We have updated our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use for Eurasia Group and its affiliates, including GZERO Media, to clarify the types of data we collect, how we collect it, how we use data and with whom we share data. By using our website you consent to our Terms and Conditions and Privacy Policy, including the transfer of your personal data to the United States from your country of residence, and our use of cookies described in our Cookie Policy.
Badr Benoun celebrates after Morocco progress to the World Cup semi-finals in Qatar.
Eurasia Group's Strahinja Matejic is attending the Atlantic Dialogues conference in Marrakech, Morocco. But he decided to go a day early to join local fans who watched the Atlas Lions make World Cup history.
“Are we winning tonight?”
That was the first question a Moroccan immigration officer asked me at the Casablanca airport just hours before Morocco faced mighty Portugal in the quarter-finals of the men's soccer World Cup in Qatar.
Casablanca, the country’s bustling largest city, had ground to a halt by the time the teams were warming up. Bus drivers, roller skate hawkers in the Arab League Park, street vendors … all quickly found a chair or at least a wall to lean on. Everyone was at a watch party.
In a packed café near the King Hassan II Mosque, I gestured like a coach asking the ref for a free kick to procure a small plastic ottoman to sit on. When they realized I was a guest in Morocco — and supported their jeering of Cristiano Ronaldo, Portugal’s past-his-prime GOAT — a group of students invited me to join them and promoted me to a full chair.
Leading the chants at the table is one of my new friends: Aarifa, from Sudan. She's in Morocco on an international scholarship — one of many ways the government is investing in its soft power.
That's also the primary reason I'm there, as I explained to the immigration officer after agreeing that yes, of course, Morocco will advance. I'm attending the Atlantic Dialogues conference in Marrakech, one of several policymaking events Morocco is hosting in the next few weeks for organizations like the African Union in Tangiers or the Alliance of Civilizations in Fez.
After Youssef En-Nesyri scored what would be the winning goal, I became part of the euphoric celebration. I hugged Naim, another member of the table, who took off his taqiyah (Muslim skullcap) embroidered with the Moroccan flag and put it on my head. As we awaited the final whistle in a thick cloud of cigarette smoke, the Atlas Lions supporters in Casablanca were roaring as loud as those lucky enough to be cheering inside the Al Thumama Stadium in Qatar.
When it was all over, everyone stormed the streets. Bikes, cars, even food trucks full of fans in a frenzy waved flags of Morocco, the Arab League, and Palestine to mark the first time an African and an Arab team had reached the semi-finals at the World Cup.
An elderly woman in a wheelchair “told” me the the moment felt to her like 1956, when Morocco became fully independent from France. Meanwhile, I saw two military service members celebrating on the roof of the Royal Naval School.
It’s almost an axiom that success in sports boosts national unity and pride. But in Morocco, that transcends national borders — both real and imagined.
This victory converges with the goal of the conferences in Fez, Marrakech, and Tangiers: to show that Morocco — whose national soccer jerseys don’t have stars above the association crest like Brazil’s or Spain’s — may not have won a World Cup (yet) but it plays an active role in the global map.
Indeed, Morocco’s historic run truly echoes FIFA President Gianni Infantino’s famous but insufficient attempt to push back against critics of Qatar hosting the tournament. Morocco now plays for all Africans, for all Arabs, for all Muslims, for all underdogs — and for all of us who romantically believe in the Beautiful Game and cherish the virtues of the sport.
When I woke up at dawn, the city was silent. The Atlas Lions were resting before the Wednesday game with the Gallic roosters. If you ask me then if “we” are winning tonight , I’ll reply the same — inshallah.
Albright addresses the Democratic National Convention in Denver in 2008.
Within a few minutes of one another, my mother in Belgrade and my NYC-based boss at Eurasia Group, Ian Bremmer, sent me notes saying former US Secretary of State Madeleine Albright had passed away at the age of 84. Soon after, many friends, colleagues, professors, and social media connections shared the news.
The speed with which this information spread across the globe is not surprising, given Albright's rich political and academic credentials, but also the polarizing attitudes toward her legacy. On one of my recent visits last month to my alma mater, Georgetown University’s School of Foreign Service, where Albright taught, I shared a story with one of the school’s chaplains about my first (and last) encounter with Albright.
Almost three years ago in May 2019, in my last semester at the Hilltop, I learned that Albright had been chosen as the commencement speaker in the SFS’s centennial year. As a Belgrade native and a student of political science and foreign policy, I looked at the events from the spring and summer of 1999 differently than Albright did. To say the least. I did not agree with the school's choice.
I wanted to express my dissent, and my dissatisfaction was notably not an outlier; it was shared among (at least) a dozen professors, students, and staff members from around the world.
I knew that, in a field like ours and at a school as diverse as Georgetown, there could never be a speaker who everyone agreed upon amongst the several hundred students, professors, and staff. Nevertheless, I requested a meeting with Dean Joel Hellman, and after a frank discussion, we agreed to disagree. I thought it would be noted somewhere that someone had protested the school’s choice, and I left the meeting feeling satisfied and grateful for the chance to express my opinion.
That was the day before my commencement.
The next day, as I was putting my graduation regalia over my suit on a 70 degree-plus day with DC humidity — it was just hours before the ceremony — I received an email from the dean’s office saying that Albright would like to meet me before the event.
I quickly gathered my thoughts and went downhill from my Glover Park studio to campus for what I thought would be a quick and courteous chat. The former secretary of state greeted me in a rusty but still confident Serbian, asking what my protest was all about.
We, again, agreed to disagree. My protest was a personal issue, not a high-level political negotiation. I was a conscientious objector to the policies that Albright championed, some of which impeded (not enabled) democracy and prosperity in the Balkans, including in Kosovo. Yet, I had no intention of obstructing the ceremony with signs, shouting, or a walkout. Such breaches of decorum go against how I was raised, and I have deep respect for the institution that gave me the opportunity to meet brilliant people and learn from them. But I remarked in the office that day that my respectful protest was important to me and in line with the history of my small but proud nation in the mountainous Balkan peninsula. It was also in line with the Jesuit mission of the school, and the SFS’s encouragement of polemics on the most pressing global issues.
Albright — herself a one-time Belgrade resident — agreed, saying that if anything, throughout their rich history the Serbs rarely shied away from fighting a more powerful enemy.
In our 45-minute conversation, we talked about my future and desire to work on deepening the relationship between the US and Serbia; to help people understand global geopolitical developments; and to address open and tough questions impacting the Balkan region. But I also aimed to ensure that respectful, substantiated, and constructive criticism reexamines the policies, decisions, and interpretations that made me protest her role in the commencement in the first place.
As I was walking out of the office, she thanked me for the time and the way I voiced my concern. I shared my respect for both her and the dean's time, and for standing behind those (recently challenged) ideals that attract so many young professionals across the globe to the United States and to the best school for foreign policy and diplomacy worldwide: freedom of speech, diversity of opinion, and commitment to dialogue.
An hour or so later, as Albright was handing me my diploma, she pulled me aside and said: “You’ll do good.”
I’m still proud to have protested but even more motivated to continue on that often challenging but motivating mission of doing good. In typical Serbian fashion, I replied that drinks were on me the third time we meet. She winked and smiled.
Strahinja Matejic is an associate in the Office of the President at Eurasia Group.