#2Sides: My Autobiography Read online

  One thing the case did clarify was who we could rely on. At the height of the nastiness, people were criticising us, saying, ‘it’s only a comment, let it go.’ I’d say: ‘You let it go! I can’t let it go because it’s too important to let go.’

  When my Mum fell ill I was in Manchester most of the time. I couldn’t even sit with her at the hospital for long, just days here and there, sometimes only a few hours. And my Dad … well, the entire time I know he wanted to explode. He had to watch his son almost wasting away and being vilified in the media and he couldn’t defend him.

  In the middle of all this, Sir Alex Ferguson was brilliant. He sent Mum flowers and spoke to her on the phone. That’s the touch he’s got. No one else in the game that I’ve met has it. He’d ring her regularly, just to say, ‘Are you OK?’ It was his personal touch, from the heart. And my Mum would call me and tell me about it, and be so moved. It really gave her a boost. Fergie probably didn’t even know how much that meant.

  Mum and Dad showed solidarity together going to court with Anton every day. And Jamie Moralee, who’s Anton’s agent as well as mine, went to court every day. That was impressive: a white guy going in, day in day out, on a race case on behalf of a black guy. That’s putting yourself in the firing line. Jamie has a family: what if some racist pig comes and knocks on his door? That’s the type of shit you’ve got to acknowledge. That took guts and Jamie has guts.

  I wish I could say the same for some of the people we expected more from. At the time of the trial, rather late in the day, Kick It Out came to Mum and said, ‘What can we do? We’re here to provide support.’

  ‘Support? Great,’ said my Mum. ‘You can walk into that court room with us.’

  And they said ‘Oh, we’ll send someone as an observer.’

  ‘No that’s not what we need,’ said my Mum. ‘Don’t send some suit no one knows and no one sees. Send your people in T-shirts to walk in with us. Stand with us so people know this a racism case and you’re here on our side.’

  ‘Oh no, we can’t do that,’ came the reply. They refused.

  So Mum said: ‘In that case, get out of my house, and don’t fucking come near us again.’ In the event, they did send a guy called Danny Lynch to the trial – in a suit – and no-one in the press reported his presence. I think Mum was right.

  With Kick It Out I felt it was pure lip service. They were useless. So were other organisations. Outside the court, I saw Clark Carlisle of the PFA doing interviews. I said: ‘Come in the courtroom.’

  ‘Oh I can’t be seen to be going in there.’

  ‘What do you mean? You should be going in there supporting John and my brother.’ I didn’t say ‘come and support my brother.’ I said this a racism case so come in and support three of your players who are members, who put money into your organisation every year.

  ‘Oh, we can’t … We can’t get involved like that.’ Why not? You’re standing out here doing interviews for your documentary! What the fuck’s that about? When shit gets real, what happens? Where are you? Where are these people?

  Months later, a year after the original incident, 3 months after the court case, after all the horrible things we’d had to go through, Kick it Out organised their T-shirt weekend. They wanted everyone to wear a T-shirt saying ‘One Game, One Community.’ As if everything was fine now. Problem solved. They asked me if I was going to wear the T-shirt. ‘Are you crazy? Not a chance!’ If they weren’t willing to go into the court room with us, then I wasn’t willing to go through the charade of wearing their T-shirt. I know it was tit-for-tat but if I’d worn that T-shirt, my Dad wouldn’t have spoken to me. Mum probably would have spoken to me, but she would have been deeply disappointed. And I’d disappointed my Mum and Dad too many times in my life to do it this time.

  Then it became a thing in the media. They were talking about me. ‘Rio’s going to wear the T-shirt!’… ‘Rio’s NOT going to wear the T-shirt!’ I heard lots of players say, ‘I ain’t wearing that fucking T-shirt. No way!’ Then they went out and wore them! When push comes to shove, you find out who your mates are. It changed my opinion a little bit about some people who disappeared under rocks. But I didn’t let it affect my relationships and I certainly wouldn’t want to out them for it. I mean, I didn’t ask anyone to boycott the T-shirt. Just don’t tell me you’re not going to wear it, then wear it. Lip service, again. At the same time, some people were as good as their word. Jason Roberts didn’t wear one; Joleon Lescott didn’t wear one. I heard the entire Wigan and Swansea squads didn’t wear any either.

