Community, Football and Anti-fascism: A Non-League Revolt

Football and fascism. It’s a longstanding, yet complicated, relationship. For those looking in from the outside, the link is no surprise. Racism, homophobia and sexism endlessly taint the name of Britain’s national sport. “It’s a space for men who practice those things.” Andy, a leading supporter of Clapton CFC, succinctly states.

Couple this discrimination with the often-brutish violence of football hooliganism and why would anyone be shocked that the terraces have provided a perfect recruiting hub for an innately violent, repressive and discriminatory ideology?

Whether it’s the National Front’s permanent fixture at Stamford Bridge in the 1970s, the English Defence League’s emergence from Luton’s football hooligan scene or the recent rise (and dramatic fall) of the Football Lads Alliance. The far-right have always found football a useful tool to spread its propaganda.

Though Alfred Brown, of the anti-fascist Trade Union Football and Alcohol Committee (TUFAC), believes the acceptance of this is disappearing: “Racists are being driven out of the grounds… If you’re standing round a football ground shouting racist abuse, you’d probably be kicked to death, people just won’t put up with it. We have to let people know this.”

There is a sense of truth to what Brown is saying. Although abuse, comments and jeers do still regularly go unchallenged, it is a far cry from the atmosphere of the 70s and 80s, when black footballers faced near constant harassment from the stands.

But, it’s still there. The targets may be different. The words less doused in overt racism. Football’s far-right have adapted. Groups like the FLA base their recruitment drives in more palatable concerns, like that of extremist terrorism.

Hope Not Hate researcher Joe Mulhall talked of this with Novara Media: “If you have huge numbers of people on the streets talking about how angry they are that children are being blown up at concerts… it is very difficult to speak to them about those issues in a progressive manner.”

This discrete, veiled, form of fascism is perhaps more disturbing. It’s harder to challenge and more acceptable to join. Just look at the forty odd thousand that flooded the streets of London in the early days of the FLA. Many of the faces are the same (Ex-EDL or BNP) but, they’re hidden. In a swell of people with genuine concerns and angers.

The severity of this threat requires serious opposition. As ever, anti-fascists have been there to meet the challenge. Whether it’s the Football Lads and Lasses Against Fascism or TUFAC, nationwide groups are proudly taking on the fight. But it’s what’s happening on a local level, in the lower echelons of English football, that intrigued me…

A Small-Scale Uprising

In the past decade, various left-wing supporter groups have sprung up across non-league football. From the sticker-laden politics of West Didsbury and Chorlton to the militant anti-fascists at Clapton CFC. Taking ironic inspiration from their European counterparts, these self-described ‘Ultras’ are seeking to create a fanatical, yet inclusive, community-led game.

Fanatical is one way to describe attending a Clapton CFC game. Hilarious, joyous, mad are others. Explosions of colourful flares and the endless belting out of 80s or 90s hits, with a Tons twist, bring instant affection to this fan-owned club. Not to mention the banging cowbell…

“It was instantly everything I was looking for”, “It felt like home right away.” For Andy and Matthew, there was no looking back once they’d entered The Old Spotted Dog. “I couldn’t believe that this existed really to be honest… A place where you can go and bring in your own beer, it’s cheap, but there’s also lots of singing and there’s ultras.”

Andy’s sense of positivity, love and pure adoration for his club is replicated in each Ultra I spoke to, no matter their location or team they support.

Take Matthew Durrant of Union 1908, West Didsbury and Chorlton’s supporters union, “It’s the best place on earth, I’m absolutely in love with the place. Most of my best mates are people who I’ve met coming down to the games at West. It just warms my heart; it warms my heart so much.”

Or Adam, of Brighton-based Whitehawk FC’s own non-swearing rainbow-wearing brigade: “I went to a game and never looked back. It was absolutely the attitude of the fans which was what sold me straight away. Really friendly, really welcoming, loved to banter but it wasn’t this primitive way of doing things.”

Of course, a united sense of political will is a driving force behind this positivity. But, so is the sheer fun of it. Far from your stereotyped stony-faced all-in-black anti-fascists, these lot are having the time of their lives.

At Eastbourne Town, drums bash to the peculiar sight of dozens of Ultras shoes lofted in the air, as “Shoes off if you love the town” reverberates around The Saffrons. In East London, don’t be fooled by the glaring sights of flare-fuelled smoke filling the stands, Clapton’s own cover of ‘Girls Just Want To Have Fun’ pretty much sums up their care-free approach: “When the working day is done, Tons just wanna have fun, ohhh, Tons just wanna have fun.”

From witty chants about opposition goalies to bans on swearing. Any goading in Brighton’s run-down suburbia of Whitehawk is friendly, not aggressive. Done with a laugh and a smile, not a punch and expletive.

Even in the rainy quarters of South Manchester, West fans find endless ways to take the piss out of themselves. Their infamous “Hummus, Hummus, Hummus” chant a tribute to the hipster-clad streets Durrant descends from. “We’ve always had a tongue in cheek approach to being seen as a middle-class hipster club. We live in bloody Chorlton, what are people doing? Eating Quinoa, it’s not a real dig to point it out.”

