Kolkata’s football fans — the Mohun Bagan, East Bengal, and Mohammedan Sporting loyalists who can’t agree on anything —recently found common ground in their grief and anger over the horrific rape and murder of a medical professional at R.G. Kar Medical College and Hospital.
Though the Kolkata Derby, scheduled for August 18, had been called off and local authorities had issued prohibitory orders, the supporters took to the streets to show solidarity with the victim and to express their fury at an administration that had dropped the ball. Mohun Bagan captain and India international Subhasish Bose — unlike the typical Indian sports stars with rehearsed lines and glossy endorsements, who steer clear of messy social issues — joined the protest march.
It was a reminder that sport, usually our refuge from the world’s harsh realities, at times becomes the stage where we must confront them head-on.
For all its trivial disputes and tribal loyalties, sport has this uncanny ability to unite us in ways few things can. It can make us forget, at least for those sweaty 90 minutes, the petty disagreements that usually drive us mad — politics, religion, pineapple on pizza… And in those brief, intense moments, we find a shared purpose, convinced that screaming expletives at a television screen will somehow alter the course of a game.
The redeeming feature of this shared insanity is that it is more than just a distraction. It can be a powerful force for change. Athletes are not just there to sell energy drinks and shoes that cost more than a week’s groceries; they get a chance to be heroes, to do something good with their fame.
Tommie Smith and John Carlos at the 1968 Olympics, their black-gloved fists raised in defiance — that was not about a medal. It was about making a statement, about turning sport into a stage for something far more important. The dissent of the fans stopped the greedy European Super League programme hatched by the already-rich football clubs of the continent.
At the Paris Olympics, Kimia Yousofi didn’t exactly set the track on fire with her time in the women’s 100m, but she was not there running for a personal best. “I’ve run at the Tokyo Olympics and the Rio Olympics. But in them, I was running for myself. I was running because I loved to run. But now I’m here for Afghanistan’s girls,” Yousofi told Sportstar.
The back of her race bib carried a message: “Education, Sport, our right.” A right that the Taliban has cruelly denied.
But Afghan B-girl Talash, representing the Refugee Olympic Team, was disqualified after she competed wearing a “Free Afghan Women” cape during the preliminary rounds of the breaking competition.
Rule 50 of the Olympic Charter states: “No kind of demonstration or political, religious or racial propaganda is permitted in any Olympic sites, venues or other areas.” Yet, the irony was not lost on anyone. As Minky Worden from Human Rights Watch said: “Athletes do not surrender their human rights in competition, including to speak out on women’s rights. Talash has already faced discrimination and hardship just for being an Afghan woman, and her statement at the Paris Games aligned with the Olympic Charter’s recognition of the importance of human rights.”
Whether in Kolkata’s streets or on an Olympic track, we find that the most powerful messages don’t need a scoreboard or a podium to make a mark.
Sometimes they come from a cape, a race bib, or simply by walking together. Sport is not just about winning — it’s about standing up for something that matters.
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