2030 World Cup: When Political Crisis Tests the Alliance Between Portugal, Spain, and Morocco

For FIFA, the joint organization of the 2030 World Cup was presented as a symbol of international cooperation. Spain, Portugal, and Morocco would form a bridge between Europe and Africa, while commemorative matches in South America would reinforce the historical dimension of the competition's centenary. The narrative is appealing: sharing resources, reducing costs, distributing risks, and using football as a tool to bring countries closer. Recent events, however, show that jointly organizing a mega-event of this scale involves much more than just dividing stadiums, matches, investments, and revenues.

The recent migration crisis in Ceuta and the accusations leveled against Moroccan authorities quickly entered the World Cup debate. In Portugal, the Livre party advocated for Morocco's exclusion from the organization, while in Spain, politically distant parties like Sumar and Vox converged on a similar stance. Simultaneously, the Spanish government reaffirmed its commitment to the joint organization between Spain, Portugal, and Morocco.

The tension has, however, extended beyond the political sphere. FC Barcelona's decision to cancel a friendly match planned for Morocco demonstrates how external events can swiftly impact sporting, commercial, and institutional relationships. And it is precisely here that current events intersect with what we have been discovering about the 2030 World Cup bid and organization.

Our research has sought to understand not only whether residents support the World Cup, but also how they evaluate the countries with whom they will organize it. This distinction is important: supporting a World Cup does not necessarily mean unconditionally supporting the chosen alliance configuration to host it. In initial studies, we found that resident support depended on factors far beyond football enthusiasm, including expected benefits, perceived risks, trust in institutions, and identification with partners. Subsequent studies also showed that many Portuguese and Spanish residents tend to view Portugal and Spain as a relatively natural core for the bid, due to geographical proximity, historical ties, and a perceived Iberian identity. Morocco's inclusion adds diversity, strategic value, and an intercontinental dimension, but also introduces greater cultural and symbolic complexity.

The problem, however, is not simply the existence of cultural differences. It lies in how these differences are managed and transformed into trust, reciprocity, and benefits for communities. It is precisely why the Ceuta crisis can be understood as a true stress test for the 2030 World Cup alliance.

The crisis did not create the differences between the partners, nor does it mean that cooperation between Spain, Portugal, and Morocco has ceased to function. It did, however, make these differences politically more visible. A cultural distance previously perceived as abstract can take on new meaning when it becomes associated with a migration crisis, border issues, security, human rights, or political conflicts.

It is in this context that the role of FIFA, the FPF (Portuguese Football Federation), and the host governments becomes particularly important. If the 2030 World Cup is managed solely as a problem of logistics, infrastructure, and scheduling, a fundamental part of this alliance's complexity will be ignored.

The World Cup urgently needs genuine alliance governance: greater transparency in decision-making processes, clear criteria for distributing key matches, balanced visibility for the countries, conflict resolution mechanisms, and common principles on matters such as human rights and security. Above all, it is necessary to demonstrate that benefits, responsibilities, and opportunities are distributed equitably among the partners.

The location of the final is a good example. A seemingly sporting decision carries enormous symbolic weight: it represents prestige for governments, influence for federations, and can be interpreted by populations as a sign of balance or inequality within the partnership. The same applies to the distribution of matches, investments, revenues, infrastructure, and economic opportunities.

In a multinational mega-event, every decision can reinforce or weaken the perception of reciprocity among partners. Therefore, over the next four years, we should not only monitor stadium construction, transportation, budgets, or tourism capacity. We should also monitor and promote trust between countries, fairness in benefit distribution, the legitimacy of the organization, and public support in all three nations. These social indicators can serve as an important early warning system for potential alliance crises.

The central question, therefore, should not just be whether Morocco should or should not remain part of the 2030 World Cup. The more relevant question is to understand what makes an alliance between different countries legitimate and sustainable for organizing a mega-event like the FIFA World Cup.

FIFA's approval, government commitment, stadiums, airports, and financial resources are fundamental, but they are not sufficient. A multinational organization of this scale also requires a true social license to operate. And this license is not definitively obtained when the bid is approved, but must be continuously built through trust, transparency, reciprocity, and a perceived value for all societies involved.

The competition is still four years away, but from a political and social standpoint, the World Cup has already begun. Perhaps the biggest challenge of 2030 won't be building stadiums, organizing schedules, or transporting millions of fans between three countries. It will be ensuring that three societies, with different cultures, interests, and risk perceptions, continue to recognize sufficient value in the partnership to want to host the World Cup together.

That might be the toughest game to win.