without contention. One important issue was\nthe role of its ethnic Chinese citizens in sports.\nTanasaldy (2017) discusses the influence of the Chinese in sports during the colonial\nperiod as well as their domination in particular sports during the early years after Indo-\nnesia’s independence. However, unlike many affirmative economic policies mentioned\n10In 1959, Tan Joe Hok won the men’s singles of All England, a prestigious badminton event breaking the domination of the\nMalaysian and European players. Indonesian badminton athletes, a significant number of whom were Chinese, remained\nprominent.\n11Launching GANEFO was part of Sukarno’s grand scheme to be the leader of the developing countries. When he was\ndeposed in 1966, the Games faltered. The case of GANEFO in international bipolar politics is academically fascinating,\nand many have written about it, for example, Connolly (2012), Field (2014), Lutan and Hong (2005), Paulker (1965),\nand Shuman (2013).\nINDONESIA AND THE MALAY WORLD\n53\n\n\nearlier, none of the national sport policies can be seen as overtly discriminatory towards\nthe Chinese population in Indonesia. The role and attitude of President Sukarno, the\ncountry’s president, is essential here. Sukarno appeared supportive of their active role\nin sport. He continued to host receptions for the national badminton and football\nteams, many of whose members were ethnic Chinese, as well as awarding medals to\nthem. Sukarno was also against Indonesian Chinese changing their names to Indonesian\nones, which could explain why the earlier push for ethnic Chinese athletes to change\nnames, as will be touched upon later, was unsuccessful. Such welcoming attitudes were\npartly due to his endeavour to build the nation by being inclusive, and this definitely\nfiltered down to policies in sports.12\nWhile the Indonesian government was supportive of the role of the ethnic Chinese in\nsport, their performance in some cases overshadowed the Indigene. The government\nalso, in many cases, allowed exclusive, ethnic-based sports clubs to operate (Tanasaldy\n2017). Within the nation building efforts to construct inclusive pan-Indonesianness, it\nis no surprise that the Indonesian government wanted to blur the exclusivity and\nmanage the growing dominance of ethnic Chinese athletes so that Indigenous counter-\nparts would be given equal opportunities to succeed. As will be discussed shortly, the\nimplementation of policies at the regional level were also inconsistent with national pol-\nicies, as the regions were still developing and dealing with their own problems.\nThe domination of ethnic Chinese athletes – while not a critical issue for the govern-\nment of the day – must nevertheless have concerned a section of nationalist officials. It is\ndifficult to imagine that government officials would be completely at ease with the fre-\nquent appearance of ‘foreign’ names in sporting competitions or as champions in\nsome sports. In a rare comment captured by the official publication of Indonesia’s\n1954 Olympic Committee, an official believed that Indonesia’s sport would not progress\nif potential athletes were only from the highest social class (Bulletin Komite Olympiade\nIndonesia 1954: 8). While the source did not elaborate, the inference to class domination\nwas undoubtedly aimed at the ethnic Chinese. Looking at the perspective of the time, the\nclass reference harked back to the Dutch colonial system when the Chinese were regarded\nas one class higher than the Indigene. A further example concerns a blunder made by a\nrepresentative of the regional Perbasi (Persatuan Basketball Seluruh Indonesia, the official\nbasketball organisation) – concerning the participants of the 1960 national basketball\ncompetition. The military officer in question – a functionary of Bandung’s Perbasi – men-\ntioned that participants of the competition would be limited to Indigenous athletes (Pant-\njawarta,1960e: 1). Although the statement was soon rescinded by a national official of\nPerbasi as reported in Pantjawarta (1960f: 1), it nevertheless gave an indication of the\ndiscriminatory mindset of some officials concerning the role of the ethnic Chinese in\ncompetitive sport.\n12Such an outlook could be a consequence of Indonesia’s foreign policies. By the early 1960s, Indonesia was aligned closely\nto the People’s Republics of China (Lev 1966: 103). Sukarno could not possibly antagonise China, his closest and strongest\nsupporter in his quest to gain international prominence, by persecuting the Chinese within Indonesia. In sports, the\nChinese government had strongly supported Indonesia’s GANEFO, including providing the finance (Shuman 2013:\n270, Field 2014: 1856). On another front, Sukarno and his strongest domestic political allies, the Communists, had\nbeen condemning the discrimination of the African-Americans in the USA. Treating Indonesian Chinese citizens badly\nwould only undermine his efforts.