From Serie C to Social Vanguard: Bahia FC’s Radical Rise

On a humid October afternoon in Salvador, Esporte Clube Bahia took the pitch wearing what looked like warpaint. Their iconic red, white and blue kits were stained black at the seams — not by accident, but by intention. It wasn’t a fashion statement. It was a scream.

Crude oil had been washing up for 52 days along Brazil’s northeastern coast. Hundreds of tons. Thick. Silent. Toxic. The government barely blinked. So Bahia did what Bahia does best: they turned the football pitch into a political stage. That oil? It bled across their shirts like a wound. A message to the nation — and to those pretending not to see.

In most clubs, that would’ve been a bold one-off. At Bahia, it’s Tuesday.

A Club Reborn by the People

Once adrift in debt, dysfunction, and nepotism, Bahia was for years trapped in a loop of mismanagement. The glory days — national titles in 1959 and 1988 — felt like a ghost story. The club even sank to the third tier between 2006 and 2007. But in 2013, the fans fought back. Literally.

Out of a grassroots insurgency called Democracia Tricolor, the supporters seized back control. For the first time, season ticket holders voted for their club president. Bahia wasn’t just rebuilt. It was reimagined.

Cue Guilherme Bellintani — the sharp-suited, idealist executive who took the helm in 2018. He didn’t just want financial solvency or trophies. He wanted transformation. A football club that didn’t shy away from the mess of real life, but dove into it. He called it “affirmative action through football.” Others called it madness. Fans called it salvation.

Football With a Conscience

In a sport often drenched in corporate neutrality, Bahia is disarmingly human. Under Bellintani, they formed the Núcleo de Ações Afirmativas — a progressive think-tank inside the club. They invited 45 fans — anthropologists, teachers, Black activists, queer voices, blind supporters, Indigenous leaders — into a WhatsApp group. The agenda? Turn football into a megaphone for those historically silenced.

Forget one-off Pride kits or racism banners waved half-heartedly before kickoff. Bahia's activism is structural. Year-round. Systemic.

They marched onto the pitch wearing jerseys embroidered with the names of Black Brazilian resistance icons — from capoeira rebel Zumbi dos Palmares to murdered master Moa do Katendê. They painted the white chalk lines of their field with Indigenous leaders in protest of delayed land demarcations. They installed rainbow flags in place of corner posts, launched in-stadium apps for women to report harassment, and offered free paternity tests in the club shop during Father’s Day week.

This isn’t corporate virtue-signaling. This is real-life impact. In one case, a missing child’s poster carried by a player led to a reunion with their family. Try putting a price on that.

Emerson Ferretti: Changing the Game from the Top

And then there’s Emerson Ferretti. Elected club president in December 2023, Ferretti isn’t just a former Bahia goalkeeper — he’s the first openly gay president of any club in Brazil’s top four divisions. In a footballing world where LGBTQ+ athletes still face an unspoken code of silence, his presence is revolutionary.

“When I played, I had to hide who I was to protect my career,” Ferretti admitted. “It was a lonely, painful process. But now, I want to leave a legacy. Football is still behind society in terms of inclusion, but we can change that.”

His story isn’t theoretical — it’s living proof. He won titles with Juventude, wore the shirts of Flamengo, Grêmio, Vitória, and Bahia, and earned the prestigious Bola de Prata as the best goalkeeper in the 2001 Brasileirão. “My sexuality never interfered with my competence,” he says. “Being gay didn’t stop me from having a successful, respected career. That needs to be normalised.”

Ferretti understands the weight of being first — and welcomes it. “Right now, it’s still news. But if I can be the one to break the bubble, to start the discussion, then maybe future players won’t have to hide. Someday, this won’t be a headline. It’ll just be life.”

The Rise of LGBTricolor

Nowhere is Bahia’s transformation felt more viscerally than in the stands. Created in 2019, LGBTricolor — Bahia’s official LGBTQIA+ supporter group — has gone from symbolic to historic. In April 2025, it was officially recognized as the fourth largest queer football fan group in the world, boasting more than 15,400 members, right behind Arsenal’s Gay Gooners, Palmeiras’ Porco Íris, and Chelsea Pride.

But to founder Onã Rudá, that ranking doesn’t even begin to reflect their impact.

“We’re not just numbers,” he says. “No other LGBTQ+ fan group in world football is this closely integrated into a club’s institutional life. We’re not just cheering from the margins. We’re at meetings, we’re shaping campaigns, we’re part of the fabric.”

Their work has included co-creating Bahia’s official Pride-themed jersey — a first for Brazilian football — and building coalitions with other organized groups like Bamor, showing that inclusion can be both radical and popular. “We’re in the mouth of the people,” Rudá says, “and in the heart of the club.”

Solidarity Beyond Salvador: Bahia and Palmeiras

This culture of inclusion and alliance goes beyond Bahia’s own walls. The club’s ultra group, Terror Tricolor, shares a long-standing friendship with organized Palmeiras supporters, including Porco Íris, one of Brazil’s most vocal queer fan groups. The two sides have exchanged chants, banners, and even solidarity actions — a rare bond in the often fractious world of football fandom.

It’s not just camaraderie. It’s coalition-building — a cross-club commitment to anti-homophobia, inclusion, and a different kind of football culture. In a sport divided by rivalry, Bahia and Palmeiras fans found common ground in pride.

“You Are Ours, and We Are Yours.”

Ask Rudá what Bahia means, and he’ll tell you: it’s redemption. It’s home. “When I came out as gay, football stopped being a safe space. But Bahia said, ‘You are ours, and we are yours.’ That changed everything.”

LGBTricolor didn’t appear out of nowhere. It was provoked into existence by a club that didn’t just wave rainbow flags but invited queer fans into its core. A footballing rarity.

Critics, of Course, Are Loud Too

Not everyone is clapping. When Bahia hits a rough patch on the pitch, the anti-woke brigade rises up. “Too much activism, not enough football,” they grumble. “Bahia’s become a communist club.”

But Bahia’s leadership isn’t flinching. “These are humanitarian issues,” says Bellintani, “not partisan ones.” The Brazilian constitution supports Indigenous land rights. It doesn’t say footballers shouldn’t care.

And while the club stays politically neutral during elections — some players even backed Bolsonaro — they never compromise on values.

“Democracy is our backbone.”

The Football Still Matters

Don’t let the social campaigns fool you — Bahia haven’t forgotten how to play. Since the fan revolution, they’ve doubled their revenue, slashed debts, and tripled club membership. Affordable tickets (as low as 45 reals/month) filled their World Cup stadium, the Arena Fonte Nova, with real fans — not corporate ghosts.

As of late July 2025, Bahia remains in 5th place in the Campeonato Brasileiro Série A, with 25 points from 14 matches—holding onto a strong campaign with 7 wins, 4 draws, and just 3 losses. They’ve netted 16 goals, conceded 12, and their most notable recent performance was a commanding 3–0 away victory over Bragantino on June 12. Since then, they've continued to show consistency, both on and off the pitch, as if everything’s still aligning.

A new training facility is on the horizon. The squad is gelling. The fans are louder. The vision is clear.

Bahia, As Blueprint

Salvador isn’t an easy city. It’s beautiful, yes — but bruised. Black, working-class, proud, and politically overlooked. Bahia FC doesn’t deny that. It leans into it. It represents it. And more importantly, it insists that representation should mean power — not just presence.

"We still need more women and Black voices at the boardroom table," says Bellintani. “We can’t just advocate — we have to evolve. And if a football club like ours can do it, so can others.”

In a country that loves football but often forgets its people, Bahia is staging something rare: a counterattack with compassion. And whether you call it politics or just plain decency, they’re playing the most beautiful game — their way.