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lgbtq rights
World Cup or Global Spectacle of Repression?
The US and FIFA have turned the world’s greatest football celebration into a human rights crisis.
May 23, 2026
The 2026 World Cup was supposed to be a symbol of global unity, cultural diversity, and a shared celebration among nations; an event that would place football beyond politics, borders, and ideology. Yet the closer we move toward the start of the tournament, another image is taking shape: one that speaks not of football’s excitement, but of the heavy shadow of securitization, anti-immigrant hostility, discrimination, and a crisis of human rights legitimacy. Human Rights Watch’s recent warning that the 2026 World Cup could turn into a “human rights disaster” is not merely a publicity-driven statement; it is a sign of a deep rupture between the West’s moral claims and the political reality of the United States today.
The 2026 World Cup is set to be jointly hosted by the US, Canada, and Mexico; three countries presented in FIFA’s official publicity as symbols of “multiculturalism,” “freedom,” and “diversity.” In practice, however, the tournament will be held in an environment shaped by hard-line immigration policies, the securitized atmosphere following President Donald Trump’s return, the rise of far-right currents, and intensifying cultural wars—an environment that displays a very different face of these countries.
The remarks by Minky Worden, director of Global Initiatives at Human Rights Watch, are highly significant because she points to an issue that FIFA and the US are trying to sidestep: the possible role of US Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) in the security environment of the World Cup. The central concern is not merely the presence of immigration officers in stadiums; the issue is that the World Cup may become a platform for normalizing harsh immigration policies and securitized control. In a country where images of migrant detentions, mass deportations, family separations, and violent treatment of asylum-seekers have repeatedly made headlines in recent years, it is only natural that many human rights activists would be concerned about the psychological and social safety of migrants, Muslims, Latinos, and even foreign fans.
The reality is that the US today is no longer able to preserve the uncontested image of the “land of freedom” as it did in the 1990s, or even during the Obama era. Trump’s return, the intensification of domestic polarization, and the radicalization of the political atmosphere have pushed the United States into a stage in which “security” has prevailed over “freedom” more than ever before. The 2026 World Cup will be held precisely in such an atmosphere: one in which football is not merely a sporting event, but part of the US' internal political and identity struggle.
Perhaps the greatest danger for US and FIFA is precisely this: that the world may remember the 2026 World Cup not for its goals and matches, but for images of migrant detentions, a police-state atmosphere, culture wars, and human rights contradictions.
One of the most important dimensions of the crisis is the issue of the “culture war,” a concept Worden also references. Today in the US, issues such as migrants’ rights, LGBTQ+ rights, race, religion, and cultural identity have become the main battlefield of political confrontation. Under such conditions, the World Cup can no longer claim that “sport is separate from politics.” On the contrary, the tournament is likely to become a stage for displaying these very ideological fractures.
This issue is especially significant when it comes to LGBTQ+ rights. The fact that only the city of Atlanta has referred in its official programs to support for LGBTQ+ rights shows that even among the US host cities, there is no clear consensus on human rights standards. This comes as FIFA has repeatedly claimed in recent years that it has made human rights one of its strategic principles. The glaring contradiction lies here: An institution that took positions on minority rights in Qatar is now acting with greater caution and silence in the face of potential human rights crises in the US.
At this point, the main issue is no longer only the US; it is the crisis of FIFA’s own legitimacy. FIFA has tried for years to present itself as an institution above politics, but the reality is that global football has long since become part of the structure of power and geopolitical interests. The granting of the so-called “peace prize” to Trump, at a time when his immigration and security policies face widespread global criticism, became so controversial precisely for this reason. Critics believe FIFA is less concerned with human rights than with preserving its relations with the political and economic powers of the host countries.
This crisis is not merely a moral issue; it is directly tied to the future credibility of international institutions. If FIFA remains silent in the face of discriminatory policies, a securitized environment, and civil restrictions, how can it continue to claim that it defends universal values? Are human rights standards applied only to non-Western countries? And if human rights violations in the US are ignored, does the very concept of the “universality” of human rights not fall into crisis?
The US itself, meanwhile, faces a profound contradiction. For decades, Washington has used human rights as a tool for producing global legitimacy and has pressured many of its rivals through this very discourse. But now, the same country that accused others of violating freedoms is facing warnings from human rights organizations about its treatment of migrants, minorities, and its internal security environment. This development is a sign of the erosion of American soft power—power that was once Washington’s most important instrument of global influence.
From this perspective, the 2026 World Cup is not merely a sporting event; it is a test of the gap between the US' official narrative and its domestic reality. If the tournament is accompanied by an intensely securitized atmosphere, the control of migrants, discriminatory treatment, or the suppression of protests, the image of the US that forms in the minds of millions of global viewers will be very different from the traditional narrative of a “free American society.” In the age of social media, even one violent encounter around the stadiums could turn into a global crisis for the credibility of both the US and FIFA.
