24 December 2013
Rabia’s Free Kick
Lebanese Women’s Soccer between Tradition, Publicity and Politics
By Florian Sonntag
Florian Sonntag has a scholarship of hbs in Germany. Just before finishing his B.A. in
international relations in Germany, he came to Lebanon for one semester at Université St. Joseph.
About the Author :
This work is licensed under the “Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Germany License”.
To view a copy of this license, visit:
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/
Rabia’s Free Kick
Lebanese Women’s Soccer between Tradition, Publicity and Politics
Kick-off. Dribbling, passing, scoring: “Run,
faster! Close the gap in the defense!” – “Go,
yalla, try a header!” – “Allez Sadaka, another
goal!” – “Double pass! Give me the ball!” – 1:0.
The first five minutes I do not know what to
look at. I see a high-speed match, I see female
players, I see male players, I see a tribune with
children, their parents and grandparents,
shouting and supporting their teams. An old
lady waves the Lebanese national flag. “See,
there is my grandchild, the number 9! I am so
proud of her!” Number 9 centers, number 7
passes, number 9 scores: 2-0. Two minutes
later, it goes the other way round: Number 9
passes, number 7 scores: 3-0.
It is a soccer match between the women‟s team
of the Al Sadaka Sporting Club and the SaintCoeurs Kfarhbab, the male team of a school in
Jounieh. Sahar, a lady of 77 years, is wearing a
black dress and a black headscarf, golden
earrings – and a a green fanscarf. She claps her
hands rhythmically, smiling proudly, eyes on
Rabia, her number 9. Sahar came together with
her daughter Layla and her son-in-law Ali, they
are the same as enthusiastic. Ali, 55 years, and
Layla, 48 years, drove the 15 Kilometers from
their village in the South of Beirut to watch
their daughter„s match. They always used to
come to see the matches together with Sahar
and her husband Muhammad, another soccer
enthusiast. “We all are so proud of Rabia, and
so was Muhammad,” Sahar says. It is his
fanscarf she is wearing. “Since his death, we are
Rabia‟s supporting trio, and through his scarf,
Muhammad is still with her.”
Ali, a bank employee, says he was the one who
encouraged his daughter to start playing soccer.
“I myself played soccer, and why should my
daughter not play as well? Now she plays on
the best Lebanese team and the national team,”
he says proudly. Layla, a teacher, wearing a
fashionable headscarf, adds: “I was critical in
the beginning. I especially feared my daughter
would get injured by playing soccer. But our
two sons play as well, and now it has become
normal that she plays.” Ali adds that he is an
exception among the Lebanese men. “It is
being more and more accepted that women
play soccer, but people still think it is dangerous
Heinrich-Böll-Stiftung - Middle East Office, 2013
for them and not normal that they play. It is a
cultural, not a religious matter.”
Tradition, Emancipation and the Role of
Families
Tradition and Emancipation are two important
poles influencing the societal acceptance of
women's soccer in Lebanon. “The less old
fashioned
and traditional,
the
more
emancipation gains ground,” Sophie, one of the
Atletico Beirut F.C. female players, tells me. She
started playing soccer with her younger brother
- like the majority of women on the team. Once
there were several women, they started a
women‟s team and separated from the male rest
of the club. “The problem is that no one
encourages you. You have to tell them that you
want to play soccer, and then they react. But
action is lacking in Lebanese women's soccer
since there are not enough officials who really
want to push us forward,” Sophie adds. Atletico
came in second at the national championship.
At Al Sadaka, Rabia‟s team, which is the
Lebanese champion, the club pays 200 or 300
US dollars a month for the transportation to
external matches. “That is all,” Sophie
concludes. For comparison: The male players
of the A Division team are granted several
thousand US dollars a month.
“Hey, that was a foul!” Ali shouts out loudly.
Rabia falls and gets a free kick, and scores
again, 4-0. Sahar claps enthusiastically and
smiles proudly. Ali comments: “Rabia is still a
student, and dreams of a professional career.
