Soft Power: the influence you didn’t know you had
You don’t need money or a title to influence others. We all hold a kind of soft power — just by how we choose to act.
I can’t win like this
At just 17 years old and unseeded, Mats Wilander shocked the tennis world at the 1982 French Open by defeating third seed and former champion Guillermo Vilas 1–6, 7–6(6), 6–0, 6–4 in the final. Having never won a tour-level title before, Wilander’s breakthrough came in a match that lasted four hours and 42 minutes — until the epic 2025 Carlos Alcaraz vs. Jannik Sinner showdown, it remained the longest Roland-Garros final in over four decades.
But what stayed etched in my mind was what happened in the semi-final of that tournament.
In 1982, I was just a year younger than Mats Wilander. Like many teens, I was completely caught up in sports — though I was, let’s be honest, pretty hopeless at tennis. Still, I was glued to the screen during the French Open semi-final when something happened that I’ll never forget.
Wilander, a fresh-faced 17-year-old from Sweden, had just been declared the winner of the match. At 5–6, 30–40 in the fourth set, Clerc unleashed a forehand that both he and Wilander believed landed inside. The chair umpire, Jacques Dorfmann, called it out and declared “game, set and match” in Wilander’s favour. The teenager made it to the final of Roland-Garros, one of the most prestigious tournaments in the sport. Cue the celebration, right? But no. Instead of falling to the ground in triumph or raising his arms to the sky, Wilander jogged over to the chair umpire and asked to replay the point. He thought the ball had been in, and he told the umpire, “I can’t win like this — the ball was in, let’s play two balls.” Dorfmann obliged, and on the replayed point, Clerc erred, giving Wilander the match — and the fair‑play gesture became the stuff of legend.
I sat there stunned. What was he doing? Why would anyone — especially a teenager, with the final of a Grand Slam on the line — give back a match point? I remember thinking how I would’ve behaved. Shamefully, I admitted to myself that I probably would’ve taken the point. No questions asked.
But here was Wilander, doing something else entirely. I started wondering what kind of upbringing, what kind of culture, produces a 17-year-old who places fairness above glory. In my naive biased view, I began projecting: Sweden, I thought. Of course. A country above the fray. Ethical to the core. Rational. Principled.
That single moment, that small act of integrity, shaped how I saw Sweden — and later, the other Nordic countries — for years. That’s soft power in action.
Wilander won anyway. But so did Sweden
Soft power is the ability to influence others not through force or coercion, but through attraction, inspiration, and shared values. Coined by political scientist Joseph Nye in the late 1980s, the term emerged to describe how countries could shape global outcomes not just through military might (hard power), but through culture, ideals, and diplomacy. Soft power works subtly — winning hearts and minds through example rather than enforcement.
We often talk about soft power in terms of culture, education, science, and diplomacy. But it’s also about values. It’s about the silent, invisible signals a country sends to the world — not through press releases or propaganda, but through a teenage tennis player who refuses to win on a bad call, and how another teenage boy took that as an inherent virtue of his country and culture.
But as powerful as soft power can be, it’s also dangerously easy to misread. We often talk about it in terms of values — a country’s culture distilled into individual choices that inspire others. But here’s the catch: it’s a mistake to extrapolate too much from one act of integrity, or to assign an entire nation a moral identity based on the actions of a single teenager on a clay court.
Sport, after all, has its darker moments too
At Euro 2004, Sweden — yes, the same Sweden — was caught in a storm of controversy after a 2–2 draw with their Scandinavian neighbors Denmark that conveniently ensured both teams advanced, knocking Italy out. The result looked suspiciously prearranged, and while UEFA found no concrete wrongdoing, the game remains a textbook case of gamesmanship over fair play.
And then there’s the “Disgrace of Gijón” at the 1982 World Cup, when West Germany and Austria appeared to conspire in plain sight, playing out a farcical match to eliminate Algeria. It was such an embarrassment that FIFA had to rewrite the rules.
These moments remind us that ethics in sport — like in life — don’t map neatly onto national borders. Just as a single moment of grace can elevate, a single act of opportunism can deflate. What matters is not the passport of the player, but the principle behind the play.
