Dr. Ondřej Trunečka
Researcher and Associate Lecturer at the Institute of Communication Studies and Journalism, Charles University, Prague, Czech Republic. He focuses his research on sports journalism. He is a former editor-in-chief of one of the biggest sports websites in the Czech Republic.
Email: ondrej.trunecka@fsv.cuni.cz
The 2026 FIFA World Cup was remarkable in many respects: it was hosted by three countries (the United States, Mexico and Canada), it featured 48 teams across 12 groups, produced numerous records and included a special half-time show during the final. Yet, one tradition from beyond the pitch persisted, and it was far less welcome than the tournament’s crowded stadiums. As France progressed through the competition and moved closer to the title, racist rhetoric surfaced once again. As four and eight years earlier, it came variously from politicians in opposing countries, supporters and former players. Drawing primarily on French media coverage, this article reviews the controversies and briefly places them in their historical and political context.
Probably the most widely discussed insult came during France’s round of 16 match against Paraguay. Paraguayan senator Celeste Amarilla described French captain and eventual tournament top scorer Kylian Mbappé as a “colonised Cameroonian”; the rest of her remarks were even more offensive and need not be repeated. “Because of your recklessness and blatant racism, the world has forgotten the historical journey and effort of your players…,” Mbappé replied. Former goalkeeper José Luis Chilavert invoked the same theme by questioning the origins of the French players: “In 1998 we faced France and now Paraguay will face a squad from Africa.” Hebe Casado, vice-governor of the Argentine province of Mendoza, made a similar comparison. The next scandal erupted following remarks by former Spanish prime minister Mariano Rajoy. Ahead of the semi-final, he described France as a strong opponent, but one “without a single Frenchman”.
French media recalled that the players had also faced racist abuse in 2018 and 2022. Eight years ago, when France won its second World Cup title, Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro described the result as a triumph for Africa. Four years later, France came close to retaining the title, only to lose the final to Argentina in a penalty shoot-out. Alongside the disappointment of defeat, the players also had to endure a racist chant by Argentine supporters. Stripped of its explicit sexual obscenities, its message was: “Coming from Angola, they do run quickly, mother from Nigeria, father from Cambodia, the French passport…” Worse still, social-media posts later implicated Argentine players in repeating the same words during the 2024 Copa América.
The arguments and statistics presented by French journalists in response may seem almost beside the point: only three members of the 26-player squad were born abroad, one of them in Italy while his father was playing football there. Conversely, 99 of the 1,248 players participating in the 2026 World Cup were born in France – more than in any other country. It should also be noted that other representatives of the countries mentioned above have rejected these racist statements.
No single article could capture every aspect of the relationship between the French national football team and immigration. “In France, the history of football is strongly linked to that of immigration,” write the authors of Football & Migrations, an excellent overview presented by the Palais de la Porte Dorée. Prepared specifically for this World Cup, it proved particularly timely in light of the incidents that followed.
It has been almost a century since footballers of African descent first represented France. That long history has been marked by doubts, questions and, particularly in its early years, insults. Yet sporting success – including third place at the 1958 World Cup and victory at Euro 1984 – helped earlier reservations to fade.
If one moment stands out, it is France’s first World Cup triumph, achieved on home soil in 1998 and followed by victory at Euro 2000. Those successes prompted renewed interest in the contribution of immigration to French football. Paul Dietschy of the Université de Franche-Comté notes that the victorious side was characterised as “Black-Blanc-Beur” – a metaphor for the players’ different backgrounds and a “mosaic of French diversity”. “It was a collective victory,” adds Guillaume Narguet, a French journalist specialising in football and history, in an interview for this article. This did not mean that all problems subsequently disappeared: Dietschy described the episode as an “apparent enchantment”. Nevertheless, it was undoubtedly a turning point in how the issue was perceived. “Football – and sport more generally – helped,” Narguet concludes.
Although the insults described above have come from abroad in recent years, it is worth recalling that Jean-Marie Le Pen, then leader of France’s far-right National Front, employed the same narrative in the 1990s, shortly before the celebrated 1998 triumph. Today, another extremist, Éric Zemmour, has adopted some of that rhetoric, but with little effect. “The origin of the players is no longer a relevant issue in French society, including on the far right,” Narguet confirms.
Rajoy or Casado, however, share a political orientation: they belong to the right or far right. Generally, such rhetoric resonates “particularly among the most conservative and extremist groups,” explains Patrick Clastres of the University of Lausanne. According to the historian, those making such statements are addressing domestic voters who expect them to deny what contemporary France, in all its diversity, has become.