In the meantime, the more important point is that football is no longer merely a tool of entertainment as it once was. Today, the World Cup is part of the competition of narratives and the war of images. Countries try to use this event to display their stability, legitimacy, and cultural appeal. But if the US cannot manage the contradiction between its human rights slogans and the reality of its domestic politics, the 2026 World Cup may become a symbol of crisis in the very values the West has claimed for decades to defend.
Perhaps the greatest danger for US and FIFA is precisely this: that the world may remember the 2026 World Cup not for its goals and matches, but for images of migrant detentions, a police-state atmosphere, culture wars, and human rights contradictions. In that case, this tournament will not merely be a failed sporting event; it will become a symbol of an era in which even the greatest celebration of world football could not conceal the rupture between power, politics, and human rights.
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'Kids Will Suffer': Supreme Court Axes Colorado’s Ban on Harmful LGBTQ+ ‘Conversion Therapy’
Young people are more than twice as likely to attempt suicide if they have been subject to conversion therapy, which LGBTQ+ rights advocates say is "proven to cause lasting psychological harm."
Mar 31, 2026
The US Supreme Court on Tuesday struck down Colorado’s ban on “conversion therapy,” drawing warnings from LGBTQ+ groups that the ruling could expose children in dozens of states to the harmful practice.
Colorado's law forbade licensed physicians and mental healthcare providers from attempting to "convert" or change a minor's sexuality, a practice that the American Psychological Association has found to be both ineffective and dangerous, raising rates of depression, anxiety, and suicide in LGBTQ+ youth.
The law defined "conversion therapy" as any treatment that “attempts or purports to change an individual’s sexual orientation or gender identity, including efforts to change behaviors or gender expressions or to eliminate or reduce sexual or romantic attraction or feelings toward individuals of the same sex.”
It allowed exemptions for pastors and religious organizations. It also allowed health professionals to engage in wide-ranging discussions with children about their sexual and gender identities, so long as they did not try to change the child's orientation.
Nevertheless, on Tuesday, the high court sided 8-1 with Kaley Chiles, a Christian counselor who said she wished to offer talk therapy to children who want to reduce same-sex attraction and argued that the ban on this practice was in violation of her First Amendment rights.
Chiles was backed by the Trump administration, as well as the far-right Alliance Defending Freedom, a Christian nationalist legal group with a long history of seeking to outlaw same-sex conduct.
Most famously, the group argued in support of state laws criminalizing homosexuality in the 2003 Lawrence v. Texas case, and it has since gone on to back many other cases attacking birth control access, same-sex marriage, and transgender equality.
In the majority opinion, the conservative Justice Neil Gorsuch wrote that Colorado's law “censors speech based on viewpoint" and therefore must be subject to strict scrutiny—the highest form of judicial review, which the court determined it did not pass.
The lone dissenting justice, Ketanji Brown Jackson, argued that Chiles' treatment was not mere speech, but that it was acting in her capacity "as a licensed healthcare professional," which formed the crux of Colorado's defense of the ban.
She argued that the ruling "opens a dangerous can of worms" and "threatens to impair states’ ability to regulate the provision of medical care in any respect."
"Because the majority plays with fire in this case, I fear that the people of this country will get burned," Jackson said.
Two liberals, Justices Elena Kagan and Sonia Sotomayor, joined the conservatives in striking the law down. However, they argued in a concurring opinion that a full ban on therapy aimed at changing minors' sexuality might be more lawful than the one Colorado passed, which included carveouts for specific circumstances.
Kagan also argued that allowing Colorado to outlaw conversion therapy could backfire and give red states the legal framework to also ban counselors from providing affirmative care to LGBTQ+ minors.
LGBTQ+ rights organizations have roundly condemned the court's decision, which is expected to weaken bans on conversion therapy in the 23 states and the District of Columbia that currently have them.
"Today’s reckless decision means more American kids will suffer," said Kelley Robinson, the president of the Human Rights Campaign. "The Court has weaponized free speech in order to prioritize anti-LGBTQ+ bias over the safety, health, and well-being of children."
A 2024 mental health survey by the Trevor Project, an LGBTQ+ advocacy group, found that 13% of LGBTQ+ young people have been either threatened with or subject to conversion therapy—including about 1 in 6 transgender or nonbinary youth.
Previously, the group published peer-reviewed research in the American Journal of Public Health, showing that young people subject to conversion therapy were more than twice as likely to attempt suicide as their peers.
"These efforts, no matter what proponents call them, no matter what any court says, are still proven to cause lasting psychological harm," said Trevor Project CEO Jaymes Black. "That’s why protections have been enacted in more than 20 states, and are supported by every major medical and mental health association in the country."
Carl Charles, a senior attorney at Lambda Legal who joined more than a dozen survivors of the practice in a friend of the court brief in support of Colorado's law, said, "I know firsthand the long-lasting harms of conversion therapy, having been subjected to it when I was 15 years old."
"This practice did not change my sexual orientation or gender identity," said Charles, a transgender man. "Instead, it destroyed important relationships and created shame and fear that took time and effort to undo. For many survivors, it is a reverberating life-long harm."