But as a woman in Lebanon, you either have to
do half-time jobs which allow you to still play
soccer or you stop playing and concentrate on
your job. And if your family and friends do not
support you, you will not be encouraged to
continue or even begin.” “Soccer is Rabia‟s
life, so we will never bar her from playing in a
team.” However, he is pessimistic that women‟s
soccer will ever be professional in Lebanon: “If
there are no sponsors, it will remain a leisure
time activity.” The majority of the Al Sadaka
players works in banks, travel agencies, or
stores, despite the fact that the Club is the
champion of the first futsal division. “There are
Lebanese investors for F.C. Barcelona, but not
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Rabia’s Free Kick
Lebanese Women’s Soccer between Tradition, Publicity and Politics
for Al Sadaka.” Helen Staude, a German soccer
journalist, states: “Most Lebanese soccer fans
support a club from abroad, because the
national soccer league is not professional and
therefore not attractive enough for the ones
who enjoy watching soccer. It is an
exasperating circle.”
Five other families are in the stadium, watching
the match of their daughters: a proud father
and uncle, a worried mother, a bored cousin, an
interested grandfather: it is the Sunday
afternoon family trip of a small, personal fan
community.
On a different pitch in the south of Beirut, I
meet a group of 30 female players of the Girls
Football Academy (GFA), training on their home
ground. Nadja Assaf, the young founder of the
GFA, coaches the under 18s-teams of the
academy. “Traditionally, soccer in Lebanon has
been a men‟s sport in a men‟s society,” she says
firmly. Assaf is convinced that a successful
professional women‟s soccer team would
contribute to more equality between men and
women. “Too many men think that women are
inferior. Soccer will serve to change this.”
At a match of the first division between the two
Beiruti clubs Al Ahed and Al Safa in Saida,
among 400 men, I find three young women:
“We live nearby the stadium and were just
curious. It is the first time we watch a match.”
They are not aware of there being female
soccer in Lebanon: “I do not know any girl
playing, and my school is not offering it.” This
is not only a personal issue: even on the FIFA
Homepage the national female league is not
mentioned. Next to them, a group of male fans
is skeptical: “Women and soccer?” They smile
at me: “How can you play soccer and have
babies?” Even at a female university match one
male student is also not convinced: “There is a
physical difference between men and women. It
is amusing that girls play, but Lebanese society
will never accept female soccer as equal to male
soccer.”
Saint-Coeurs Kfarhbab scores, a volley kick in the
right corner: 4-1. The small fan base of the
team celebrates, Ali curses: “Khalas! Defense!”
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The coach of the team reproachfully looks at
Ali, Layla, Rabia‟s mother, jumps in: “Yalla,
Rabia!” There are also three players of Al
Sadaka among the visitors watching the match.
Among them is Juliet, who is injured . She is a
newlywed and tells me that her husband
encouraged her to play soccer. “Of course, we
both are crazy about soccer. But I am still an
exception. Many men do not accept their wives
playing soccer.” Another player adds: “My
family never comes to watch the matches. They
tolerate it, but they do not like it; we are a very
traditional family.” I meet families and friends
supporting the players, both men and women.
Religion, Culture and the Role of Schools
“Khallas, shou hayda?! What is this?” The coach
of Al Sadaka gets upset. One of the players of
Saint-Coeurs Kfarhbab dribbles, passes, scores: 42. Sahar, Rabia‟s grandmother, shakes her head.
“Yalla, Rabia, forward!” Half of the team
players are Muslim, the other half are
Christians.
Female soccer builds bridges between the
different religions and sects in Lebanon.
