The FA's first non-white board member is also its first woman

"Many young people feel hopeless. And I don't think I ever felt that."

From the way Heather Rabbatts is described in the media, I imagine I’ll find her behind a huge desk, dressed in a power suit with jangling jewellery and those “see-through shoes” that have made such an impression on other journalists. Instead, she’s wearing white linen, hunched over her laptop in the open-plan office of Smuggler, a production company near Oxford Street in the West End of London.

A former barrister, she is the first female (and the first nonwhite) board member of the Football Association. She is also the head of an advertising startup, as well as the chair of the health charity Malaria No More UK. “People find comfort in being able to say, ‘I recognise you; you’re this kind of person,’ ” she says. “I am who I am. I will not be put in a box at all.”

It’s an understandable reaction from someone who has often found herself an outsider. Growing up in the 1960s, Rabbatts, who was born in Jamaica, was bullied at her primary school in London for being mixed race. “I felt after that experience it wasn’t really going to happen again,” she says.

Her unhappiness at school almost cut short her career before it even began. Rabbatts failed her eleven-plus – “At that time, if you failed your eleven-plus, you were pretty much cast into the darkness” – and then she failed her O-levels, too.

It was only when she signed up for evening classes at a local college that she discovered her academic potential and her ambition. “I had my first set of great teachers and my first black teacher, who was one of those rare people who believed in kids who have perhaps lost their way,” she tells me.

Rabbatts started to make her name as a local authority chief, running the London boroughs of Lambeth, Merton and Hammersmith and Fulham. From there, she went to work for Millwall Football Club in 2006, first as its executive deputy chair and later as the chairman.

Early in her career, some of her colleagues’ reactions were hardly more subtle than those of her playground bullies. “There was very much a sense of: ‘We don’t think this is a place for you.’ And people would say that to you without apology. That wouldn’t be said now.” Yet this is not entirely good news. “If someone says something to your face, it’s easier to respond. When you know it [discrimination] is there but you can’t quite put your finger on it, that’s much harder to navigate.”

Sometimes Rabbatts feels weighed down by the expectations placed on her as the only woman and mixedrace person at the FA board table. “My race is as important as my gender here,” she says.

When I ask her how football should tackle racism on the pitch, she replies: “My first response in a way is to reject the question. You wouldn’t ask that question to another independent director, would you?” She sounds defensive but her tone remains friendly enough. “Part of the challenge of being a mixed-race female is that everybody always assumes that those are the issues you are just going to be embedded in. I think that’s a real danger – that you let everyone else off the hook and everyone expects you to deal with it.”

Rabbatts’s feelings about being a role model are similarly complex. On several occasions, she mentions with passion the young people she’s mentored throughout her career but she finds it can be a strain, too. “I don’t want to be a role model. I find that quite burdensome but I feel it’s important that any one of us who’s achieved these roles does offer to others a sense of: ‘You can do it, too.’”

Can young people growing up in disadvantaged circumstances today achieve what she has done? Rabbatts is pessimistic. “Many young people just feel hopeless. And I don’t think I ever felt that.”

Heather Rabbatts is chair of the charity Malaria No More UK

Out of the box: Rabbatts stands out on the pitch and in the boardroom. Image: Russell Sach

Sophie McBain is a freelance writer based in Cairo. She was previously an assistant editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 11 October 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Iran vs Israel

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MP Michelle Thomson's full speech on rape at 14: "I am a survivor"

The MP was attacked as a teenager. 

On Thursday, the independent MP for Edinburgh West Michelle Thomson used a debate marking the UN’s International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women to describe her own experience of rape. Thomson, 51, said she wanted to break the taboo among her generation about speaking about the subject.

MPs listening were visibly moved by the speech, and afterwards Thomson tweeted she was "overwhelmed" by the response. 

Here is her speech in full:

I am going to relay an event that happened to me many years ago. I want to give a very personal perspective to help people, both in this place and outside, understand one element of sexual violence against women.

When I was 14, I was raped. As is common, it was by somebody who was known to me. He had offered to walk me home from a youth event. In those days, everybody walked everywhere - it was quite common. It was early evening. It was not dark. I was wearing— I am imagining and guessing—jeans and a sweatshirt. I knew my way around where I lived - I was very comfortable - and we went a slightly differently way, but I did not think anything of it. He told me that he wanted to show me something in a wooded area. At that point, I must admit that I was alarmed. I did have a warning bell, but I overrode that warning bell because I knew him and, therefore, there was a level of trust in place. To be honest, looking back at that point, I do not think I knew what rape was. It was not something that was talked about. My mother never talked to me about it, and I did not hear other girls or women talking about it.

