Part 2 : Vinicius, Prestianni and Racism In Football

Football authorities often point to the three-step anti racism protocol as proof of progress. First, stop the match. Second, suspend it temporarily. Third, abandon it if abuse continues. On paper, this framework appears decisive. In practice, abandonment is almost nonexistent.

I struggle with that gap. If racism is treated as serious misconduct, why is the most serious sanction so rarely used? Referees carry enormous discretion. Evidence thresholds delay action. Stadium announcements are made, and matches resume. The visual performance of response becomes the substitute for structural consequence.

The Mike Maignan walk-off in 2024 stands out to me precisely because it was player-driven. When Milan players left the pitch after abuse in Udine, they forced a confrontation. The governing bodies did not initiate the strongest response. The players did.

There is also an officiating paradox that I find difficult to ignore. Victims who react emotionally risk bookings for dissent or excessive celebration. Meanwhile, alleged abusers often remain on the field pending investigation. The message is subtle but powerful. Emotional expression is policed immediately. Racist speech is processed procedurally.

The core issue is incentive. If a match continues and points remain available, the competitive stakes are unchanged. Clubs are fined. Sections of stadiums are closed temporarily. But the league table does not move. Without competitive loss, the deterrent effect is minimal. Protocols create the appearance of control. What they rarely create is consequence.

When I compare financial penalties across football, the imbalance becomes obvious. Nicklas Bendtner received an £80,000 fine for revealing branded underwear during a European Championship match. Meanwhile, fines for racial abuse directed at Mario Balotelli were significantly lower. That comparison is not trivial. It reveals institutional priorities.

Commercial breaches often attract swift, substantial sanctions. Moral violations frequently result in smaller fines, partial stadium closures, or suspended punishments. From an economic perspective, clubs absorb these penalties as operating costs. They do not fundamentally threaten competitive ambition.
I believe this is where enforcement collapses. Football clubs respond to competitive risk. A nine-point deduction alters a season. An automatic match forfeit damages title or survival prospects. A fine, even a large one, can be budgeted.

When Raheem Sterling, Danny Rose, and Ian Wright advocate for automatic points deductions, they are not exaggerating for effect. They are identifying the only mechanism that changes behaviour: structural cost. If racism carries no meaningful sporting consequence, it becomes an episodic scandal rather than an existential threat. I do not see evidence that current financial penalties are reshaping incentives. I see evidence that they preserve continuity. The uncomfortable truth is that football protects competition above all. Until racism interferes directly with that competition, enforcement will remain cautious.

FIFA’s 2024 Global Stand Against Racism introduced five pillars of action, clearer definitions of offenses, and the possibility of mandatory forfeits. On paper, this appears transformative. Racism was formally categorised as a specific disciplinary offense. Criminal prosecution was encouraged across all member associations. I acknowledge that this represents progress. Clearer language matters. Institutional recognition matters. The introduction of the “No Racism” crossed-arms gesture empowers players symbolically.

But I remain cautious.

The key question is not whether racism is condemned. It is whether enforcement becomes automatic and consistent. Across 211 member associations, legal systems differ dramatically. Hate speech laws vary. Political will varies. Without uniform application, reforms risk fragmentation. Mandatory forfeits sound decisive. Yet if they depend on prolonged investigation or discretionary interpretation, their deterrent power weakens. Advisory panels, including prominent former players, provide visibility. However, advisory authority is not executive authority.

Spain’s first prison sentences for stadium racism demonstrate that criminal accountability is possible. That precedent matters. But it also highlights how rare such outcomes remain. I do not dismiss reform. I question whether it will alter incentives at scale. If enforcement remains uneven, symbolic progress will coexist with persistent abuse.

Racism in football no longer stops at the stadium gates. After matches, coordinated abuse floods social media platforms. Players receive thousands of messages, many anonymous, many cross-border. The expansion of Social Media Protection Services and AI detection tools reflects recognition of this shift.

Technology can identify discriminatory banners, flag abusive posts, and preserve evidence. But technology does not prosecute. It does not deduct points. It does not guarantee uniform legal consequences across jurisdictions. I see technological expansion as supportive infrastructure, not solution. Without institutional will, detection becomes documentation rather than deterrence.

The battlefield has expanded and enforcement must expand with it. That means collaboration between leagues, governments, and platforms. It also means accepting that racism in football is not reputational inconvenience but structural failure.

If football truly intends to protect player dignity, it must be willing to sacrifice competitive continuity when necessary. Until racism costs teams matches, points, and legal exposure, it will remain cyclical. The outrage will return. The protocols will activate. The games will resume. And the mirror will remain unchanged