In football, defeat is never definitive, but it is always passionate. For football lovers, FIFA (the governing body of international football) should have been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize long ago. For others, exasperated by football and the emotions it stirs up, the sport is no longer a game, but a type of war that stokes the basest sort of nationalist emotions.
Is there a relationship between football -- and sports in general -- and a spirit of nationalism and militarism? During the Middle Ages, sports were regularly forbidden in England because they came at the expense of military training. After France's defeat by Bismarck's Germany in the Franco-Prussian War, Baron Pierre de Coubertin -- who re-launched the Olympic Games a few decades later -- recommended a renewed national emphasis on sport, which by this point was seen as a form of military preparation.
In a football match, the rituals -- the flag waving, the national anthems, the collective chants -- and the language that is often employed reinforce the perception of war by other means. And, in fact, real war has actually broken out over football. In 1969, Honduras and Salvador clashed after a qualification game for the World Cup.
Football matches can, it seems, revive national rivalries and conjure the ghosts of past wars. During the 2004 Asia Nations Cup final, which pitted China against Japan, Chinese supporters wore 1930s-style Japanese military uniforms to express their hostility to the Japanese team. Other Chinese fans brandished placards with the number "300,000" written on it, a reference to the number of Chinese murdered by the Japanese army in 1937.
But can one really say that football is responsible for the currently bad diplomatic relations between China and Japan? Of course not. Hostility on the football pitch merely reflects the existing tense relations between the two countries, which carry the weight of a painful history.
At the opposite end of the spectrum, the dramatic semi-final between France and Germany in Seville in 1982 produced no political ripples, either for diplomatic relations between the two countries or for relations between the two peoples. Antagonism was confined to the stadium, and ended when the match did.
What football really provides is a residual area of confrontation that allows for the controlled expression of animosity, leaving the most important areas of interaction between countries unaffected. France and Germany will soon have a common army -- they already have a common currency -- yet the survival of national teams channels, within a strictly limited framework, lingering rivalry between the two countries.
Football can also be the occasion of positive gestures. The joint organization of the 2002 World Cup by Japan and South Korea helped accelerate bilateral reconciliation. The performance of the South Korean players was even applauded in North Korea. Sport, indeed, seems to be the best barometer of relations between the divided Korean people. Moreover, football, more than long speeches or international resolutions, can help induce progress towards peaceful solutions for military conflicts.
After their qualification for this year's World Cup, the Ivory Coast's national team, including players from the north and south, ad-dressed all of their fellow citizens, asking the warring factions to lay down their weapons and to put an end to the conflict that has shattered their country. After former Haitian president Jean-Bertrand Aristide was overthrown a few years ago, Brazil's football team acted as an ambassador for the UN's Brazilian-led peacekeeping forces. And, when conflict stops, from Kosovo to Kabul, football is the first sign of a society returning to normal.
The former president of the FIFA, Joao Havelange, often dreamed of a football match between Israelis and Palestinians: former US vice-president Al Gore regarded such a match as a means to help Washington solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Perhaps one day it will take place. Certainly the Iran-US football game in 1998 offered a moment of fraternization between the two teams. Another Iran-US match might be helpful at this difficult time.
It is because football allows for symbolically limited confrontations, with no major political risks, that it is useful. Its impact on national and international public opinion is broad, but not deep. As the sociologist Norbert Elias put it: "The spectators of a football match can enjoy the mythical excitement of battles taking place in the stadium, and they know that neither the players nor they will suffer any harm."
As in real life, fans can be torn between their hopes for victory and their fear of defeat. But in football, the elimination of an adversary is always temporary. A return match is always possible. The game is not "for keeps."
As a Frenchman, I cannot wait for the next World Cup match between France and Germany. But I want France to avenge its defeat at the last World Cup in Seville, not its defeat at Verdun.
Pascal Boniface is director of the Institute for International and Strategic Relations (IRIS) in Paris.
Copyright: Project Syndicate
Jan. 1 marks a decade since China repealed its one-child policy. Just 10 days before, Peng Peiyun (彭珮雲), who long oversaw the often-brutal enforcement of China’s family-planning rules, died at the age of 96, having never been held accountable for her actions. Obituaries praised Peng for being “reform-minded,” even though, in practice, she only perpetuated an utterly inhumane policy, whose consequences have barely begun to materialize. It was Vice Premier Chen Muhua (陳慕華) who first proposed the one-child policy in 1979, with the endorsement of China’s then-top leaders, Chen Yun (陳雲) and Deng Xiaoping (鄧小平), as a means of avoiding the
As the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA) races toward its 2027 modernization goals, most analysts fixate on ship counts, missile ranges and artificial intelligence. Those metrics matter — but they obscure a deeper vulnerability. The true future of the PLA, and by extension Taiwan’s security, might hinge less on hardware than on whether the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) can preserve ideological loyalty inside its own armed forces. Iran’s 1979 revolution demonstrated how even a technologically advanced military can collapse when the social environment surrounding it shifts. That lesson has renewed relevance as fresh unrest shakes Iran today — and it should
The last foreign delegation Nicolas Maduro met before he went to bed Friday night (January 2) was led by China’s top Latin America diplomat. “I had a pleasant meeting with Qiu Xiaoqi (邱小琪), Special Envoy of President Xi Jinping (習近平),” Venezuela’s soon-to-be ex-president tweeted on Telegram, “and we reaffirmed our commitment to the strategic relationship that is progressing and strengthening in various areas for building a multipolar world of development and peace.” Judging by how minutely the Central Intelligence Agency was monitoring Maduro’s every move on Friday, President Trump himself was certainly aware of Maduro’s felicitations to his Chinese guest. Just
On today’s page, Masahiro Matsumura, a professor of international politics and national security at St Andrew’s University in Osaka, questions the viability and advisability of the government’s proposed “T-Dome” missile defense system. Matsumura writes that Taiwan’s military budget would be better allocated elsewhere, and cautions against the temptation to allow politics to trump strategic sense. What he does not do is question whether Taiwan needs to increase its defense capabilities. “Given the accelerating pace of Beijing’s military buildup and political coercion ... [Taiwan] cannot afford inaction,” he writes. A rational, robust debate over the specifics, not the scale or the necessity,