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A new private jet emissions tracker shows 136 kilotonnes of additional emissions before the final match.
As fans gather for the FIFA World Cup final match, pitting Spain against defending champion Argentina, New York City has been engulfed in a shroud of wildfire smoke.
At the same time, thousands of wealthy fans are arriving in luxury private jets, the most carbon-emissions polluting form of transportation. This seems an appropriate image for what may prove to be the most polluting sports tournament in world history, thanks in part to private jet excess.
The wildfire smoke, from several hundred uncontrolled blazes across Ontario and northern Minnesota, have contributing to air quality emergencies across the northern U.S. On Thursday, the city of Detroit registered a whopping 724 on the Air Quality Index. Index ratings over 300 are considered a health emergency for all living things.
Scientists are often cautious about attributing blame to climate change, but there is little doubt these wildfires are supercharged by global climate change, as forests dry out and atmospheric rain cycles are disrupted.
On Saturday, the air quality in East Rutherford, New Jersey registered 157, an “unhealthy” level. The pollution index is anticipated to improve for the Finals, with weather shifts and a thunderstorm scrubbing the air. This may bring the pollutant index to 100, considered “moderate” but posing risks for sensitive groups including older adults, children, and those with lung or heart disease.
Compounding the injustice, ordinary fans, taxpayers, and the flying public subsidize the pollution spewing activity of the high-flying private jet class. Private jets don’t chip in their fair share of the cost of airspace, let alone their environmental impact. And last year, the U.S. Congress slathered on more tax breaks for private jets and their ultra-wealthy users.
These tax breaks don’t even address the biggest subsidy: the ability of private jets to avoid any responsibility for the health and environmental costs of their pollution impacts.
With an assist from our new IPS Private Jet Emission Tracker, designed to assess the impact of special events, we know that thousands of private jets have already attended the first 102 matches of the FIFA World Cup. Prior to the final match, the private jets attending the tournament have spewed an estimated 136 kt of additional carbon pollution into the atmosphere, the equivalent of driving 31,723 gasoline powered cars for a year. The Tracker looks at private jet activity in match-host cities over five years and documents the spike in activity.
In our assessment, Red Card for Private Jets at the FIFA World Cup, we document the excessive emissions and the costs to everyone else. We call on FIFA to ban private jets at matches and live up to their pledge to be carbon neutral by 2040.
FIFA should also stop designing tournaments that span continents and cater to the ultra-wealthy private jet class and not ordinary fans. The 2030 FIFA World Cup will be played in six different countries, with most matches in Morocco, Portugal, and Spain. But in honor of the 100th anniversary of the World Cup, the opening matches will be played in the South American nations of Uruguay, Argentina and Paraguay.
FIFA is clearly competing to produce the world’s most polluting sport competition. They must do more to protect the players, the fans, and our planet. The World Cup belongs to everyone, not just the private jet class.
In Gaza, where “the essence of childhood has been destroyed,” even the smallest acts of humanity have become acts punishable by death.
Mohamed al-Wahidi, 57 years old, a husband, father and grandfather, spent his days doing what aid workers do in a place with almost nothing left: clearing rubble, reopening roads, repairing a leaking pipe, filling a community water tank, or building tents for families with nowhere else to go. In his spare time, he carried out a “perilous project” setting up screens and generators across Gaza so people could watch the World Cup. On the eve of Egypt's match against Argentina, Israel killed him along with the 33-year-old taxi driver as well as two young brothers, ages 8 and 10, walking nearby. Israel's military said it was investigating “the incident.”
As it almost always does, Israel commits murder first, then trumps up a pretext after the kill.
Al-Wahidi is one name in Gaza's daily killing rituals under the supposed ceasefire. Israel has murdered more than 1,100 Palestinians in the Strip since October 2025—265 of them children. Not a single Israeli civilian has been killed on the other side. This is the "peace" Trump's board is managing.