Hassan Dib, the coach of the national female
futsal team, stresses that whoever jokes about
religion is dismissed from the team. It
happened during the tryouts where one player
was immediately excluded from the tournament
for this reason. “I do not care whether players
are Christian or Muslim or Jewish. Their
performance on the pitch interests me, that is
all,” Dib adds. All eight A Division teams have
players from different religious backgrounds,
even if the clubs have sectarian affiliations
regarding their history and sponsors.i “We do
not mind which religion players belong to”,
Christina says. Her friend sitting next to her,
Rana, is wearing a headscarf, the two study at
the same university. “We got to know each
other at Al Sadaka, and because of soccer, even
our families have become friends. Occasionally
after a match, my family invites her family and
her family invites mine over for coffee,” Rana
says. Her family is Muslim, and Christina‟s
family is Christian. This also happens among
other families of team members. But Rana adds
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Rabia’s Free Kick
Lebanese Women’s Soccer between Tradition, Publicity and Politics
that there is a difference between the
generations: “It is easier for our parent‟s
generation, and even easier for my generation.
Our grandparents seldomly attend those coffee
afternoons. They never say why, but I am sure
it is because they do not like the other religion.
The former civil war in Lebanon and the
prejudices against religions are still apparent to
our grandparent‟s generation.” Likewise, the
squad of Atletico F.C. and the Girls Football
Academy includes Greek-orthodox, Maronite,
Christian-protestant, Roman-catholic, Sunnite,
Shiite and Druze players. The pitch is
considered secular territory.
“It does not matter if you are Maronite or
Sunni or Shia or Druze or anything else, it is
just a cultural and not a religious matter,” Nadja
Assaf says. ”It is a matter of modernization and
education. Conservative Muslim parents might
not allow their daughter to play soccer, as well
as conservative Christians might not. The
families have to realize that sports are healthy
and good for their daughters,” she emphasizes.
And this is just what is happening: “Over the
years, more and more families and friends have
come to watch the matches,” Mrs. Assaf says.
Many girls at school “are afraid of playing with
boys”, one of the Université St. Joseph players
says. The majority of Lebanese schools do not
have a girls‟ soccer team. “If they did, especially
in the rural areas of Lebanon, female soccer
would also become accepted in society,” Nadja
Assaf concludes.
Professionalism and Challenges Abroad
Saint-Coeurs Kfarhbab scores again, 4-3, Ali lights
a cigarette. “Rabia does not run enough, the
team must defend better. They play offensively
and get too many counterattacks.” Sahar calms
him down: “Wait, my son, assabrun dschamilun:”
Or: Patience is a nice thing. Fifteen minutes
remain.
Al Sadaka trains four times a week, Atletico, the
second ranked club, only trains twice a week.
Rana has produced a DVD that shows her
playing skills. With this DVD she tries to apply
to professional soccer clubs abroad in order to
Heinrich-Böll-Stiftung - Middle East Office, 2013
leave Al Sadaka. “I still dream, but many
others have already given up that dream of
playing professionally,” she adds. The eight
clubs of the first women's soccer division are
financed in different ways. Either a family owns
the club (like at Al Sadaka), the municipality
(like in Tripoli) owns it, or the club itself earns
its money from member fees and renting its
pitch to private players. At the university level,
the players benefit from reductions on the
educational fees. Furthermore, several trainers
work without a license.
Free kick for Saint-Coeurs Kfarhbab, two meters
before the penalty area. Ten minutes remain,
Rabia‟s family is holding its breath. Rabia fouls
one of the other players, the referee shows her
the yellow card. She is a woman and one of
three female referees in the Lebanese Soccer
Association. Two of them are active, and one is
retired. All of them started by playing soccer
and moved up to a referee level when the
Federation started offering referee courses. All
of them are well accepted among their male
colleagues. “We are referees; we do not
differentiate between women and men. Our
performance on the pitch is the only thing that
matters” one of the male FIFA referees,
Hassan Salman, emphasizes.
Why does Al Sadaka play against a men‟s team?
“As the futsal league has not started yet, we
look for challenges for the women‟s team, and
sometimes those are men‟s teams,” the coach
of Al Sadaka says. Several teams also take part
in international tournaments.
Publicity, Politics and the National Team
The ball breaches the wall, but is caught by the
goalkeeper. The score still is 4-3, tension is in
the air. Seven minutes remain. Ali lights
another cigarette, Layla stares firmly at the
pitch, Sahar takes her scarf and waves it
enthusiastically.