\n54\nT. TANASALDY AND C. PALMER\n\n\nAffirmative action in Indonesian sport?\nWhile disability and gender inequality in sport have long been the focus of affirmative\naction programmes such as Title IX13 or quota systems for admission into college sport\nin the United States, such programmes have also extended to opportunities for those mar-\nginalised through race, ethnicity or their Indigenous history and culture. As we discuss\nhere, the affirmative action initiatives that were put in place following Indonesia’s inde-\npendence from Dutch rule provides a historical example of this. Indeed, for redress to\noccur, it was necessary for the state to strengthen the position of the Indigene through\naffirmative action initiatives. In sport, this came to mean the ‘taming’ of athletes of\nChinese descent.\nIn the Indonesian context, affirmative actions were covert. The following shows that\nthey could be masked by disciplinary actions. A report by Pantjawarta (1960b: 1) dis-\ncussed the effects of the disciplinary actions by the PRSI (Perserikatan Renang Seluruh\nIndonesia, the official swimming organisation), against a prominent Chinese swimming\nclub, Kumala Hidup. Established as Kuang Hua (光华) after Indonesia’s independence,\nit was one of the top swimming clubs in the nation, and could be considered as the\nbest Chinese swimming club at the time. Kumala Hidup for some time still managed\ninternal competitions among its members (for example, see the report in Pantjawarta\n1960d: 2). Without the ability to compete with the swimmers from other clubs,\nhowever, its days as a club were numbered.\nIt was noted that the PRSI suspended the Kumala Hidup club because some club\nmembers had refused to take up an invitation by PRSI to compete in certain events.\nSuch a boycott, according to the Pantjawarta report, was instigated by the PRSI rules\naimed at curtailing the participation of the club’s swimmers. The report exposed a possible\nlink between the suspension and the fact that the majority of PRSI officials were from Tirta\nKentjana, the Indigenous swimming club, which was also the main rival of Kumala Hidup.\nEven after the damning report, not only did PRSI stand by its decision, it even advised\nKumala Hidup to disband. By then, PRSI had banned the club from competing with\nthe other members of PRSI (Pantjawarta, 1960c: 2), thus dealing a death knell for the\nclub. The club was eventually disbanded and by 1962 Kumala Hidup no longer appeared\nin swimming competitions, signifying the end of Chinese exclusive swimming clubs, at\nleast in Jakarta. As reported in Wartabhakti 1962a: 2), appearing instead were two new\nJakarta swimming clubs: Lumba-Lumba and Kusuma Harapan. It appears that Kusuma\nHarapan was a ‘reincarnation’ of Kumala Hidup, but by this time, significant numbers\nof former Kumala Hidup swimmers had already joined Lumba-Lumba – a new club\ncreated to meld ethnic Chinese and Indigenous swimmers.\nBesides such disciplinary tactics, affirmative action could be achieved through the selec-\ntion process of athletes. Informants who experienced this claimed sport coaches could be\ndiscriminatory in their actions. One account dealt with the selection of athletes destined to\nattend the 1952 Olympics in Helsinki, where three athletes were dispatched: Soeharko\n(swimming), Thio Ging Hwie (weightlifting), and Soedarmodjo (athletics). According\nto one informant, instead of Soeharko, the original agreement was to send another\n13Title IX is a US law passed in 1972 that requires gender equity for boys and girls in every educational programme that\nreceives federal funding. Athletics is one of 10 key areas addressed by the law.\nINDONESIA AND THE MALAY WORLD\n55\n\n\nswimmer, Tio Tjoe Hong. The same informant continued that the agreement was not hon-\noured and the selection process was repeated by a ‘roll of the dice’ in which Soeharto was\nselected. The informant – close to Tio – mentioned that if Tio Tjoe Hong had been sent,\nthere would have been more Chinese than Indigenous swimmers in the Indonesian team,\nmaking it less Indonesian. The source believed that this consideration led to the final\ndecision not to select Tio. Both Tio and Soeharto were swimming champions, in the free-\nstyle and breaststroke categories respectively.