By Manav Khindri
Illustration by Keo Morakod Ung
Background source: “a Golf Course by the Sea” by Johnny Such via Unsplash Free Licensing
In the modern world, sports is a mammoth industry. Representing 1% of worldwide GDP at a valuation of around US$700bn, there is no denying its power in the global economy. However, what sets the sports industry apart from any other is its cultural influence; in the UK and much of the rest of the world, football is ingrained in the DNA of most communities, and the same can be said of sports such as cricket across regions in South East Asia. It has the unique power to be a genuine driver of social reform, inclusivity and education. As July ticks into August, this powerful effect can be clearly seen at the Paris Olympic Games. However, sports’ traditional image as a vehicle for good is being tainted and exploited by wealthy states. By hosting universally-adored major sporting events, a phenomenon known as ‘sportswashing’, they look to distract from horrific human rights abuses and oppressive regimes. Rethinking Economics represents a desire to move away from the traditional model of economics as simply a pursuit of profits, towards sustainability and responsibility; yet, in the case of sport, as still is the case in most of the rest of the world, the old adage ‘money talks’ rings ever true. And often money does more than just talk – it shouts loud enough to cover the massive ethical cracks which some nations, as will be explored here with reference to Qatar and Saudi Arabia, try so hard to conceal.
In the case of Saudi Arabia, PIF-backed LIV’s* struggles with the PGA (Professional Golfers’ Association) in the fight for who reigns supreme in the world of golf have been fierce, brutal and well-documented over the past few years. In early 2023, the shock announcement was made that both entities would merge (although negotiations remain ongoing). The decision was viewed widely as the PGA yielding to the Saudi Investment Fund’s deep pockets. The move was regarded by Ben Freeman, a research fellow at the Quincy Institute for Responsible Statecraft, as a ‘sportswashing power grab’ to ‘normalise Saudi Arabia on the international stage’ and ‘gain legitimacy by paying for it’, rather than building authority and respect over decades of governance like the PGA. A similar accusation has been made towards Qatar, whose winning bid for the 2022 World Cup in 2010 was steeped in controversy and corruption scandal. It must be said that, to a large extent, both countries have been very successful in achieving their aims; the 2022 World Cup in Qatar is deemed by many fans as one of the best in history, overpowering the noise surrounding restrictions on freedom of expression and the 6500 migrant workers (at a minimum) who died constructing stadiums for the event in horrific conditions. And LIV Golf’s success in attracting both the best golfers in the world and many thousands of fans has served to distract from Saudi Arabia’s own human rights abuses, including the infamous death of journalist Jamal Khashoggi. It is undeniable that sportswashing has brought incredible improvements to both countries’ image.
Saudi Arabia’s decision to extend their powerful arm into sport has not stopped with golf, however; in 2021, with the murder of Khashoggi still fresh in the minds of many, the PIF completed a £305m takeover of Premier League football club Newcastle United. Scenes of fans donning traditional Saudi headscarves and robes and celebrating wildly, excited at the possibility for their club spending more money and potentially winning more trophies, were heavily criticised by numerous politicians, charities and the wider public. This debate raised an important ethical question: where does the responsibility lie? In the eyes of Newcastle supporters, the prospect of huge investment, signing better players, winning more football matches and hopefully more silverware is undoubtedly exciting. No matter how facetious it may sound, Saudi Arabia’s controversial actions are a long way from these fans, and on a day-to-day basis the success of their football club is of greater importance. This is well understood by the Saudis, who play on people’s emotions to foster a positive image of their country – the very definition of ‘sportswashing’. Why ought the fans carry the blame?
While I believe there has to be a measure of balance from the beneficiaries of such takeovers, accountability must lie with the structures and corporations who enable sportswashing to take place. Since sports has become a superpower industry on the global stage, those in power have constantly sought to protect and grow their own money by any means possible. As many teams in the Premier League have evolved into ‘superclubs’ – think Manchester United, Manchester City and Liverpool – they have been able to put themselves in powerful positions. The absence of an independent regulator in English football has been advantageous to them for many years; ironically, it may have also played a huge role in allowing the PIF’s takeover of Newcastle United to be approved by the Premier League. Only when the money in charge is not their own money do the superclubs seem to campaign for human rights scrutiny and ethical procedures.
Sportswashing has the power to undo many of the good things that sport achieves. But to blame fans of beneficiary clubs for not abandoning their support on moral grounds, while noble, seems to miss the point. The major institutions in sport ought to look within and understand that the continuation of their sport’s success and untarnished reputation hinges on their making concessions. Whether that be Premier League football clubs opting to be regulated or prominent golfers turning down huge sums of money in order to protect the integrity of their respective games, it is clear that global sport will continue to be tarnished by wealthy states looking to distract from their humanitarian failures without urgent introspection and reform.
*The Public Investment Fund, or PIF, is the sovereign wealth fund of Saudi Arabia. LIV, meaning 54 in Roman numerals, is their controversial breakaway tournament from the traditional PGA Tour, so named because it has only 54 holes, 18 fewer than the traditional 72.
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