I’m on the train, just leaving Birmingham. Thursday 6 November was the first time I’ve been accosted by someone for wearing a keffiyeh. It’s ringing in my ears now, a poignant way to round off a night spent covering the demonstration at Villa Park for the European fixture against Maccabi Tel Aviv.

Just in case anyone hasn’t heard: Birmingham City Council placed a banning order on away fans due to a clear risk of disorder. This conclusion followed multiple examples of rampant hooliganism and took into account the diverse community in the local area.

Lucky for us, Keir Starmer, our glorious leader, decided this was the issue on which to expend the final dregs of political capital—not restoring benefits to single mothers with too many children for the state’s liking. That wouldn’t please the donors. Instead, let’s spend the last of that stock on defending literal football hooligans in the national press and smearing the police and council in Birmingham in the process.

It’s strange.

How does the man who lives and breathes football so genuinely and authentically [lol] miss the fact that these exact supporters have torn up multiple cities in Europe, including recently their exertions in Amsterdam, where they attacked Muslim supporters, tore down Palestinian flags, and rampaged through the city, chanting the most abhorrent and vile abuse.

But it’s okay – we don’t understand Arabic so those chants are okay – they won’t offend us. Yes, that was actually one of the sick comments I read online in the last few days from a prominent media personality with an extensive enough reach that real people in the real world saw it expressed.

It genuinely shocks me how far and how fast the Overton window has shifted:

Birmingham saw an immense police presence

The police presence in the city when I arrived is immense, a pair of coppers every couple of hundred metres:

I don’t think I have ever seen anything like this. I had plenty of time to scope out the Asian food market, but when I stopped to ask a couple of officers for directions, I was met with a blank stare. They have been shuttled in from Shropshire for the night, and no, they don’t know anything about tonight either.

Maybe I should speak to the police officer press team with the other auditors… goodness me sir, I am a professional… now kindly please stop talking. I am hangry, and if you have no information on where the noodles are you are useless to me.

Heading through New Street, there are a few Villa flags already on the train at 5pm, and a steady police presence. At the far side of the stadium you can hear the loudspeaker and see the flags around the final corner. There are hundreds of people there, some stalls assembled. The police have been instrumental in organising this protest, and on the microphone one of the organisers is reminding people of this fact: please, remember that this is a static peaceful protest, there is no march, let’s work with the police.

I was lucky to speak to Duncan, a local activist and Palestine Solidarity Campaign (PSC) rep. It’s clear that there’s a lot of confusion about the whole situation:

Why is Israel still playing in UEFA competitions?

And it’s a comment that goes to the heart of the issue.

Why is Israel still playing?

Why, after two years, is Israel still playing in international and European competitions when Russian athletics and football have faced bans since the invasion of Ukraine?

“What’s happening in Ukraine is a tragedy,” agrees Duncan:

But equally in Gaza 20,000 children have been killed by Israeli forces, and they are still playing in international competitions, singing in Eurovision… its just absolutely confusing.

It’s important to remember that this was actually about safety in the first place – this was never really about politics. These fans aren’t the only fans who have ever been subject to a banning order like this, and these are the same fans who tore through Amsterdam recently.

Duncan said:

Even our Prime Minister was speaking out as if they were victims when they are the ones who went round Amsterdam, smashing up Arabic shops, tearing down Palestinian flags and attacking people. They were even banned in their own country recently.

He isn’t the only one here with these views. Professor Kamel Hawwash, a local Brummie of 35 years who stood down as head of the PSC to stand for parliament in Selly Oak at the last election, agreed with him:

Israeli teams should not be in UEFA or FIFA. At least 6 teams are based in occupied Palestine and even their own rules say you cannot play on the land of another football association… why is Israel an exception? Why are they playing in Europe? Why are the Russian teams banned? Because they occupy Ukrainian land!

What about the people who think that this is about religion?

No! The Jewish community is a totally different matter, it isn’t on the British Jewish community.

It’s so important to bear in mind when discussing this that we are in many cases talking to people who cannot go home. Kamel is from Jerusalem:

Both of my parents were born in Jerusalem before 1948 so they couldn’t return. I used to go with my family until the Israelis banned me… there was a new law which said they can ban anyone who supports the BDS campaign…

I ask Kamel if he can try and explain to someone who has no stake in this conflict what it feels like to be deprived the right to return home, if he is able to:

When I was banned I was sitting on a chair and I could see my homeland out of the window, and a Russian Israeli took me onto the plane to deport me – so that is how I feel…

It’s admirable that Kamel and others are able to regulate their trauma and bury it into productive outlets. But it’s also not difficult to understand why some people have come tonight with very different viewpoints:

The whataboutery was strong in Birmingham

People are rightfully furious at the way that this entire issue has been turned into an implicit accusation by ministers. This was all about safety, and that’s not lost on the fans who are pouring down the road tonight.