\nA further account emanated from a national swimming champion close to Carla Oen,\none of the top female swimmers in the first half of the1950s. The source stated that her\nclub, Bandung’s Tirta Merta, had not given Oen adequate training and competition oppor-\ntunities. Tirta Merta, which was considered an Indigenous club, reasoned that she was\nalready a champion and she needed to allow less accomplished swimmers more opportu-\nnities. Oen’s father – a well known sport educator – decided to form the Aquarius Club,\nwhich Carla Oen joined shortly after its formation in 1954. The Aquarius Club, which\nbecame prominent in water sports, especially water polo, from the mid 1950s to the\n1960s, was predominantly ethnic Chinese. Another swimming record holder during\n1950s and early 1960s was told by a colleague that the Indigenous coach intentionally\nformed two separate groups of female swimmers, dividing the ethnic Chinese and the\nIndigenous, with the view that if the Indigenous team won, the Chinese team would\nnot be sent for further, advanced competition.14\nSimilarly, a badminton champion of the early 1960s claimed he had experienced dis-\ncrimination from his coach. The coach’s decision to send a lower-ranked Indigenous\nplayer angered Ferry Sonnevile, the manager of the badminton team. Sonnevile, a\nrespected badminton player himself and already based in Europe was expecting the\nethnic Chinese player to compete. Queried by Sonnevile, the coach changed that the\nplayer was sick – a claim refuted by the player. A final example of perceived discrimination\ninvolved Oei Sik Tjong, a well known football player who later became a national coach.\nThe player felt that the Indigenous coach had on several occasions excluded him from\njoining the national team. In contrast, when the coach was an expatriate (for example,\nthe Czechoslovakian Tony Pogacnik) or an ethnic Chinese coach (i.e. Liem Soen Joe\nwho was also known as Endang Witarsa), his place on the national team was assured.\nDespite these primary sources of information, it is difficult for the authors to discern the\nextent to which the ethnic Chinese athletes were disadvantaged. There were practical\nreasons as to why ambiguities may cloud the issue. The official sports organisations of\nthe 1950s were in their formation phase, and policies were mostly implemented ad hoc\nby the individual organisations. The uncertainties were even more prevalent in the\nregions, where numbers of qualified athletes and facilities were small. As no uniform\npolicy existed, grey areas – such as the athletes’ responsibilities and nationality – often\nbecame polemical. One issue was with those who had foreign or dual citizenship:\nwhether they would be allowed membership in national sports associations, compete in\nany competitions, or represent Indonesia at international games. This was particularly\n14The assemblage of Chinese and non-Chinese swimmers in group events was evident in at least one instance in 1962.\nLumba-Lumba – one of the strongest clubs in Jakarta – divided its female teams into two. Team One was all Indigenous\n(Iris Tobing, Sri Hardani, Tri Damajati, Erni Nuraeni) while the Team Two was all Chinese (Oey Lian Nio, Ong Liang Ing, Lie\nLan Hoa, Lie Jing Hoa). On that occasion, as reported in Wartabhakti (1962b: 2), the Indigenous team beat the Chinese\nteam.\n56\nT. TANASALDY AND C. PALMER\n\n\nrelevant to many ethnic Chinese athletes due to the changing citizenship requirements,\nand at once became contentious in the Indonesian sport milieu. For example, the selec-\ntion of athletes at the national level was usually based on their performance at a regional\nlevel. They were quite prominent in some sports in these regional competitions, particu-\nlarly those in Java. Since the results of these regional competitions influenced decisions\nmade at the national level, the chance of ethnic Chinese athletes being recruited was\nhigh, particularly where qualified Indigenous athletes were scarce. This was especially\ntrue in sports where individual achievements were timed and records were publicly\navailable.