Beyond the medal table: the hidden geopolitics of the Commonwealth Games

If you watch the opening ceremony of the modern Commonwealth Games, you see a brilliant display of multiculturalism. Hundreds of athletes from every corner of the globe walk side by side. They take selfies, wave flags and embrace in a stadium awash with colour. The official broadcast invariably describes it as a celebration of a "family of nations" — a display of global unity and shared values.

But the history beneath the spectacle does not disappear simply because the banners have changed or the logo has been updated.

The underlying history of the Games becomes apparent the moment you look at the map of participating nations. Every four years, this major sporting festival brings together roughly a third of the world's population. Yet almost every country represented in that stadium shares one defining historical connection: at some point over the past few centuries, it was conquered, colonised or ruled by the British Crown.

This is the central tension that makes the Commonwealth Games one of the most fascinating and politically charged events in global sport. It was founded in 1930 under an unambiguous title: the British Empire Games. The event was designed primarily to celebrate imperial strength and to keep the far-flung territories of the British Empire connected to London. Many historians argue that it projected the image of a benevolent mother country ruling over grateful subjects.

Today, the world looks completely different. The empire has all but disappeared, replaced by independent republics, rising economic powers and a global order that has largely moved beyond the twentieth century. And yet the Games remain.

To understand why this event still exists — and whether it has truly shed its colonial skin — one has to look beyond the medal tables and the human-interest stories. One has to examine how an event built on the premise of imperial unity transformed into a festival that prides itself on diversity. Is the modern Commonwealth Games a genuine, voluntary association of equal nations? Or is it a lingering, nostalgic shadow of a bygone empire, surviving largely through momentum and institutional habit?

To understand the modern identity crisis of the Commonwealth Games, one must return to where it all began: Hamilton, Canada, in August 1930. The British Empire Games were not founded on modern ideals of global inclusivity or athletic excellence. The event was conceived by Bobby Robinson, a Canadian sports editor, who envisioned a sporting festival that would strengthen the bonds of the British Empire.

Only eleven countries participated in the inaugural edition. The overwhelming majority of athletes came from the "White Dominions" — Australia, Canada and New Zealand — alongside the Home Nations of the United Kingdom. Although colonies with large non-white populations, such as British Guiana and Ceylon, also sent delegations, they were comparatively small. The power dynamic was unmistakable. This was a family gathering with London firmly seated at the head of the table.

The opening ceremony featured athletes marching in unison to pay homage to the British monarch, and the event was explicitly used as a soft-power instrument to reinforce the notion that British civilisation was a unifying and benevolent force in the world. It became a sporting manifestation of Pax Britannica — the illusion of a peaceful empire held together through loyalty, sport and shared imperial identity.

However, as the map of the world changed after the Second World War, the Games were forced to evolve with it. As waves of decolonisation swept across Asia, Africa and the Caribbean, the event underwent a series of identity shifts, reflected in its changing name:

• 1930–1950: British Empire Games

• 1954–1966: British Empire and Commonwealth Games

• 1970–1974: British Commonwealth Games

• 1978–present: Commonwealth Games

These changes were far more than semantic exercises. They represented a decades-long attempt to keep pace with the collapse of British global dominance. As former colonies gained independence, they did not automatically abandon the Games. Instead, they returned as sovereign nations, demanding to be treated as equals. Gradually, the event became a stage on which they could defeat their former rulers at their own games.

By the time the word "British" was officially dropped from the title in 1978, the organisers had embraced a new identity: the "Friendly Games". The narrative shifted from imperial solidarity to one centred on friendship, mutual respect and cultural exchange.

For many years, this rebranding appeared successful. The Commonwealth Games carved out a distinctive niche in an increasingly crowded international sporting calendar. Smaller and less commercialised than the Olympics, yet large enough to command global attention, the Games also became pioneers in integrating para-sport into the main competition long before many comparable multi-sport events, reinforcing their reputation for inclusivity.

Yet the label "Friendly Games" has often come under intense scrutiny. Critics have argued that it has sometimes functioned as a convenient shield, obscuring more difficult political realities. The notion of the Commonwealth as a harmonious family, untouched by geopolitical conflict, has repeatedly been challenged by real-world events.

The most striking example came during the 1986 Commonwealth Games in Edinburgh, Scotland. The event was hit by a massive boycott led by African, Caribbean and Asian nations. Thirty-two countries refused to send athletes in protest against British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher's refusal to impose comprehensive economic sanctions on South Africa's apartheid regime. The stadium in Edinburgh stood half-empty, and the Games came perilously close to financial collapse. It was a stark reminder that the wounds of colonialism and the realities of racial injustice could not simply be concealed beneath the language of sporting diplomacy.

