Tempering Agent: War games and tribal passions

When England defeated the Netherlands in the semifinal of the European football championship last month, British sportscasters hailed it as a “historic” victory that would “change all our lives.” Sports commentators are known for hyperbole, that is their job, but these pronouncements seemed ridiculous. Smaller countries like the Netherlands often view these competitions as rare opportunities to shine on the world stage, but does the United Kingdom really need such validation? Evidently, it does.

The Hungarian-born writer Arthur Koestler famously distinguished between ordinary nationalism and football nationalism. The latter, in his view, was the stronger. Despite being a proud naturalised citizen of the United Kingdom, Koestler remained a lifelong devotee of Hungarian football.

Football nationalism is flag-waving, tribal, and frequently aggressive. Close-ups on television of burly men in the stands, baring their teeth, thumping their bared chests, and making roaring noises, reminds us that we and apes are descended from a common ancestor.

Tribal sentiments feed on collective animosities. During matches against Germany, some British football fans still sing “ Ten German Bombers ,” while spreading their arms to mimic Royal Air Force planes. When the Netherlands defeated West Germany in the Euro 1988 semifinal –

fittingly held in Hamburg – and went on to win the championship, the celebrations in Amsterdam’s streets surpassed even those of May 1945, when the country was liberated from Nazi occupation. Perhaps that helped to lance a historic boil. Anti-German feeling quite quickly diminished after that.

When Czechoslovakia’s ice-hockey team beat the Soviet Union in the 1969 Ice Hockey World Championships, just one year after Soviet tanks rolled into Prague, the victory sparked wild celebrations that turned into widespread protests. An American diplomat said that he “had never seen Czechs so happy. Clearly, the city had not experienced such joy since the defeat of the Nazis in 1945.”

For those of us taught to view nationalistic fervour as unseemly, feeling the pull of flag-waving emotions can be somewhat embarrassing. Yet their power cannot be denied. As a Dutchman, I too rejoiced when the Netherlands beat West Germany in 1988.

But can sports nationalism truly be considered a good thing, given that it can spill over into violence? In the late nineteenth century, this question sparked a heated debate between Baron Pierre de Coubertin, founder of the modern Olympic Games, and the far-right ideologue Charles Maurras, leader of the antisemitic Action française. De Coubertin believed that international sporting competitions would foster global unity and mutual understanding. By contrast, Maurras argued that such events fuel national animosities, which he, as a nationalist, welcomed.

While Maurras was right to question de Coubertin’s romantic notions of universal brotherhood, his racist views helped pave the way for the horrors of World War II. But this does not mean that sports nationalism is inherently bad. It can also be seen as an expression of shared emotions that require a theatrical or ceremonial outlet.

Tribalism, in sports and beyond, can reflect religious, ideological, ethnic, regional, or national affinities. This is most evident in team sports like football. The longstanding rivalry between the Scottish football clubs Celtic and Rangers is rooted in their respective Catholic and Protestant affiliations. Liverpool and Manchester fans hate clubs from London. Ajax (Amsterdam) and Tottenham Hotspur (London) are associated by their rivals with Jews (Amsterdam and North London once had fairly large Jewish populations), which provokes some very nasty language.

But such associations no longer have any basis in reality. Nowadays, football clubs are global enterprises, recruiting talent from all over the world. Only a handful of British players actually play for the top UK teams, and the same is true for the major clubs in the Netherlands, Germany, France, Italy, and Spain.

In fact, de Coubertin turned out to be right about the players, but he was wrong about the fans.

Today’s professional athletes belong to a highly-paid cosmopolitan elite, free of national, racial, or religious animosity, often embracing as colleagues and friends even after fiercely contested international matches. But this camaraderie seems to have little effect on the fans, many of whom still treat clubs like Tottenham, Ajax, or Bayern Munich – largely staffed by foreign coaches and players – as local teams.

This shows that sports nationalism is less about traditional notions of blood and soil, as Maurras believed, than about something more abstract: a yearning for togetherness, for the experience of sharing emotions and adulating heroes. In short, the kind of thing that places of religious worship have always provided. Worship needs an object, but this, too, can be abstracted – which is why some religions forbid the depiction of human beings.

Sports nationalism, then, functions like a secular faith, which explains sportscasters’ hyperbole and fans’ near-religious zeal. Tribal rituals, at religious festivals as much as in sporting venues, can sometimes get out of hand and lead to violence. But on the whole, ritualised tribalism allows people to indulge in emotions that could otherwise be dangerous. We can only wish for a world in which Palestinian and Israeli sports fans don face paint, wave flags, and roar, while doing battle in a soccer stadium.