How the Luis Suarez and John Terry affairs set the tone for a world where racism could thrive

Eight years on from two of English football's most infamous incidents, which occurred only eight days apart, their influence can still be felt in football and wider society today

Football is a weathervane for the spirit of the country. It is a good gauge of the national psyche. Eight years ago a series of events began that indicated the mood in Britain was turning ugly. They foreshadowed Brexit and the divisive, Trumpesque politics of Boris Johnson and his ilk.

On 15 October 2011, Manchester United went to Anfield for a Premier League match against Liverpool. The relationship between the clubs was typically frosty. The two sets of fans despise each other. Luis Suarez, the Liverpool striker, became embroiled in a running battle with Patrice Evra. During and after the match the United defender claimed the Uruguayan had hurled racial abuse in his direction. There was uproar.

Just eight days later there was another high-profile incident in the Premier League.

John Terry was seen mouthing “f****** black c***” at Anton Ferdinand during Chelsea’s match against Queens Park Rangers at Loftus Road. Terry, who was England captain at the time, admitted using the words but said the phrase was prefaced by “Anton, I didn’t call you a…” Essentially, Terry’s defence was he had used racist language to deny he had abused Ferdinand.

In the course of eight days English football erupted and dangerous undercurrents in the game and society were exposed.

It came at a bad time. Three months earlier police had shot dead a black man in Tottenham. Riots broke out in north London after Mark Duggan’s killing and the disorder spread around the country. The knee-jerk reaction to characterise the subsequent disturbances as race riots put racial tensions at the top of the national agenda.

Anton Ferdinand and John Terry at Loftus Road (PA)

In football there had been a smug assumption that bigotry was largely a thing of the past. Because the mass monkey-noise chants of the 1970s and 80s were no longer heard, it was taken for granted that the problem had disappeared. Racism on the terraces and in the stands may have been generally silent but it was dormant rather than dead.

Both Suarez and Terry were unrepentant. The reaction of many supporters was disheartening. At Chelsea’s Champions League group game away to Genk, a significant proportion of the travelling fans sang, “Anton Ferdinand, you know what you are”. That was hardly a surprise. An extreme right-wing minority had long associated itself with the London club. What happened with Liverpool supporters was more complex but more troubling.

“We’re not racist, we only hate Mancs,” the Kop sang. The crowd at Anfield has a reputation for being predominantly left of centre and fans tend to embrace multiculturalism and inclusivity. John Barnes is one of the club’s great heroes, held in high regard not just for his ability but for the way he faced down bigots.

Racists got short shrift on the Kop. Then a black man accused Suarez, the club’s best player, of racism.

The Chelsea captain’s excuse was superficially preposterous but straightforward. He was charged with a racially aggravated public order offence but acquitted at Westminster magistrates court. The FA, with a lower burden of proof, fined the Chelsea captain £220,000 and banned him for four matches.

John Terry acquitted in court but was banned by the FA (Getty) (Getty Images)

The law did not get involved with Suarez and the case should have been simple. Evra accused the Uruguayan of calling him a “n*****”. Television pictures showed Suarez making pinching motions on the United defender’s skin. Although the club defended the South American – their judgement was clouded by the fractious relationship with United – Damien Comoli, Liverpool’s director of football, misjudged the situation and went to the referee’s room after the match. Comolli spelt out “negro” for the official, the word that Suarez actually used. Evra had misheard. It was as clear an admission of guilt as possible. It was beyond question that Suarez had used racial terms in an attempt to destabilise his opponent.

Suarez’s defence verged on absurd. “Negro,” he suggested, was a term of affection in South American culture, used as a nickname for dark-haired acquaintances and people of colour alike. This glossed over the reality that the striker was engaged in a spiteful exchange with Evra.

The FA, conscious of the sensitivities involved and concerned about being seen to do the right thing, convened an Independent Regulatory Commission to investigate the incident and produced an exhaustive 115-page report before finding Suarez guilty. He was banned for eight games and fined £40,000. Against this background, the reaction of the majority of Liverpool supporters was astonishing.

