Being a woman is not an excuse for being racist.
If you have been following the World Cup, chances are you were just as exasperated as everyone else watching the France–Paraguay match. Paraguay's relentlessly aggressive style of play, combined with an appallingly inconsistent refereeing performance, made for an infuriating spectacle. Yet the controversy did not end with the final whistle. Unable to accept defeat, some Paraguayan supporters chose to vent their frustration through racism.
Following Paraguay's elimination, Senator Celeste Amarilla posted a series of openly racist remarks targeting Kylian Mbappé on X. Among her statements were: "This idiot never even learned how to write. Instead of drinking his mother's milk, he drank coconut milk, and the most educated beings he ever listened to were chimpanzees. A Cameroonian born from colonisation desperately trying to pass himself off as French—resentful, nouveau riche, arrogant, and ugly. He spent the entire match terrified, just like the rest of his team. They didn't even score a goal; they only won through sheer luck."
There is no ambiguity here. These remarks are profoundly racist. It is worth reiterating an essential principle: racism is not an opinion. It is a criminal offence under French law. This was rightly underscored by French Minister for Sports Marina Ferrari, who publicly expressed her support for Kylian Mbappé and the entire French national team. Unfortunately, this is far from an isolated incident. Since the beginning of the tournament, the French squad has been subjected to a relentless stream of racist abuse online, originating not only from certain foreign supporters but also from segments of the French far right. One far-right influencer even declared that she would rather see France lose the World Cup than witness the French people celebrating what she described as the "benefits" of immigration.
As a native French citizen, I sincerely hope France wins this World Cup—and, in doing so, leaves Thaïs and her far-right allies seething.
Mbappé himself eventually responded on X, describing the senator as "a despicable woman unworthy of the office she holds." At the same time, he made a point of paying tribute to the Paraguayan people and congratulating their national team for what had been an admirable and historic World Cup campaign. He concluded with a powerful observation: "Through your recklessness and your unapologetic racism, the entire world has already forgotten the remarkable journey and historic achievement of your players throughout this World Cup."
But Celeste Amarilla was not finished.
Faced with Mbappé's response, she reached for her final line of defence: accusations of misogyny—and, in many respects, a textbook display of what is commonly referred to as white tears.
In a lengthy statement, she claimed that Mbappé's response amounted to "pure and blatant gender-based violence," portraying him as contemptuous and disrespectful toward Paraguayan players throughout the match—a version of events that bears little resemblance to what millions of viewers actually witnessed.
What makes this particularly striking is the complete inversion of roles. A Black man who responded to explicit racist abuse was suddenly recast as the aggressor, while the individual responsible for the racist attacks attempted to occupy the moral position of the victim. This dynamic closely resembles what scholars and activists have described as white tears: the tendency for racially privileged individuals to portray themselves as victims when confronted over their own racist behaviour, thereby deflecting accountability instead of engaging in self-reflection. Amarilla even threatened legal action against Mbappé on the grounds of misogyny—an extraordinary display of audacity.
It should also be noted that Celeste Amarilla has publicly described herself as being of mixed ancestry, with both Indigenous and Spanish heritage. That fact, however, does not negate the reality that she is widely perceived as white and benefits from white-passing privilege. Nor does it exempt her from reproducing racist discourse. The two are not mutually exclusive. In much of South America, long-standing systems of pigmentocracy continue to shape social hierarchies, with lighter skin generally conferring greater social privilege.
Ultimately, this episode illustrates a broader truth: gender does not grant moral immunity.
Women are fully capable of perpetuating racism, abusing power, and weaponising social justice language for self-preservation. When someone who occupies racial and political privilege invokes misogyny not to expose genuine sexism but to shield themselves from accountability for racist conduct, feminism is not being defended—it is being instrumentalised.
Being a woman does not erase privilege. Nor does it absolve prejudice.
A white, heterosexual woman will often occupy a significantly more privileged social position than a racialised man. Oppressions intersect; they do not cancel one another out. To acknowledge sexism should never require us to ignore racism, just as condemning racism should never entail dismissing sexism. Justice demands that we recognise both simultaneously, without allowing either to become a rhetorical shield against responsibility.
In many respects, Celeste Amarilla embodies the archetype commonly associated with a "Karen": someone who instinctively weaponises their own perceived vulnerability, reframes accountability as victimhood, and attempts to silence legitimate criticism by portraying themselves as the injured party.
Being a woman is not, and never will be, an excuse for being racist.
This episode inevitably brings to mind the Central Park incident of May 2020, better known as the Cooper case. Christian Cooper, a Black comic book writer and avid birdwatcher, politely asked a white woman to leash her dog in an area where doing so was mandatory to protect local wildlife. Rather than complying, she called the police while deliberately performing fear, falsely claiming that an African American man was threatening her.
In that case, the truth prevailed because the encounter had been recorded.
History, however, reminds us that such stories have not always ended without tragedy.