It’s a simple, yet essential, experience for Matthew: “Going on marches all the time, it’s important that you do that but, it’s a little bit grinding and what Clapton is is where you can do that but enjoy it.” Because an expression of political will doesn’t always have to be a grind.

What strikes you when watching and talking to these ultras is that the football isn’t necessarily the most important thing. Yes, of course they want with all their will to win. But, it’s no devastation if they don’t. Because whatever happens they’ll be standing, side-by-side, with similarly minded people, singing and dancing until the end. Enjoying life.

The Politics

Not to be completely distracted by the joyous exploits of their fandom, these ultras are determined to revolt against football’s often primitive nature, both in behaviour and views: “It’s a reaction to the environment we grew up with and accepted as football fans. An environment which many people do not feel comfortable with.”

“We want to make football open and fun for everyone in our local community – and to kick out all the pricks who oppose that.” Like the others, Eastbourne Town’s Pier Pressure are unapologetic in their stance. One that hasn’t always gone down too well since their formation in 2015.

“We’ve had various disagreements with other fans about our way of supporting the club – we’re not fortunate enough to live in a liberally minded city.” But these challenges only spur them on. “What is the point in preaching to the choir or living in an echo chamber anyway? Football is about different opinions and so is life.”

Differing opinions that are even reflected amongst these ultra-groups. Whereas Clapton Ultras have a clear history of erring on the side of militant activism, attracting the likes of Matthew (“It was the fact that it was assertively anti-fascist space that was important.”), Durrant is more reserved in his description of West’s Krombacher Ultras (joking named after a German beer):

“I’m generalising but, for the majority of people, it’s just openly identifying as not being right-wing, rather than being your classic militant anti-fascists who go out and fight fascists, which obviously does have its place. It’s a banner to be like we are very openly left-wing.”

Adam is even less effusive in his description of Whitehawk’s Ultras leftist beliefs: “Some people wouldn’t call themselves left-wing, some people are just like I’m against racism, homophobia and all that, I don’t like prejudice.”

So, not an entirely united frontier of ultras… What does unite their politics is this determined anti-racist, anti-sexist, anti-homophobia stance. A will to confront. Not sit in awkward silence waiting for someone else to call out the sexist comment shouted from the row below.

“If you’ve got racist incidents then you stand up to it. You react to it.”

For Adam, this mantra is personal. At a young age, back in Poland, he witnessed the worst of football’s far-right hooliganism.

“It was watching my local team, that I used to absolutely love. I remember coming back to the opening game of the season and seeing a few hundred people Sieg Hielling and I was like ‘what the fuck is this?’ I was absolutely heartbroken.”

A memory that haunts but, also drives a belief in creating an inclusive footballing environment: “Because football should be for all, we actually mean it when we say football is for all. We do mean it. It should be for all. If you were some sort of minority, you should be comfortable to come to the game, not to feel worried about being assaulted or abused.”

‘Football for all’, it’s a phrase you often hear banded about by clubs, as if stating it magically makes it a reality. This isn’t the case at Whitehawk. Since the Ultras were founded in 2011, both the club and supporters have put in a determined effort to engage and include Brighton’s LGBTQ+ community. To allow them to feel relatively comfortable in an environment often tarred by homophobic undercurrents. A success? It’s hard to measure but, the numbers are moving in the right direction.

This thinking is at the heart of why this Ultra-uprising has occurred. Fans seeking to change the atmosphere from the bottom-up. Matthew may disagree on the wording but his sentiment sits along the same lines.

“People always chat about football for all, what I want Clapton, or what I want more places to be actually, not just Clapton, is first and foremost for everyone else. I can go fucking anywhere. Big, loud, lairy, fat bastard. I can go anywhere, footballs for me. I want us to think about how we make football for other people first.”

And where better to try than at Clapton. A club steeped in history. That Walter Tull, one of England’s first black professional footballers, began his career at. That owns the oldest senior football ground in London: The Old Spotted Dog.

A Sense of Community

In 2012, a group of locals set about making this peculiarly-named corner of East London their new home. Declaring themselves left-wing ultras, it soon “became the club that London anti-fascists, punks adopted” with rocketing attendances.

Fast-forward a few years and the ultras faced their defining moment. A chance to put their politics into practice. After a season-long united boycott due to plentiful disputes with the club’s owner Vincent McBean, some fans decided to go their own way. In January 2018 Clapton Community Football Club was born. Andy explains:

“We don’t call ourselves a breakaway team or a phoenix team or any of that right. We consider ourselves to be the true successors of the Clapton’s members club. Because they were always a member’s club and we view the guy who came in as illegitimate, he took over and stopped it being a democratic club and stopped there being voting rights.”

After some convincing, the whole fanbase deserted McBean’s Clapton. Leaving them unable to pay  The Old Spotted Dog’s rent and allowing Clapton CFC to take complete ownership of the ground in 2020 (helped by the sale of an infamous away shirt). A remarkable turnaround for this radically-minded set of supporters, or as Matthew puts it: “We own a fucking football ground!”

A community-owned football ground run by anti-fascist ultras. If there is one example of what this bottom-up movement is seeking to do, this is it. A space for the community, owned by the fans.

