Thomas Partey, Djed Spence, Gabby Logan and the Politics of a Handshake

Content warning: This article discusses allegations of rape, sexual assault and violence against women and may be distressing for some readers.

Photo Credit; PA

We are conditioned as football fans to view the pre-match handshake as an unbreakable ritual. It’s a line of players and an expectation of mutual respect. It is, ironically, usually the most boring part of a game. But at the 2026 World Cup, that ritual became the site of a profound ethical friction. When Thomas Partey, who is currently awaiting trial for seven counts of rape and one count of sexual assault approached England's line before kick-off against Ghana, millions of viewers suddenly found themselves watching the one part of a football match they usually ignore. The question wasn't who would score first or whether England would press high. It was who, if anyone, would shake his hand.

That question mattered because these weren't strangers. Partey wasn't an abstract news headline to England's players, for some, he was a former teammate, for others a familiar Premier League opponent. Football's culture is built on those relationships, which perhaps explains why only one player quietly chose not to participate in the handshake. Djed Spence didn't protest or seek attention. He simply declined to offer a gesture of respect that, in the circumstances, he clearly did not feel able to give. 

Photo Credit; PA

It would be easy to celebrate that moment as an act of individual courage and in many ways it absolutely was, because breaking ranks in football has never been particularly fashionable, especially when the script demands that the game carries on regardless, but the more interesting question is why Spence's decision felt exceptional in the first place. Refusing to shake the hand of a player awaiting trial on allegations of rape/and sexual assault made by three separate women, should hardly require an act of moral bravery, yet football has become so accustomed to outsourcing every ethical question to the criminal justice system that even the smallest gesture of individual conscience now appears radical.

And perhaps the strangest contradiction of all wasn't the handshake, but the tournament itself. Canada, one of the World Cup's three host nations, concluded that Partey would not be permitted to enter the country under its immigration laws while he awaits trial. FIFA by contrast, had no objection to him representing Ghana on football's biggest stage. Two institutions looked at the same set of circumstances and arrived at entirely different conclusions. That is not to suggest FIFA should be determining criminal guilt, that remains rightly as the job of the courts. But football is hardly a stranger to making ethical judgements of its own. It suspends players, officials and associations under its disciplinary and ethics rules when it believes the integrity of the game is at stake. The decision to allow Partey to compete was, therefore, a decision in itself. It was a choice to prioritise the presumption of innocence within competition over any broader question of what representing the sport on its biggest stage should mean.

Photo Credit; Sky News

 As a woman watching, I wasn't interested in the handshake because I cared about football etiquette. I cared because, for perhaps the first time, it felt like a visible test of conscience. I wanted to know who, faced with a player awaiting trial on counts rape and sexual assault, still believed football's rituals of respect could continue unquestioned. The handshake had stopped being about sportsmanship and become about values. That is why the broadcast mattered too. For the BBC, the cameras moved quickly through the line, denying viewers the opportunity to properly witness the very moment that had become the emotional and political centre of the fixture. We were left relying on slowed-down clips circulating online to piece together what had happened, as though the most significant thirty seconds before kick-off had somehow been incidental rather than essential.

That is why Gabby Logan deserves just as much recognition. In a tournament that had so often seemed determined to compartmentalise the allegations surrounding Partey, she refused to allow the most politically and emotionally significant moment before kick-off to pass without explanation. Whether that was her own editorial judgement, a collective BBC decision or both, it mattered. She trusted viewers with the context, acknowledged why millions of people had been watching the handshake so intently and in doing so legitimised a conversation that football itself had spent months trying to avoid. It was journalism doing precisely what it is supposed to do, recognising that sport does not exist in isolation from the world beyond the pitch. 

So, thank you, Djed Spence, and thank you, Gabby Logan, because in different ways both chose to acknowledge a reality that football itself seemed strangely reluctant to confront, one by quietly refusing to participate in a ritual that no longer felt morally neutral, the other by trusting viewers with the context that gave that moment its significance. What I can't quite shake though, is the feeling that neither of them should have stood out in the first place. I don't think survivors of sexual violence watching should have been left hoping that one England player, just one, might quietly decide that the symbolism of the handshake mattered, nor do I think it should have felt remarkable that a BBC presenter chose to explain why millions of us had been watching those few seconds before kick-off more closely than the football itself.

Photo Credit; Martin Rickett/PA

Perhaps that is the real discomfort at the heart of all this. We have reached a point where the bare minimum feels quietly radical, where one player following his moral compass and one broadcaster providing the context any public service broadcaster ought to provide become acts worthy of praise. What has stayed with me isn't that Djed Spence refused the handshake, it's that nobody joined him. That, more than the handshake itself, is the story I wish football had given the fans watching.

If anything discussed in this article has affected you, or brought up difficult feelings, please know that support is available. If you are in England or Wales, you can contact Rape Crisis England & Wales via their 24/7 Support Line on 0808 500 2222 or visit rapecrisis.org.uk. The Survivors Trust can help you find your nearest specialist sexual violence support service by calling 0808 801 0818 or visiting thesurvivorstrust.org. Galop offers confidential support for LGBT+ survivors of sexual violence, domestic abuse and hate crime at 0800 999 5428 or via galop.org.uk. If you are involved in sport and need safeguarding advice or support, Sport England also provides a directory of specialist support services at sportengland.org/guidance-and-support/safeguarding/support-services. 

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