\nFurthermore, at this time the ethnic Chinese were still active in the leadership of official\nsports organisations. In the early 1950s, at least three of the chairpersons of the official\nsports organisations at the national level were Chinese.15 Under these circumstances, it\nwas expected that official policies directly harming the Chinese’s role in sport would\nnot be passed without scrutiny. Lastly, in some circumstances, such affirmative actions\nwere ineffective, for example, when sports such as weightlifting were completely domi-\nnated by the Chinese, or when there were no Indigenous participants, such as in swim-\nming in some regions. One swimming coach in Bandung in the early 1950s shared that\nhe did not see discrimination in the swimming selection then but added that it was\ndifficult to find potential young Indigenous swimmers during those times. This lack of\nIndigenous leaderships at the regional level in some sports could be partly due to lack\nof interests and personnel.\nTargeting the Chinese clubs\nAs noted previously sport has the capacity to contribute to the nation building process.\nHowever, if organised in such a way as to evoke ethnic chauvinism, sport could also aggra-\nvate national divisiveness. The Indonesian government realised that if building national\nunity through sport were to be successful, the inherited social structures that kept\nsociety apart ethnically would need to be dismantled. The Dutch sports organisations\nand structures, which dominated the sporting landscape during the colonial period, had\ndisappeared and were no longer an issue after 1949. The Chinese organisations, which\nhad thrived during the colonial time with a hiatus during the Japanese occupation, prolif-\nerated after the war. That said, it is important to note that these Chinese sporting organ-\nisations were not always unified in their social, cultural and political orientations. During\nthe Dutch colonial era, Chinese social organisations were divided into those oriented to\nChina, to the West/the Netherlands, and some to the Dutch East Indies. Their youth\norganisations, which were directly involved in many of the sporting activities, also\nreflected these divisions. Further differentiation in terms of cultural orientation existed\nbetween totok and peranakan, but from the authors’ research, both communities co-\nexisted well in sports representing the Chinese, and memberships of the Chinese clubs\n(especially the larger clubs) included both factions.\nDespite this, from early 1950s, many clubs, while accepting non-ethnic Chinese ath-\nletes, still overwhelmingly had Chinese memberships and continued to pursue exclusive\n15The heads respectively were: Boen Seen Sze in weightlifting, Tan Tjoen Kee in table tennis and Ong Soen Bing in basket-\nball (Kenang-kenangan Pekan Olahraga Nasional Ke-II, 1951).\nINDONESIA AND THE MALAY WORLD\n57\n\n\nactivities.16 The government realised that this exclusivity needed to be addressed. Estab-\nlishing national umbrella sporting bodies and ostracising clubs which refused to be part\nof those bodies was one way to assert control. This strategy progressed smoothly in\nsome sports – in weightlifting for example, which the ethnic Chinese had dominated.\nIn this instance, the government decided to accept the Chinese-founded IAWLA (Indone-\nsia Amateur Weight Lifter Association) as the official body. Such recognition might be one\nreason why a smooth transition was possible. The IAWLA nomenclature continued to be\nused until the early 1960s.\nInevitably, in some cases, the official strategies faced opposition, especially from those\norganisations whose ethnic Chinese influence was firmly established, or those with large\nnon-citizen Chinese in their membership ranks. Opposition from the Chinese Basketball\nFederation (Chung Hua Lan Chiu Tsung Hui - CHLCTH, 中华篮球总会) seemed to be\nthe strongest. The national basketball body, Perbasi, formed in 1951 had problems inte-\ngrating the Chinese Basketball Federation (Departemen Pendidikan Nasional 2003).\nDespite the unquestionable influence of the CHLCTH within the Indonesian basketball\nmilieu, Tony Wen – a nationalist entrusted to head Perbasi – took firm action in refusing\nto recognise competitions organised by the Chinese federation.17 In spite of the threat of\nsanctions, some members of CHLCTH continued to organise its own league competition\nin parallel to the official ones (see, for example, a report in De Locomotief, 1953a: 4).\nAnother reported case of opposition came from the badminton association of Jakarta\naligned with the ethnic Chinese, known as Perbad (Persatuan Badminton Djakarta,\nJakarta Badminton Union). It initially resisted integration because the new regional\nofficial badminton body mandated Indonesian citizenship for its membership – an\nobvious issue for the non-citizen (alien) members of Perbad (Brown 2006). Eventually, fol-\nlowing a series of negotiations, Perbad agreed to merge in 1950. The newly reconfigured\norganisation retained the name ‘Perbad’ – a sign of the original Perbad’s continuing\ninfluence (Brown 2006).