In my International Relations class, students and I often wrestle with an uncomfortable truth: Why is it that among all the theories explaining world politics, Realism—a theory grounded in ruthless self-interest, relentless competition, and a pessimistic view of human nature—seems to make the most sense of the world’s ugliest realities? Wars, coups, betrayals, sanctions, sabotage—realism doesn’t flinch.
And so, I teach them this: Realism is not how the world ought to be. It is how the world is. If you’re looking for what should be, try Constructivism or Ubuntu.
But if you want to understand why your neighbour built a wall and not a bridge, why your visa was denied, or why your currency is falling, it’s Realism, stupid.
To lighten the load, I borrow from something they all love—football. The world game, the beautiful game, is the closest analogy to world politics. Nobody hates anybody, but they fight like enemies.
The referee is meant to be neutral but often isn’t. You get penalised not for fouling, but for being caught. You lose possession, and someone scores. You relax; you get punished. Be too friendly, and another team, another state, reads it as softness, not humanity. They capitalise. They score. That’s world politics. That’s soccer.
So, here’s a concept: soccerlitics. It is a political strategy inspired by the practical and pragmatic art of football. It’s not diplomacy in boots, but it might as well be. Soccerlitics teaches that strategy trumps sentiment, and formation matters more than feelings. It’s a strategy Africa desperately needs. Not for Ghana versus Nigeria, but for Africa versus the world system. Because in the soccerlitical league table of global politics, Africa is always playing away.
Football’s cultural grip on Africa is unrivalled. In dusty fields, urban ghettos, schoolyards, slums and stadiums, football is therapy. It is the space where ordinary Africans get to win, even if symbolically. Football is more than a pastime; it is passion, pride, and protest.
An estimated 20% of Africans actively participate in the game through playing, coaching, or obsessively following. In 2022, a GeoPoll survey revealed that 93% of respondents in Ghana, Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa and Uganda intended to watch the World Cup.
The continent’s sports market is already worth over $12 billion and is projected to exceed $20 billion by 2035. Yet, the 2026 World Cup in the US, Canada, and Mexico brings anxiety, not anticipation. African fans worry, not about referees, but visas. Trump might be back. The man who once called African nations “shitholes” might decide which fans cross his border.
But Trump is not the disease but the symptom. The disease is centuries old. First, Europe enslaves and colonises us, then returns decades later to offer pennies as ‘aid’. Foreigners roam our countries with diplomatic ease, while African leaders queue in humiliating visa lines.
Those who cross borders legally are treated like trespassers. Afrophobia. Airport humiliation. Second-class status. We’ve been told we are inferior for so long that we’ve begun to believe it. That’s how deep the rot is. Football, ironically, has become one of the few places we can still imagine ourselves as equals.
In this mental and material rubble, soccer becomes more than sport. It becomes sedative. It numbs, distracts, and soothes. And that is precisely why a soccerlitical strategy makes sense. It harnesses football’s lessons, not just its joys, to craft political sense in a senseless world.
In soccerlitics, your opponent is never expected to go easy. In fact, the best teams expect brutality. So do Realist states. Why then do African governments expect fairness on the global pitch? No good coach expects the opponent to hand over the trophy.
One leader who seems to understand this logic is Ibrahim Traoré of Burkina Faso. While I do not support military coups, and I say this unequivocally, Traoré represents a form of soccerlitics that has so far managed to breach the old, ineffective formations and play for the trophy—his people.
Since taking power, he has pushed for a reduction in foreign military presence, strengthened alliances with neighbours under threat, and prioritised community resilience and economic autonomy in ways that speak the language of goals, not platitudes.
He has challenged the system, not to be admired, but to be understood as an example of a substitute player coming off the bench and doing what the starters failed to do.
Here’s what the strategy demands: focus on goals. That’s what supporters care about. They want results. Jobs, schools, hospitals, justice.
They don’t care how many free kicks you conceded or which superpower you befriended. They care about that net rattling. When Ghana plays Nigeria, nobody asks the coach to be gentle. They ask him to win.
No team resigns before kick-off. No team is too small to win. Victory depends not on history or hype but on setup. It depends on formation, focus, and fire.
That’s where African leadership fails. Most of our political formations concede defeat before they reach the pitch.
At cabinet meetings, leaders fail to notice the abundant talent in their squad. They forget their resources—natural and human. They don’t deploy, defend, or shoot. They lose.
Worse, they accept a lie: that Western teams have a divine right to win. That because they conquered us before; they must conquer us again. As a result, they dribble us and we applaud. They tackle us and we thank them. We’ve come to believe we are Division Three. Meanwhile, we built the game and the pitch long before they learnt how to play.
