Is Spain more deserving than Morocco of hosting the 2030 World Cup final? The facts prove otherwise

FIFA has awarded the 2030 World Cup to a joint bid from Spain, Portugal and Morocco, with three symbolic opening matches to be played in Argentina, Uruguay and Paraguay to mark the tournament’s centenary.

The most sensitive issue, however, concerns the venue for the final, sparking a tacit rivalry between Madrid and Rabat.

Spanish Football Federation president Luis Rubiales has repeatedly stated that Spain will host the final, arguing that it would be “impossible” to justify awarding the match elsewhere, and suggesting that the showpiece game would take place at either the refurbished Santiago Bernabéu or Camp Nou.

On the other side of the debate, Fawzi Lekjaâ, president of the Royal Moroccan Football Federation, has stressed his ambition to stage the showpiece match at the new 115,000-capacity Casablanca stadium, underlining Morocco’s refusal to play second fiddle in this landmark tournament.

At the time of writing, FIFA has yet to confirm the host city, typically making this announcement around two years before the tournament; until then, the debate remains open to new developments.

Vinícius Júnior is not just a player complaining about being booed; he has become a symbol of the ongoing fight against racism in Spanish football. Since the infamous Mestalla incident, which led to the first court ruling in Spanish football history to jail fans for racist abuse, the Brazilian has faced a series of incidents across multiple grounds.

He has since endured abuse at multiple grounds, leading him to declare that the repeated insults—delivered with no deterrent sanctions—have sapped his desire to play.

In a high-profile television interview that ignited further debate, Vinícius argued that Spain should be banned from hosting the 2030 World Cup unless tangible progress is made in tackling racism, emphasising that no player should fear racism while competing in a country that purports to celebrate the beautiful game.

His remarks were rejected by parts of the Spanish media and certain sports figures who saw them as tarnishing the country’s reputation. Yet subsequent events have given his words fresh resonance, showing they were more than a momentary outburst.

The biggest spark in recent days came from a friendly match that was supposed to be nothing more than a warm-up ahead of the World Cup: Spain versus Egypt at RCDE Stadium, home to Espanyol in Barcelona.

Within minutes of kick-off, a section of the crowd launched into repeated chants: “If you’re not jumping, you’re a Muslim”—a deliberate tweak of a familiar Spanish terrace slogan, this time aimed at the faith of Egypt’s players, fans and, by extension, every Muslim viewer watching on television.

The chant was repeated several times in the first half and beyond, prompting the match organisers to broadcast repeated warnings over the public-address system and on the big screens, urging fans to stop racist remarks and reminding them that such behaviour is illegal in sports venues. met with jeers from a small section of supporters.

Catalan police swiftly opened an investigation into “Islamophobic and xenophobic chants”, and the Spanish Football Federation formally condemned the incident, stressing that hatred and racism have no place in football.

Barcelona and Spain winger Lamine Yamal, who has Moroccan and Equatorial Guinean roots and is a Muslim, was clearly affected by the incident. According to reports, he cut short his lap of honour and retired to the dressing room after his appearance.

Yamal later posted a defiant statement on his social media, calling the chants “ignorant, racist, disrespectful and unacceptable”, even if they were not aimed at him directly. “I am a Muslim, praise be to God,” he wrote, stressing that mockery of religion amounts to ignorance and hate speech that cannot be tolerated.

The Egyptian Football Association swiftly condemned the chants, labelling them unacceptable behaviour by a minority that does not represent the Spanish people, while also underlining its total rejection of any insult to the national anthem or disrespect to the Islamic faith.

Mounting international pressure then prompted FIFA to open disciplinary proceedings against the Spanish Football Federation, elevating the incident from a media storm to an official case on the desk of world football’s governing body.

Hardly had the furore over the Spain v Egypt match died down when fresh footage surfaced on social media. The clip showed a group of Real Madrid supporters gathered outside the Santiago Bernabéu Stadium before their Champions League quarter-final against Bayern Munich, chanting a slogan that mirrored the earlier controversy: “If you’re not jumping, you’re a Muslim.”

This time the chant was not directed at a Muslim nation during an international match, but rather reflected a troubling “folklore” embraced by a vocal minority of supporters—a practice that shows scant respect for the faith of hundreds of millions worldwide, including several players in their own squad.

Around the same time, reports documented Atlético Madrid supporters taunting Lamine Yamal during the first leg of the Champions League quarter-final. Chants with racist and sectarian undertones, such as “Go back to Morocco” andGo and play for Morocco” — further politicising his origins and faith.