“We know a lot of people who have chose not to come because of safety… and the way that Starmer has not come out and said anything about Villa fans’ safety at the ground – that’s interesting,” one season ticket holder tells me:

No one will talk about the turnover and the club. It’s just politics… you’ve got to look at it with an open mind… no one will talk about the Villa supporters… it’s not what it’s about… I’m here to see a football game… and now I’m having an interview next to some Palestinian supporters.

It must be said though there was no rendition prior to this interview, there was no coercion. If people don’t want to be interviewed then don’t stop in front of a group of protesters, and don’t agree to an interview… it’s kind of snow-flakey bro.

And I have to be honest, it still shocks me to hear people standing in the street talking about what is objectively a genocide in the kind of terms that were soon to follow when I broach the double standard between Russia and Israel.

“The difference is Ukraine’s a peaceful country innit,” adds a fellow fan. “It’s not like what’s going on over there.”

Yeah, that’s the thing, Palestine have gone and shot a bunch of innocents and Israel has then, you know, gone, in my opinion, too far in Palestine… They are both as bad as each other.

Sometimes it’s hard to be a professional in the job:

Opposing views

Fortunately I bumped into some other supporters soon after who had a different story to tell:

This is something we deliberated to boycott… football is our release but we also support what is going on here too. It’s really important to have solidarity.

The idea that these protesters don’t care about the team is for the birds.

“We have been Villa fans over 35 years,” they say. One of them even brings his 12-year-old daughter along for the game usually. Not tonight though – this was always a safety issue:

People say this is racism but when you have our Prime Minister saying we are anti-Semitic for not wanting violent thugs in our stands… no we are not. My family go back to the 1500s in Aston. My grandad had no problems integrating in a multi-cultural society.

I think it’s been made into antisemitism by our Prime Minister chirping up – it suits a narrative.

The boys want to get back to the protest, before they go – anything you might have missed?

Oh yeah. Up the Villa. And Free Palestine.

Meandering

I continue my aimless meander – click click click, honestly this seems pretty chilled out for the most part. Life would be easier if the WIFI was working properly. For some reason I cannot even connect my camera to my phone to transfer the files across until I walk a certain distance from the police and into the park where it suddenly miraculously works… quell surprise.

The steady stream of fans are filing through to the gates, I’m just messaging the ‘office’ to let them know tonight’s been overblown when suddenly; a hubbub.

Several hundred people are jostling with the police. It’s very hard in hindsight to pretend like these people were just there for a nice time at the football – there are people on both sides who are just here to express their anger.

At one point, as the police try and restore calm by cordoning, there are still fans coming down the road. I’m standing behind the line of police, football hooligans shouting “where’s your Gaza gone now” at the demonstration, and I realise that the police are still letting more fans come down the road behind me.

Suddenly there’s some angry old fucker shouting “fuck Gaza” immediately behind me while an officer shouts at me for being in their way, as if there’s some grand plan.

It’s actually been fascinating the last few months seeing the police and how they behave close up:

Cops and the fash: obvious bedfellows

Are there literal fascists in the police force?

Undeniably.

My experiences over the last few months have shown me clearly, some of them would be in the crowds shouting at hotels if they didn’t wear uniforms. But mostly it’s just incompetence.

These people, by and large, have no idea what they are doing. They look to each other with nervous glances, desperate for validation, and honestly that’s where I think the violence comes from a lot of the time. The insecure reality of realising you’re just a little man in some big boots. Impotent.

Eventually the police restore calm. Ish. There’s a little flare-up at half time when supporters come out, but by and large the party is over.

A few fireworks are thrown. A young man is arrested and taken away. No one knows what the charge was, what the grounds were, or where he was taken.

The local Birmingham PSC has started to make their way home – the protest officially ended at 8pm, but there are a lot of folks wanting to keep things going.

“We have actual Palestinians here,” is the reply when people ask them to stop banging drums, stop chanting, and to leave. Their passion is undeniable and understandable.

I hang around until full time to see what happens – I’m really interested in how the police plan on stopping the two groups mingling as they make their way towards the station. As the fans start to leave, one comes out, masked, hooded, and makes a beeline for something with intent.

The police follow, so of course I do too:

Standing by

Snap snap.

Turns out it’s just his two mates arguing about the fact they can’t get back to their car.

Suddenly, one of them notices me taking pictures, starts throwing abuse and threats over the shoulder of two officers, while his masked buddy rushes me and gets right in my face. I’m shocked, frankly – there’s a line of 50 coppers standing not 10 feet from me, shoulder to shoulder, watching a man being threatened in the street for doing his job, and none of them even moved.