From soft power to disillusion — and back
I grew up deeply influenced by the soft power of Western countries. Like many others of my generation, I believed in the promise of liberal values, human rights, and democracy. I genuinely thought these ideals were baked into the DNA of those societies. I even taught myself English as a teenager — not out of necessity, but because I was drawn to the Anglo-Saxon world and everything it seemed to stand for.
As a teenager, I had only a vague understanding of documents like the “Déclaration des droits de l’homme et du citoyen”, but I instinctively assumed its message was universal. That all humans are born free and equal wasn’t just a lofty ideal — it felt like an inalienable truth, something woven into the fabric of humanity itself.
« Tous les êtres humains naissent libres et égaux en dignité et en droits. »
— Article 1, Déclaration universelle des droits de l’homme, Nations Unies, 1948 (“All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.”)
That belief hasn’t survived intact. Over the years, it’s been shaken — at times, shattered. The silence or outright complicity of Western governments in the face of the Gaza genocide. Esteemed professors at elite institutions lending legitimacy to racist platforms. The election of blatant liars and incompetent fools to the highest positions. These are not just disappointments; they’ve felt like betrayals. Some of my darker blog posts reflect that mood (here, here and here)— a kind of moral disillusionment I didn’t expect to carry into adulthood.
But here’s what I’ve come to realise: the wide-eyed teenager in 1982 may have been naïve, but he was also wrong in equating Mats Wilander’s action to some inherent Scandinavian virtue. What I got wrong was this: ethics and integrity don’t belong to nations or ideologies. They belong to people.
What I really learned — through that Wilander moment, through football’s shameful gamesmanship, and through watching the world look away as children are starved and killed — is to judge individuals, not countries. Respect people for who they are and how they act. It may sound like a cliché, but it’s also fundamentally true: there is good and bad in everyone, everywhere.
And maybe that’s the more honest version of soft power — the kind that lives not in flags, but in people.
Soft power, one person at a time
Soft power doesn’t just reside in nations or institutions — it lives in people too. Those of us with even a sliver of visibility can, knowingly or not, shape how others see the world.
Take my little country. Tunisia is often overlooked on the global stage, but the rise of tennis champ Ons Jabeur changed that. Her grace, grit, and game have drawn global admiration. She’s renowned for speaking out on a range of issues — from the challenges of being a woman in professional tennis to the Palestinian cause— and suddenly, people are paying attention. That can only be a good thing.
Ultimately, what I took from the Wilander moment wasn’t just admiration. It was motivation to be a better person. It’s a reminder that influencing others doesn’t require force — just conviction expressed through your actions. I try to carry that into science and society, backing progressive causes even when they seem hopeless. Who knows — maybe my actions will inspire someone to act differently, just like Mats Wilander once inspired me.
Isn’t that what soft power really is? Not about money. Not about force. Not about authority. Just the quiet strength of setting an example.
Notes and acknowledgments
This post was inspired by two seemingly unrelated events that took place on the same day — Sunday, 8 June 2025.
First, The Guardian published a couple of articles highlighting the UK’s declining investment in soft power. The pieces focused on how funding cuts to the BBC World Service, the British Council, and universities are undermining the UK’s global influence.
Second, the epic Roland-Garros final between Carlos Alcaraz and Jannik Sinner reminded us of the sheer beauty and drama of tennis. Commentating courtside was none other than Mats Wilander. Hearing his voice pulled me back to an odd memory from 43 years ago — his famous act of sportsmanship in the 1982 French Open semi-final. That moment quietly shaped how I thought about ethics and inspired me, in my own small way, to try to be a better person.
Incidentally, the Alcaraz–Sinner marathon broke the record for the longest Roland-Garros final — a record previously held by none other than that 1982 Wilander–Vilas showdown.
I’m grateful to many colleagues, friends, and readers — sports fans or otherwise — for their encouragement to keep blogging. I’m especially thankful to Karima El Mahboubi for her thoughtful and inspiring feedback. This article was written with assistance from ChatGPT.
This article is available on a CC-BY license via Zenodo.
Cite as: Kamoun, S. (2025). Soft Power: the influence you didn’t know you had. Zenodo. https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.15623412