\nWhile there were issues of various magnitude with other ethnic Chinese sports organ-\nisations, either at a regional or national level, in due course, those under the control of\nIndonesian Chinese (as opposed to non-citizen Chinese) merged or became members\nof the official sporting bodies. These organisations realised that opposition was futile,\ngiven their need to be recognised as part of the official sports structure. To be involved\nin official competitions at the national level, or to represent Indonesia internationally,\nnecessitated such compromises. After obtaining such recognition, the clubs or organis-\nations would need to ensure that their competing athletes also held Indonesian citizenship.\nQuestioning citizenship and loyalty\nThe citizenship and loyalty of the ethnic Chinese in Indonesia had been an issue since the\ncountry’s independence. Their visibility (greater numbers as well as greater concentrations\n16In terms of accepting non-Chinese members, two forerunners in the Jakarta football scene, the Chunghua and UMS were\npro-active since 1950. The first Indonesian to join the UMS was Mohammad Djamiat Dalhar (Bola, 8 February 2016). In the\nsame year the Chung Hua (1951) club accepted several Indigenous players, two of whom were made officials of the club.\n17Tony Wen, a nationalist associated with Sukarno’s PNI party, was himself an active athlete. He supported Indonesia in its\nwar against the Dutch. He was a member of parliament in the 1950s and subsequently held a post in a Sukarno ministry.\nSee Setyautama (2008: 23–24) and Suryadinata (2015: 369–370).\n58\nT. TANASALDY AND C. PALMER\n\n\nof people) meant that they were more often in the spotlight, compared to other foreign\nminorities, such as Indians and Arabs. While the Arab minorities had mostly been\naccepted as part of the larger Indonesian community being Muslims, the Chinese in Indo-\nnesia were perceived as ‘less Indonesian’ because of their distinctive culture and particular\nresidential areas (mostly in the urban and business districts), and having their own clubs\nand institutions. This position was exacerbated by the fact that during the colonial period\nonly a few sided with the nascent Indonesia, and following the end of World War II, a\nsignificant number of them oriented themselves towards China (Liu 2011). Many\nclaimed dual citizenships – which in nationalist eyes demonstrated an outright lack of\nloyalty to the new Indonesian state.\nIn many newly independent countries which had experienced a significant influx of\nmigrants during the colonial era citizenship was an urgent issue that needed to be resolved\nduring the decolonialisation process.18 For Indonesia, this was also complicated since the\nexisting laws in this country (and China) contributed to the ambiguous citizenship sta-\ntuses for significant numbers of ethnic Chinese. In the early 1950s, it was estimated\nthat of the 2.5 million Chinese in Indonesia, possibly one million held Indonesian citizen-\nship, and more than 800,000 had dual nationality (Mozingo 1961).\nThe citizenship requirements for taking part in official sporting competitions (such as\nPON) or for representing Indonesia internationally had become a polemical issue from the\nbeginning of the 1950s, particularly prior to the third PON in 1953, three years after the\ngovernment of Indonesia regained full control of the archipelago from the Dutch. Official\ndirections disqualified some (if not many) ethnic Chinese. Kuo Kuang T’i Yu Hui (国光体\n育会), a well known Chinese sports association in Semarang, announced that swimmers\nnot having Indonesian citizenship, or those who had taken part in events not officially\nrecognised, would be ineligible to compete in the National Sport Games (De Locomotief,\n1953b: 2). One of the non-recognised events singled out by the official national body for\nathletics, Persatuan Atletik Seluruh Indonesia (PASI), as reported in Nieuwsgier (1953a: 2),\nwas the Chinese Sportweek in Jakarta. The Nieuwsgier article (1953b: 3) mentioned that\nfour of Jakarta’s top swimmers were barred from participating in PON because they\nhad been involved in the pre-selection to represent China in the Overseas Chinese Olym-\npics. The assumption was that as Indonesian citizens they would not be participating in\nanother country’s national sport competition.