Yes, history matters. But don’t let your midfield dwell there. Let your defence do that. Ministries of health, transport, education—they form the wall. If you won’t score, at least don’t concede. Protect your people. Then, your midfield: foreign affairs, defence, trade—this is where the game is controlled. This is where possession matters. Let them resist, build, and launch.
Of course, don’t ignore the flanks. The flanks are deadly. That’s where they come at you with treaties, human rights talk, and trade pacts. That’s where the deception begins. By the time you realise it, your sovereignty is leaking. So watch the flanks.
And then the attackers? This is the presidency. This is the man or woman who must strike. No excuses and no waiting. No press conferences. Just goals. You don’t beat injustice with speeches. You beat it with results. Put the ball in the net. Secure the resources. Just Score.
To play this game, you need cunning. Not cowardice. Purpose, not pity. The global arena is not fair. It is rigged. It is a jungle. A Trumpish jungle.
The UN is meant to be a referee but is ruled by its own assistants. Five permanent members call the shots. France, China, Russia, the UK, the US are your opponent, your referee, and the goalpost all at once.
Hopeless? No. Because the one thing you still control is your team sheet. You choose who plays. Choose well. Pick your very best, not your very friend.
Ethnicity, party lines, loyalties—throw them out. Field citizens with skill and spine. No winning coach fields his drinking buddies.
Africa’s politics is broken because its formations are broken. Party discipline replaces public duty. Parliament becomes a theatre.
But if you want to win, you need players who bleed for the badge—not the bag. Courage, Mr. President. Courage to break the mould. Courage to call up your best eleven. Even if they don’t like your face.
The people are tired and watching. They suffer in a silent scream. They are still screaming. They deserve better, Mr President.
So, in this bruising match called world politics, Africa cannot afford to play the fool or the friend—only the fighter. The global arena will not offer fairness, only fouls and fake handshakes. But if our leaders can field honest players, deploy strategic formations, and shoot for people-centred goals with the precision of a striker bDr Muhammad Dan Suleiman: Soccerlitics: Playing to Win in a Rigged World
In my International Relations class, students and I often wrestle with an uncomfortable truth: Why is it that among all the theories explaining world politics, Realism—a theory grounded in ruthless self-interest, relentless competition, and a pessimistic view of human nature—seems to make the most sense of the world’s ugliest realities? Wars, coups, betrayals, sanctions, sabotage—realism doesn’t flinch.
And so I teach them this: Realism is not how the world ought to be. It is how the world is. If you’re looking for what should be, try Constructivism or Ubuntu. But if you want to understand why your neighbour built a wall and not a bridge, why your visa was denied, or why your currency is falling, it’s Realism, stupid.
To lighten the load, I borrow from something they all love—football. The world game, the beautiful game, is the closest analogy to world politics. Nobody hates anybody, but they fight like enemies. The referee is meant to be neutral, but often isn’t.
You get penalised not for fouling, but for being caught. You lose possession, and someone scores. You relax, you get punished. Be too friendly, and another team, another state, reads it as softness, not humanity. They capitalise. They score. That’s world politics. That’s soccer.
So, here’s a concept: soccerlitics. It is a political strategy inspired by the practical and pragmatic art of football. It’s not diplomacy in boots, but it might as well be. Soccerlitics teaches that strategy trumps sentiment, and formation matters more than feelings. It’s a strategy Africa desperately needs. Not for Ghana versus Nigeria, but for Africa versus the world system. Because in the soccerlitical league table of global politics, Africa is always playing away.
Football’s cultural grip on Africa is unrivalled. In dusty fields, urban ghettos, schoolyards, slums and stadiums, football is therapy. It is the space where ordinary Africans get to win, even if symbolically. Football is more than a pastime; it is passion, pride, and protest. An estimated 20% of Africans actively participate in the game through playing, coaching, or obsessively following.
In 2022, a GeoPoll survey revealed that 93% of respondents in Ghana, Kenya, Nigeria, South Africa and Uganda intended to watch the World Cup. The continent’s sports market is already worth over $12 billion and is projected to exceed $20 billion by 2035.
Yet, the 2026 World Cup in the US, Canada, and Mexico brings anxiety, not anticipation. African fans worry; not about referees, but visas. Trump might be back. The man who once called African nations “shitholes” might decide which fans cross his border.
But Trump is not the disease but the symptom. The disease is centuries old. First, Europe enslaves and colonises us, then returns decades later to offer pennies as ‘aid’. Foreigners roam our countries with diplomatic ease, while African leaders queue in humiliating visa lines.