Nearly 1 million people remain trapped in tents through a Gaza summer where temperatures reach 35°C. Season after season, they are left exposed to the elements: first a freezing winter, then the merciless heat of summer. Families survive in tent cities or beneath dangling concrete slabs in destroyed buildings. Meanwhile, Israel continues to block shade nets and plastic sheeting at the border, just as it blocked warm blankets during the winter.
This is what the Board of Peace normalizes: an occupying power expanding while a one-sided truce remains in force, a starvation policy rebranded as a stabilization success.
Children bake in tents, while Israel keeps pushing the civilian population into smaller corridors. When the so-called Board of Peace was formed, Israel occupied 53% of Gaza. A month later, 60%. By late May, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu ordered the Israel Defense Forces to seize 70%, squeezing 2.3 million human beings into an ever-shrinking cage away from all the farming areas. Energy Minister Eli Cohen has said the quiet part out loud, telling Israeli radio that Israeli control will keep growing “until we reach 100%.” The next phase envisions corralling Palestinians into fenced “humanitarian shelters” near the ruins of Rafah as part of the ultimate ethnic cleansing program, cynically marketed as a “plan for free movement.”
Concentration camps built on the same mechanisms Nazi Germany used to cage Jews in World War II. A United Nations independent commission of inquiry released this summer found that Israel's killing of children in Gaza is not collateral damage of war but part of a strategy to destroy the biological continuity of Palestinian society. Acts that meet the legal definition for war crimes and the crime against humanity.
Israel has murdered or injured more than 10% of Gaza’s population since October 2023. At least 20,179 children, more than 5,000 under 5 years old, and another 44,143 injured. The number of murdered children is one-third of the total number of dead Palestinians in Gaza. The commission documented children shot by snipers and quadcopter-mounted rifles with a precision that ruled out accidents and cited Israeli soldiers' own testimonies where soldiers celebrate and congratulate each other after murdering civilians. The commission called Gaza the most dangerous place on Earth to be a child.
In June, a father named Bahaa Abu Al-Ajeen watched an Israeli soldier kneel and shoot his 3-year-old son in the head as the boy cried in his arms near Deir al-Balah. In April, 9-year-old Ritaj Rihan was shot through the mouth while standing in a classroom tent waiting for her teacher. These are not outliers under a ceasefire. They are the continuation of an Israeli genocide under the shadow of the ceasefire.
When Israel and the US launched their war against Iran at the end of February, Israel closed every crossing into Gaza outright. Not because there is any connection, but because of Israel’s malevolent nature and because it can get away with it under the fog of war. Weekly truck deliveries collapsed from an average of roughly 4,200 down to just 590. Kerem Shalom and Zikim remain the only crossings still functioning, and even now, roughly half the trucks arriving from Egypt are turned away rather than unloaded.
As of now, aid volumes have never recovered to where they stood before the Iran war, let alone reached the minimum the UN says Gaza needs. Four UN agencies have already warned that the famine the ceasefire was supposed to end could return without sustained access. Sixty-eight percent of Gaza's population is now burning garbage to cook because there isn't enough gas. Not one of Gaza's 37 hospitals is fully operational; only 19 are even partially running. Nearly half of essential medicines are out of stock, and Israel is delaying the surgical equipment needed to treat the more than 43,000 people left with life-changing injuries. More than 40,000 people who will likely become permanently disabled for lack of treatment are another phase of Israel's silent genocide.
The Board of Peace's own six-month progress report claims aid distribution rose 70% and that basic food needs have been “stabilized” for the first time since 2023. In the art of euphemism, 70% of zero is zero, and basic food has “stabilized,” meaning shipments are entering regularly, but not that it is adequate. Conspicuously absent from the report is any mention that aid truck deliveries have never returned to their pre-Iran war levels and remain well below the minimum the UN itself considers necessary.
The board's own biannual report to the Security Council spends its pages blaming the Palestinian resistance, with no mention of an occupying army that has pushed past the ceasefire's demarcated line, nor Israel’s order to aid groups like Doctors Without Borders, the Norwegian Refugee Council, and Oxfam to choose between handing over staff names to a government that targets humanitarian workers, or ceasing operations in Gaza entirely.
