Gianni Infantino’s recent capitulation looks like a textbook case of overreach by a leader unaccustomed to restraints on their power. The FIFA president’s plan to sell a stake in a $20 billion commercial vehicle to private investors unraveled in four days as a global backlash mounted and even close colleagues disowned the project. His own position is now in question.
Anyone hoping that replacing the head will bring an end to recurring scandals is likely to be disappointed: What world soccer’s governing body needs above all is structural change. It’s a statement that hasn’t aged well. For many followers of the sport, what is most striking about Infantino’s tenure is how little it has differed in style from that of his predecessor Sepp Blatter, who resigned and was subsequently banned after U.S. authorities arrested seven FIFA officials on racketeering, wire fraud and money laundering charges.
There have been no comparable criminal scandals under Infantino’s leadership, but his presidency has been characterized by the same imperial manner and the persistence of ethical and governance concerns. Like Blatter and Joao Havelange before him, Infantino has increasingly behaved as if he is the personification of soccer. The most visible example of that is the extraordinary 15-page message he posted on Instagram after the World Cup.
The FIFA president gloated over the success of the tournament and repeatedly taunted those he called “haters,” advising detractors who “missed all that joy and togetherness” to watch a soccer match. It doesn’t seem to have occurred to Infantino that people could see and enjoy the games while simultaneously disapproving of him and his organization — nor that, rather than hatred, critics might be motivated by their love of the beautiful game. Intolerance of adverse reporting — even over such obvious public-interest issues such as denial of visas or the bending of disciplinary rules to suit Donald Trump — are hallmarks of the autocrat, along with an inability to distinguish the interests of self from those of nation (the soccer nation, in this case).
These signs of a bubble mentality explain how it was possible for Infantino to hatch a clandestine plan to sell a $4.2 billion stake in FIFA’s commercial interests to investors led by a family connection of Trump — with whom he has enjoyed a cozy relationship — without foreseeing the resulting tsunami of global outrage. Infantino didn’t even involve his closest adviser. Those who live in echo chambers and reject the legitimacy of outside scrutiny aren’t well placed to judge the mood beyond their immediate comfort zone.
What is it about FIFA that causes its top officials to trend toward this mode of leadership? Call it the “Animal Farm” syndrome. As in George Orwell’s allegory, a new broom may arrive with the best of intentions, but institutional power dynamics inevitably paint the new regime with the same hue as its predecessor.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
