Scenes from the Miami Grand Prix this weekend. The race offered the kind of boring dependability that event organisers have long taken for granted, argues the author.
It’s hard to imagine that Bahrain can make F1 drivers and spectators forget the Iranian missile that reportedly struck roughly 19km from its F1 track, writes Adam Minter.
Formula One resumes this weekend in Miami after an unplanned, five-week pause in its schedule.
The gap was triggered by the US war with Iran and the cancellation of the Bahrain and Saudi Arabian Grands Prix. After years of untethered expansion, the motorsport series faces wartime risks that no amount of planning can fix.
It’s a painful reckoning for F1 — one that the glamour and distance of the Miami Grand Prix can’t mask. Instead, the race throws the reality of empty desert tracks into sharp relief, and exposes an overlooked risk of sports expansion into the Middle East.
This is a surprising turn. For more than two decades, F1 has been one of the biggest beneficiaries of the region’s sports boom. Petrodollars bankrolled races and venues, and drove hosting fees upward, making the region look like a safe home for elite motorsports.
Of course, critics long warned that F1 and other sports were risking their reputations in a region rife with human rights problems. But it turns out reputational concerns were never the real risk. Stability was.
Until recently, the Middle East seemed to offer it — and lots of cash — in abundance.
Just look at what F1 missed out on last month. Between Bahrain and Saudi Arabia, Guggenheim estimates F1 would have collected some of its most lucrative hosting fees: about $115 million (R1.92 billion).
That’s the kind of money that turned the region into a cornerstone of the racing calendar since Bahrain hosted the Middle East’s first F1 race in 2004. Other countries have pursued the same model, investing in sports to drive development, create entertainment options at home and raise their global profiles.
Scrutiny has followed. Critics, including prominent human rights groups like Amnesty International, have labelled it “sportswashing,” arguing that governments are using athletic events to polish damaged reputations and deflect from human rights abuses.
Athletes have spoken up, too. For example, seven-time F1 champion Lewis Hamilton has repeatedly called out human rights records in Middle Eastern host countries, and urged F1 to raise those concerns directly.
However, the criticism, no matter how pointed and pervasive, has amounted to little. Since Covid lockdowns, Middle Eastern investment in global sports has gained momentum, from Abu Dhabi’s deepening ties with the National Basketball Association to Saudi Arabia’s successful 2034 FIFA World Cup bid. Meanwhile, leagues and athletes, despite occasionally paying lip service to social concerns, have signed on for the big payouts that come with doing business with controversial partners.
Away from public debates and outrage, a more immediate and damaging risk was coming into view. In a region divided by historic tension, can events be scheduled with any confidence at all?
Authoritarian muscle and petrodollars papered over these vulnerabilities for years. The resulting illusion of stability justified huge investments in sports infrastructure, including F1 tracks.
But when the missiles flew, everyone — from athletes to league commissioners — had no choice but to take a closer look at the problems that were always there. Frustration with the region’s authoritarian governments has long festered and occasionally bursts into the open. In 2011, a mass protest in Bahrain led to the cancellation of that year’s Grand Prix. Other tensions persist as well, especially the Sunni-Shia divide that fuels proxy conflicts between Iran and its neighbours.
In the short term, overlooked frictions shut down races.
F1 wasn’t the only disrupted sport. A tennis tournament, a star-studded soccer championship featuring Argentina and Spain, a cricket tournament, and a flag football exhibition featuring Tom Brady are among the events that have been cancelled or relocated over the last two months.
Governments across the Middle East are undoubtedly hoping that these disruptions will soon be short-term memories. Those aspirations will soon be tested. F1 is scheduled to race in Qatar and Abu Dhabi later this year. Perhaps the war will be over by then and governments and sporting organisations can rebuild the conditions that made sports possible in the first place.
But even if that happens — and that seems unlikely with the Iran conflict still simmering — will the athletes, fans and sponsors feel comfortable returning to the region? It’s hard to imagine that Bahrain, as just one example, can make F1 drivers and spectators forget the Iranian missile that reportedly struck roughly 19km from its F1 track.
More likely, the region’s reputation as a sports destination will require far more time, work and PR help to repair it.
Regardless of the timeline, sports now have a vivid example of what happens when a presumably stable region is no longer able to host an event. When F1, the NBA or any other league next weighs a Middle Eastern opportunity against a less lucrative location, wartime flashbacks should play a role in the decision.
Meanwhile, Miami will go ahead as planned this weekend (assuming thunderstorms don’t get in the way). The cars will race, the celebrities will prowl the paddock, and sponsors will count their good fortune. It’s the kind of boring dependability that event organisers have long taken for granted. This weekend, that dependability looks like a formula for lasting business success.
Adam Minter is a columnist at Bloomberg Opinion.
News24 encourages freedom of speech and the expression of diverse views. The views of columnists published on News24 are therefore their own and do not necessarily represent the views of News24.