Even how to count the murdered journalists is contested. The Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) was pressured to redefine who qualifies as a “Palestinian” journalist. The move was intended to give Israel a license to kill Palestinian reporters with impunity. A CPJ board member who objected to considering Israel's request was removed within days of protesting publicly. The board ultimately kept its definition intact, but only after stripping 20 murdered Palestinian journalists from the count.
This is what the Board of Peace normalizes: an occupying power expanding while a one-sided truce remains in force, a starvation policy rebranded as a stabilization success, concentration camps as a housing plan, ethnic cleansing as free movement, and a licensed death toll that keeps climbing with impunity.
A grandfather who wanted nothing more than to give displaced families an hour of joy watching a soccer match instead became another name on the ever-growing list of genocide victims. In Gaza, where “the essence of childhood has been destroyed,” even the smallest acts of humanity have become acts punishable by death.
Peace was never the board’s plan. Genocide management was.
The support shown for Palestinians has been especially inspiring at a World Cup that, like others, has been tainted by more signs of corruption.
The Palestinian national soccer team isn’t playing in this year’s World Cup. But despite a national and global crackdown on pro-Palestinian protest and speech, the games have witnessed an outpouring of support for Palestinians. Fans, players, and coaches from the likes of Egypt, Scotland, Brazil, South Korea, Morocco, Mexico, Turkey, Norway, Senegal, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Algeria, Spain, and perhaps all 48 countries playing have publicly shown support for Palestinian lives and their struggle for freedom and a return to lands taken since 1948.
This comes after nearly three years in which the world has watched the Israeli government respond to October 7, 2023 Hamas attacks on Israel, which killed around 1,200, with a war that has killed more than 73,000, mostly civilians, and is widely considered a genocide by international experts.
Games have featured Palestinian flags held aloft in stadiums and by players and coaches on the fields. Chants of “Free Palestine” have come from the stands and the streets surrounding games. People have attended games wearing the Palestinian national team jersey. Others have flown banners reading, “Kick Israel Out of FIFA” and “Red Card Israel.” (FIFA is the infamously corrupt international organization that runs the tournament; a red card is given to soccer players ejected and banned from games for foul play.)
The support shown for Palestinians has been especially inspiring at a World Cup that, like others, has been tainted by more signs of corruption. Most recently, President Donald Trump called FIFA’s president to overturn a red-card ban for a US player so that he could participate in what turned out to be a lopsided loss for Team America. The FIFA president also awarded Trump a meaningless “peace prize” not long before the United States joined Israel in an illegal and historically unpopular war in Iran.
“Palestinian families don’t get their homes back because people flew a flag in a stadium. But movements build over time and through moments of visibility, through the accumulation of pressure, and through the refusal to let the issue disappear.”
Expressions of solidarity at soccer games don’t change anything on their own. During the days of the tournament alone, the Israeli government, which receives extensive military backing from the US government, has killed dozens of people in Gaza. Before a match between Argentina and Egypt, Israel killed Mohammed al-Wahidi, a representative of an Egyptian humanitarian organization in Gaza, along with two children and another person, on the day al-Wahidi was organizing a Gaza City viewing party to watch the game. (Al-Wahidi is one of more than 1,000 Palestinians, including hundreds of women and children, reported killed by the Israeli military in Gaza since the officially declared “ceasefire” last year.)
A soccer tournament, alone, doesn’t solve anything, Palestinian journalist Dina El-Kurd has said: “Palestinian families don’t get their homes back because people flew a flag in a stadium. But movements build over time and through moments of visibility, through the accumulation of pressure, and through the refusal to let the issue disappear.”
Egypt’s coach Hossam Hassan has been one of the most bravely and consistently outspoken. “Before being Arab, Muslim, Christian, or anything else, I am a human being,” he said in a press conference when he might have only spoken about playing against probably history’s greatest-ever player in Lionel Messi and Argentina. “Through football—the world’s soft power—I want to send a message,” he said. “Please let the Palestinian people live. I ask athletes and journalists everywhere to help deliver that message.”