Even the politics of hosting the Games reflects a significant shift away from Britain's traditional influence. In recent decades, the financial and organisational burden has increasingly fallen upon wealthy former colonies. When New Delhi hosted the Games in 2010, and when Australia's Gold Coast staged them in 2018, the focus was no longer on projecting British power. Instead, these nations used the event to showcase their own economic ambitions, infrastructure and global standing.

If the Commonwealth Games are merely a lingering hangover from the British Empire, however, one puzzling geopolitical question remains: why are countries that were never part of the British Empire seeking to join?

In recent years, the Commonwealth has welcomed a new category of member states—countries with no direct historical ties to British colonial rule. Mozambique became a member in 1995, followed by Rwanda in 2009, and Gabon and Togo in 2022. Once admitted to the Commonwealth, their athletes automatically became eligible to compete in the Commonwealth Games.

For countries such as Rwanda and Gabon, historically located within France's sphere of influence, joining the Commonwealth represents a deliberate attempt to diversify their diplomatic relationships beyond Françafrique. Their governments have cited a range of motivations, including trade, education, diplomacy and international cooperation. Membership offers access to new commercial partnerships, educational exchanges and investment opportunities with major Commonwealth economies such as India, Canada and Australia, without the bureaucratic complexities associated with some other multilateral institutions.

Participation in a globally televised event such as the Commonwealth Games also provides these countries with valuable soft power. It enables them to project an image of stability, openness and modernity before an international audience.

The inclusion of Rwanda, Gabon, Mozambique and Togo fundamentally overturns the conventional narrative surrounding the Games. An event originally created to bind Britain's colonies to the imperial centre has gradually evolved into a voluntary geopolitical association in which sovereign states seek membership on the basis of national interest rather than historical obligation. It demonstrates that the modern Commonwealth is no longer defined primarily by nineteenth-century imperial relationships, but increasingly by twenty-first-century strategic cooperation.

As the Commonwealth Games approach their centenary, however, the movement finds itself at a critical juncture. The traditional model of hosting the Games is under growing strain. The enormous financial cost of staging a multi-sport event has made many democratic governments increasingly reluctant to submit bids. When the Australian state of Victoria abruptly withdrew from hosting the 2026 Games after projected costs escalated dramatically, it sent shockwaves throughout the Commonwealth sporting community. Glasgow's subsequent decision to rescue the event with a significantly scaled-down programme of ten sports illustrated just how fragile the existing model has become.

India has emerged as the leading contender to host the centenary edition in Ahmedabad in 2030, although the Games have yet to be officially awarded. Nevertheless, India's strong interest reflects a broader geopolitical shift. Increasingly, the future of the Commonwealth Games appears to depend upon the ambitions of the Global South rather than the traditional Anglo-centric core of the organisation.

The political foundations of the Commonwealth itself are also shifting. Several member states, particularly in the Caribbean, are reassessing their constitutional relationship with the British monarchy. Barbados has already removed the British monarch as its head of state, while countries including Jamaica and Antigua and Barbuda have signalled their intention to follow suit. At the same time, demands for reparations for the transatlantic slave trade and the enduring legacies of colonialism have become increasingly prominent within Commonwealth forums.

Viewed through the eyes of athletes, however, the Commonwealth Games tell a rather different story. For a sprinter from Jamaica, a weightlifter from Samoa or a boxer from Ghana, the Games are not a celebration of Britain's imperial past. They are an important international platform. They offer a rare opportunity to compete at the highest level, secure funding, gain international recognition and place their nations firmly on the global sporting map through talent and determination.

The voluntary nature of the Commonwealth also distinguishes it from the empire that preceded it. Countries are free to leave, as Zimbabwe did in 2003 before later seeking readmission, and new members are equally free to apply. Membership is sustained by political choice rather than imperial obligation.

The colonial ghost may still haunt the stadium, and perhaps it always will. The Commonwealth Games Federation now makes it clear that the Games operate independently of the British Government, and Britain's institutional influence is no longer dominant. Moreover, the Games have often reflected political conflicts that extend well beyond colonialism, from Cold War rivalries to contemporary debates over democracy, human rights and international justice.

The origins of the event cannot be erased. Nor should they be. They remain essential to understanding both the Commonwealth and the contradictions that continue to shape it. Yet over the past century, the athletes and member nations have quietly transformed the meaning of the Games. What began as an imperial parade has gradually evolved into a voluntary community of sovereign states, one increasingly defined not by colonial hierarchy but by competition, cooperation and shared aspirations.

The Commonwealth Games survive not because of their history, but in spite of it. Their continued relevance rests not on imperial nostalgia, but on their ability to reinvent themselves in a world that has long outgrown the empire that created them. Whether that reinvention will be enough to carry the Games into their second century remains an open question. But if the Commonwealth endures, it will do so not as a monument to Britain's imperial past, but as a reflection of how former colonies have reclaimed, reshaped and ultimately redefined one of empire's most enduring institutions.