A football memorabilia shop in Newcastle. Photo: Ian Horrocks/Getty Images
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Damn and blast – my epic football collection is going down in value

Fans have no money left for books and they can look it up online, anyway.

In 1953, coronation year, Stanley Matthews had had 21 years as a professional footballer – but had never won an FA Cup winner’s medal, the medal all players and all boys had dreamed about since 1872, the year of the first FA Cup final. How times change. What boys and girls dream about now is becoming a celeb.

Matthews had been in two finals, 1948 and 1951, and lost both, so, with our hero aged 38 and Blackpool playing in the final against his side, Bolton, it looked like the last chance for him. A nation held its breath.

(In fact, Stan played till he was 50. In 1953 the maximum wage for a player was £14 a week but Stan did get another £20 a week from the Co-op for the use of his name. So he was lucky. He also got knighted while still playing, the only time it has happened. Poor old Becks: still not made it.)

Any road up, Bolton were 3-1 ahead with only 35 minutes left to play – when Matthews turned on the magic, sorry wizardry, for was he not the Wizard of Dribble? Blackpool won 4-3 and phew, at long last, Matthews got his medal from the Queen. A nation cheered. Ever since, the 1953 final has been known as the Matthews Final. He died in 2000.

In 2001 his medal was sold at Sotheby’s for £20,000 – and I remember thinking: goodness, all that money for a bit of metal.

I was often bidding around the same time, adding to my football collections – but for books and paper memorabilia only. I prefer to collect stuff I can read, that has content, not silly stuff like medals and shirts.

That year at Sotheby’s, I bought the four-volume Gibson and Pickford Association Football and the Men Who Made It, published in 1895. I paid £520 – writing it down in code in case my wife ever saw how stupid I’d been, but telling myself that all prices of football stuff would be going up, no question.

Alas, I was wrong. In a dealer’s catalogue last week I saw those four volumes for sale at only £250. Hell’s bells, what have I done?

That Matthews Final medal came up again for sale at Sotheby’s just a few months ago – and sold for £220,000. Shows how much I know.

My Beatles and suffragette material and almost all the stuff I’ve bought over the past 30 years has gone up in value, oh yes. In fact, suffragette stuff has gone mad. Postcards I bought for £8 are now going for £80. I blame the feminists, especially at American colleges with rich funds.

But football seems to be collapsing, at least for run-of-the-mill stuff. That Matthews medal was a one-off. With all collecting, the unique or amazing stuff always sells well.

I am now noticing that programmes from the 1950s and 1960s – of which I have thousands – are down to half the price they were just five years ago. Damn and blast. (Do notice the period swearing. Now that everybody says f*** and c*** all the time, I’m reverting to childhood, to the oaths my father used.)

Old gits are dying out and their families are selling their stuff cheap. But that was always the case. EBay has saturated the market, with everyone trying to sell the same stuff. Prices were too high ten years ago, and the recession has had an effect on all collectibles.

Graham Budd, who does the sporting auctions at Sotheby’s, suggested another possible explanation – that it’s connected with the collapse of the second-hand book market. “Historical information is now so readily available on the net. Bookselling these days is a tough business.”

It’s true that geeks and nerds today can look up fascinating football facts on a screen and have no need actually to buy books. Think also of the huge cost of football now – whether to go to a game or to subscribe to Sky and BT. Fans have no money left for books. And there is so much present-day football on the telly that young fans forget or have no interest in the past.

To save you looking up more details of that 1953 final, Stan Mortensen got a hat-trick and won it for Blackpool. Matthews did not score. So still calling it the Matthews Final after all these years is bollocks: I mean, a terminological inexactitude. 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 06 May 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The Power Struggle

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Angela Merkel's call for a burqa ban sets a disturbing precedent

The German chancellor's plan for a partial ban of the full-face veil is a clearly political move, which will do more to harm those women who wear it than protect them.

 

In these febrile times, women’s freedom and autonomy has become a bargaining chip in the poker game of public propaganda — and that goes double for brown, Muslim and migrant women. Angela Merkel should know as well as any other female politician how demeaning it is to be treated as if what you wear is more important than what you say and what you do. With the far-right on the rise across Europe, however, the German chancellor has become the latest lawmaker to call for a partial ban on the burqa and niqab.

We are told that this perennial political football is being kicked about in the name of liberating women. It can have nothing to do, of course, with the fact that popular opinion is lurching wildly to the right in western democracies, there’s an election in Germany next year, and Merkel is seen as being too soft on migration after her decision to allow a million Syrian refugees to enter the country last year. She is also somehow blamed for the mob attacks on women in Cologne, which have become a symbol of the threat that immigration poses to white women and, by extension, to white masculinity in Europe. Rape and abuse perpetrated by white Europeans, of course, is not considered a matter for urgent political intervention — nor could it be counted on to win back voters who have turned from Merkel's party to the far-right AFD, which wants to see a national debate on abortion rights and women restricted to their rightful role as mothers and homemakers.

If you’ll allow me to be cynical for a moment, imposing state restrictions on what women may and may not wear in public has not, historically, been a great foundation for feminist liberation. The move is symbolic, not practical. In Britain, where the ban is also being proposed by Ukip the services that actually protect women from domestic violence have been slashed over the past six years — the charity Refuge, the largest provider of domestic violence services in the UK, has seen a reduction in funding across 80% of its service contracts since 2011.

It’s worth noting that even in western countries with sizeable Muslim minorities, the number of women who wear full burqa is vanishingly small. If those women are victims of coercion or domestic violence, banning the burqa in public will not do a thing to make them safer — if anything, it will reduce their ability to leave their homes, isolating them further.