“The media does not care enough about female
soccer” Christina states. Nadja Assaf agrees
saying, “The only way forward for Lebanese
female soccer is publicity.” And publicity is
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Rabia’s Free Kick
Lebanese Women’s Soccer between Tradition, Publicity and Politics
generated by success: “The national team and
the league need positive headlines, only that
way, women‟s soccer will be more popular and
common,” she adds. And more popularity will
attract more sponsors. Furthermore, money for
financing further pitches is lacking. It is rare to
see children playing in the streets of Beirut or
rural areas, because public pitches are rarely
constructed. Most pitches for playing street
soccer are privately paid. There is no active
support from politicians to fund women‟s
soccer teams in Lebanese schools. In men's
soccer, many soccer clubs depend on a patron,
and this patron often is a politician. In women's
soccer this rarely happens because there are
only two clubs, Al Ansar and Atletico, which
both have a women's and a men's first division
team. Regarding the influence of those patrons,
“the players do not care,” Christina says.
“Besides, there is no political motivation for the
players to join a certain team,” she adds.
It is Ali‟s third cigarette within 15 minutes. The
score is 4-4, Al Sadaka tries scoring the fifth
goal, attacks, Rabia hits the post, another
counterattack, cross, dropkick, Saint-Coeurs
Kfarhbab equalizes. Two minutes remain. Then,
a player of Al Sadaka is fouled, and the team
gets a free kick, again. Again before the penalty
area, but this time it is Rabia who kicks the
ball. The whistle sounds, Rabia takes a run-up
and – scores, it is an unstoppable ball. 5-4.
“Yeah! Mabrouk! Yalla, I knew it!” Ali kicks the
cigarette pack away, and pulls up his arms;
Sahar and Layla hug themselves, as the other
family members do. The final whistle sounds,
and the match is over.
The Way Forward
Rabia hugs her parents. She has changed into,
blue jeans, wears make-up, a fashionable
headscarf and is apparently proud of the victory
and her three goals. “It was a tough match.
They did not give anything away for free”.
Then she asks me politely: “Are you a
journalist? I thought they only come in for the
national matches, but it is good that you came,
Heinrich-Böll-Stiftung - Middle East Office, 2013
we need more of them!” Rabia played in the
national team as well, and tells me about the
West Asian Football Federation (WAFF) Women‟s
Futsal Championship in 2012, where the
national team reached the semifinals. “We were
eliminated just in the semifinals and lost against
Iran, having one of the best Arab women's
soccer and futsal teams” she says with a proud
smile. She adds: “That performance in Bahrain
shows the huge potential of Lebanese women‟s
soccer.”
Rabia is confident about the future of women‟s
soccer in Lebanon: “It can be more successful
than the men‟s, because the gap between the
different countries‟ soccer levels is still much
smaller than in male soccer.” And if she cannot
become “a well-paid professional soccer player
in England”, she wants to work in a bank: “I
like mathematics. Besides, the banks close early
so that I can play soccer.” Sahar, Ali and Layla
leave the place content. Rabia stays in town,
because she wants to go to the cinema with
Christina and Rana and all of them are invited
for lunch by Ali and Layla. It will be the first
time that Sahar also takes part, even if Christina
is Christian. “Muslim, Christian - of course
there are differences, but tomorrow we will
have dinner together with Rabia‟s friends and
teammates,” Sahar, Rabia‟s grandmother, says.
“And we will celebrate Rabia‟s final free kick”:
Free from prejudice, and still without a salary,
full of a sense of modernization and
emancipation, and still in the triangle between
tradition, publicity and politics. The Lebanese
women‟s soccer is on its way and has huge
potential to be more than just a Sunday coffee
event.
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Rabia’s Free Kick
Lebanese Women’s Soccer between Tradition, Publicity and Politics
i
See Reiche, Danyel, 2011: War Minus the Shooting?
The politics of sport in Lebanon as a unique case in
comparative politics
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