Women's Football Must Do What it Has Done Countless Times Before: Stand Up

We are at an inflection point in women’s sports. The Women’s National Basketball Association (WNBA) just negotiated a historic collective bargaining agreement that guaranteed higher salaries and improved standards across the board. The National Women’s Soccer League (NWSL)  just launched two new major market teams — the Summit in Denver and the Legacy in Boston — that have already broken records by posting attendance numbers that would have been unthinkable even five years ago. Internationally, transfer fees and overall investment in women’s football continue to rise, signalling that confidence in the women’s game is now higher than it ever has been.  After years of fighting for equal or even fair pay, decades of low attendance, and a constant battle for relevance despite discrimination and belittling, it feels that women’s football is finally in a solid place. Of course, there is more growth to be had. But for now, the global women’s game has reached a point that is, against all odds, somewhat sustainable. Attendance is growing, investment is flowing, the atmosphere is by and large positive, and media coverage continues to improve. The decades of hard work paid off, and that should certainly be commended. But now is not the time to rest.  In 2026, with rampant transphobia filling online spaces and anti-trans rhetoric worming its way into policy in the United States, the United Kingdom, and elsewhere, women’s football must do what it has done countless times before: stand up.  For many, the women’s game is a place for inclusivity and unreserved authenticity; it is a place to be yourself. Because of this, it has long been a safe haven for all types of queer people, but especially queer women. Acceptance is baked into fanhood, and the toxic stigmas that dominate men’s football are consciously avoided. Yet, while women’s football excels at celebrating queerness, it fails to protect a small but vulnerable part of the community: trans people. Ironically, this very avoidance of the difficulty associated with unconditionally supporting trans people is the exact same reason why gay fans and players have struggled to find acceptance in the men’s game. By failing to properly include the trans community, women’s football has become exactly what it is trying not to be: the men’s game.  This is not to say that women’s football is inherently transphobic, nor is it meant to diminish the various parts of the community that have welcomed trans people with open arms. As a trans woman myself, I have been fortunate enough to find friends, allies, and teammates through the women’s game. Many NWSL supporters' groups, like the Royal Guard in Seattle and the 14ers in Denver, are explicitly inclusive of trans people, and their constant shows of support significantly increase my sense of safety and belonging at games. Yet, as a whole, women’s football has failed to protect trans fans and athletes in the same way it protects queer ones. While pockets of progress exist, most high-profile players, leagues, and teams avoid speaking out for fear of backlash. If this community is truly built on the values of inclusivity and sport for everyone, then it has to stand up for all of us, not just some of us. That must include an unconditional statement of support for trans people, especially now.  What does trans inclusion look like? First and foremost, it means ensuring a pathway for trans athletes to play professionally. If your trans inclusion stops at trans athletes, it’s not really inclusion. Competitive sports have always been, and will always continue to be, a place where genetics, body composition, and an athlete’s strength matter. Yet, we do not shun cisgender goalkeepers for being too tall and outcompeting other players who are naturally shorter. We do not police cisgender players’ muscle mass, nor do we say they are “cheating” because some may have an easier time building strength than others. Why, then, do we apply these arbitrary standards to trans women, despite the fact that a review of research shows that the data “does not support theories of inherent athletic advantages for transgender women over cisgender [women].” Further, these boundaries that have been placed on what women “should” and “should not” be able to do are inherently centered on white women and are frequently used as a tool of racial discrimination against Black athletes.  Throughout her career, Barbra Banda, one of the world’s best players and former BBC Women’s Footballer of the Year, was subject to dehumanizing abuse that questioned her gender and eligibility status, simply because she failed to meet the standards created for and by white people. Other players, such as Chelsea striker Mayra Ramirez, have faced similar abuse based on claims that they “don’t look feminine enough.” These moments betray the true intention of those who aim to “protect women’s sports” — the goal is not to protect, but to police, attack, and harm women for not looking the way they “should.”  Thus, it is clear that any such gender eligibility policy must explicitly include trans women, or else it is bound to not only be used against them, but against cisgender women who do not fit the predetermined mold. These policies can only be enacted by leagues and governing bodies, but it will require the political power of players, coaches, and fans to ensure such changes happen. For as long as women’s football has been around, those in the game have been some of the loudest champions of women’s rights and social acceptance of queer people. In 2026, however, political activism is becoming less common. As spotlights on players grow, so does their hesitation to broach topics that may be controversial or contrarian. Now, more than ever, those fears must be overcome. If women’s football is to stay true to its roots, then its history of activism must not be discarded as soon as the paychecks begin to arrive.  Megan Rapinoe, throughout her career, was a divisive character, both loved and hated by many. Her work was effective, though. Because she was the loudest voice in the room, she was subject to misogynistic bullying and condescending language, but she was also able to advance causes tremendously. Where is the next Rapinoe? No player in today’s game has been able to replicate that activism off the field, despite the plethora of issues facing our world. This is a moment in which action is needed, and players must recognize that for progress to be made, their involvement is required. It may be difficult, risky, and will almost certainly draw backlash, but it is the women of privilege who must stand up for those without. Women’s football has always been about bringing people together and uplifting an often overlooked community. This is how that work continues. The issue of trans inclusion is not localized to the US, though. Especially at a time when trans children and adults are finding it increasingly difficult, if not impossible, to find life-saving healthcare in the United Kingdom, the silence of those in and around the English game is felt. And while the NWSL has yet to enact a gender eligibility policy, the FA put one in place last year in response to a Supreme Court ruling, and it entirely bans trans women from playing the sport.  It is an understatement to say that football is perhaps one of the most powerful political forces in the UK, and the fact that it has failed trans people and athletes so dramatically is a reflection of the lack of activism in the women’s game. Kerstin Casparij, in a post to Instagram displaying her kissing a trans flag-colored wristband, was one of the only athletes to speak out against the FA’s ruling. She faced abuse in response to that post, yes, but this is the type of courage that is required to enact change.  It is disappointing that a single Instagram post from one player is the extent of what trans people are afforded. The issue extends from the top down, too. Perhaps fans and supporters’ groups in the UK can learn something from their American counterparts: public support for trans people through flags, statements, and concrete actions to include them in the football space can be effective. Not only does it make trans fans feel safer at games, but it also signals to players and teams that this is something worth caring about. That trans people are worth fighting for.  None of this will be easy. It will require the will of so many people in varying positions of power. It will require a collective mobilization. But we know how to do that, and we have done it before. Women’s football, at its core, has always been about opportunity. Opportunity for women to play sports. Opportunity for women to be paid fairly. Opportunity for queer women to be accepted. Now, that same opportunity must be extended to a community that is under attack on all fronts. If trans people are not welcomed into women’s football wholeheartedly, then what principles can the women’s game truly claim to uphold? If inclusion is conditional, if silence is convenient, if “football for all” doesn’t really mean “all”, then what was this all for? We are at an inflection point in women’s football. Will the fans, players, and coaches take a stand, like those that came before them, or will they stay silent and create the same exclusion they once fought so hard to defeat?