Jordan Henderson had the trust of my community. Then he broke it

This article was updated on July 19.

 

“I do believe when you see something that is clearly wrong and makes another human being feel excluded you should stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them.”

 

So wrote Jordan Henderson in his programme notes, as Liverpool’s club captain, for the game against Southampton in November 2021. 

 

It was a nod to the ongoing Stonewall annual Rainbow Laces campaign and came complete with a picture of Henderson standing proudly with a rainbow-coloured armband on his bicep.

The piece was long — just over 900 words — and on a different level from most of these kinds of articles. It was a thoughtful and considered analysis of LGBTQI+ issues in football and society. It was powerful, with Henderson airing his frustration and bewilderment with homophobia and discrimination. It was a show of genuine support and solidarity with the community.

 

Or so it seemed.

 

Last week, Henderson verbally agreed to join his former Liverpool captain Steven Gerrard at Al Ettifaq in Saudi Arabia. Henderson’s contract, worth close to £700,000 ($917,000) per week, has been negotiated; now, after a few days of negotiations, the clubs have struck an agreement on a £12m transfer fee. Henderson was left out of Liverpool’s pre-season game against Karlsruher on Wednesday with the move close to completion.

 

The move may have dragged on but Henderson has enthusiastically pursued a move to Saudi Arabia, a country where it is not only illegal to be homosexual or transgender, but dangerous – even life-threatening. From standing shoulder-to-shoulder with LGBTQI+ people, it now feels like he has shown a cold shoulder to that very same community.

 

Many within that community feel let down.

 

I am one of them.

 

When I was feeling uncomfortable, Henderson’s words and actions were among the things to bring me comfort. Reading them helped me feel seen at a time when, as a gay woman, I felt so hidden.

 

For a long time I hid who I was, not just from other people but from myself. I blocked out my truth because I was scared of what it meant and what people might think.

 

When I finally embraced who I was, it was so freeing. But even so, I haven’t always felt comfortable sharing that truth.

 

Take Anfield, for example. Liverpool’s home ground is somewhere I have always felt like I belonged, and I know that will never change.

 

Still, on the occasions I have taken my girlfriend to a match there, or to any stadium when a men’s game is on, we haven’t held hands like we would when we watch women’s football. I haven’t wanted to draw attention to us. I want us to fit in. And it’s sad in order to do that we can’t always be ourselves.

 

We do it to protect ourselves not just from looks cast our way but from comments – or potentially worse. It can be unnerving to constantly feel on guard. It is tiring having to know when and where it is safe to be two people in love — and this is in England. Imagine how difficult and dangerous it would be in countries where being ‘us’ is a criminal offence.

 

This is the first time I have written about my journey to self acceptance. Even if the outside world doesn’t always get to see it, I am writing this from a place of confidence. Not everyone in our community gets to embrace the queer joy I feel now. Everyone’s journey is different. But for some people that journey is not even an option.

 

Henderson seemed to get it. “The idea they’d have to hide from it to be accepted? That’s exactly how too many members of the LGBT+ community feel,” he wrote in that programme in 2021. “We know this because they tell us. So we should listen, support them and work to make it better.”

 

Henderson said he understood how we felt and he wanted to be one of the people driving the change to make our lives easier, to be an ally. He wanted to make people like me feel they belonged — not just at Anfield but far beyond. And he did.

 

It is not legal or safe for anyone in our community to be open about who they are, to feel like they belong, in Saudi Arabia. That is why Henderson agreeing to move there, whether it happens or not, hurts. It is moral hypocrisy and I am not alone in feeling desperately sad about it. 

Sadness is the right word because Henderson really did seem to be different. It wasn’t just the Rainbow Laces campaign: he was dubbed the unofficial captain of Premier League skippers for his work during the Covid-19 pandemic. He organised the #PlayersTogether fund, which saw players from every Premier League club donate wages to help support the NHS during a critical time. He had led by example and with precious little support — in the men’s game at least – to such an extent that he was awarded an MBE in 2021.

 

Surely, on some level, Henderson must be uneasy with moving to — and therefore helping to promote — a country whose human rights record has been described as “appalling” by Amnesty International, and where women are still treated unequally. It was only in 2018 that a ban on women attending football matches was lifted.

 

Some may query just how much a footballer can do against a nation state. And maybe that is true. But, after The Athletic reported in January that Saudi Arabia’s tourism board was set to be unveiled as one of the upcoming sponsors for the Women’s World Cup, the backlash led by Megan Rapinoe, Emma Hayes and so many others resulted in FIFA president Gianni Infantino backtracking. It was a powerful demonstration of what can be achieved when influential figures use their voice and stand by their beliefs.

 

Henderson’s defenders may also point to the fact that to reject sums of money that defy belief, even by professional football standards, is asking too much. He has a family to care for, charitable causes to support, and Saudi money will help him do that.

 

He is also hardly alone in showing an eagerness to take the Saudi shilling. In fact, he’s not even the first Liverpool legend to do so. In the space of six days earlier this summer, Robbie Fowler was announced as manager of the second-tier side Al Qadsiah, Gerrard became manager of Al Ettifaq — where he is now pursuing Henderson’s signature — and Roberto Firmino signed for Al Ahli. Now Fabinho, Liverpool’s Brazilian midfielder, is negotiating his own move to Al Ittihad. 

 

It was painful to see each announcement video rolled out. Fowler is nicknamed ‘God’ by Liverpool fans. Firmino is a modern great, the exemplar of a Jurgen Klopp player, while Fabinho has helped bring almost every trophy you can win to Anfield since joining from Monaco in 2018.

 

And Gerrard. Well, you don’t need me to tell you what it meant growing up as a Liverpool fan and watching him drag the team through games. When I kicked the ball, I tried to do it like him.

 

But the behaviour of Henderson — a man we, fairly or unfairly, held to a higher standard — hurt more than any of them. 

He has been at Liverpool for 12 years and was captain during some of the club’s very best days. From lifting the Champions League in 2019 to helping end that 30-year wait for a Premier League title the following season, he was the driving force. And throughout all that, he made time to be a pioneer in his allyship.

 

“Before I’m a footballer, I’m a parent, a husband, a son, a brother and a friend to the people in my life who matter so much to me,” he wrote in 2021. “The idea that any of them would feel excluded from playing or attending a football match, simply for being and identifying as who they are, blows my mind.”

 

I’m sure he meant those words when he wrote them. But right now, they no longer feel as meaningful.

 

Does this imply if he goes there that he has tarnished his Liverpool legacy? And what about the others who have already gone? Moving to Saudi will not take away their medals or achievements — nor will it cancel out the joyous moments they helped deliver. However, it might change how some of us feel about them.

 

Ultimately, when Henderson’s true values were tested and he was forced to choose between morals and money, he gave his answer. And many people will find that hard to forget.