A Crossroads for English Football
On the Newcastle takeover, sportswashing, and Tracey Crouch’s fan-led review
In early October, a Saudi-led consortium completed the takeover of English Premier League club Newcastle United for a sum eclipsing $400 million. Saudi Arabia’s sovereign wealth fund, the Public Investment Fund (PIF), was the principal investor with an 80% stake, while Amanda Stavely’s PCP Capital and RB Sports & Media split the remaining 20%. The PIF boasts an estimated asset value of $430 billion, making Newcastle the club with the richest backing in world football.
The takeover should come as no surprise to anyone. A little over a year ago, the same consortium came within spitting distance of completing the purchase of Newcastle. In April 2020, an agreement had been reached with then-owner Mike Ashley, though the deal fell through shortly afterwards.
The takeover is also the latest example of what is a clear trend in European football’s recent history; that is, it bends toward whatever body or sponsor or oligarch is willing to provide its wealth. For some time now, Saudi Arabia has been investing in global sport. It was natural they would enter the world of football, with its attraction toward deep pockets, sooner rather than later.
In hindsight, why would Newcastle and the Premier League ever buck this trend?
Still, despite its slow motion inevitability, there is something particularly jarring about the PIF’s takeover of Newcastle. A combination of things, really. The absurd depths of their riches; the blood-stained hands that handle the purse; the gleeful, unquestioning manner in which some Newcastle fans have welcomed their new owners; and how governing bodies, so-called regulators, have abdicated responsibility.
When news of the takeover broke, new and familiar questions were raised. The first was logistical: what changed between the spring of 2020 and the autumn of 2021 to allow the PIF to purchase the Tyneside club?
The short answer: not a whole lot. But, apparently, enough to satisfy the Premier League.
Only a year ago, English football’s top tier, quite sensibly, recognized it was impossible to extricate the PIF from the Saudi government: “PIF’s directors are appointed by royal decree and its current board is almost exclusively composed of Saudi government ministers. The PIF Law puts it expressly under the direction of a Saudi Arabian government ministry. Its function is to serve the national interest of Saudi Arabia.”
Since then, the role of the PIF as the financial arm of the Kingdom has not changed. Nor has its leadership: Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (MBS), the de facto ruler of Saudi Arabia, still sits at the helm.
Yet, suddenly, in early October, the Premier League “received legally binding assurances” that guaranteed the club would not be run by the Saudi state. Clarification as to what these assurances were has gone abegging. For their own sake, it must be assumed, the Premier League has stayed silent on the issue.
What did change was the working relationship between Qatar broadcaster beIn Sports and Saudi Arabia. Previously, the Saudi state had banned beIn Sports in the Kingdom, supporting instead an operation called beoutQ, which had pirated beIn Sports football matches, including those of the Premier League. In doing so, the Premier League was robbed of its commercial rights and, in turn, their club’s commercial revenues.
BeIn Sports had broadcasting rights with the Premier League until 2022, a deal worth almost $700 million. That deal has since been renewed, stretching broadcasting rights to 2025. The pirating of their football coverage led beIn Sports to file a number of legal complaints against Saudi Arabia, including a $1 billion investment arbitration. Shortly before the takeover went through in October, the multi-million dollar tiff was reportedly resolved. Saudi Arabia ended the ban on beIn Sports and approached the company about a settlement.
The Premier League claims this had little to do with their decision to grant approval of the takeover. But the UK government is rumored to have intervened in the deal, worried of damaging diplomatic relations with Saudi Arabia should the deal fall through for a second time. This suggests, in tandem with a gentle nudge from the UK government, the resolution of the broadcasting dispute might have given the Premier League the license it needed to go through with the deal.
More familiar questions revolved around the implications of a state-owned football club. These same questions were asked following the purchase of Manchester City in 2008, when Abu Dhabi’s Sheik Mansour assumed leadership, and of Paris-Saint Germain in 2011 after Qatar Sports Investments — established in 2005 by the son of the Emir and heir to the Qatari throne, Sheikh Tamim Bin Hamad Al Thani — bought a 70% stake in the French club.
