In Algeria, as in Morocco and Tunisia, the conflict surrounding Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) is far more than a simple administrative dispute between two federations fighting over sporting jurisdiction. What is unfolding runs much deeper. It reflects a political, administrative, and legal structure inherited from the former French colonial system, where sport ceases to function as a space for development, competition, and the making of champions, and instead becomes a battlefield of influence, institutional rivalry, and hidden power struggles — with athletes always paying the highest price.
The controversy sparked by the Algerian Federation of Full Contact Kickboxing and Associated Disciplines against the Algerian Jiu-Jitsu Federation, following the organization of a national MMA championship in Béjaïa, once again exposes the crisis of “sporting legitimacy” across the Maghreb. Each side claims a different form of international recognition: one relies on its affiliation with the International Mixed Martial Arts Federation (IMMAF), while the other invokes its connection to the Gamma structure derived from jiu-jitsu, as well as its links to African Games participation and Olympic integration efforts.
Yet behind this apparent technical conflict lies a far more troubling question: why do these institutional wars repeatedly emerge specifically within French-influenced Maghrebi systems, while Anglo-Saxon or British sporting models appear far less affected by such conflicts in modern combat sports?
The answer begins with the very nature of the state itself and the administrative philosophy inherited from the French colonial model. In Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia, sport was historically built upon a logic of administrative supervision rather than genuine institutional independence. Even when a sports federation legally operates as a public-interest association, it remains in practice dependent on political recognition, networks of influence, and power structures. As a result, sport becomes less a competition of technical projects and more a struggle between competing centers of influence.
In Morocco, for instance, Law 30.09 on physical education and sport — introduced after the first National Sports Conference under royal recommendations — was supposed to represent a major structural reform of the sporting landscape. However, in practice, the law failed to clearly define jurisdictions and responsibilities. Instead, it multiplied grey areas, deepened legitimacy conflicts, and opened wider doors to patronage, favoritism, and external interference.
This is precisely why today, in both Morocco and Algeria, various federations seek to adopt sports that historically did not belong to their original field of specialization. Jiu-jitsu wants MMA. Kickboxing claims MMA. Sometimes even wrestling organizations attempt to approach MMA. Everyone now understands that MMA has become a major instrument of global soft power.
The cruelest paradox, however, is experienced by the athletes themselves. The Maghrebi fighter lives in permanent confusion: which championship is truly legitimate? Which federation possesses real authority? Which title or belt carries legal recognition? Which national team officially represents the country? While administrative wars continue, athletes lose years of their careers trapped inside bureaucratic conflicts.
The comparison with Anglo-Saxon systems therefore becomes particularly painful. In countries such as the United States or the United Kingdom, combat sports are generally managed according to principles of professionalism, market regulation, and institutional autonomy. The state does not directly interfere in distributing legitimacy based on political proximity or influence networks. Leadership is largely determined through results, organizational capability, and technical competence.
In the French-influenced Maghrebi sphere, however, the state often remains an invisible yet omnipresent actor within sports institutions. Every emerging discipline becomes a battlefield for influence networks, hidden alliances, and sometimes even silent geopolitical rivalries.
What is even more concerning is that certain Gulf and Arab powers understood very early the strategic importance of soft power in modern combat sports, particularly in jiu-jitsu and MMA. Massive investments were directed toward international events, athlete development, federations, and institutional control. Meanwhile, Maghrebi countries remain trapped in internal wars over legitimacy and administrative leadership.
This has led many observers within the Maghrebi sporting world to raise an increasingly sensitive question: are Maghrebi sports structures being deliberately weakened through the multiplication of divisions and conflicts, turning these countries into mere reservoirs of talent while other states monopolize decision-making centers, global influence, and organizational power?
For some, this idea may appear exaggerated. Yet reality shows that the Maghreb possesses extraordinary human talent and fighters capable of reaching the highest international levels, without ever transforming that potential into lasting institutional dominance. The problem is not a lack of talent; it lies in fragile governance, political interference, and the transformation of federations into arenas of influence rather than instruments of athletic development.
The ultimate irony is that France itself — the country that exported this centralized administrative model to its former colonies — experiences similar tensions within several combat sports structures. It is as though this administrative heritage reproduced a culture of legitimacy wars rather than a culture of sporting complementarity.
Ultimately, the Béjaïa controversy goes far beyond the organization of a single MMA championship. It represents a symbolic battle over a fundamental question: who truly controls the future of Maghrebi sport? Will sport remain a field of conflict and fragmentation, or can it finally evolve into a sovereign project capable of building champions, strong institutions, and genuine sporting independence?
To this day, the Maghrebi athlete continues to pay the price of a system that still has not answered a fundamental question: does the sports federation exist to serve sport… or merely to extend broader struggles for power?