Are any of you going to do anything about this?

Literal silence.

They let the guys leave, shouting that they would see me down the road – the only way out of the cordon. It takes multiple attempts and about 20 minutes to be allowed out safely through the back of the cordon.

It was quite profound, actually:

I am blessed; I have never been in a position where I have had to understand my privilege like that.

Privilege take away – kind of

I am a very middle-class sounding white dude, but I don’t think class is where you come from. It’s what you do with it that counts.

I’ve washed pots for £3.40 an hour, full time, no tips. I’ve scrubbed toilets and done shitty jobs – don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m better than anyone. I was 17 when I had a knife pulled on me the first time, 21 was the second time in Derby outside my front door. And I’ve been literally carried away by five Spanish police in Santiago with enough force that I never did get back that lovely pendant my mother made me once – I know the feeling of being literally lifted by the police.

But on Thursday evening I realised that my skull would have hit the pavement before a single officer would have reacted to stop it from happening.

Suddenly, I’m standing in the road, utterly naked, unclothed of all the advantages I have always taken for granted in my whole life.

I will likely never understand what it is like to wear a target on my skin, and I am not pretending that one split second of police indifference means that I get it, whatsoever or at all. But feeling what it is like to have absolutely no privilege for those few seconds was the most transformative experience.

Everyone knows what it feels like when the police don’t give a fuck about a stolen bike, but everyone should feel what it feels like to have the police literally not care about your safety and wellbeing just one time. It’ll change things in you.

This job is a wild lesson. I might listen to the nice journalist with the helmet on:

An absolute shitshow in Birmingham

I stop to have a natter as I’m leaving. I hear that there’s something going on elsewhere, and hey, this is my job so I ask around. I’m told in no uncertain terms that it’s time to leave by some of the locals. I try and explain, I come in peace, I mean no harm:

You’re starting to piss me off bro…

His friend whispers in my ear that it’s really not wise to stick around.

This time I listen. I get it.

It’s difficult to know what I would or wouldn’t do in that situation, but it’s not hard to see why I wouldn’t trust some chippy white guy with a camera and a grin. People have every right to be fucking raging.

It’s like some of the fans have said: either you’re on the side where the government is allowing a dangerous situation to exist that impacts your safety, or you’re being told by the same government that your disdain for FIFA, your awareness about Gaza, or your fears of hooliganism make you an antisemite.

This whole thing’s been handled so poorly. What did the government think was going to happen? And, what’s more, it didn’t even work.

There were dozens of Maccabi fans with flags inside the stadium in Birmingham. And many more who were more low key too. On the way back from Birmingham on the train I sit and listen to two lads speaking in Hebrew and checking trains to Manchester Airport on their phones.

One of them pulls up his emails to check the tickets. I exchange glances with a local fan next to me. Eye-rolling emojis all round. What a shit show.

And there’s the racism again

So I’m back to the start of my Birmingham trip – I’m sitting in a cafe, waiting for my train, talking to a table of boomers.

One of them gets offended by facts. She asks me why I don’t go live with my parents if I can’t afford my rent. Well, I’m 35 and my dad’s a foster carer – asylum seekers have been sleeping in my childhood bed for 15 years now. Ugh, why’s he doing that? He should be sending them back where they came from. Gaza comes up:

We can all find common ground in the fact that it’s wrong to bomb small children.

She literally laughs out loud to herself. This conversation is over. As I stand up to leave she says:

I noticed your scarf… I know what that means. It’s like wearing a flag around your neck. It’s like saying this is who I support.

I respond:

I wear this because it means I…

“I’ll tell you what it means…” pointing aggressively:

No madam, I will tell you what this means. It means I support the people of Palestine in their liberation.

I thank the staff for the world’s best coffee, apologise for the disruption, and I leave.

The interaction reminds me of the football fans from the night before. People can seem kind of normal, rational, middle of the ground, and then they open their mouths and say the most disgusting things that they wouldn’t ever dare say about someone who looks like them.

Birmingham encapsulated the problem

I like these little anecdotes. Maybe they seem somewhat self-involved but yo, I’m just autistic. I relate to the subject through the lens of my experiences – I really struggle with writing these articles because I’m just a muppet with a cheap camera.

But I’m starting to find these interactions are a good jumping-off point because they can encapsulate everything about an event in a single moment… just a mixture of ignorance and stupidity, and some pretty justifiable anger too.

Onwards. I get to the station, I jump on the train home, to Derby, I get my laptop out… how to start this piece… Oh, I know.

P.S. The noodles were fire.

Featured image and additional images via the Canary

By Barold

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