“Regardless of the victor, it’s Africa that will have beaten Africa.” Uttered just before the France-Sénégal World Cup match, Ousmane Sonko’s comment was interpreted by some as merely a pan-Africanist sentiment. However, this phrase carries an underlying notion that has, for decades, fueled the most contentious identity-based discourses: the idea that black players on the French national team are primarily African and only secondarily French. This perspective, often discussed in African politics English circles, has drawn considerable attention across the continent press.

The question warrants clear articulation: who exactly are we discussing?

The French national team competing in this World Cup is comprised of French citizens. Most were born in France. Kylian Mbappé was born in Paris. Ousmane Dembélé 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 grew up in France, attended French schools, were mentored by French educators, and honed their football skills in French clubs. They ascended through French training academies before donning the jerseys of youth selections and ultimately the senior national team. They are the direct product of a French sports system, funded, structured, and developed within France.

Furthermore, France extends beyond its metropolitan territory. For many decades, its overseas departments and regions have significantly contributed to French football history. Jocelyn Angloma was born in Guadeloupe. Dimitri Payet was born in La Réunion. Other international players hail from families originating in Martinique, Guadeloupe, Guyane, or La Réunion. These territories are integral components of the French Republic. Their children possess French nationality just as much as those born in Paris, Lyon, or Marseille. To suggest that a French victory constitutes an African victory is to imply that these players are defined primarily by the origins of their parents or grandparents, rather than by their nationality, their career paths, or their unwavering commitment while representing France.

This line of reasoning is far from novel.

As early as 1996, Jean-Marie Le Pen targeted the French team, decrying a selection he considered made up of “naturalized foreign players” and criticizing some internationals for not singing La 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 a wave of indignation across the country. Aimé Jacquet famously refused to engage in the polemic, simply stating that the blue jersey was “very well defended.” Captain Didier Deschamps dismissed the attacks outright: “Le Pen is talking nonsense.” Then-Prime Minister Alain Juppé publicly affirmed his support for Les Bleus: “After these disgraceful remarks, I want to say that we are proud of the players and that, by their way of holding high our country’s flag, they contribute to giving a certain idea of France.”

The debate could have concluded there, yet it has persisted through the decades.

Éric Zemmour, who has faced multiple convictions by French courts for discriminatory remarks and incitement to hatred, has consistently questioned the composition of the French team. In his view, the significant presence of black players reflects a transformation of national identity. While the discourse sometimes shifts in form, the core idea remains constant: certain French citizens are less French than others due to their origins. Following France’s victory over Argentina in the 2018 World Cup, and subsequently after the 2022 final won by the Albiceleste in Qatar, a segment of Argentinian supporters intensified chants proclaiming the French team to be African, not French. Various slogans circulated in stadiums and on social media, claiming 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 is precisely what makes Ousmane Sonko’s statement so problematic, resonating across Africa news and pan-African journalism. When a European far-right activist claims Kylian Mbappé or Aurélien Tchouaméni are not truly French, it immediately provokes widespread condemnation. When a leading African political figure, even in a different guise, echoes this same logic, it equally demands scrutiny. The underlying message remains identical: black players on the French team are first and foremost African before being French.

Should Didier Deschamps announce tomorrow a desire to select more white players to better represent a particular vision of France, the backlash would be immediate. Ousmane Sonko himself would likely, and rightly, denounce a selection based on ethnic criteria. Why then accept the inverse reasoning, which attributes an African identity to French players solely based on their family origins? Football does not select individuals by their skin color. It selects the best available players. Kylian Mbappé is not chosen because he is black. Aurélien Tchouaméni is not retained because his parents are from Africa. They 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 asked them to represent their country.

Ousmane Sonko is neither Jean-Marie Le Pen nor Éric Zemmour. Yet, by asserting that “regardless of the victor, it’s Africa that 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 standing, a former Prime Minister and President of the National Assembly of Sénégal, such a statement is far from trivial. Because in an eagerness to celebrate Africa universally, one can sometimes inadvertently negate the true identity of individuals: in this specific instance, French citizens playing for France, because they are French.

One final question merits consideration. During the 2002 World Cup, when Sénégal famously defeated France, twenty of the twenty-three Lions of Teranga played for French clubs. Several had been developed within French structures, some were born in France, and the Senegalese squad was managed by a French coach, Bruno Metsu. Following Ousmane Sonko’s logic, should that victory for Sénégal also have been considered, in part, a victory for France? The answer is unequivocally no. Because those players represented Sénégal. Exactly as Les Bleus represent France today. Perhaps therein lies the primary limitation of the Senegalese National Assembly President’s formulation.