“Whatever the winner, Africa will have beaten Africa.” Uttered just before the France-Sénégal World Cup match, Ousmane Sonko’s declaration was perceived by some as a simple expression of pan-African solidarity. However, this phrase carries an underlying notion that has fueled some of the most disputed identity discourses for decades: the assertion that black players in the French national team are primarily African, and only secondarily French.

The question warrants clear examination. Who exactly are we discussing?

The French squad competing in this World Cup is comprised entirely of French citizens. A significant majority were born on French soil. Kylian Mbappé hails from Paris. Ousmane Dembélé was born in Vernon. Aurélien Tchouaméni in Rouen. William Saliba in Bondy. Dayot Upamecano in Évreux. Ibrahima Konaté in Paris. Rayan Cherki in Lyon. Bradley Barcola in Villeurbanne. Désiré Doué in Angers. Warren Zaïre-Emery in Montreuil. These athletes were raised in France, attended French schools, and were mentored by French educators. They honed their football skills in French clubs, progressing through French training centers before proudly wearing the jerseys of youth selections and ultimately the national team. They are the direct outcome of a French sports system, funded, structured, and developed within France.

Furthermore, France extends beyond its metropolitan borders. For many decades, its overseas territories have significantly contributed to the narrative of French football. Jocelyn Angloma was born in Guadeloupe. Dimitri Payet was born in La Réunion. Other international players originate from families in Martinique, Guadeloupe, Guyane, or La Réunion. These territories are integral components of the French Republic. Their children possess French nationality just as those born in Paris, Lyon, or Marseille. To suggest that a French victory equates to an African victory is to imply that these players are defined first by their parents’ or grandparents’ origins, rather than by their nationality, their personal journeys, or their unwavering commitment to the French national team.

This line of reasoning is far from novel.

As early as 1996, Jean-Marie Le Pen launched criticisms against the French team. He denounced a selection he deemed composed of “naturalized foreign players” and faulted certain international players for not singing the Marseillaise. “Other teams sing their national anthem (…) the French don’t because they don’t know it,” he asserted at the time. These remarks sparked widespread indignation across the nation. Aimé Jacquet wisely chose not to engage in the controversy, simply stating that the blue jersey was “very well defended.” Captain Didier Deschamps dismissed these attacks outright: “Le Pen is talking nonsense.” Then-Prime Minister Alain Juppé publicly affirmed his support for Les Bleus: “Following these disgraceful remarks, I wish to state that we are proud of the players and that, by their manner of holding high our country’s flag, they contribute to a certain vision of France.”

The discussion might have concluded then. Yet, it has persisted across decades.

Éric Zemmour, who has faced multiple convictions by French courts for discriminatory remarks or incitement to hatred, has consistently challenged the composition of the French team. In his view, the significant presence of black players reflects a transformation of national identity. While the discourse may occasionally shift in form, the core idea remains constant: some French citizens are considered less French than others due to their ethnic origins. Following France’s victory over Argentina in the 2018 World Cup, and again after the 2022 final in Qatar won by La Albiceleste, a segment of Argentinian supporters amplified chants asserting that the French team was an African team, not a French one. Numerous slogans circulated in stadiums and on social media, claiming that French players “all came from Africa.” These chants were widely condemned internationally as racist expressions that denied the national identity of French citizens based on their skin color. This context is precisely what renders Ousmane Sonko’s statement problematic. When a far-right activist in Europe claims that Kylian Mbappé or Aurélien Tchouaméni are not truly French, it immediately triggers strong opposition. Therefore, when a leading African political figure, even if using different phrasing, echoes this same logic, it merits equally serious scrutiny. The underlying message remains identical: black players on the French team are primarily African before they are French.

If Didier Deschamps were to announce tomorrow a desire to select more white players to better represent a particular vision of France, the reactions would be immediate and severe. Ousmane Sonko himself would likely, and justifiably, denounce such a selection based on ethnic criteria. Why, then, should we accept the inverse reasoning, which attributes an African identity to French players solely based on their family origins? Football does not select individuals according to their skin color. It selects the most talented players available. Kylian Mbappé is not chosen because he is black. Aurélien Tchouaméni is not retained because his parents are from Africa. They proudly wear the blue jersey because they are French and because they are among the finest footballers of their generation. France has never asked its players to choose between their roots and their nationality. It has simply asked them to represent their country.

Ousmane Sonko is neither Jean-Marie Le Pen nor Éric Zemmour. However, by asserting that “whatever the winner, Africa will have beaten Africa,” he inadvertently adopts a line of reasoning that defines French players by their origins rather than their nationality. For a political leader of his stature, a former Prime Minister and current President of the National Assembly of Senegal, such a statement is far from trivial. Indeed, in an eagerness to celebrate Africa universally, one can sometimes inadvertently deny the true identity of individuals: in this specific instance, French citizens playing for France, because they are French.

One final question deserves consideration. During the 2002 World Cup, when Senegal famously defeated France, twenty of the twenty-three Lions of Teranga played for French clubs. Several had been trained within French structures, some were born in France, and the Senegalese national team was led by a French coach, Bruno Metsu. Following Ousmane Sonko’s logic, should we then have considered that this victory for Senegal was also, in part, a victory for France? The answer is unequivocally no. Those players represented Senegal. Just as Les Bleus today represent France. This perhaps highlights the primary limitation of the Senegalese National Assembly President’s formulation.