Along with coaches, journalists, and players—including, one hopes, the likes of Messi—isn’t that a message to share at viewing parties, bars, and family gatherings during the World Cup’s final matches—and beyond?
The red, green, and black colors of the Palestinian flag are easy enough to apply as face paint. I’ll be taking some small steps by wearing a Palestine jersey and using the games to raise funds for humanitarian relief in Gaza. Discussing the morality of continuing US military support for the Israeli government is a start.
Journalist El Kurd says she’s felt a kind of hope seeing the flag waived in stadiums: “It’s not the hope that this will be resolved soon or easily, but the hope that says Palestinians are not alone and the cause is not forgotten.”
"I can think of only one thing more satiric than the only country on Earth that still routinely makes fun of soccer fixing the world’s biggest soccer tournament in their own favor. That would be fixing it and losing anyway," said one observer.
President Donald Trump's meddling in the 2026 FIFA World Cup came back to haunt him on Monday after Belgium demolished the US Men's National Team in a 4-1 rout.
On Sunday, multiple reports revealed that FIFA had overturned its one-game ban of top US player Folarin Balogun after Trump placed a phone call to FIFA President Gianni Infantino urging him to review referees’ decision to give Balogun a red card.
Trump's interference with the World Cup's disciplinary procedures and FIFA's decision to suspend Balogun's red card and allow him to play in the wake of Trump's call both drew sharp condemnation from longtime sports journalists and professional footballers, who said it called the integrity of the entire competition into question.
Concerns about the US winning a tainted victory due to Trump were ultimately banished, however, when Belgium dominated the US and eliminated them from the tournament.
After Belgium scored its fourth goal of the night, its players ridiculed Trump by doing an impersonation of the dance the president often performs at campaign rallies.
La selección de #Belgica se burla de Trump y en su casa. pic.twitter.com/sQEwyKqM3L
— ZuritaCarpio (@ZuritaCarpio) July 7, 2026
The Belgian team's social media accounts also took a shot at the president by posting images of victorious players alongside the caption, "Overturn this."
Overturn this. 🧏♂️ #USABEL pic.twitter.com/KcBAJp3Z7d
— Belgian Red Devils (@BelRedDevils) July 7, 2026
Media outlet MeidasTouch observed after the US loss that there have now been multiple occasions where the president has injected himself into a major sporting event, only to see his preferred competitor come up short.
"Sports fans are calling it the Trump curse," MeidasTouch wrote in a social media post. "He attended the Super Bowl and predicted a Chiefs win, but the Eagles blew them out... He sat in the owner’s suite when the Knicks snapped their huge playoff streak in NBA Finals Game 3. And he attended the Ryder Cup where Europe topped the US team."
A Tuesday report in USA Today similarly examined the possibility of a "Trump curse" in sporting events, of which the US Men's National Team's "error-plagued, idea-less, and lackluster performance" was only the latest example.
In a Tuesday column in The Financial Times, Edward Luce linked Trump's failed meddling in the World Cup with other disastrous initiatives such as his infamously botched renovation of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool.
"Call it the anti-Midas touch," Luce quipped. "Donald Trump loves gold. Yet so much of what he handles, from reflecting pools to US alliances, seems to turn into something else."
French newspaper Le Monde also took a dig at the president in its report on the US-Belgium match, writing sarcastically that "we are being told that Donald Trump wants to launch a legal action against Gianni Infantino, accusing the Belgian national team of having played football this Tuesday."
Writing in The Guardian on Tuesday, columnist Marina Hyde noted that Trump had turned global public opinion squarely against the US team in the tournament, and there was "joy" at seeing the president's machinations flop.
"It really brought the world together," Hyde remarked. "The last time this many people cheered on a Belgian resistance, it was 1914 and the Germans had just crossed the Meuse."
In a Monday column published by The Globe and Mail in Canada, Cathal Kelly declared that Trump's failed intervention had turned the US into a "laughingstock."
"I can think of only one thing more satiric than the only country on Earth that still routinely makes fun of soccer fixing the world’s biggest soccer tournament in their own favor," wrote Kelly. "That would be fixing it and losing anyway."
