The movement to ban Israel and its teams from all upcoming FIFA tournaments has gained significant traction since February—a period of time contained, ironically, by ceasefire on its foundational end.
The “Show Israel the Red Card” campaign began on Feb. 19, when Celtic F.C. supporters in Scotland unfurled a huge banner reading “Show Zionism the Red Card” during a Champions League match versus Bayern Munich. The club’s ultras, known as the Green Brigade, distributed leaflets declaring Israel guilty of breaching international law. What started in Glasgow quickly went global. Stadiums from Spain to Chile have seen chants, banners, and a red sea of placards demanding Israel be sent off.
Backers of the movement state that ethical consistency is overdue in international sports. Over the years, FIFA has occasionally saddled up as the rightful sheriff of global football and booted rogue players from the saloon when the law (or at least public opinion) demanded. South Africa was barred for decades due to apartheid. Yugoslavia, ousted during the Yugoslav Wars. Chile, red-carded after their goalkeeper staged an in-game injury with a razor blade—yes, really. Indonesia and India, both banned for respective internal issues within their football federation. Mexico, suspended in 1990 for fielding overage players in a youth tournament. Russia, kicked out in 2022 following the invasion of Ukraine. Greece narrowly avoided a ban as recently as 2016.
It is a diverse sheriff’s log. Inconsistent, yet dramatic—“Where do you stop?”, we may be compelled to muse, reflecting on the many powerful countries (from China to India to the U.S.) with spotty human rights records. In short, FIFA does not always draw its pistol, but the question remains whether Israel’s actions—apartheid, occupation, and mass civilian murders—will see it placed on that storied wanted list.
As of Jan. 22, 2025, 382 footballers have died under Israel’s genocide. Israeli bombardment has killed youth footballers, coaches, even entire teams. The Palestinian Football Association mourns a generation of talent lost to politically motivated airstrikes.
True fans value human life more than any trophy. The movement’s supporters may point out that FIFA’s own statutes contain a code of ethics promoting human rights and fair play—ideals more in line with “candy from a baby” than “Israeli airstrike kills 400.” By banning Israeli teams, FIFA would be following the spirit of past boycotts that helped topple injustice. Such precedents underscore a powerful message: When governments commit atrocities, the global community can unite to refuse “business as usual.” Exclusion from the World Cup can be likened to a kind of penalty that puts real pressure on a state’s public image.
Not everyone is cheering on this call. The reality is that Israel played their first World Cup Qualifier against Estonia this weekend, winning 2-1. Those in positions of power may balk both at the idea of losing money and at the idea of engaging in collective punishment. The Red Card Israel movement could torpedo the careers of Israeli athletes. Is it fair to dash the World Cup dreams of a young winger—say Anan Khalaili of Royale Union-Saint Gilloise—because of decisions made in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem?
Some may argue that if FIFA starts banning every nation with blood on its hands, we might end up with a very small World Cup indeed. But is it merely about goals and sponsorships, or can it also be about human dignity? The Red Card Israel movement passionately opts for consideration of the latter.
With the ceasefire broken and violence escalating once again, the Red Card movement may gain renewed urgency and visibility in the near future. At the same time, heightened tensions could make an institution like FIFA even more reluctant to act, fearing backlash or accusations of politicization, when the nation will likely see itself out early in the competition in any case.