  But inevitably there was a focus on me. The manager had announced in a press conference the day before the game against Stoke: ‘all my players will wear it.’ I couldn’t understand that. I thought, he never asked me. Next day, as we were going out for the warm-up, the kit man, Albert Morgan, comes to me with a T-shirt and gives it to me. I was upset straight away. I said, ‘fuck off, Albert.’ We had that relationship. I could swear at him and he could swear at me, and the next day it’d be forgotten.

  ‘Fuck off, Albert!’

  ‘No, the manager wants you to wear it.’

  ‘I ain’t fucking wearing it.’

  ‘No, the manager wants you to put it on. You’ve got to put it on.’

  ‘Listen, Albert: FUCK. OFF.’

  So I went out onto the pitch not wearing it. I came back in from the warm-up… and the gaffer fucking exploded.

  ‘Who do you fucking think you are? Not wearing that fucking shirt? I’ve told everyone yesterday you’re wearing it! You’re fucking meant to wear it. Fucking going out on your own and doing your own thing – who do you think you are?’ Blah, blah…

  I said, ‘you didn’t ask me. I was never going to wear that fucking T-shirt. I didn’t tell you to go on TV and fucking speak about it.’

  ‘That’s it,’ came the reply. ‘You’re fined a week’s wages.’

  ‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah, you fucking will see me tomorrow, you’re fined.’

  And that was it. I went out and played and we won the game.

  The next day, I had to go and see him in his office and I walked in expecting both barrels. I went in with my hard hat on. He sat down. I didn’t even sit down. He said, ‘listen, I don’t agree with what you’ve done. I know it’s your family and everything, but I just don’t agree with you not wearing the T-shirt. You’ve got to support campaigns like this and organisations like that… I’m a union man.’

  ‘Yeah, but, boss, you never spoke to me about it. You never understood my situation. You don’t know what’s going on and why I didn’t wear it.’ I tried to explain that I didn’t wear it because Kick It Out hadn’t gone to the court case, and I didn’t believe in what they do. ‘If you didn’t believe in an organisation, you’d never put their badge on, would you? If something happened and they didn’t do what you expected of them, you would never, ever back that organisation, I know you wouldn’t, boss!’

  Then he amazed me. He said, ‘listen, I spoke to my wife last night and she said to me, um … she asked me, “did you ask the boy about it?” And I said no. And she said, “There’s your mistake there.”’ He told me that!

  Then he said, ‘I don’t often admit mistakes. But I understand a little bit why you didn’t wear it now. I’m not going to fine you. I should have spoken to you. That’s my mistake and I accept that. I still believe you should have worn the T-shirt. But I respect that you didn’t.’

  And that was it. I was so impressed. My respect for him just went up even more. I think maybe he respected me a little bit more, because I had a belief and I’d stuck to it, even when there was so much pressure on it. It’s a question of solidarity. He was seeing it from a team perspective: ‘we do everything together, why are you going out on your own?’ I understand that because he wants to win and he wants to show that we’re united as a squad. But he hadn’t asked me how I felt.

  But then Fergie’s a man of principle and substance, and there aren’t too many l
ike that. One thing I can’t bear is the people in positions of influence who just pay lip service, like FIFA with their ‘RESPECT’ and stupid fines. I just don’t believe they’re sincere. People like Sepp Blatter and others in positions of power who fail to make the right decisions. After the Suarez and Terry incidents, Blatter said a handshake between the two players should be enough to settle an argument when it comes to racial insults! Just shake hands and walk away, he said. What an idiot! I hammered Blatter on Twitter for that. Here was the head of our game, and he obviously doesn’t understand it at all. Other people criticised him as well and he had to backtrack. Hopefully he educated himself a little bit. A year or so later, in Italy, the AC Milan team walked off a pitch in solidarity with Kevin Prince Boateng when he was insulted by racist fans. First Blatter said Boateng was wrong to do it. Later, he invited him to Zurich and praised him. It would be nice to think Blatter finally understood the issue. But my impression was that was all public relations.