Taken together, the episodes have convinced many observers that Vinicius and Yamal are confronting not one-off incidents but the symptoms of a broader cultural issue that demands fundamental solutions, not just periodic statements of condemnation.

In the same context, another Moroccan voice is being heard in La Liga: Omar El Hilali, Espanyol and Morocco international full-back, who has faced various forms of racism.

During a match, the referee briefly stopped play after El Hilali reported racist abuse from Elche striker Rafa Mir, who allegedly mocked his immigrant roots. La Liga’s anti-racism protocol was triggered and an investigation was opened.

After the game, El Hilali told reporters he utterly condemns anti-Muslim chants in Spanish grounds, citing the Spain–Egypt match as an example and stressing that no faith should be mocked in a stadium.

He also highlighted that one of Spain’s current stars, Lamine Yamal, is a Muslim of Moroccan heritage who chose to wear the red jersey of La Roja, and that the minimum he deserves is respect, not jeers at his faith.

These testimonies—from a dark-skinned Brazilian, a young Moroccan-born striker, and a Moroccan defender plying his trade in Catalonia—paint a vivid picture that is hard to dismiss: Together, these incidents reveal persistent racism and hate speech in parts of Spanish football, tarnishing the sport’s reputation as the country prepares to host the world’s biggest tournament.

Prominent Spanish figures have hit back at the criticism, stressing that the country is not racist and that the incidents are the work of a tiny minority.

Players such as Dani Carvajal have defended Spain’s image, pointing to La Liga’s advanced anti-racism protocols and noting that both sports bodies and courts have already punished offenders, as seen in Vinícius’s case at Mestalla.

Yet the rapid repetition of such incidents, their shift from club grounds to national-team fixtures, plus police inquiries and FIFA’s disciplinary case against the Spanish Football Federation for anti-Muslim chants, make it hard to dismiss the problem as mere “unruly individuals”.

The real issue is not whether Spain is inherently racist, but what these repeated incidents tell players and fans from diverse backgrounds—and what they signal to World Cup partner nations, especially Morocco.

Across the Mediterranean, Morocco leveraged its hosting of the 2025 Africa Cup of Nations to showcase its organisational muscle. The tournament utilised nine impressive stadiums spread across six major cities: some were refurbished, others built from scratch to meet modern standards of playing surfaces, capacity and accessibility.

Prince Moulay Abdellah Stadium in Rabat, venue for the opening match and final, showcased its modern, purpose-built design and vibrant atmosphere, and the tournament saw no reports of systematic racism in the stands.

Developments across the country also returned iconic venues such as Casablanca’s Mohammed V Stadium to the continental stage, boosting capacity and modernising amenities in line with the kingdom’s wider 2030 World Cup bid.

Despite refereeing controversies during the final and criticism from the Spanish Football Federation president, observers praised the infrastructure and facilities as a major step toward the Kingdom’s World Cup ambitions.

Equally important, Morocco’s official and popular narratives continue to stress the country’s religious and cultural diversity, its status as a first-time World Cup host, and its commitment to promoting coexistence and openness—values that align with FIFA’s zero-tolerance policy on racism and hate speech.

This brings us back to the key question: is Spain more deserving than Morocco of hosting the 2030 World Cup final? 

In terms of experience and organisational know-how, Spain’s track record is well established, with world-class venues in Madrid, Barcelona and Seville. Yet the final decision hinges on more than infrastructure; it reflects the global game’s values at a time when billions tune in.

Recent racist incidents—from the repeated targeting of Vinícius in several stadiums to anti-Muslim chants during the Spain vs. Egypt match, the same chant echoing around the Santiago Bernabéu, and racist remarks aimed at Lamine Yamal, raise serious doubts about Spain’s ethical readiness to host the defining match of the centenary edition.

By contrast, Morocco offers a package that marries organisational readiness with a powerful humanitarian statement: a majority-Muslim nation hosting its first final would be a landmark celebration of religious and cultural diversity in world football.

At a time when football is meant to unite every corner of the globe, staging the final in a country where anti-Black and anti-Muslim chants echo through the stands sends a starkly contradictory message.

A final that is meant to unite fans worldwide should not tolerate stands jeering a player’s skin colour or an entire crowd’s faith.

Vinícius Júnior’s initial warnings, dismissed by many as hyperbole, now appear fully credible in light of recent incidents; he was not referring to a single game but to a persistent climate that demands long-term institutional effort, stricter legislation and a clear political and sporting will before the country can be considered ready to host the historic final.

Spain is still grappling with racist chants in its stadiums, while Morocco has recently showcased strong organisation and a message of openness. On balance, the 2030 final should go to the country that best reflects football’s core credo: “No place for racism on the pitch.”

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