Luis Rubiales kiss row has exposed how much #MeToo has unravelled

The disturbing reaction to Spanish Football Federation President Luis Rubiales’ kiss has revealed a shocking turn of events.

OPINION

If #MeToo was the battle, then #SeAcabó is the war.

Spanish for ‘it’s over’, the now-viral hashtag has bloomed across social media in the wake of the public and unwanted kiss that Luis Rubiales, misogynistic fever-dream and president of the Spanish football association, planted on the lips of star player Jenni Hermoso after the whistle blew on Spain’s historic Women’s World Cup victory over England.

What has happened in the week-and-a-half since that final has been a masterclass from Royal Spanish Football Federation officials in how not to handle a scandal, after a PR statement attributed to Hermoso was hastily released, claiming the kiss was consensual, something she then came out publicly to dispute.

President of the Royal Spanish Football Federation Luis Rubiales kisses player Jennifer Hermoso during the medal ceremony of FIFA Women's World Cup. Picture: Noemi Llamas/Eurasia Sport Images/Getty Images

The groundswell of support for the 33-year-old Spanish striker, which has included her teammates and a further 50 players refusing to play until Rubiales is removed, is being hailed as Spanish football’s ‘MeToo Moment’.

It is both powerfully and disturbingly reminiscent of the widespread protests against sexual violence and harassment that marked the phenomenon in 2017. Powerful because of the unfurling anger and resolution of the women demanding change; disturbing because in many ways, the fight is so much more perilous this time around, with a dark hidden message lurking in the response of Rubiales and his supporters to the outcry.

When #MeToo first erupted, the global uprising of women demanding change and freedom from sexual violence had the element of surprise on its side. It had never occurred to the men in charge that we would – or even could – flip the narrative in such a way. The fall of the accused was swift and dramatic: huge names like Harvey Weinstein, Bill Cosby and Louis CK felt the consequences of their actions, with powerbrokers (and power structures) crumbling week-by-week.

Harvey Weinstein was exposed as a predator during #MeToo and is now a convicted sexual offender. Picture: ETIENNE LAURENT / GETTY IMAGES NORTH AMERICA / AFP

But as the movement fell from the headlines, the seemingly permanent lines we’d drawn in the sand began to wobble and blur. Cosby’s out of jail, reportedly planning to tour again. Louis CK, after a quiet re-entry into the NYC comedy scene, released a few more stand-up specials and won a Grammy in 2022. The Heard V Depp trial was vehemently co-opted by vocal opposers to the ‘believe women’ axiom, viewed by some as a death knell for women’s ability to go public with claims of abuse.

The system we were trying to tear down, it seems, has been quietly, seethingly patching itself back together like a dirty bomb; a militia made up of bitter resentment and disenfranchised masculinity, weaponised in a culture war that paints everything from #MeToo to Black Lives Matter as ‘wokeness gone mad.’

Take Rubiales’ statements in the aftermath of his crude act (which came hot on the heels of him grabbing his crotch in plain sight of Spain’s queen and her daughter earlier that same game):

“We do not pay any attention to idiots and stupid people,” he told Spanish radio in response to the outrage, in what is fast becoming the preferred response of those called out for predatory behaviour where once an apology would have followed.

“(The criticism) is really all just nonsense, (coming from) dickheads and dumbasses. These are just losers who did not know how to see the positive side,” he continued.

Luis Rubiales gas doubled down on this kiss. Picture: Eidan RUBIO / RFEF / AFP.

The 46-year-old has since borrowed heavily from the incel phrase book, calling out “fake feminism” and accusing his critics of carrying out a “social assassination”.

Meanwhile, in a bizarre display of the type of maternal indulgence so often seen in entitled, out-of-touch men, Rubiales’ mother rushed to his defence, barricading herself inside a church and declaring herself to be on a hunger strike until her son’s name was cleared.

Rubiales’ comments are a dog whistle to the hoards riding the pendulum-swing back from MeToo like a wrecking ball. And while his behaviour has been widely condemned by both sides of Spanish parliament and FIFA, the hearty applause from some federation members when he made a speech declaring his refusal to resign – including Jorge Vilda, coach of the Spanish women’s national team – is a sign that he’s far from alone.

That the head of the Spanish Football Association could kiss a player against her will while she is at her place of work is shocking. That he chose to do it while the cameras were rolling on one of the most televised global events of the year is nothing short of a war-cry.

But it’s a war-cry the women of Spanish football and beyond are more than capable of meeting head-on.

Football’s #MeToo moment might not have the element of surprise that its preceding Hollywood cousin had. It does, however, have the momentum of a global audience freshly infected with the dream of what is possible when women in sport are handed the spotlight.

Because once they point that spotlight at all the dark, shameful corners of the system they’re fighting against, Rubiales, his cronies and all the simmering post-MeToo misogyny that has been licking its wounds in hiding, will have no choice but to be forced out of the shadows to face what’s coming.

Bek Day is a freelance writer.