One of the most infamous examples remains the murder of Emmett Till in 1955. At just fourteen years old, the Black teenager was abducted, brutally tortured and murdered after being falsely accused of sexual misconduct by a white woman, who would later admit that her allegations had been fabricated. His killers were acquitted. Their impunity became one of the defining symbols of racial injustice in the United States and helped galvanise the modern Civil Rights Movement.
Returning to the present controversy, Senator Celeste Amarilla's open letter is little more than a confused collection of contradictions. She professes her love for France—although, judging by her own words, that affection appears to extend primarily to Saint-Tropez and Courchevel rather than to ordinary French people. She even argues that France, as a supposed "nation of knights," ought to be ashamed of the conduct of its star striker.
Such rhetoric feels less like historical analysis than an idealised national myth. It romanticises an imagined France while conveniently overlooking the realities of colonialism, overseas territories, migration, and the complex history that explains why the French national team reflects such remarkable diversity today. To praise France while rejecting the very historical processes that shaped contemporary French society is not patriotism; it is selective memory.
This controversy stands as a revealing illustration of how brazen racism has become in 2026. It also demonstrates how, in certain circumstances, gender can be cynically invoked as a shield against accountability. Intersectionality teaches us that systems of oppression overlap, interact and accumulate; it does not teach that belonging to one marginalised group automatically absolves someone of prejudice toward another.
Too often, some white women invoke sexism as a means of deflecting criticism for racist behaviour. Feminism should never become a refuge from accountability, nor should gender solidarity be exploited to excuse racial hostility.
That is precisely what Celeste Amarilla attempts to do. After publicly attacking a Black man through language steeped in colonial racist tropes, she now seeks to reframe herself as the victim by appealing to feminist solidarity. Yet solidarity cannot be unconditional. It cannot be demanded while simultaneously denying justice to others.
There can be no solidarity with racism.
Standing against sexism and standing against racism are not competing commitments. They are inseparable moral principles. One cannot credibly invoke the language of equality while reproducing racial dehumanisation.
And as for the World Cup, I sincerely hope France lifts the trophy.
There is also a striking irony in watching far-right women invoke feminism as a shield whenever they are held accountable for racist behaviour, while simultaneously being among the first to unleash online harassment against women whose politics they despise.
One need only read the replies beneath some of their posts.
I am reminded of an incident in which a far-right influencer shared a photograph of a left-wing Member of Parliament asleep on an aeroplane. It was an utterly ordinary moment—someone exhausted enough to fall asleep during a flight. Yet the torrent of comments that followed was staggering in its cruelty. The MP was mocked, dehumanised, ridiculed for her appearance, her weight, her body, and even her basic worth as a human being.
This is worth reflecting upon.
When you vote for the far right, you are not merely endorsing a political programme. You are also contributing to a political climate. A climate in which a simple photograph of a sleeping woman becomes collective permission to humiliate her. A climate in which political disagreement effortlessly gives way to personal degradation. A climate in which a woman's body becomes more worthy of discussion than her ideas.
And yet these same voices so often present themselves as defenders of women.
But defending women does not mean instrumentalising women's rights only when they can be weaponised against Muslims, immigrants, political opponents, or other convenient targets. Nor does it mean abandoning every principle of dignity the moment a woman belongs to the "wrong" political camp.
At that point, there is no political criticism left.
No engagement with ideas.
No intellectual disagreement.
No substantive argument whatsoever.
Only her face. Her body. Her weight. Her appearance. Gratuitous humiliation replacing democratic debate.
This is not an isolated excess committed by a handful of individuals. It reflects a recurring pattern visible across parts of this political ecosystem. Whenever a woman is perceived as ideologically undesirable—whether because she is left-wing, feminist, Muslim, racialised, overweight, poor, or simply unwilling to conform—the same instinct repeatedly emerges: attack her appearance rather than answer her arguments.
Contempt becomes a substitute for reasoning.
Dehumanisation becomes easier than debate.
This is the social climate cultivated by an obsession with "leftists," "woke people," supporters of the left, women who refuse ideological conformity, bodies deemed unacceptable, and individuals considered socially or culturally inferior.
At some point, those who support the far right should ask themselves not only what policies they endorse, but also what political culture they are willing to normalise.
Do not look solely at polished campaign posters.
Do not listen only to carefully rehearsed speeches.
Do not judge exclusively by tailored suits, television appearances, or election slogans.
Look instead at the activist base.
Read the comment sections.
Observe how some people behave when they believe they are speaking only among themselves, free from public scrutiny.
A political movement must ultimately be judged not only by what it proclaims, but also by what it consistently tolerates.
When a movement allows the dehumanisation of a woman over nothing more than a photograph of her asleep on an aeroplane, it forfeits any moral authority to lecture others about respect, civilisation, feminism, or traditional values.
Pay close attention to the company a political movement keeps.
More often than not, it reveals far more than the ballot paper itself.
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