“Anybody that is a political activist in the UK should be paying attention to this. It’s important for people, in this country particularly, at this time especially, to see examples of community organising winning and community organising doing something that seems like it’s just for grown-ups, the status quo.”

“We are going to be running it so that it’s giving something positive to people in the neighbourhood.” Matthew’s passionate devotion reflects the community ideals he sought when ditching his beleaguered Newcastle United. Ideals that led Durrant to say goodbye to Leeds and Elland Road. Ideals that, like their determination for an inclusive sport, bind these differing sets of ultras together.

For Durrant, founding Union 1908 in 2019, after years of supporting West as a Krombacher Ultra, was the epitome of this. It provided an official space to “grow that sense of community” and further the work they already did. To which he then proudly lists off the impressive work the fans do with asylum seekers, food banks and local youth projects.

“I think having a community club that does focus on the things that matter to you outside of football and that isn’t necessarily just all about getting the best players in, spending the most money and being top of the table. It’s something you can do as a fan that increases your sense of community and makes you feel a part of it.”

Not just a blip in an ocean of supporters, this is his community. A community he’s helped build as an ultra. A community that reflects his ideals. That is the appeal to him and the others. They’re at the heart of the process. A process which is not only part of the local community but, provides a service to it.

A feeling that’s shared across all four clubs, as Matthew epitomises: “It’s about getting involved, it’s not just about having a share on a piece of paper, it’s about having a part in building the club. That’s the kind of democracy I like.”

No wonder fans are flocking down, seeking this utopian form of football. So distant it is from the overpriced commercially-obsessed clubs of the Premier League and Championship. Across the spectrum, crowd sizes have rocketed.

West Didsbury and Chorlton recently set a new record attendance of 890. Whitehawk regularly get upwards of 300 through the gates. Eastbourne Town match the leagues above in attendance. And Clapton, an 11^th tier club, often reach the upper hundreds on big game days. This is in stark contrast to the measly double-figures that were regularly trudged out pre-ultras.

Whatever your views, there is no denying this is a popular movement. Durrant sees the correlation as lying firmly in the politics: “The more that we’ve been able to show our identity, not that there is one identity, it seems to encourage more people to come down who think similarly.”

Moving up the Pyramid

Can it be replicated? Every Ultra I spoke to supports a club residing in the 8^th tier or below. It’s a long way from the overpriced heavily-marketised haunts of Premier League football. This is why it works, it’s easy to change the matchday experience of a club when it only had 20 or so supporters beforehand. Twenty-odd thousand? That’s a whole different ballpark.

“On that level (the Premier League), it’s never going to happen. But I think that level of the game is completely detached from community and reality anyway.” In Durrants case, it’s not about changing a part of the game he feels is already lost. “I can’t see them ever becoming more rooted in the community.”

It’s about providing a space in football that actually contrasts the upper echelons of it. That provides this community-led inclusive environment to those alienated by the mainstream. Even rising up a couple divisions puts doubts in his mind:

“Once you get to a certain level, you realise it can’t always be idealistic. Once you get to say the 6^th or 7^th tier, you’re starting to pay lads £500 a game and it gets to the point where winning becomes really important because you’re an actual business, not a volunteer-run club.”

It’s a feeling shared by Andy: “The top goal isn’t to go up the pyramid, the top goal is to keep what we believe in and are true to.” Like Durrant, Andy believes higher up equals compromising on aspects they wouldn’t want to, including the basic fun factor.

He fears a level “Where you can’t just have a drink and watch the game or you need that kind of officious stewarding.” In an unofficial capacity, he hints that the club may get to a point “Where we win a league and we turn down promotion and stay at that level.” A remarkable admission to mainstream fans, who spend their lives begging to realise the dreams of top-tier football.  But, for him, their values and matchday experiences are more important than success.

Adam, on the other hand, does believe in a ‘project’ to upturn the game: “I think football does have the ability to change. Football has the ability to change from the bottom to the top” He’s even confident it’s happening now: “Things are changing, they’re just changing slowly.”

On a local level, Whitehawk Ultras are already having an impact: “We were a part of the inspiration for Eastbourne Town Ultras so, we have inspired some people on a local scale and realistically, that is all you can hope for.”

Adam’s beacon of optimism is a reminder that this is a movement on a very small, local, scale. A fact that possibly makes it even more remarkable. This fascinating enclave of radical ultras are attracting people to a level of the game often unheard of. The Isthmian League South East Division doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

Dredging through pouring rain to watch football of a standard not much higher than Sunday League may seem strange, even deranged. But, listen to the love and happiness radiating from these supporters and you’ll understand. I do.

Seeing it for myself has brought into question my own support of mainstream clubs. Highlighting how far they have come from football’s supposed community roots and the distance their realities sit from my own politics. A fact I knew but was unwilling to confront.

They may not expect to overhaul the game immediately (or ever) but these ultras are creating an inclusive space to have fun, and enjoy the sport. Not feel the guilt of funding ridiculous wages or existing in a vacuum of morality.

“Another way of supporting a football club is possible.” – Eastbourne Town’s Pier Pressure.