  Here, Kick It Out and Show Racism The Red Card had their chance to shine but they didn’t take it. They weren’t alone.

  4. TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION

  ‘Deal with it…’ What does that mean exactly? I’ve spoken about the shortcomings of individuals and authorities. But as a family we weren’t too keen on some of the approaches on the other side of the argument either. It was an emotional time and some idiots were saying ‘you should go round John Terry’s house and beat him up’ or ‘send someone round to fuck him up.’ I just got cross about that. Are you crazy? That’s not the way to do things! That’s not what we are about! We’re not that type of family! Meanwhile, people in the black community were saying ‘do this’ or ‘do that’ or ‘Rio has to do something politically.’ But we never ever wanted to make it a political thing about blacks versus whites.

  There were also plenty of discussions going on between black footballers about how to ‘deal with’ the situation. People like Jason Roberts and Darren Moore were passionate about getting more black people with powerful voices and status in the game to be involved with decision-making. I totally agreed that something had to change. In the past the FA have cherry-picked people they can dictate to and use as puppets. It would be better to have people inside the power structures who the black community can trust and respect.

  One of the reasons I agreed to work on the FA commission on the future of the national team was to understand the organisation better and to get closer to the people making decisions. Who were they? I wanted to identify them.

  It also bothered me that, when it comes to questions of discrimination, there were no players of the current generation involved in making decisions. I’m talking here about players of every color and creed and culture. For example, when it came to my ‘choc ice’ tweet, why did the FA turn to Lord Ouseley as an ‘expert’? The FA should have been consulting people who are closer to our generation and have a better understanding of today’s language. Words that meant something in his generation have a totally different meaning for mine. They used his interpretation. When I went to the hearing, I said: ‘Why is Lord Ouseley even part of this conversation? He’s an old man who’s got no idea what we mean.’ But it wasn’t his fault. He was asked a question which he answered in the most honest way he could, I’m sure. It’s complex because there are many minority groups all with different voices and opinions and feelings. When you talk about inclusion you have to think about girls playing football and discrimination and exclusion against gay players. It all needs to be updated and I think the FA may be in the process of trying to do that. The problem is that as an organisation it is always reactive rather than proactive.

  Some black footballers saw the Terry case as a chance to ‘make a stand’ and ‘let people know we’re not happy.’ There was talk of setting up a separate organisation, a sort of black players’ pressure group. I could see what they were getting at. But separatism of any kind just isn’t my thing. I don’t think segregation bodes well for the future. I don’t want people cutting themselves off from each other. There has to be no boundaries; you have to be inclusive of everybody. That’s the way I’ve been brought up. To me the John Terry and Luis Suarez cases had nothing to do with being pro black or pro white. I’m not pro black or white, or pro Jewish, or pro Muslim. I respect everyone, wherever they’re from, whatever their culture. I’m not saying it because I’m a black guy. I’m saying: everyone, please just respect each other! That’s all I want for my kids. I don’t think it’s a hard thing to ask for.

  John Barnes, who I respect greatly, says it’s possible for someone to make a racist remark without necessarily being 100 per cent racist. He says if someone says ‘black bastard’ it’s not absolutely conclusive. The way he sees it, it might just be the emotion of the moment and first thing that came to mind. Back in the day I would have completely disagreed with that. I would have said there were certain totally unacceptable words and if a person says them, well, that’s it: they are racist and I would write them off immediately. But John was a hero of mine when I was a kid. I don’t agree with everything he says, but he made me think. Obviously, if someone makes that mistake a couple of times, then it’s something in them. It’s not a mistake. And I really don’t understand how a person doesn’t have a switch in their body, or a light that comes on and says, ‘that one’s a no-go.’ Perhaps that person just never had discipline at home when they were growing up, or they’re just ignorant. On the other hand, if it’s just a one-off, maybe they do deserve the benefit of the doubt.