Now, however, the microscope is trained on the Saudis. And, given the PIF’s financial muscle and the extent of the Kingdom’s human rights violations, the criticism has magnified.
Just three years prior to the PIF’s purchase of Newcastle, Saudi dissident Jamal Khashoggi was dismembered with a bonesaw inside the Saudi embassy in Istanbul. The assassination, carried out by a 15-man team of Saudi mercenaries, was likely ordered by MBS himself, the same man serving as Chair of the PIF.
Then there are Saudi Arabia’s countless domestic human rights violations. Its harsh treatment of dissidents and activists, including those agitating for women’s rights; discriminatory laws relating to homosexuality; torture; executions.
And, finally, the Saudi-backed coalition in Yemen that has mounted indiscriminate bombing campaigns and contributed to the world’s worst humanitarian crisis.
The big question, then, when it comes to ownership: If wrongfully imprisoning Saudi citizens, contributing to the deaths of thousands of innocent men, women and children in Yemen, and authorizing the assassination of a Washington Post journalist isn’t enough to bar you from owning a Premier League football club, what is?
Not only has the Premier League trivialized these offenses by approving the takeover, but they’ve consented to its use as a soft power vehicle of the Saudi state.
It would be naive to assume the PIF’s purchase of Newcastle was solely motivated by a deep appreciation of sport, a desire to reinvigorate Newcastle city, or a monetary ROI. Diversifying the Saudi economy is an afterthought; the purpose is to rehabilitate what is a damaged image in the West. It’s an investment in foreign policy. The Saudi hope is that, over time, conversation turns from human rights violations to their success in reinvigorating Newcastle on the field and off, and that the Saudi name and brand is integrated into the fabric of a major Western power and ally. Planting roots, developing relationships.
It is as important, if not more so, in this modern, digital era to win the hearts and minds of foreign publics as it is to win over traditional diplomats, cultural elites, and political decision makers. Today, everyone has a voice and opinion that can be broadcast. And sport — with its reach, media coverage, following, and penchant for excessive spending — is an avenue through which states with damaged images and lots of money can direct subtle, influential messages to broad populations.
This practice is called sportswashing. One definition is as follows: “Authoritarian regimes using sports to manipulate their international image and distract from their human rights record.” It is a concept in its infancy, but it has gained traction among journalists and academics over the last decade with purchases like that of Manchester City, PSG and Newcastle United, among others. It’s also not limited to football.
Skeptics will note that takeovers like that of Newcastle can have the opposite effect. Far from distracting or currying favor with the international public, the PIF’s purchase of Newcastle has aired the Saudi’s dirty laundry. Coverage of their human rights violations is included in the very same articles and conversations discussing the purchase of the Tyneside club, and human rights organizations campaigned against the Premier League, the UK government and Saudi Arabia with renewed vigor following the purchase announcement.
But for whatever dirty laundry is aired in the coming months, the Saudis are clearly confident the strategy will, over time, produce soft power gains. This is, after all, only one piece of Saudi Arabia’s investment in global sport over the last decade, and sportswashing is a long-term strategy.
Liverpool Manager Jurgen Klopp was asked what the PIF’s takeover of Newcastle might mean for the Premier League and, though his answer was in reference to Newcastle’s footballing future, it aptly applies to their soft power initiatives as well. “Money cannot buy everything, but over time they will have enough money to make a few wrong decisions, then make the right decisions, and then they will be where they want to be in the long term.”
There are already signs Newcastle United could prove a fertile ground for the Saudi’s foreign policy initiatives. A supporters’ trust survey last year found that almost 97 percent were in favor of the Saudi takeover. That eagerness showed in October when, hours after the purchase was announced, Newcastle supporters took to the streets in celebration. Images emerged of Geordie’s flooding St. James’s Park. Some wrapped tea-towels around their heads in a bid to imitate the traditional Arab headdress, the keffiyeh. Others waved the Saudi flag.
Culturally insensitive though they may have been, the gestures were made in genuine support of their new owners. And genuine support is exactly what Saudi Arabia will be hoping to receive from the Newcastle community going forward.
