IT WAS ALL SET UP FOR A FEEL-GOOD Hollywood ending. Jews and Muslims, separated by centuries of hatred and mistrust, would finally rally together in the broad church that is sport and, perhaps, lay the first flagstone on the path to reconciliation.

When Abas Suan scored his late equaliser for Israel against Ireland two weeks ago, he did more than keep alive Israel’s hopes of qualifying for the World Cup after 36 years of futility. For Suan is an Israeli Arab, a member of a minority that has long felt isolated in the Jewish state, often complaining of discrimination and a shortage of funding for their towns, schools and institutions. With the bloody intifada raging on and off a few miles away in the West Bank and Gaza Strip and scores of terrorist attacks in Israel over the past few decades, Israeli Arabs say that they face mistrust at the best of times, outright discrimination at worst. His goal, some said, was a unifying force, one that heralded a new dawn for Arab-Israeli relations.

“The power of that goes beyond the goal,” Itzik Shanan, the spokesman for an Israeli civil rights group, said. “This is definitely a breakthrough. The message is that the Arabs are sharing the same destiny and they should receive the same rights for their commitment here.”

The media loved the story and with good reason. Suan’s goal made him an instant hero to the bulk of Israeli football fans. If an Arab Muslim — a guy who was no different in terms of ethnicity, religion or culture from the Palestinians in the occupied territories with whom Israel was perpetually on the brink of war — could bask in the adoration of Israel, surely there was hope for a brighter future politically as well. Equally, if Israeli Arabs could embrace an institution such as the Israel national team and even wave the blue-and-white flags drenched in ancient and uncomfortable symbolism, surely peace was more than a mirage. Some fundamentalist Christians in the United States, perhaps engaging in a spot of biblical hyperbole, even went so far as to point out that this “miracle of brotherhood” took place at Easter, not far from where Christ ascended into heaven to save mankind.

Except real life isn’t the stuff of Hollywood films and happy endings are generally limited to the big screen. In his next match after the international break, Suan returned to his club side, Hapoel Bnei Sakhnin, the only Arab team in the top flight, to take on Beitar Jerusalem in the Israeli Premier League. A considerable portion of Beitar’s supporters are hardline nationalists who are against any kind of compromise with the Arabs, be they Palestinians or Israeli Arabs. They made their feelings known by unfurling a banner that read: “You don’t represent us, Abas Suan.” They called him a terrorist and sang the praises of Baruch Goldstein, the Israeli nationalist who opened fire in a mosque 11 years ago, murdering 29 Palestinians.

All of a sudden, the brotherhood myth was shattered. An Israeli newspaper quoted Aviad Mizrahi, a Beitar supporter who neatly summed up his brethren’s views: “We would rather have lost to Ireland than to have Arabs score goals for Israel. You see, to us, when we say ‘Death to the Arabs!’ we’re not just trying to get a reaction. We mean it.”

Haaretz, a leading Israeli newspaper, pointed out in an editorial that “if the fans of a team in the US or Europe were to shout similar (abusive) chants at Jewish players, the uproar would be enormous.” It added that this kind of racism “harms the very fabric of life that most of the public is trying to create between Jews and Arabs”. Haaretz’s indignation was reflected in much of Israeli public opinion and the Beitar supporters who abused Suan are obviously a vocal minority. Yet their reaction was a stark reminder of just how long and difficult (some might say interminable) the road to peace between these two peoples remains.

And, perhaps, how sport — particularly football with its passionate fan base and natural tribalism — cannot be expected to serve as a vehicle for social change. The more the Beitar supporters are chastised by public opinion, the more they are likely to rally around their viewpoints. It’s no different from the extremist elements among fans across Europe. The more the authorities try to silence them — short of throwing them in prison — the louder they shout.

The good news is that it works both ways. Some of Bnei Sakhnin’s Arab fans waved Israeli flags before the Beitar match in honour of Suan, despite criticism from fellow supporters, who reminded them that Israel was not — and could never be — their country. But the more they were reminded of Sabra and Shatila, the Beirut refugee camps where hundreds of Arabs were murdered 23 years ago, of martyrs and settlers, of occupation and terrorism, of all the horrid buzzwords that define the dispute, the more those flags flew in the Jerusalem breeze.

This, too, is the power of football. To the Bnei Sakhnin Arabs, at that moment, the Israeli flag wasn’t a political symbol. Nor was it some kind of pledge to get along with the Israeli majority. It was simply a footballing symbol, reflecting their pride in their team’s colours. Just as Israeli Jews’ embrace of Suan was nothing more than a football-loving nation celebrating its goalscoring hero. And there is nothing wrong with that.

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