  One thing I totally agree with John Barnes about is that racism comes from sheer ignorance. I used to say that football is a great tool for making people aware of racism – but it can’t stop racism. If someone comes to the stadium and says something racist he knows he might be banned for a long time, so he’ll be quiet during that 90 minutes – and then go somewhere else and be racist. It just changes his behavior in that very small context. In other words, football’s not educating him to be a better person. That has to be part of a wider education and social education, so we need that education in the home, and the schools and in the media.

  The only thing we wanted out of the whole John Terry affair was to get people talking about racism not in an antagonistic way but in a thoughtful way. We wanted people to understand that racism was still a problem. Everyone thought we’d dealt with it but it’s not dealt with! It’s still there! And we never attacked John Terry. We never said – and never will say – that John Terry is this or that. Never! That’s why I couldn’t understand why there was so much hatred directed at us. The media stoked up the idea of ‘us versus them’ but as a family we always said: this isn’t about Anton or about John Terry. This is about racism as a whole. It’s about the next generation. I don’t want my children or anyone else’s children to grow up thinking it’s normal to be racially abused whether they’re white, black, Indian, Asian… it doesn’t matter what race you are. That was our whole approach. To borrow a Nelson Mandela-era idea from South Africa, what we wanted was not a court case but something more like a truth and reconciliation commission, something to create light rather than heat, a way to use the incident to help educate people.

  But that never happened. We told the FA to deal with it quickly. The incident happened on a football pitch and should never have ended up in court. It was absolutely obvious what had happened and the FA should’ve dealt with the situation before a complaint even came in from a member of the public. It wasn’t difficult. Go and see Anton; go and see John Terry; look at the video; make a decision. Simple. But the FA made it sound like it was the most complicated, difficult case they’d ever seen. And they passed the buck for almost a year.

  England: Hoddle and Co.

  We’ve wasted a generation

  Or two

  When England does badly in a World Cup the jokes start. They’re all basically the same joke. After the 0–0 with Algeria in South Africa it was: I can’t believe we only managed a draw against a rubbish team we should have beaten e
asily … I’m ashamed to call myself Algerian.

  I love a laugh as much as anyone, but I want these jokes to be obsolete. I want England to be good again. I think we can make it happen, but to do that we need to understand where things have gone wrong in the past – and what’s wrong now.

  To play for your country is the greatest thing you can do as a footballer but most of my experiences were tinged with the feeling that we could have been doing so much better. England’s biggest problem is that we don’t produce nearly enough top-level players. Another is that we haven’t worked out how the national team should play. The days when anyone thought we could do well with old-fashioned blood and thunder are long gone. But we’ve never developed a new philosophy. What is the ‘English style’ these days? No one knows. It’s frustrating and after nearly 50 years of hurt, I reckon it’s time we sorted it out. I’ll explain more about my ideas on that in a later chapter. But first I’ll give you my impressions of the England managers I played under.

  By far the best was Glenn Hoddle. I was lucky enough to work with him in the late 1990s when I was still a teenager. He had a crystal clear vision of how he wanted us to play, and how to get us there and I still think it was a tragedy for us when he was sacked for his religious beliefs. If he’d stayed I would have been a different player – and a better player – for England.

  Hoddle encouraged me to come out with the ball and sometimes even played me as a sweeper. He had a vision for me as a creative centre-back – not just defending but starting attacks, like I did at West Ham. He’d say to me, ‘When you get the ball, drive out of the back, commit someone, go past them! Don’t worry about leaving a gap – someone will fill in for you when you go forward.’ It was refreshing.

  I also loved his imaginative training methods. He’d talk to me about skills I’d done, and encourage me to do more: ‘Try things. Don’t worry about making mistakes. That’s not a problem, as long as you don’t make the same ones over and over.’