Two months after the takeover, Newcastle or the PIF have incurred no significant consequences. However, actions on the part of football fans, Premier League clubs and government officials have shown Newcastle’s route to footballing supremacy may not be as smooth as the club had hoped.
And maybe, just maybe, some good will come of what was, and is, quite a sad situation.
In an emergency meeting in mid-October, Premier League clubs declared a moratorium “on teams’ signing sponsorship deals with brands or companies linked to their investors,” a thinly veiled referendum on Saudi money entering the league. Newcastle’s new chairman, Yasir al-Rumayyan, is the governor of the P.I.F. and the chairman of Saudi Aramco, the state-owned oil company. Saudi Aramco is the world’s largest oil producer and one of the most profitable companies on earth.
But the vote only temporarily banned sponsorship deals and, in truth, was less of a collective moral awakening than Premier League club’s acting in their own interests. It’s a safe bet to assume the Saudi Aramco logo will be emblazoned somewhere in St. James’s Park in the not-so-distant future. But the vote did underscore something that was already quite apparent from the takeover backlash: life will not be easy for Newcastle’s new owners as they begin their tenure.
Another less meaningful outcome of the takeover was the resignation of the Chair of the Premier League Gary Hoffman. Two weeks ago, Premier League club owners held a vote of confidence for Hoffman, which he did not receive. Though certainly somewhat at fault for the purchase of Newcastle, it’s unclear how much Hoffman’s sanctioning of the Saudi takeover actually contributed to the vote. It may well be the case that Hoffman’s resignation is less justice being served, and more a scapegoating maneuver.
Indeed, for all the obvious failings that led to the PIF’s takeover of Newcastle, it’s difficult to pin blame on any one party, as there is no one, singular party to blame. Rather, entire regulatory institutions — if they can be called such — like the Premier League and the UK government deserve denunciation. These are institutions meant to protect football clubs, football players and football fans from being used as pawns, and leagues from being distorted by exorbitant floods of money.
But, in so many ways, this is a tired excuse. After all, the Saudis are not the first deep-pocketed owners who have looked to use a Premier League club to rehabilitate, reimagine or bolster their image. This has been happening since, at least, the existence of the Premier League. The Saudis purchase of Newcastle was just the latest, most egregious example. Again, we’re left asking: When will the insatiable capitalism driving European football meet a moral quandary that will give it pause? And when will regulatory bodies bear the teeth necessary to bite back?
The newest and most meaningful regulatory proposal has the potential to address these issues, if carried out responsibly. On Wednesday, November 24, Conservative MP Tracey Crouch released a 162-page fan-led review, which included 47 recommendations for English football. Chief amongst these recommendations was the establishment of an independent regulator to oversee the English game. Also included: Premier League clubs should pay a stamp duty-style tax on every transfer fee to help support the English football pyramid; shadow boards made up of fans who must be consulted by clubs on key decisions; a golden share, held by supporters, that could veto certain key changes in a football club, like changing the name or selling the ground; and a review into the future of the women’s game. Crucial to the Newcastle takeover, the recommendations would also establish a new Fit and Proper Person’s Test for owners and directors, overseen by the independent regulator. As opposed to the current test — a one-and-done formality — this new Fit and Proper Person’s Test would be ongoing, conducted every year for directors and every three years for owners. All of these recommendations were made in an attempt to solve some of the crises of governance corroding English football and to create “a long-term sustainable position” for the country’s various leagues.
Though Crouch is confident the review will get the government legislation it needs to implement some of the recommendations, idealistic (and, in the case of the fan-led review, a little vague) policy proposals are often reined in or diluted as they are scrutinized. And, lest we forget, for as much potential as this proposal has, Crouch’s report can’t rewrite history. In many ways, it’s a case of too little, too late.
That said, with it comes a glimmer of hope that English football is charting a new path for its future, one less money-grubbing and morally corrupt, that places supporters at the heart of decision-making, and forces English football to put its money where its mouth is when it concerns the progressive initiatives it touts. And though the Newcastle takeover was not the sole catalyst for these reforms — in fact, it played second fiddle to the creation and failure of the European Super League — it may just have served as the final straw. We proceed with cautious optimism.
