When a Goal Celebration at the FIFA World Cup Casts the Shadow of a Gun S. Rouzbeh ۱۴۰۵/۰۳/۲۷ S. Rouzbeh examines a football goal celebration that resembled a hand-held gun gesture, asking what it means when directed at Iranian spectators and considering its visual, political and historical context. S. Rouzbeh Was this just a goal celebration? Can a hand that, before the eyes of millions of viewers, takes the recognisable shape of a gun and points towards Iranian spectators be regarded as merely a simple football gesture? In football, celebrating after scoring is part of the game. A player scores, then runs, shouts, points to the sky, makes a heart, shows their shirt, embraces their teammates or celebrates beside the spectators. A goal celebration should, in essence, be a language of release, excitement, victory and connection with the people. But when that very celebration takes the form of a hand that, in the world’s visual vocabulary, signifies a gun, it can no longer be dismissed as meaningless or unimportant. Two fingers extended, the thumb raised, the other fingers folded, and the hand stretched out towards a crowd: in many cultures around the world, from cinema and children’s games to the media and social networks, this is a clear symbol of a ‘hand gun’. This gesture is not an ordinary point towards the sky, the number two, a greeting, a heart or a conventional football celebration. When a hand like this is held horizontally and aimed towards the stands, its visual meaning moves towards ‘taking aim’. That is where the first question arises: why should such a gesture be made in front of Iranian spectators? Does a player competing at World Cup level not know what this pose means? Does no one around the Islamic Republic national team understand the psychological and political weight of pointing at people with a hand, especially people who have lived for years with bullets, batons, prison, executions, pellets, torture and street repression? At a time when memories of the events of 18 and 19 Dey 1404, Aban 1398, the 1401 uprising, street killings, the blinding of protesters, the execution of political prisoners and the massacre of prisoners are still alive in Iranians’ memories, can such a symbol be called merely a football joke? In a country where, over several decades, thousands of citizens have been killed, executed, disappeared, tortured or fallen victim to state repression, and where accounts of those seeking justice put the number of victims of this cycle of violence in the tens of thousands, the symbol of a gun is never neutral. For people who have repeatedly been targeted by gunfire, a hand shaped like a gun is not merely a theatrical gesture; it recalls a wound, a threat, and a government that has spoken to its citizens not in the language of law and accountability, but in the language of gunfire and intimidation. For this reason, a serious question arises: was this gesture an impulsive reaction, or was it planned in advance? Was it just a spontaneous celebration, or did it carry a message for some of the spectators? Why was the hand directed towards the people? Why make such a gesture in a setting where some Iranians were present at the stadium with the Lion and Sun flag, protesting against the Islamic Republic and distancing themselves from the government’s official symbols? A player’s inner intention cannot be established with certainty from a photograph. But politics and the media are not concerned only with inner intention; they are also concerned with outward effect. Someone may say they meant nothing by it. But if the shape of the gesture is clearly read as a gun in the world’s visual language, if it is directed towards the crowd, and if it is made in front of Iranians whose government has spoken to them for years through guns, prisons and executions, then the gesture is no longer ‘unimportant’. Here we must pay attention to body language. Body language is not merely silent movement; it is a complete system of communication. The hands, eyes, direction of the body, distance, facial expression, speed of movement and direction of one’s gaze all create meaning. Just as words acquire meaning in a sentence, bodily movements take meaning from their context. A raised hand at a celebration can signify joy, but that same raised hand in front of an armed force can signify surrender or a cry of ‘Don’t shoot’. A clenched fist can symbolise resistance, unity and protest, but if that same fist is held in front of a frightened person’s face, it is read as a threat. Bodily movement, therefore, never takes meaning apart from its context, its audience and collective memory. Children, too, become familiar with this symbolic language in the earliest years of life. From around the age of three, children begin to engage in pretend play: that is, they use one thing to stand for another. A stick can become a horse, a spoon can become a telephone, and a hand can become an aeroplane, a sword or a gun. Depending on their environment, games, cartoons, films, toys and the behaviour of adults, many children understand by around five to seven years of age that holding their fingers in a particular shape and pointing them at someone represents a gun in play. This childhood understanding shows that such a pose is not complicated, unfamiliar or ambiguous. If a child knows in a game that this movement means a gun, how can we accept that a professional player on the world stage does not know what impression their gesture will create? Of course, two fingers on their own do not always signify a gun. If those same two fingers point upwards and the palm faces outwards, they can form a V sign, a sign of victory or peace. But if that same V sign is made in some countries with the back of the hand facing the audience, it can take on an insulting meaning. So it is not only the fingers themselves that matter; the direction of the palm, the angle of the arm, the movement’s destination and its audience also create meaning. A thumbs-up is a sign of approval, ‘that’s good’, thanks or satisfaction in many countries, but in some cultures it can have an unpleasant or insulting meaning. The OK sign—forming a circle with the thumb and index finger—is understood in many places to mean ‘everything is fine’, but in some contexts it can be insulting or even appropriated by extremist groups. The fascist salute is an even clearer example: a right arm extended forwards is no longer merely a simple bodily movement; behind it stand the historical memories of fascism, Nazism, hatred and political violence. A clenched fist, raised hands, a finger to the lips, the hand movement of slitting a throat, a heart sign, a military salute and even the way one looks at a crowd each have meaning in their own context. A clenched fist in a street demonstration for freedom can symbolise resistance. Raised hands