Leyla HamedFor years, European football’s response to Palestine was defined by silence, evasions, and confiscated flags.
When supporters raised Palestinian banners, they were often removed under regulations against “political symbols”.
When players from Gaza were killed, the official statements — if they came at all — were couched in vague language about “conflict” and “tragedy”.
The message was clear: politics had no place in football.
But this goes beyond politics. What is happening in Gaza is a humanitarian catastrophe, and football cannot ignore it.
In recent weeks, football has seen a wave of gestures and decisions — from clubs, federations, former stars, and even governments — that suggest neutrality is no longer tenable.
For the past two years, supporters’ groups have forced the issue into football’s consciousness.
After the Green Brigade at Celtic Park raised the call for solidarity in 2023, banners and tifos spread. Palestinian flags became a fixture in European football culture, even when stewards tried to confiscate them.
That grassroots movement has only grown.
A letter coordinated by Scottish Sport for Palestine, demanding FIFA and UEFA “red card Israel,” has been signed by more than seven million people worldwide.
Week after week, supporters have shown that silence is not an option. What we are witnessing is not just a political statement, but a demand for recognition of a shared human responsibility.
UEFA has struggled to contain this pressure.
At the Super Cup final in Udine this August, it unfurled “Stop killing children” banners and announced foundation support for Palestine.
Yet even as two Palestinian children stood on the podium at the medal ceremony, UEFA refused to name the aggressor.
What looked like compassion was quickly condemned as hollow theatre in another attempt to appear neutral while dodging accountability.
Spain leads the way
LaLiga president Javier Tebas surprised many by announcing that Palestinian flags are permitted inside stadiums.
In Bilbao, Athletic Club went further: unfurling a banner at San Mames, partnering with UNRWA to support refugee children, and announcing a historic friendly between Palestine and the Basque selection in November, with proceeds earmarked for humanitarian initiatives.
The protests have not been confined to football. At this year’s La Vuelta a Espana, the participation of the Israel–Premier Tech team was met with widespread calls for a boycott along the route.
Fans across Spain have shown that sport cannot remain indifferent in the face of human suffering in Gaza.
The Spanish government has gone further still. On September 15, Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez called for Israel to be banned from international sport, asking: “Why expel Russia after the invasion of Ukraine and not expel Israel after the invasion of Gaza?”.
He has even left open the question of Spain’s own presence at the 2026 World Cup.
Elsewhere, the Norwegian Football Federation announced it will donate proceeds from its match against Israel to Palestine, a step that moves from symbolism to material support.
In Italy, the National Coaches’ Association demanded Israel’s suspension, citing the precedent of Russia. Public solidarity has been visible: during this month’s national strike for Palestine, former goalkeeper Walter Zenga voiced his support.
The stakes will rise when Italy host Israel in Udine in World Cup qualifying, with demonstrations expected around the match.
The tension isn’t confined to national teams.
In club football, Maccabi Tel Aviv are due to face Aston Villa in the UK in the Europa Conference League. Given the current atmosphere, the fixture raises serious concerns about fan safety and the potential for unrest.
The violent clashes that surrounded Ajax v Maccabi Tel Aviv in Amsterdam earlier this year are a stark reminder of how combustible such encounters can become.
Amsterdam’s response has gone further. The city council recently approved a motion to declare Maccabi Tel Aviv “unwelcome” in the city, arguing that Israeli clubs complicit in occupation or racism should not be hosted.
It was a striking step, a European capital effectively saying that participation in sport cannot be neutral when human rights are being violated.
And then there is culture.
In London, Eric Cantona delivered a blistering critique of football’s hypocrisy, accusing governing bodies of applying sanctions selectively.
His words resonated because they echoed what fans already knew: neutrality is not real.
As Palestine coach Ihab Abu Jazar told La Gazzetta dello Sport: “Coaching Palestine is a form of resistance. You carry the burden of hope and nurture the resilience of those who belong to it.”
This week, UEFA’s secretaries-general are meeting in Marbella, Spain, officially to “align positions” with Israel in the background.
The gathering cannot itself impose sanctions, but the 55 federations present could draft a common stance to escalate to the executive committee. That Israel now sits on the agenda at all signals how far the debate has moved.
The urgency is undeniable. Suleiman al-Obeid, once dubbed the ‘Palestinian Pele’, was killed in August while queuing for food aid. Palestine manager Abu Jazar reports that more than 280 sports facilities have been destroyed and 774 figures in Palestinian sport — players, coaches, federation staff — have been killed.
Even officials inside Israel confess how fragile their position has become. Shlomi Barzel, head of communications for the Israel FA, admitted: “I’m surprised we’re still part of international tournaments. In many aspects, this is a miracle… historically, countries have been suspended for much less”.
He warned that “one more troublesome incident in Gaza” could end Israel’s participation “in an instant,” and acknowledged that in a free vote at UEFA or FIFA, Israel “wouldn’t have survived it”.
The principle that “politics has no place in sport” is now secondary to the more urgent principle: human life has no place for silence.
The end of neutrality
The mantra that “politics has no place in sport” looks threadbare. Football has always been political; the only question is why upholding humanity is considered political.
Russia was expelled from the competition within days of its war on Ukraine. Israel continues to compete without interruption.
When Gianni Infantino was confronted by a member of the Black Alliance for Peace about suspending Israel from the World Cup, he smirked — a gesture that captured football’s indifference as Palestinian athletes and facilities are systematically destroyed.
Football has never been neutral. It wasn’t neutral when South Africa was expelled during apartheid. It wasn’t neutral when Yugoslavia was banned during war. It wasn’t neutral when Russia was cast out after its offensive on Ukraine, or still forcing Belarus teams to play behind closed doors on neutral soil for enabling Moscow.
Each of those decisions set a precedent: the game cannot ignore mass violence without implicating itself.
To allow Israel to keep playing while Palestinian football is obliterated is not neutrality but complicity.
Fans have already understood this; they have carried the flags, filled the terraces, and forced the issue into the spotlight. What remains is whether FIFA and UEFA will follow, or whether they will be remembered alongside those who smirked and stalled while an entire sporting culture was bombed out of existence.
History always writes football’s choices into its record.
The question is not whether the sport will take a side; it already has. The question is whether it will correct course before silence becomes one of the most shameful chapters in the beautiful game’s history.