In the wake of the Brexit vote, racist and Islamophobic attacks spiked in the UK. Hate crimes nationally shot up by 42% in the two weeks following the vote on 23 June. Hate crimes against Muslim women increased by over 300%, with visibly Muslim women experiencing 46% of all hate incidents. Instances of headscarves being ripped off have become so common that self-defense videos are being shared online, showing women how to deflect the “hijab grab”. In this context, it is absurd to claim that politicians proposing a burqa ban care about protecting women: the move is transparently designed to placate the very people who are making Muslim women feel unsafe in their own communities.

When politicians talk about banning the burqa, the public hears an attack on all Islamic headscarves — not everyone knows the difference between the hijab, the niqab and the burqa, and not everyone cares. The important thing is that seeing women dressed that way makes some people feel uncomfortable, and desperate politicians are casting about for ways to validate that discomfort.

Women who actually wear the burqa are not invited to speak about their experiences or state their preferences in this debate. On this point, Islamic fundamentalists and panicked western conservatives are in absolute agreement: Muslim women are provocative and deserve to be treated as a threat to masculine pride. They should shut up and let other people decide what’s best for them.

I know Muslim women who regard even the simple hijab as an object of oppression and have sworn never to wear one again. I also know Muslim women who wear headscarves every day as a statement both of faith and of political defiance. There is no neutral fashion option for a woman of Islamic faith — either way, men in positions of power will feel entitled to judge, shame and threaten. Either choice risks provoking anger and violence from someone with an opinion about what your outfit means for them. The important thing is the autonomy that comes with still having a choice.

A law which treats women like children who cannot be trusted to make basic decisions about their bodies and clothing is a sexist law; a law that singles out religious minorities and women of colour as especially unworthy of autonomy is a racist, sexist law. Instituting racist, sexist laws is a good way to win back the votes of racist, sexist people, but, again, a dreadful way of protecting women. In practice, a burqa ban, even the partial version proposed by Merkel which will most likely be hard to enforce under German constitutional law, will directly impact only a few thousand people in the west. Those people are women of colour, many of them immigrants or foreigners, people whose actual lives are already of minimal importance to the state except on an abstract, symbolic level, as the embodiment of a notional threat to white Christian patriarchy. Many believe that France's longstanding burqa ban has increased racial tensions — encapsulated by the image earlier this year of French police surrounding a woman who was just trying to relax with her family on the beach in a burkini. There's definitely male violence at play here, but a different kind — a kind that cannot be mined for political capital, because it comes from the heart of the state.

This has been the case for centuries: long before the US government used the term“Operation Enduring Freedom” to describe the war in Afghanistan, western politicians used the symbolism of the veil to recast the repeated invasion of Middle Eastern nations as a project of feminist liberation. The same colonists who justified the British takeover of Islamic countries abroad were active in the fight to suppress women’s suffrage at home. This is not about freeing women, but about soothing and coddling men’s feelings about women.

The security argument is even more farcical: border guards are already able to strip people of their clothes, underwear and dignity if they get the urge. If a state truly believes that facial coverings are some sort of security threat, it should start by banning beards, but let's be serious, masculinity is fragile enough as it is. If it were less so, we wouldn't have politicians panicking over how to placate the millions of people who view the clothing choices of minority and migrant women as an active identity threat.

Many decent, tolerant people, including feminists, are torn on the issue of the burqa: of course we don't want the state to start policing what women can and can't wear, but isn't the burqa oppressive? Maybe so, but I was not aware of feminism as a movement that demands that all oppressive clothing be subject to police confiscation, unless the Met’s evidence lockers are full of stilettos, girdles and push-up bras. In case you're wondering, yes, I do feel uncomfortable on the rare occasions when I have seen people wearing the full face veil in public. I've spent enough time living with goths and hippies that I've a high tolerance for ersatz fashion choices — but do wonder what their home lives are like and whether they are happy and safe, and that makes me feel anxious. Banning the burqa might make me feel less anxious. It would not, however, improve the lives of the women who actually wear it. That is what matters. My personal feelings as a white woman about how Muslim women choose to dress are, in fact, staggeringly unimportant.

If you think the Burqa is oppressive and offensive, you are perfectly entitled never to wear one. You are not, however, entitled to make that decision for anyone else. Exactly the same principle applies in the interminable battle over women's basic reproductive choices: many people believe that abortion is wrong, sinful and damaging to women. That's okay. I suggest they never have an abortion. What's not okay is taking away that autonomy from others as a cheap ploy for good press coverage in the runup to an election.

This debate has been dragging on for decades, but there's a new urgency to it now, a new danger: we are now in a political climate where the elected leaders of major nations are talking about registries for Muslims and other minorities. Instituting a symbolic ban on religious dress, however extreme, sets a precedent. What comes next? Are we going to ban every form of Islamic headdress? What about the yarmulke, the tichel, the Sikh turban, the rainbow flag? If this is about community cohesion, what will it take to make white conservatives feel “comfortable”? Where does it stop? Whose freedoms are politicians prepared to sacrifice as a sop to a populace made bitter and unpredictable by 30 years of neoliberal incompetence? Where do we draw the line?

We draw it right here, between the state and the autonomy of women, particularly minority and migrant women who are already facing harassment in unprecedented numbers. Whatever you feel about the burqa, it is not the role of government to police what women wear, and doing it has nothing to do with protection. It is chauvinist, it is repressive, it is a deeply disturbing precedent, and it has no place in our public conversation.

 
 
 
 

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.