\nThe loyalty of the ethnic Chinese athletes was also often questioned when they com-\npeted internationally, particularly when against athletes from China. Two former athletes\nwho had both been subjected to this scrutiny felt disappointed. The badminton champion,\nTan Joe Hok, expressed his humiliation when later in life, despite his significant contri-\nbution to the country, he was nevertheless asked to queue to obtain his citizenship\npapers (Kabarinews, 2012). Tan Liong Houw, a well known footballer, recalled how the\nIndonesian spectators shouted racial slurs against him (and other ethnic Chinese\nplayers) when they made mistakes.\nThe lack of Indonesian-ness in the names of these athletes was another thorny issue.\nFor some zealous officials it could be embarrassing to see many foreign (i.e. Chinese)\nnames in Indonesian teams that had achieved international recognition such as at the\nThomas Cup or the GANEFO Games. For such officials, athletes were expected to use\n18For a survey of Southeast Asian countries with a post-colonial citizenship issue refer to Suryadinata (2007).\nINDONESIA AND THE MALAY WORLD\n59\n\n\nIndonesian-sounding names, as the ‘foreign’ Chinese name could never be truly represen-\ntative of Indonesia. Their attempts to persuade the Indonesian Chinese athletes to change\ntheir names have been reported in early 1960s. Whether they were influenced by official\npressures or that it was a personal choice, few made the switch. Examples of those who\nchanged their names include Tan Liong Houw who became Latief Haris Tanoto and\nPhoa Sian Liong, a badminton champion, who became Januar Pribadi (Wartabhakti,\n1962c: 1). However, this name changing campaign did not progress further as it was\nnot supported by President Sukarno.19\nHowever, there was a sharp change after the failed Coup in 1965 that led to fall of\nSukarno.20 Following his demise, his supporters and those linked with Communist\nparty PKI, were purged. Indonesia’s international relations were realigned from leaning\nto the East to supporting the West, and it suspended relations with its former closest\nally, the People’s Republic of China.21 This drastic political reversal affected the Indone-\nsian Chinese significantly. There was no secret that Baperki (Badan Permusjawaratan\nKewarganegaraan Indonesia), the most significant Indonesian Chinese organisation at\nthat time, was a strong supporter of Sukarno and had close relations with China. It was\nknown to oppose the total assimilation of the ethnic Chinese, a policy fully endorsed by\nthe new regime after Sukarno. Baperki and its extensive associates including all Chinese\nschools either disbanded or were outlawed. Chinese cultural performances were severely\nrestricted in public, and their cultural symbols were strictly regulated, including\nbanning of the Chinese script. Entrance to public universities were also limited. For the\nnext 30 years, the Indonesian Chinese were left with almost no political representation\nand had the status of second-class citizens.22 The Indonesian Chinese became the\nvictims of heightened discrimination and stigmatisation.\nIn such a hostile environment, their formerly enthusiastic social participation, includ-\ning those in sports, declined rapidly. Without government support or that of strong advo-\ncates such as Baperki, they had to accept the harsh imposition of the new regime. In the\ncase of the name changing, as an example, the majority of the remaining active Indonesian\nChinese athletes changed their names. In an interview, Tan Joe Hok, a legendary badmin-\nton player, recalls a military officer who summoned all Chinese badminton players prepar-\ning for the 1967 Thomas Cup to present them with Indonesian names. Overnight, these\nsports figures who had hitherto been known by their Chinese names had new identities.\nKompas (2 March 1967) reported that ‘in order to fulfil the expectation of the community’\nseveral of the players have changed their names: Wong Pek Shen to Darmadi, Tjoa Tjong\nBoan to Agus Susanto, Tjia Kian Sien to Indratno, Rudy Nio to Rudy Hartono Kurniawan,\nand Tjong Kin Nian to Mintarja.\n19President Sukarno asserted that foreign names would not diminish one’s loyalty to the country, and that no names,\nincluding those of the officials, were originally Indonesian (see Oei et al. 1995 and Setiono 2003: 738). At that time\nname-changing was a serious issue for many Chinese. It even affected their decision on whether to choose Indonesian\ncitizenship (Pantjawarta, 1960a: 1).\n20Much has been written about the abortive Coup, and one of the earlier accounts is that of Benedict Anderson and Ruth\nMcVey (1971). For information on links with the Indonesian Chinese, see Coppel (1983: chapter 3).\n21On events leading to the suspension of the diplomatic relations see Coppel (1983: 137–142), Suryadinata (2005: 161–166.)\nDiplomatic relations with the People’s Republic of China was only restored more two decades later, in 1990.\n22Unlike the Sukarno era, Indonesian Chinese were hardly represented in the national parliaments. During the more than\n30-year period of the New Order, only two ethnic Chinese members were appointed in each legislative house, the DPR\nand MPR, respectively. There were no Chinese ministers during those times, a contrast to the previous era when there\nwere ethnic Chinese ministers (Setiono 2003; Winarta 2008).\n60\nT. TANASALDY AND C. PALMER\n\n\nThe after effects\nThe combination of post-Independence opportunities as well as supportive government\npolicies resulted in an increased role for Indigenous sportsmen and women – even in\nthose sports in which they had been minimally represented in the past. In swimming,\nfor example, native swimmers began competing in the early 1950s. Thus, by the early\n1960s the Chinese – while still an important cohort in this sport – were no longer domi-\nnant. The numbers and influence of ethnic Chinese athletes were also in decline. On the\none hand, policies, which were not seen favourable by the Chinese, affected the degree of\nenthusiasm that the Chinese had for their sports. On the other, many potential ethnic\nChinese athletes had decided to return to China. Some of them became China’s national\nchampions and later visited Indonesia to compete against their former friends and col-\nleagues. In badminton, these included Wang Wenjiao, Tang Xianhu, Hou Jiachang,\nChen Yuniang, and Liang Qiuxia.23\nIt is difficult to deny that the majority of the Chinese – those active in politics excepted\n– would look first to their future. Pride in their fame on the sporting field would not guar-\nantee their survival and prosperity. Thus, when the New Order took charge of the nation\nand imposed harsher conditions on the Chinese, many decided to withdraw from sport.\nAthletes or potential athletes, with the exception of those in badminton, switched interests.\nLike the path taken by their political and social institutions, most Chinese sporting organ-\nisations changed their names to shed ties with the past or disbanded entirely. Conse-\nquently, their rate of participation in sport and their ancillary domination in some\nfields of sport declined rapidly. However, this change in fortune and its effects on their\nparticipation in sports is a subject for further research.\nConclusion\nA central objective of Indonesian nationalism in the 1950s concerned ‘the Chinese\nproblem’ – a population distinct from the rest of the community whose loyalties to the\nnation were often questioned. Sport was used as a tool in both integration and opposition\nwhereby ethnic Chinese athletes in Indonesia were positioned as distinct from the native\nIndonesian athletes and progressively marginalised from competitive sport on a national\nand international stage.\nImportant to this was that Indonesia as a nation was a relatively a new concept, con-\nstructed in the first half of 20th century when the archipelago was a Dutch colony.\nSoon after Indonesia’s independence in 1945, its leaders embarked on series of nation\nbuilding efforts to strengthen the cohesion of this diverse new nation. As has been\naddressed here, sport was a key tool in this, yet it was not always embraced evenly.\nWith ethnic nationalism gaining momentum, the Indonesian government sought to\nmanage the growing dominance of ethnic Chinese on the regional/national and inter-\nnational sporting stage.\nThe example of discrimination and nation building through sport in Indonesia in the\n1950s highlights in particular the tension in debates about sport and nation building.\n23See Shen Shengyi’s blog韩建锋, \"跑过四十年—陈玉娘口述历史[Han Jianfeng, ‘Passing forty years – Chen Yuniang’s\noral history’, 25 February 2009. <http://home.ttymq.com/space-2511-do-blog-id-7369.html>\nINDONESIA AND THE MALAY WORLD\n61\n\n\nSport can provide a site through which the elevation of national status in the inter-\nnational arena can contribute to success – either by individuals or groups, and sports\nconsidered Indigenous or native to a community or region. Indeed, the discussion\nabove has shed light on how the government of the day, through policies and the\napproaches of the officials and coaches, and through promoting certain athletes and\nsports over others, tried to promote the achievements of the Indigenous athletes while\nat the same time managing the ethnic Chinese athletes. The government tried to form\na ‘Team Indonesia’ or at least endeavoured to create a sense of pan-Indonesianess in\nsport.