It was mercifully quick and I remember first of all feeling surprise, then fear, then horror as I realised that I quite simply could not escape, because obviously he was stronger than me. There was no sense, even initially, of any sexual desire from him, which, looking back again, I suppose I find odd. My senses were absolutely numbed, and thinking about it now, 37 years later, I cannot remember hearing anything when I replay it in my mind. As a former professional musician who is very auditory, I find that quite telling. I now understand that your subconscious brain—not your conscious brain—decides on your behalf how you should respond: whether you take flight, whether you fight or whether you freeze. And I froze, I must be honest.

Afterwards I walked home alone. I was crying, I was cold and I was shivering. I now realise, of course, that that was the shock response. I did not tell my mother. I did not tell my father. I did not tell my friends. And I did not tell the police. I bottled it all up inside me. I hoped briefly—and appallingly—that I might be pregnant so that that would force a situation to help me control it. Of course, without support, the capacity and resources that I had within me to process it were very limited.

I was very ashamed. I was ashamed that I had “allowed this to happen to me”. I had a whole range of internal conversations: “I should have known. Why did I go that way? Why did I walk home with him? Why didn’t I understand the danger? I deserved it because I was too this, too that.” I felt that I was spoiled and impure, and I really felt revulsion towards myself.

Of course, I detached from the child that I had been up until then. Although in reality, at the age of 14, that was probably the start of my sexual awakening, at that time, remembering back, sex was “something that men did to women”, and perhaps this incident reinforced that early belief.​
I briefly sought favour elsewhere and I now understand that even a brief period of hypersexuality is about trying to make sense of an incident and reframing the most intimate of acts. My oldest friends, with whom I am still friends, must have sensed a change in me, but because I never told them they did not know of the cause. I allowed myself to drift away from them for quite a few years. Indeed, I found myself taking time off school and staying at home on my own, listening to music and reading and so on.

I did have a boyfriend in the later years of school and he was very supportive when I told him about it, but I could not make sense of my response - and it is my response that gives weight to the event. I carried that guilt, anger, fear, sadness and bitterness for years.

When I got married 12 years later, I felt that I had a duty tell my husband. I wanted him to understand why there was this swaddled kernel of extreme emotion at the very heart of me, which I knew he could sense. But for many years I simply could not say the words without crying—I could not say the words. It was only in my mid-40s that I took some steps to go and get help.

It had a huge effect on me and it fundamentally - and fatally - undermined my self-esteem, my confidence and my sense of self-worth. Despite this, I am blessed in my life: I have been happily married for 25 years. But if this was the effect of one small, albeit significant, event in my life stage, how must it be for those women who are carrying it on a day-by-day basis?

I thought carefully about whether I should speak about this today, and it was people’s intake of breath and the comment, “What? You’re going to talk about this?”, that motivated me to do it, because there is still a taboo about sharing this kind of information. Certainly for people of my generation, it is truly shocking to talk in public about this sort of thing.

As has been said, rape does not just affect the woman; it affects the family as well. Before my mother died early of cancer, I really wanted to tell her, but I could not bring myself to do it. I have a daughter and if something happened to her and she could not share it with me, I would be appalled. It was possibly cowardly, but it was an act of love that meant that I protected my mother.

As an adult, of course I now know that rape is not about sex at all - it is all about power and control, and it is a crime of violence. I still pick up on when the myths of rape are perpetuated form a male perspective: “Surely you could have fought him off. Did you scream loudly enough?” And the suggestion by some men that a woman is giving subtle hints or is making it up is outrageous. Those assumptions put the woman at the heart of cause, when she should be at the heart of effect. A rape happens when a man makes a decision to hurt someone he feels he can control. Rapes happen because of the rapist, not because of the victim.

We women in our society have to stand up for each other. We have to be courageous. We have to call things out and say where things are wrong. We have to support and nurture our sisters as we do with our sons. Like many women of my age, I have on occasion encountered other aggressive actions towards me, both in business and in politics. But one thing that I realise now is that I am not scared and he was. I am not scared. I am not a victim. I am a survivor.

Julia Rampen is the editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog. She was previously deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines.