The Empire Strikes Back: Soccer In A Postcolonial World
As the final whistle blows at a World Cup Quarter Final watch party in Miami, I leave the venue alongside dozens of silent yellow-clad Brazil fans, many on the verge of tears. With their heartbreaking 2-1 defeat to Belgium, Brazil’s elimination narrows the competition to six teams going into the second leg of the Quarter-Finals—all European. In a World Cup marked by upsets and underdog stories, the proverbial death of the Global South’s Last Chance on the international, globalized stage of the tournament seemed especially devastating. After all, Europe has historically dominated the competition, with the notable exceptions of Uruguay, Argentina, and Brazil. In 21 competitions over 88 years, there have only been two World Cup Finals without a European team, in 1930 and 1950.
Yet despite such a lopsided track record, the state of the post-colonial world in international soccer remains complex, and labeling the squads representing European nations as “European teams” is overly simplistic. In reality, much of the talent that makes these European teams so consistently successful comes from immigrant families of European colonies. France’s current 23-man squad boats 17 immigrants or children of immigrants, including breakout star Kylian Mbappé, son of an Algerian and a Cameroonian. In countries such as France, Switzerland—and yes, even the Brazil-crushing Belgium—a multicultural focus on youth development has both bolstered the strength of these teams and helped recent migrants integrate into societies that have frequently pushed them to the fringes. However, the identity and assimilation found in soccer allegiances has also flowed in the opposite direction for this golden generation of immigrant footballers.
FIFA, the regulating body for international soccer, does not restrict players to the team of their nationality. A player is eligible to play for a team if they were born in that country, their parents were born in that country, their grandparents were born in that country, or they have lived in the country for at least five years. This flexibility allows for “European” players of African, Middle Eastern, and South Asian descent to represent the nations of their lineage, should they so choose. Morocco was the team that made the most of these rules in 2018, which fielded an “imported team” of 17 foreign-born players and just six Moroccans—with majority of the foreign representation coming from France. Netherlands-born Mimoun Mahi, for instance, plays for a Dutch club and represented the Netherlands youth team, but chose to play for Morocco in his professional career. The striker explained, “I think with the heart, and the heart was for Morocco,” pointing to the emotions he felt scoring for a country his parents had left decades ago.
The different choices for players eligible to play for more than one team offer a telling dichotomy on generational identity and the legacy of colonialism. On the one hand, you have players like Mbappé, an immigrant with African blood who became more and more of a French icon with each World Cup match. With French jerseys on their backs, Mbappé and his teammates with similar backgrounds tear down divisions and make progressive statements on globalization in an increasingly nationalistic Europe. Their mere presence on the pitch seems to say, “This is what France looks like; I am France.” Meanwhile, figures like Mahi reclaim the identity and pride of their roots, while rejecting the sort of neocolonialism of representing (and serving) their Western European countries of residence.
As nationalistic fervor and blatant anti-immigration platforms become more commonplace in Europe, it follows that these players may feel more of a connection to their country of origin than France or Belgium or The Netherlands or England, where racists and politicians make it clear they are unwanted. The far-right Northern League in Italy, the Dutch Party for Freedom, and France’s National Front (among others) have all found recent success in xenophobic language and policy. National Front candidate Marine Le Pen even shined a light on the French National Team to illustrate how her version of France had become “unrecognizable.” Instead of fighting an uphill battle of proving themselves worthy to wear a jersey, these players make their families proud by wearing the colors of the nations that their parents and grandparents call home.
France and Morocco exemplify this phenomenon, but the trend exists in a number of World Cup teams. Here are the profiles of some iconic players who represent the global diaspora soccer has become. In the 21st Century, the Beautiful Game is international, even on the national scale.
Max Lichtenstein ’20 studies in the College of Arts & Sciences. He can be reached at max.lichtenstein@wustl.edu.