Like Brexit zealots, Suarez’s devotees took their stance early and doubled down when confronted with evidence. Negro (initially misreported as Negrito) was used as an endearment, they insisted, wilfully ignoring that the two players were involved in a furious row. Suddenly almost the entire fanbase became experts in the nuances of Transrioplatian Spanish, forgetting the universal language of obvious intent.

Suarez, left, was banned following the incident with Patrice Evra (Getty)

A smear campaign was directed at the victim. It was repeatedly suggested that Evra had a history of malicious and mischievous allegations of racism. In the two incidents frequently mentioned, the Frenchman did not make any complaint. In 2006 a deaf television viewer claimed to have lipread Steve Finnan, the Liverpool full back, abusing Evra. Two years later in the ‘Battle of Stamford Bridge’ – a post-match scuffle between United players and Chelsea groundstaff – one of the London club’s employees was alleged to have called the defender an “immigrant.” Evra told the subsequent FA commission that he had not heard the insult. Fake news was relayed repeatedly as fact on social media and fan sites.

Like Trump voters, Liverpool supporters saw conspiracies everywhere. The FA connived with Old Trafford to stitch up Anfield, the theory went. Dennis Smith, a commission member, had managed the son of Sir Alex Ferguson during his time in charge of Wrexham. That was enough in some minds to make Smith the tool of the United manager.

The comprehensive nature of the report rebounded on the ruling body. Individuals combed the 115 pages and extracted snippets to support their argument, ignoring anything that ran contrary to their beliefs. The more information that reached the public domain, the more entrenched positions became.

The most laughable assertions were that somehow United were the club of the Establishment. Evidence of this was the knighthoods granted to Sir Matt Busby and Ferguson and the lack of comparable honours bestowed on Bill Shankly and Bob Paisley.

The line of argument conveniently neglected that both former Liverpool managers were appointed Officers of the Order of the British Empire.

The Bill Shankly statue outside Anfield (Reuters)

The farrago of half-truths and myths would also give a glimpse of the power of the internet in manipulating public opinion. Crank theories spread like wildfire. Anyone who challenged the pro-Suarez view was bombarded with abuse. It became clear that racism was less important than football allegiance. Quite a lot of people were prepared to check in their decency and principles at the turnstile or when they went online.

There are a number of stadiums across the country where this would not be a surprise. But Anfield likes to think of itself as different. Shankly, the manager who created the modern Liverpool, declared: “The socialism I believe in is everybody working for the same goal and everybody having a share in the rewards. That’s how I see football, that’s how I see life.” That message found willing ears in the area, a region built on immigration and suffering from economic and civic decline. Only last week Peter Moore, the chief executive, talked about how the cornerstone of the club is socialism.

Merseyside, to its credit, has often been out of step with the prevailing political winds in Britain. Now many supporters of its flagship club were in sync with the growing squalls of parochialism, intolerance and intransigence that would come to dominate the political discourse across the nation.

The outrage of these Liverpool fans played a part in another ugly development. The effect was to legitimise racism. There had been a perception for two decades or so that bigotry was on the wane in daily life but prejudice had not gone away.

It had hidden for fear of disapproval and humiliation. Now the racists came out of the closet, emboldened by the actions of two of the Premier League’s best players and the support they received. Two of the most recognisable personalities in the UK, men known across the world, were at the centre of a racial controversy. Neither showed a shred of contrition. Both experienced a groundswell of uncritical backing. The invisible bigots could emerge in this environment and the boundaries of acceptable behaviour were stretched again.

A decade ago, people were reluctant to make questionable comments in public for fear of being shouted down. There is less concern about the consequences today. Reported hate crimes have more than doubled in the past eight years, from 43,784 in 2011-12 to 94,098 in the last available figures.

Indeed, Suarez and Terry still think they are the victims. The Barcelona forward has repeatedly complained about being labelled a racist. The Aston Villa assistant head coach lost the England captaincy and retired from the international game in a huff. Their sob stories can be taken with a pinch of salt – or perhaps Evra’s skin in Suarez’s case.

Society’s ills often manifest themselves around football. They are symptoms rather than a cause. Suarez and Terry did not create the toxic mood but they helped set the tone for a decade that would get progressively worse. They, and the people who backed them to the hilt, should look back in shame.