"LGBTQ+ youth do not need to be changed," Charles said. "Rather, like all youth, they need to be supported and celebrated for the unique and important people they are becoming."
Colorado's Democratic Gov. Jared Polis has said he will seek to pass new legislation that complies with the Supreme Court's ruling.
"Conversion therapy doesn’t work, can seriously harm youth, and Coloradans should beware before turning over their hard-earned money to a scam," Polis said. "I am evaluating the US Supreme Court ruling and working to figure out how to better protect LGBTQ youth and free speech in Colorado."
In other states whose bans could be undermined by the ruling, efforts have already begun to ensure that providers who cause harm to children still face accountability.
In California, which has a similar ban on conversion therapy to Colorado’s, state Sen. Scott Weiner (D-11) introduced a bill proposing a longer statute of limitations and making it easier for LGBTQ+ individuals to bring malpractice claims against medical professionals who subject them to conversion therapy.
Weiner noted that the Supreme Court's ruling "explicitly states that malpractice claims for conversion therapy are different than bans," since they require a plaintiff to demonstrate injury caused by their treatment.
"You can’t 'convert' someone who’s LGBTQ—full stop—and people who think you can are peddling quackery," Weiner said. "California will always have the community’s back."
The 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline can be reached by calling or texting 988, or through chat at 988lifeline.org. The Trevor Project, which serves LGBTQ+ youth, can be reached at 1-866-488-7386, by texting "START" to 678-678, or through chat at TheTrevorProject.org. Both offer 24/7, free, and confidential support.
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The VA is Ripping Away Abortion Care for Veterans... Again
This isn’t just a rollback. It’s a deliberate erasure of rights that we fought for in the wake of deeply personal and collective loss.
Jan 25, 2026
In 2022, my wife and I lost our first child. We named them June. They were deeply wanted and fiercely loved. In one fateful appointment, our entire worlds changed. We learned that June had a severe fetal bladder abnormality and was unable to produce amniotic fluid. Without it, their lungs would never develop. They would not survive.
We made the impossible decision to end the pregnancy—an act of compassion, love, and medical necessity.
At the time, the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) had a total ban on abortion care and counseling.
No exceptions for rape. No exceptions for incest. Not even to save a veteran’s life.
Veterans and our families deserve futures built on compassion, justice, and love—not fear.
After our loss, the only way I felt I could keep breathing was to turn that grief into meaning. I shared our story with lawmakers to help reverse this dangerous policy so that veterans and their families could turn to the VA—no matter the circumstance or where they lived. That fall, the VA finally took steps to reverse the ban, signaling a long-overdue shift toward care, autonomy, and dignity.
But that progress was short-lived.
The VA just finalized a new abortion ban policy that, once again, excludes exceptions for rape or incest and offers only vague assurances that it will intervene if our lives are at risk. They initially implemented this enormous change in secret without telling veterans or their families.
In effect, it returns the VA to what was once the most extreme abortion ban in the country—an outright prohibition on care and counseling that applies to every VA facility nationwide, regardless of state law.
This isn’t just a rollback. It’s a deliberate erasure of rights that we fought for in the wake of deeply personal and collective loss.
And it is not happening in isolation. The same administration driving this ban is also working diligently to eliminate gender-affirming care, defund programs for minority and underrepresented veterans, and strip inclusive language and data collection from federal policy. The message is unmistakable: Some veterans count. Others don’t.
Veterans are not a monolith. We are a diverse community—LGBTQIA+, people of color, disabled, parents, caregivers, survivors, and yes, women too. Our community exists at every intersection of identity and experience, and our families serve alongside us. Our care cannot be conditional. Our humanity is not negotiable.
Policy is never just about one issue. It is intersectional—because our lives are intersectional.
Reproductive care cannot be separated from gender-affirming care, from disability access and mental health, from racial justice, or maternal health. Our needs don’t exist in silos, and neither do we. When one right is taken away, the loss reverberates across all the others.
I’ve seen what’s possible when we refuse to stay silent—how lived experience can reshape policy and expand care that has never existed before. And I know exactly what is at stake when care is denied. Pregnancy can change on a dime.
June’s life, though brief, transformed mine. Through their memory, I found purpose. I found a voice. And in their honor, I will continue working to ensure that no veteran or family ever has to face what we faced alone.
We should be building systems rooted in care, equity, and truth. We should be honoring the fullness of who veterans are, how we serve, and how we build our families. Instead, our fundamental rights are being stripped away—one policy memo at a time—and once again, we are being asked to fight for the right to make personal decisions about our health, our futures, and our families.
I will not allow June’s legacy to become another casualty of politics. Their life will be a call to care.
This moment demands more than endurance. It demands action.
The policies we pass—within the VA and beyond—shape the futures of veterans and the people who love us. Had my wife not been able to access critical care in her time of need—had we not been given the chance to make the most compassionate choice amid impossible circumstances—we might never have known the joy of raising our child today, a joy born from grief and shaped by love.
Veterans and our families deserve futures built on compassion, justice, and love—not fear.
Because in the end, we are all only human.
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