Danny Rose: Why we should stop acting like racism in English football is surprising

By now, the only thing you should feel guilty of is being surprised. To act like this is in any way an unprecedented revelation. That the fact England’s Danny Rose feels the desire to turn his back on the game which has given him so much because it has taken away more than he can manage.

For Rose, it began seven years ago when the Tottenham full-back was hit by two stones in the back of the head during an England U21 game in Serbia. Or maybe, it started somewhere before that, in the Leeds academy or playing Sunday League because this has never been a case of “over there”. Never a finger to wag condescendingly at Montenegro, Serbia or another Balkan state. Not at Italy, Turkey or Greece. It’s a case of right here, at home. That, to the likes of Rose and Raheem Sterling, is what is surely most painful. Perhaps, if it were only a foreign phenomenon, England’s young black players would be better equipped to brave the mindless torrid experienced abroad a fortnight ago.

The bewildering and depressing truth is that racism is present at every football match, on every weekend, up and down the country. A reality that has always prevailed but only gets talked about when it becomes visible; the Tottenham supporter who threw a banana skin at Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang, the Chelsea supporter who cackled while mimicking the sound of gas chambers on the approach to Stamford Bridge. It’s blatant, so vivid and common that it is essentially impossible to contain.

The most crucial thing anybody can acknowledge through Rose’s heart-wrenching admission is that racism is being fed by denial. The comments of Leonardo Bonucci are nothing remotely new. The inaction of Aleksander Ceferin and Uefa are not even stretching to a shadow beyond the norm. Fifa, of course, disbanded their anti-racism task force in 2016 because it had "completely fulfilled" its mission. Yet in the months before Moise Kean and Kalidou Koulibaly came Sulley Muntari and Mario Balotelli - and between those incidents there were hundreds more. In the years before Rose and Sterling came Paul Canoville and John Barnes – between them there were thousands.

To insinuate that racism has been fuelled by rampant populism or any political schism in society is also blinkered. Yes, world leaders have stoked division and the filterless world of social media has amplified racism no bound, but it has not been envisioned, only unveiled. A masked truth avoided via blissful ignorance. Unless, of course, you are a victim.

The four men who racially abused Raheem Sterling in the front row at Stamford Bridge four months ago were not frenzied fanatics who lost control of their ideals. The Montenegrin tormentors in their thousands were not irate and inebriated by tribal loyalty. It is as conspicuous as Conor McGregor, one of the world’s most famous athletes, referring to Khabib Numagomedov’s wife as a “towel” or to Floyd Mayweather Jr as “boy”. It is paraded in front of us without repercussion, if only you choose to see it.

To suggest Rose’s case is somehow unique is in itself a campaign for the blind eyes. Footballers’ courage to isolate themselves above the parapet has been an act carried out despairingly in every generation. The number of racist incidences that have been identified in football over the past few months are by no means an exception. They have been highlighted, stood up to, braved and battled against. They are more high-profile, but it is hard to say they are any more frequent.

Is Rose, in the most ludicrous way imaginable, expected to build a resilience towards the same vile treatment he has been subjected to because it has spanned the course of his entire career? That is what society now expects; that people should thicken their very skin that is being attacked.

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That is a burden being placed not only on footballers but millions of people throughout Britain. It’s the Pakistani shop owner abused by drunks; the Chinese takeaway staff ridiculed with a faux accent; the Jew taunted by conspiracy theories and the Jamaican teenager stopped and searched without reason on a Friday night in south London. It is racism writhing in the corner of our every community. Britain is riddled by it and everybody can recognise that.

Football cannot shed responsibility for the evil nor live under the pretence that fandom does not in part thrive on hate. Nor though is it by any means the cause. It is simply a pedestal, conveying an undercurrent with the darkest clarity.

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Footballers are scared to speak out in numbers for fear of the target it will bring upon themselves. When speaking to one former Arsenal midfielder after the attack on Rose in Montenegro, the player felt obliged to say “he doesn’t like to get involved in politics”. The truth, though, was that he did want to speak about it and went on to deplore it. But the instinct was to feel as though he shouldn’t, that it would be easier to suffer in silence rather than face the hassle justice is worth - a direct result of the “farcical” punishment systems Rose referred to.

That is the angst of tackling the issue for such a vast number of footballers. It is what Rose has stood against in the most patent way he can imagine on a day of celebration at the opening of Tottenham’s new stadium. It is what black footballers in England battle with every day. So when Danny Rose says he “cannot wait to turn his back on football” and enjoy a life of quiet anonymity, why are any of us surprised?