When Compliments Turn Suspicious: Morocco Doesn't Need FIFA's Praises... 263
The recent statement from the FIFA president praising Morocco for its football development might, at first glance, seem like legitimate recognition of the Kingdom's efforts. Modern infrastructure, successful organization of major events, continental and World Cup performances, seven finals won out of ten played: Morocco has indeed established itself as a central player in African and global football. But behind this flattering discourse, a disturbing question arises: who really benefits from this communication operation, and what is it trying to make us forget?
No one can seriously dispute the progress made by Moroccan football in recent years. Structured training centers, massive public investments in stadiums and academies, a continental outreach strategy, organization of CAF competitions and soon FIFA ones: Morocco has become a model often cited in Africa.
Yet, it is precisely because these advances are real that they don't need to be buried under layers of dithyrambic discourse. Sporting and structural merit is measured on the pitch, in the stands, in governance not in opportunistic declarations. When the FIFA president multiplies praises, he doesn't just "recognize" progress; he also tries to shape public perception, frame the narrative to his advantage, turning a political and economic relationship into a consensual success story.
The timing of these statements is not neutral. They come amid a climate still charged by the incidents during the CAN final, events that deeply shocked Moroccan public opinion and left a sense of injustice and frustration. Yet, in response to these, the CAF and by extension, the politico-sporting ecosystem it belongs to gave answers deemed at best lax, ambiguous, even unjust and complacent.
In this context, FIFA's effusive compliments ring like an attempt at "psychological crowd management": stroking egos to help the bitter pill go down. It reminds Morocco that it is an essential partner, admired, "exemplary," hoping the positive emotion from recognition will erase the resentment from how certain files were handled in Africa. Moroccans expect institutions to be exemplary, as Morocco has been sufficiently so.
This kind of excessive discourse also creates fertile ground for envy, if not jealousy, on a continent where sporting rivalries are often amplified by political stakes. By recurrently placing Morocco on a public pedestal, FIFA inevitably stirs the sensitivities of neighbors or regional competitors, fueling belligerent actions on and off the pitch under the guise of healthy competition. Rather than easing tensions, these praises exacerbate divides, turning football into a geopolitical battlefield.
This type of strategy is not new: when sports institutions are called out, they rarely respond with self-questioning or transparency, preferring communication, storytelling, subtle flattery, and symbolism. Morocco then becomes less a country to respect than a public to calm, an actor to appease with words, without necessarily taking actions that would truly restore trust.
In essence, the president's statement commits to nothing. It costs little, repairs nothing, and corrects no dysfunction. It doesn't revisit the controversial handling of the CAN final, question responsibilities, or propose improvements to decision-making or sanction mechanisms. It simply celebrates Morocco as a "good student" in world football, without daring to confront the system's dark spots.
This speech is thus devoid of real political weight. It resembles a symbolic gift offered to the Moroccan public to better divert attention from more sensitive questions: the credibility of governing bodies, the fairness of decisions, power dynamics within the CAF and FIFA, and how certain states are favored or penalized based on interests beyond the strictly sporting realm. Didn't Morocco deserve the Doha final?
In other words, Morocco is given a compliment meant to soothe, while what its supporters, leaders, and football actors expect are concrete actions, clarifications, and truly fair, transparent treatment.
This type of communication also reveals a paternalistic view of African public opinions. As if a football-passionate people could be reassured or "bought" with a few flattering phrases, as if addressing an emotional mass ready to forget serious incidents as soon as a flattering image is reflected back.
Yet, the Moroccan public today is informed, connected, politicized in its relationship to football. It understands governance stakes, spots inconsistencies, dissects suspicious decisions. It knows the difference between sincere recognition and a communication ploy aimed at cushioning a shock or protecting an institution's image. It is not gullible.
By continuing to favor flattery over responsibility, football's major institutions maintain a disconnect with the maturity of supporters. They persist in believing a compliment suffices to make people forget an injustice, that a handshake will erase a humiliation witnessed live by millions of viewers.
Moroccan football does not demand praises: it wants respect, respect for rules, procedures, commitments, equity, and transparency principles. For FIFA to recognize its development is a reality, almost a given. But this recognition only makes sense if paired with coherent behavior when Morocco, or any other country, suffers damaging incidents, especially in major competitions like the CAN.
An institution's true value is measured less by what it says in calm times than by what it does in moments of crisis. As long as responses to serious incidents remain timid, ambiguous, or lax, fiery declarations about the "Moroccan example" will ring hollow.
Morocco has no need for inconsequential compliments. What it demands, like all peoples who take sport seriously, is football governance worthy of its sacrifices, investments, and passion. Words fade; decisions endure. And it is on those that FIFA and the CAF will be judged.