There is a growing sense that something has changed in Scotland, and not for the better. The truth is simpler. The problem never really went away. For a time it retreated from view. Today it is impossible to ignore.
Repealing a law is not the same thing as solving a problem
The Offensive Behaviour at Football and Threatening Communications Act is gone. Repealed in 2018 after years of political controversy, it now exists largely as a historical footnote and a case study in how quickly Scottish politics can become polarised.
For some it was an authoritarian overreach that criminalised behaviour which existing laws were already capable of addressing. For others it represented a genuine attempt, albeit an imperfect one, to tackle sectarianism, intimidation, and football-related disorder that had embarrassed Scotland for decades.
Reasonable people can still disagree about whether the legislation should ever have existed. Harder to dispute is that the conditions which gave rise to it still exist. That is the part of the story that often gets overlooked.
When the legislation was introduced, it was not because ministers had suddenly become interested in football songs. It emerged from a period characterised by repeated concerns about sectarianism, violence, disorder, and behaviour that many communities found intimidating. The Scottish Government’s answer may have been flawed. Indeed, there is a strong argument that it was. But it acknowledged that a problem existed and that the government had a responsibility to respond.
The difficulty is that much of the political energy that followed became focused on defeating the legislation rather than identifying a more effective alternative.
Winning the argument
Opposition parties were not wrong to challenge the act. Laws should be scrutinised. Governments should be challenged. Civil liberties matter.
Political victories can create the illusion that a problem has been solved when all that has happened is that one proposed solution has been removed.
Looking back, it is striking how much effort was invested in dismantling the legislation and how little was invested in developing a replacement strategy. Politicians who were rightly vocal about the shortcomings of the act became noticeably quieter when it came to explaining what would work better. Existing laws, we were told, would be sufficient. Better enforcement would do the job. Communities need not worry.
Looking around Scotland today, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the issue deserves revisiting. This is not because football has suddenly become uniquely problematic. Nor is it because Scotland is somehow experiencing challenges that are unknown elsewhere. In truth, what we are witnessing forms part of a much wider pattern that extends well beyond football grounds and city centres.
The confidence of the crowd
Over the last decade something appears to have shifted across much of the western world.
The pandemic undoubtedly played a role. So too has the rise of social media, the collapse of trust in institutions and an increasingly polarised political environment in which grievance often travels faster than evidence. Public figures use outrage to generate attention. Political movements have learned how quickly online anger can be translated into real-world mobilisation. Communities have become more fragmented, and public debate more tribal. The consequences are visible almost everywhere.
Football-related disorder remains a recurring feature of Scottish life. Communities regularly find themselves dealing with disruption associated with large gatherings. Police officers are assaulted. Public property is damaged. Residents are expected to tolerate behaviour that would never be accepted from individuals acting alone.
At the same time, similar dynamics have appeared elsewhere. Demonstrations become disorder. Online rhetoric becomes real-world confrontation. Tensions around immigration, identity and culture spill onto the streets. The recent scenes in Belfast are only the latest example of a phenomenon that has become increasingly familiar across the United Kingdom and Ireland.
The causes differ. The politics differ. The participants differ.
Yet a common thread runs through them all. A growing number of people appear to believe that behaviour becomes acceptable when enough others are doing it too. And that consequences are hardly any deterrent.
The limits of de-escalation
None of this is an argument for aggressive policing. Nor is it an argument for recreating legislation that many believed was fundamentally flawed. It is, however, an argument for honesty about a situation that needs to be tackled head on.
Every policing strategy involves trade-offs. Over recent years there has been an emphasis on de-escalation, containment and retrospective investigation. There are good reasons for this. Nobody wants unnecessary confrontation and restraint is often the correct response. However, strategies should ultimately be judged by outcomes rather than intentions.
Disorder continues to occur with predictable regularity. It is therefore reasonable to ask whether current approaches are delivering what the public expect.
That question is not directed solely at Police Scotland. It is directed at politicians too. Because one of the lessons of the Offensive Behaviour Act should be that identifying flaws in somebody else’s solution is considerably easier than producing a successful alternative of your own.
The question Scotland has avoided
There is an irony at the heart of this debate. The legislation itself generated years of discussion. Committees examined it. Campaigns were organised around it. Politicians built careers arguing for or against it.
Yet the question that should have followed its repeal received far less attention.
What is the wider strategy for dealing with the increasingly visible belief that rules are negotiable when people act as part of a crowd? Because that is the challenge that sits beneath all of these issues.
The Offensive Behaviour Act was one attempt to confront part of that problem. It was criticised, challenged, and ultimately removed. Whether that was right or wrong is now largely academic. The more pressing question is whether anything more effective has emerged in its place.
Judging by what we continue to witness on our streets, around football matches and during wider social tensions, that is far from obvious. Perhaps the real lesson of the last decade is not that the act failed. Perhaps it is that Scotland spent so long arguing about one flawed answer that it forgot to develop a better one. Meanwhile, the mayhem marches on.
Not one but the same
It would be a mistake to view football disorder and politically motivated disorder as entirely separate phenomena. They are not the same thing, but increasingly they appear to draw upon some of the same dynamics. In both cases identity becomes more important than individual responsibility. Responsibility is diluted by the crowd. Behaviour that would be unacceptable in isolation becomes normalised when reinforced by a group. Social media amplifies grievances, organises gatherings, and rewards confrontation with visibility.
The issue is therefore larger than football and larger than politics. It concerns the willingness of a minority to use collective strength as a substitute for civic responsibility.
The point is not that every ultra is a criminal, nor that the old Offensive Behaviour Act was good law. But the public were told, in effect, that existing law was enough. If that was true, why does it now feel as though organised groups can march, mask up, intimidate, vandalise, set off pyrotechnics, fight, and then retreat into a culture of grievance whenever the police intervene?
A solutions-focussed approach
Think about what the English authorities discovered in the 1980s and 1990s. They eventually realised the problem wasn’t football. Football was simply the gathering point. The real issue was groups of predominantly young men, bonded by identity, territory, grievance, alcohol, adrenaline, and group loyalty. Football provided the excuse and the venue. Today, social media provides additional venues.
None of this requires a return to flawed legislation or a heavy-handed response. We already know many of the individuals and groups most likely to be involved in serious disorder. England’s experience demonstrated that success came not from treating every supporter as a suspect, but from identifying repeat offenders, investing in intelligence-led policing, sharing information effectively, using banning orders where appropriate, restricting travel when necessary and intervening before predictable disorder occurred rather than documenting it afterwards. Combined with better use of CCTV, dedicated intelligence units, and a willingness to target those responsible rather than the wider public, the result was a significant reduction in the worst excesses of hooliganism.
The time is now
The question for Scotland is not whether we can do the same, but whether we have the will to do so. Ordinary supporters should be able to attend matches without fear. Communities should not have to tolerate intimidation, vandalism or disruption because a minority behaves differently when surrounded by a crowd. Police officers should not expect assaults as part of doing their job. Most importantly, innocent people should not continue to be injured, frightened, or caught up in violence that everyone knows is preventable.
A civilised society does not wait for disorder to occur and then explain why stopping it was difficult. It identifies those responsible, acts proportionately and protects the public before harm is done.
Friends of Bylines Network
There has never been a greater need for grassroots journalism that investigates the stories that really matter, holds power to account and champions the voices of everyday citizens. We are proudly powered by volunteers but what we do isn’t free.
STAND WITH US for independent, citizen-led journalism that makes democracy stronger, and you will even get some exclusive benefits.