Those who cross borders legally are treated like trespassers. Afrophobia. Airport humiliation. Second-class status. We’ve been told we are inferior for so long that we’ve begun to believe it. That’s how deep the rot is. Football, ironically, has become one of the few places we can still imagine ourselves as equals.
In this mental and material rubble, soccer becomes more than sport. It becomes sedative. It numbs, distracts, and soothes. And that is precisely why a soccerlitical strategy makes sense. It harnesses football’s lessons, not just its joys, to craft political sense in a senseless world.
In soccerlitics, your opponent is never expected to go easy. In fact, the best teams expect brutality. So do Realist states. Why then do African governments expect fairness on the global pitch? No good coach expects the opponent to hand over the trophy.
One leader who seems to understand this logic is Ibrahim Traoré of Burkina Faso. While I do not support military coups, and I say this unequivocally, Traoré represents a form of soccerlitics that has so far managed to breach the old, ineffective formations and play for the trophy—his people.
Since taking power, he has pushed for a reduction in foreign military presence, strengthened alliances with neighbours under threat, and prioritised community resilience and economic autonomy in ways that speak the language of goals, not platitudes.
He has challenged the system, not to be admired, but to be understood as an example of a substitute player coming off the bench and doing what the starters failed to do.
Here’s what the strategy demands: focus on goals. That’s what supporters care about. They want results. Jobs, schools, hospitals, justice.
They don’t care how many free kicks you conceded or which superpower you befriended. They care about that net rattling. When Ghana plays Nigeria, nobody asks the coach to be gentle. They ask him to win.
No team resigns before kick-off. No team is too small to win. Victory depends not on history or hype but on setup. It depends on formation, focus, and fire.
That’s where African leadership fails. Most of our political formations concede defeat before they reach the pitch. At cabinet meetings, leaders fail to notice the abundant talent in their squad. They forget their resources—natural and human. They don’t deploy, defend, or shoot. They lose.
Worse, they accept a lie: that Western teams have a divine right to win. That because they conquered us before; they must conquer us again. As a result, they dribble us and we applaud.
They tackle us and we thank them. We’ve come to believe we are Division Three. Meanwhile, we built the game and the pitch long before they learnt how to play.
Yes, history matters. But don’t let your midfield dwell there. Let your defence do that. Ministries of health, transport, education—they form the wall. If you won’t score, at least don’t concede.
Protect your people. Then, your midfield: foreign affairs, defence, trade—this is where the game is controlled. This is where possession matters. Let them resist, build, and launch.
Of course, don’t ignore the flanks. The flanks are deadly. That’s where they come at you with treaties, human rights talk, and trade pacts. That’s where the deception begins. By the time you realise it, your sovereignty is leaking. So watch the flanks.
And then the attackers? This is the presidency. This is the man or woman who must strike. No excuses and no waiting. No press conferences. Just goals. You don’t beat injustice with speeches. You beat it with results. Put the ball in the net. Secure the resources. Just Score.
To play this game, you need cunning. Not cowardice. Purpose, not pity. The global arena is not fair. It is rigged. It is a jungle. A Trumpish jungle. The UN is meant to be a referee but is ruled by its own assistants. Five permanent members call the shots. France, China, Russia, the UK, the US are your opponent, your referee, and the goalpost all at once.
Hopeless? No. Because the one thing you still control is your team sheet. You choose who plays. Choose well. Pick your very best, not your very friend. Ethnicity, party lines, loyalties—throw them out. Field citizens with skill and spine. No winning coach fields his drinking buddies.
Africa’s politics is broken because its formations are broken. Party discipline replaces public duty. Parliament becomes a theatre.
But if you want to win, you need players who bleed for the badge—not the bag. Courage, Mr. President. Courage to break the mould. Courage to call up your best eleven. Even if they don’t like your face.
The people are tired and watching. They suffer in a silent scream. They are still screaming. They deserve better, Mr President.
So, in this bruising match called world politics, Africa cannot afford to play the fool or the friend—only the fighter. The global arena will not offer fairness, only fouls and fake handshakes.
But if our leaders can field honest players, deploy strategic formations, and shoot for people-centred goals with the precision of a striker bent on glory, then even in a rigged game, Africa can win.
The final whistle hasn’t blown yet. Ent on glory, then even in a rigged game, Africa can win. The final whistle hasn’t blown yet.
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DISCLAIMER: The Views, Comments, Opinions, Contributions and Statements made by Readers and Contributors on this platform do not necessarily represent the views or policy of Multimedia Group Limited.
