There was a point, I assumed, at which the sport could not ignore it. Yet when an oil facility was struck by a missile just seven miles from the Saudi Grand Prix track in Jeddah, the official F1 broadcast didn't even mention it.
The practice session continued under a literal black cloud as smoke drifted from the burning plant, a perfect metaphor if there ever was one. For years, criticism has mounted against F1 for its decision to race in states on the fringes of the international community. But the sport has steadfastly refused to engage in any conversation about the Saudi Kingdom's serious humanitarian issues.
Now we know that blind eye extends to the Kingdom's brutal war, even when it comes directly to F1's doorstep. Road & Track sent Formula 1 a list of questions regarding its relationship with the Saudi government and its handling of the weekend’s events. F1 did not reply.
The attack was carried out by Houthi rebels, who have been fighting the Yemeni government and a Saudi-led coalition of primarily Arab states for control of Yemen for over 7 years. The U.S. and many allies have supported the intervention against the Iranian-backed Houthis, but international watchdogs have repeatedly condemned Saudi Arabia's brutal tactics. An unpublished United Nations report in early 2016 found 119 instances of Saudi sorties that violated international law, including strikes on refugee camps and schools. The Houthi rebels have also been accused of war crimes. Yet the point is not in the nuances in the war, but in the approach F1 has taken. Because, on Friday, F1 proved that it would try its best to ignore reality even when that reality threatened the lives of its drivers, staff, and fans.
Despite unanimous discontent among the drivers and huge public pressure, the governing body decided to push on with the race. The Saudi government made assurances that there was no safety threat. Despite the towering flames and wall of smoke, despite the fact that a missile capable of striking 7 miles away likely could have hit the track if that was its target, and despite being in the center of a war it didn't care to understand, the sport pressed on. I'd wager the $55 million a year F1 gets from the Saudis had something to do with it.
It wouldn't be so disappointing if the race weren't already hypocritical. Formula One has attempted to position itself as a series dedicated to progress, pushing toward sustainability and adopting a "We Race As One" slogan for racial and gender equality. Few states stand more directly opposed to these goals than Saudi Arabia.
Its sustainability push stands in contrast to the strategic goals of the Saudi petro-state that, despite some attempts at greenwashing, is still largely reliant on its state oil company Aramco. As for equality, Saudi Arabia still subjects women to strict guardianship laws that require male permission for major decisions. And it's no wonder F1 dropped the rainbow decal from the #WeRaceAsOne pace car livery the first year of the Saudi race. Homosexuality is not just discouraged in the Kingdom, it is, in many circumstances, grounds for automatic execution. The state primarily carries out these sentences by beheading the convicted with a sword, often in public.
The family of Abdullah al-Howaiti, a 14-year-old sentenced to death in Saudi Arabia on murder and armed robbery charges though security cameras didn't show him on the scene, even wrote to Lewis Hamilton about the abuses al-Howaiti has suffered, prompting the seven-time champ to reaffirm that he is uncomfortable racing in the country. Developments after the race suggest he isn't the only one who wants to have some input into where F1 races.
Those seeking to brush off these concerns often argue one of two things. The first is that all countries have issues, and that politics should not play a part in sport. This ignores the reason F1 is there in the first place. Countries on the outskirts of the international community often legitimize their regimes by hosting events that bring in foreign visitors and businesses, seeking to show off their flagship cities and normalize their autocratic organization. The race is inherently political.
It is true, of course, that other countries have deep systematic problems. Yet the key problem with authoritarian regimes—like Saudi Arabia and Bahrain—is that talking about their issues is often prevented through wink-nod deals or criminal laws. Of course, a terrorist attack is possible in the vicinity of an American sporting event, too, but if it happened no one would be expected to ignore it. In Saudi Arabia, though, silence is codified. And if you're too loud about the Kingdom's problems, possible punishments include dismemberment by a team of Saudi assassins on foreign soil.
The second argument is that F1 is a shining city on the hill, the beacon of progressive values that will guide others toward the light. That argument surely lets F1 frame itself as an instrument of change, yet despite countless courtships with authoritarian regimes, F1 has nothing to show for it. After all, there's little chance an autocracy would be paying F1 $55 million a year to loosen its own hold on power. The races in countries like Bahrain, Azerbaijan, and Saudi Arabia are largely seen as victory laps for the ruling class, a sign that the entrenched values won't prevent foreign investment.
That shouldn't be surprising. There can be no change without recognition of the problem. And when you turn the cameras away from the smoke, when you stay silent as the safety of your sport is in jeopardy, when you force drivers to race in an unsafe and oppressive environment, you move past casual indifference toward an authoritarian regime and become an active enabler of it.
Formula One has a choice. It can wield the economic and political power of its global reach for progress, accepting no compromises on basic civil liberties and ensuring that it's a welcoming environment for all, or it can take the blood money and shut up. When the missile hit, F1 showed which way it leans.
