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Ed West: At least we can always count on our hooliganism

Making a point: Guangzhou's supporters chant slogans against fans of Hong Kong's Eastern: AFP/Getty Images
Making a point: Guangzhou's supporters chant slogans against fans of Hong Kong's Eastern: AFP/Getty Images

Fans of Chinese team Guangzhou have been charged by the Asian Football Confederation after they unfurled a banner with the charming sentiment “Annihilate British Dogs, Eradicate Hong Kong Independence Poison”. The incident took place during a game this week against Eastern, a side from the former colony.

I’m always rather flattered by any sign of foreign hostility towards Britain. That we’re hated surely means we still matter, rather than simply being America’s comedy sidekick. The Chinese football fans in this case were referring to the continuing pro-British sentiments of Hong Kong democracy activists, many of whom apparently would quite willingly return to colonial rule given a choice (which they aren’t, this being China).

And the banner contained an added backhanded compliment, since football hooliganism is perhaps Britain’s most influential cultural export of the late 20th century. Hooliganism began in England in the 1970s. But, like the punk explosion that followed later, it was admired and emulated across much of the world in a rather embarrassing way.

In the former Yugoslavia, where fans of clubs such as Red Star and Partisan took hooliganism a bit far even for Millwall’s standards by forming militias during the country’s civil war, terrifying Serbs would parade the British flag at matches, associating it with a sort of glamorous criminality. England’s terrace culture has even infected Major League Soccer in the United States. In 2015, supporters of the New York Red Bulls and New York City FC fought in the streets before a game in New Jersey, shouting “Who are ya?” in affected British accents. A number of American soccer fans identify 2as “hooligans” although one such website warned: “Swearing won’t be allowed in organized chants or tolerated in a yelling/obnoxious fashion.” Which is sort of the point of hooliganism, surely.

Britain has two contradictory overseas images, both of which are admired in their own way, the high and low culture. Many people love Tolkien, C S Lewis or Monty Python, but in the last couple of decades of the 20th century the most popular Englishman abroad was probably Benny Hill.

Flashpoint: a Guangzhou Evergrande fan waves a Chinese national flag towards supporters of Hong Kong's Eastern (AFP/Getty Images)
Flashpoint: a Guangzhou Evergrande fan waves a Chinese national flag towards supporters of Hong Kong's Eastern (AFP/Getty Images)

A friend of mine, travelling through the Far East in his twenties, was staying with a family in rural China when the subject of our famous football hooligans came up. He immediately began to squirm and to explain how they were not representative of English fans before his host interrupted him with “They are warriors!” and raised his glass.

Perhaps we can get Boris to dress up as a football casual on his next overseas diplomatic mission to promote “Brand Britain” and shout “You’re gonna get your head kicked in.” No one likes us, we don’t care.

So celebs are just like us after all

Emma Watson, starring in the new adaptation of The Circle, Dave Egger’s dystopian novel about a sinister internet giant that keeps everyone’s information, says she avoids social media “for her sanity” because of the harshness of some people’s comments. She makes the point that we should think about what we read and engage with it “in the same way we think about what we eat”.

There’s a reason there has always been a barrier between the stars and the rest of us humans. As with royalty, people were happier with their movie stars when they live secluded, mysterious and curated lives that we could aspire to, like demigods or medieval saints. As for social media, for every James Blunt, who has won the hearts of Twitter with his self-deprecating humour, a hundred celebs have revealed themselves to be thin-skinned, ignorant and generally tiresome. Just like the rest of us.

Honesty could really be the best policy

I stood for election once, only on condition that on no account could I possibly win, as I’d be hopeless. Still, as a Tory in Haringey, that seemed a pretty good bet.

Perhaps I should have come up with a better campaign slogan, such as Jun-Jun Sotto did in the Philippines running for office with: “I’ll do my best but I can’t promise anything.” Apparently he won.

But my favourite belongs to the Norwegian Gylve Fenris Nagell who, despite being a singer in a black-metal band called Darkthrone, is still a diligent Scandinavian and so agreed to join the back-up list of candidates for his local council in rural Kolbotn. Not wishing to do the job, his campaign literature featured a picture of him holding a cat with the words: “Please don’t vote for me.” He was duly elected.

Even comedy isn’t safe from social media

No group of people comes off worse in the social media age than comedians, which is why the BBC’s new “challenging” political comedy show with Frankie Boyle fills me with dread. In the past decade, comedians have become noticeably more partisan and ideological — it’s a humour-killer and mind-melter. Twitter has destroyed more comedy careers than depression and alcohol combined.

Comedy is about accepting the world’s imperfections but it should also make you uncomfortable with yourself, rather than mocking the out group. That’s why so much of the Daily Show style of partisan baiting sounds so tired; like people in theatres laughing at their own cleverness for getting the joke.