can signal defencelessness and surrender. A finger to the lips can request silence, but in a political context it can symbolise censorship and the silencing of the people. The hand movement of slitting a throat is threatening almost everywhere. A heart sign expresses affection and sympathy. A military salute signifies respect and hierarchy in the armed forces, but in a political context it can also be read as a display of loyalty to power. So in this incident, too, the issue is not just ‘two fingers’. It is the combination of the shape of the hand, the raised thumb, the folded fingers, the extended arm, the direction towards the people and the historical context. It is this combination that distinguishes the movement from the number two, a simple celebration or an ordinary gesture, and brings it close to the symbol of a gun. Whatever explanation is offered afterwards, it does not lessen the visual effect of this movement. Just as if he had held two fingers to his own temple, it would signify suicide or a coup de grâce; now the individual and the government can speak about their intentions, but they cannot erase the image created in the viewer’s mind. In professional football, too, there are limits to goal celebrations. Football regulations do not prohibit only the removal of a shirt. A provocative, mocking, inflammatory or insulting celebration, or a gesture that incites spectators, can be subject to a caution, dismissal, suspension or disciplinary proceedings. In other words, football’s rules also recognise that a player’s body, hand movements, direction of celebration and theatrical symbols can go beyond the bounds of sport and become unsporting or provocative conduct. The history of football shows this too. Granit Xhaka and Xherdan Shaqiri were fined at the 2018 World Cup for making the Albanian eagle gesture against Serbia—a gesture that may have been a symbol of identity for them, but took on a provocative meaning in the political context of the Balkans. Turkey’s Merih Demiral was suspended for two matches at Euro 2024 after making the “Grey Wolf” sign, because the hand gesture was associated with an extreme nationalist movement. Nicolas Anelka faced a suspension and a fine after making the “quenelle” gesture in the English Premier League, because the gesture was interpreted as an antisemitic symbol. Paolo Di Canio was suspended and fined for a fascist salute. Josip Šimunić was suspended for ten matches for a fascist chant and missed the World Cup. Emmanuel Adebayor was also fined and given a suspended ban for a provocative celebration in front of supporters of his former team. These examples establish an important principle: in football, a gesture is never just a gesture. A hand movement is never just a hand movement. A goal celebration is never just a goal celebration. Every symbol takes its meaning from its historical, political and social context. Just as the fascist salute in Italy is not meaningless, just as the Grey Wolf sign in Turkey and Europe is not meaningless, and just as the Albanian eagle gesture against Serbia was not meaningless, a hand shaped like a gun and pointed at Iranian spectators is not meaningless in the face of the bloody memory of repression by the Islamic Republic. This issue becomes especially significant when it concerns a team that bears the name “national team”, yet in practice the government has spent years trying to turn it into a propaganda showcase. In the Islamic Republic, sport is not separate from politics. The anthem, the flag, the kit, silence or singing the anthem, players’ reactions, attendance at government events and even celebrations after goals can all become part of the official display of power. When the government appropriates a sporting victory, it is only natural that people, too, should see players’ symbolic actions as more than sporting gestures. So, if this gesture was deliberate, the question is: what was its message, and who was it meant for? Was it a message to spectators who do not consider the Islamic Republic their representative? Was it a symbolic response to Iranians who came to the stadium carrying the Lion and Sun flag? Was it a display of power—the same old language of the government in a new form, this time not on the streets of Tehran, Zahedan and Sanandaj, but on the World Cup pitch? And if it was not deliberate, perhaps the second question is even more troubling: how could a player at this level not know what a hand shaped like a gun and pointed at spectators means to people in a country who have been victims of state violence for years? Such ignorance, if genuine, is itself a sign of a dangerous insensitivity to people’s suffering. Symbols like these are hardly unexpected from a government whose official language has for years been the language of threats. The Islamic Republic has answered citizens with bullets, beaten protesters with batons and pellets, threatened the families of those seeking justice, sent prisoners to the gallows, and tried to govern society through fear. So when a hand resembling a gun is pointed at people on a football pitch, many Iranians do not see it as separate from this history. They read the image through the same memory: a memory in which the sign of a gun recalls no celebration, but repression. Football should be a field of competition, not a display of threats. A stadium should be a place where people feel safe, even when they disagree politically. If a national-team player considers himself a representative of the people, he must understand that every action of his in front of the cameras and the stands carries meaning. He has no right to play with a symbol that reminds his people of blood, fear and humiliation. The conclusion is clear: even if the player’s inner intentions cannot be known with certainty, this gesture cannot be dismissed in terms of semiotics, sporting ethics or political context. A hand resembling a gun, when pointed at Iranian spectators, does not acquire meaning in a vacuum; it acquires meaning through the history of repression by the Islamic Republic. It is this context that sets it apart from a goal celebration and turns it into a sign of threat, humiliation or, at the very least, a callous disregard for people’s suffering. The final question is this: if it was only a celebration, why did it look like a threat? And if it was not a threat, why was it made to look like a gun? For people who have been targets of bullets for years, even two fingers can bring a gun to mind. Sometimes one hand speaks louder than a thousand words. This time, what was seen on the football pitch was not just a celebration after a goal; it was the shadow of a gun falling across the wounded memory of the people of Iran. Source: https://srouzbeh.com/en/posts/archive-ed854264-9578-f8ca-6573-d329f918b62f Please credit the author and link to this edition.