What would it mean for Europe if the 2030 World Cup final is in Casablanca?

Article originally published on July 15, 2026, when Rui Pedro Soares anticipated the scenario of the 2026 World Cup final being held in Morocco.

The choice of the host city for the 2030 World Cup final will be a geopolitical decision. Should FIFA award the final to Morocco, it would stand as one of the most symbolic indicators of Europe's diminishing influence in the contemporary world.

The centenary World Cup will span six countries and three continents. It will kick off in South America, continue through Europe and Africa. Will it conclude in Casablanca?

Many Europeans might suggest that a choice like Casablanca would be the result of political maneuvering or backroom deals. The reality is more complex. If it happens, it will be the natural consequence of a transformation in the global order that began many decades ago.

Europe grew accustomed to believing its history guaranteed permanent influence. However, influence is never an acquired right. It is earned, preserved, and, when strategy falters, it is lost.

This difficulty is even evident in how the European Union chose to represent itself. By establishing its political center in Brussels, rather than Rome, it opted for an administrative capital over the greatest symbol of the historical continuity of European civilization.

Rome embodies law, citizenship, public administration, the construction of a common political space, and the idea of a universal vocation that shaped the West for centuries. Symbols don't govern, but they help civilizations believe in themselves. When they cease to value them, they are already losing much more than just memory.

For centuries, Europe was the economic, scientific, political, and cultural hub of the world. In the 20th century, two world wars progressively shifted the center of power to the United States.

Football mirrored this evolution. Modern football was born here, the greatest clubs were founded here, and the most prestigious competitions are still played here. But concentrating talent, tradition, and wealth is one thing; maintaining the ability to set the rules is quite another.

João Havelange grasped this distinction before anyone else. In 1974, he understood that, within FIFA, history and titles didn't cast votes. Federations voted, each with precisely the same weight.

While Europe continued to view FIFA as a natural extension of its footballing superiority, Havelange realized that true power lay with the newly independent nations of Africa and Asia, and the federations of Latin America.

Stanley Rous, the English FIFA president and a symbol of the old European order, believed that tradition and historical authority would be enough to win. They weren't.

Havelange's victory represented far more than a change of president. It was Europe's first major political defeat within FIFA and marked the beginning of a new distribution of power that endures to this day.

Europe lost control of the decision-making center. From that moment on, maintaining influence became far more dependent on the ability to forge alliances than on the strength of its own history.

The erosion of influence begins when strategy is lost. And strategy starts to unravel in how power makes decisions.

Greek political tradition valued the clash of arguments before a decision. Many of the best Roman rulers surrounded themselves with free men, independent enough to disagree. They knew that the most robust decisions emerge from contradiction, not unanimity.

Decline sets in when the most independent and competent individuals become inconvenient and are replaced by the most obedient. Debate vanishes, groupthink takes hold, and decisions are no longer truly tested.

The beginning of an organization's decline isn't a lack of talent; it's the expulsion of independent thought from the proximity of power.

Today, Morocco stands as one of the world's most strategically relevant nations.

It is an essential partner for the United States and the European Union in the Maghreb, a logistical hub between Europe, Africa, and the Atlantic, and a growing diplomatic power on the African continent and in the Arab world.

It has also recognized that football has become a tool for international projection. Hosting the World Cup is part of a much broader national strategy of geopolitical assertion.

FIFA, too, has undergone profound changes, with the decisive moment being the FIFAGate scandal.

In May 2015, FIFA officials were arrested in Zurich by US authorities. The scandal exposed a decades-long system of corruption, led to the downfall of Joseph Blatter, sidelined Michel Platini from succession, and triggered the most significant institutional transformation in the organization's history.

The most significant revelation wasn't the corruption itself. It was the realization that FIFA was no longer powerful enough to operate above international geopolitics.

Gianni Infantino, elected FIFA president just months later, witnessed the collapse of the old system firsthand.

In the 21st century, votes remain indispensable, but they are no longer sufficient. Today, understanding FIFA means understanding geopolitics.

If FIFA chooses Casablanca, it won't just be indicating where a final is played; it will be acknowledging that the center of gravity of global influence no longer aligns with football's historical heartland.

However, this reflection isn't solely about Europe or FIFA.

Portuguese football should also undertake this self-examination. Do its institutions truly foster an environment where independent individuals can disagree without fear and improve decisions? Or do they tend to alienate those with independent thought, primarily rewarding personal loyalty and conformity?

An organization that perceives dissent as a threat often begins, without realizing it, to lose its strategic direction long before it loses results.

Defeats become visible the day results are announced. But they begin much earlier, the day power stops listening to those who think differently.