\nSuch approaches combined with better opportunities had seen a rise of Indigenous ath-\nletes including in the areas where they had no influence in the past. The lack of support\nand the perceived discriminatory policies saw the gradual decline of the influence of the\nethnic Chinese athletes from the mid 1950s onwards, and ended definitively after the\nNew Order came to power in 1966. This was balanced by a range of affirmative action pol-\nicies and strategies that were introduced by the new Indonesian government and officials\nwhich contributed to the nation building agenda of the time. As discussed here, we can\nlearn much from the ways in which dominant and historical discourses of nationalism\nmay be contested by challenges to the legitimacy of athletic identity through the mobilis-\nation of both affirmative action and discrimination in sport.\nAcknowledgements\nThis work was supported by PT Inti Cakra Anugrah (Jakarta).\nNotes on contributors\nTaufiq Tanasaldy, fluent in Bahasa Indonesia and Mandarin, is Senior Lecturer in Indonesian\nStudies and the Head of Global Cultures and Languages, School of Humanities, University of Tas-\nmania. He is interested in ethnicity, conflict and the Chinese diaspora. He is currently researching\nthe role of Indonesian Chinese in sport and working on the Sinpo (precursor of Wartabhakti)\narchive. His work has appeared in Asian Ethnicity and Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volken-\nkunde. Email: taufiq.tanasaldy@utas.edu.au\nCatherine Palmer is a social anthropologist and Head of the School of Social Sciences, University of\nTasmania. She is internationally recognised for her interdisciplinary research examining cutting-\nedge questions about pressing social problems, using sport as the prism. Her publications have\nappeared in journals such as the International Journal for the Sociology of Sport, Sport in Society,\nJournal of Gender Studies, Social & Cultural Geography, Sociology of Sport. Email: catherine.\npalmer@utas.edu.au\nReferences\nAdams, Iain. 2002. Pancasila: sport and the building of Indonesia – ambitions and obstacles.\nInternational Journal of the History of Sport 19 (2–3): 295–318.\nAji, R.N. Bayu. 2010. Tionghoa Surabaya dalam sepak bola 1915–1942 [Chinese Surabaya in foot-\nball 1915–1942]. Yogyakarta: Ombak.\nAllison, Lincoln. 2000. Sport and nationalism. 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Basketball: Torni PERBASI hanja untuk W.N. ‘Asli’? [Basketball: PERBASI\ncompetition only for the Indigenes?], 19 October, p. 1.\nPantjawarta 1960f. PERBASI tolak rasialism [PERBASI opposes racialism], 21 October, p. 1.\nWartabhakti. 1962a. Try out renang di Senajan: Djin Hoo buat surprise [The swimming trial out in\nSenajan: Djin Hoo makes a suprise], 30 June, p. 2.\nWartabhakti. 1962b. Tidak ada perbaikan rekor dalam perlombaan renang [No new records in the\nswimming competition], 23 July, p. 2.\nWartabhakti. 1962c. Indonesia tundukkan Vietnam Selatan [Indonesia defeat South Vietnam], 26\nAugust, p. 1.\nWebsites\nBola. 2016. Warna Tionghoa di Persija dan Timnas Indonesia [The roles of the Indonesian Chinese\nin Persija and the National Indonesian Team], 8 February. <https://www.bola.com/indonesia/\nread/2431368/warna-tionghoa-di-persija-dan-timnas-indonesia/page-1> Accessed 2 February\n2017.\nKompas. 1967. Jago-jago bulu tangkis ganti nama [The prominent badminton players change\nnames],\n2 March. <https://kompas.id/baca/utama/2017/03/02/jago-jago-bulu-tangkis-ganti-\nnama/> Accessed 28 November 2018.\nKabarinews.com 2012. Kisah Tan Joe Hok yang berwarna [The colourful story of Tan Joe Hok], 1\nSeptember. <http://kabarinews.com/profil-kisah-tan-joe-hok-yang-berwarna/48896> Accessed\n25 May 2016.\nShen Shengyi’s blog. 2009. 韩建锋, 跑过四十年—陈玉娘口述历史[Han Jianfeng, ‘Passing forty\nyears – Chen Yuniang’s oral history’], 25 February. <http://home.ttymq.com/space-2511-do-\nblog-id-7369.html> Accessed 11 February 2017.\nINDONESIA AND THE MALAY WORLD\n65","difficulty":"hard","domain":"Multi-Document QA","length":"medium","question":"Both ‘Sport and Secessionism’ and ‘Discrimination, Sport, and Nation Building among Indonesian Chinese in the 1950s’ explore how sports are manipulated to serve political or nationalistic agendas. Considering the contexts and challenges in both texts, which of the following “most accurately reflects” the deeper socio-political tension that arises when sports are used as a means of unifying diverse groups?","sub_domain":"Academic"}

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