No other event, short perhaps of a nuclear war or a comet strike, could bring the entire planet together.
Simon Kuper is 56 now. His first memory of a World Cup, if not his first-ever vivid memory—for many of us who grew up outside the United States, the two are often the same—was the 1978 final between the Netherlands and Argentina. “I recall that night as vividly as almost anything else in my childhood,” he writes in World Cup Fever. “A World Cup is like Proust’s Madeleine. Each new World Cup reminds you of past World Cups, and the people you watched them with.” The book is a history of the World Cup through a few dozen madeleines.
For Americans, it’s as good a guide as any to a tournament of paradoxes, this too-big-to-fail quadrennial festival of corruption, cheating, profiteering, nationalist chauvinism, and mostly crappy soccer that nevertheless can hypnotize and transport to a utopia of competition as idealized and convincing as Pelé’s deification of the sport as “the beautiful game.” I think we watch not so much for the thrill—you have to admit that most games at this watered-down level are snoozfests (“such a party off the field but so dull on it,” as Kuper writes) but for the nostalgia of a game that never existed, but that we reimagine with every match.
“So much of a modern World Cup is repetition, especially as you grow older,” Kuper writes. “After decades of tournaments shown live on TV, each new France-Brazil or England-Argentina or Holland-Germany is just a repeat of earlier versions. Each victory or red card or controversy is a quotation of past ones. A match can never mean as much as it did the first time around. Win or lose this one, you know it isn’t the end of the story: At some point in the next few decades, there’ll be a replay. Repetition turns down the emotional dial of World Cups.”
He’s right, with a caveat: The World Cup is like Jorge Luis Borges’s idea that we rewrite every story every time we read one. The very same game will be remembered a billion different times in a way that the World Series or the Super Bowl or cricket’s World Cup never could be, because no other sport has the World Cup’s reach. No other event, short perhaps of a nuclear war or a comet strike, could bring the entire planet together.
It exists to transform illusion into reality. The illusion is that we are one world playing the same game, speaking the same language, respecting the same rules, existing on a level playing field regardless of origin, race, religion, even fifa ranking.
So just as the tournament is a paradox of beauty and foulness, we all have paradoxical relationships with it, even those of us who don’t follow it. Our refusal to follow it is itself a statement, like the citizen who snubs the ballot box on election day. They, too, are making a statement. Like it or not, the World Cup reminds us that we are on the same planet, that we all share the same blood that kicks a ball the same way, but with a billion splendid variations.
No two soccer fans will see the same game the same way or ever agree about anything soccer, just as I had my differences with Kuper’s book and some of his interpretations: “And once your country has won the World Cup once or twice, it’s generally enough. The more you win, the less it matters.” Tell that to the winners. But he’s better placed than most to guide us. His lineage reads like a demographic World Cup. He was born in Uganda to South African parents, spent his early years in England as a British citizen, moved to the Netherlands when he was 7, studied in England and the United States (Oxford, Harvard), was naturalized a French citizen, now living in Paris with his French wife and raising French children who identified as French, and spent most of his career covering soccer for the London-based Financial Times.
The 1978 World Cup was the first of his innumerable crushing disappointments, as World Cups always must be for 95% of fans. Every four years there’s only one winner out of 195 nations. That one stung Kuper more because the Dutch lost the final for the second time in a row, having lost to Germany in 1974. This time they were playing in Argentina, whose team had blatantly cheated its way to the final. It wasn’t unusual for a tournament stitched in fraud and corruption since its first edition in 1930. It still is, fawning to authoritarian regimes, from Benito Mussolini’s Italy to the junta’s Argentina, Vladimir Putin’s Russia, dictatorial emirs’ Qatar the last time around, and now Donald Trump’s diminished America. Thankfully Canada and Mexico are here to redeem this World Cup, which they also share.
The murderous military dictatorship of Jorge Rafael Videla showcased the 1978 World Cup the way Adolf Hitler showcased the 1936 Olympics, as a distraction masked in bogus legitimacy. Videla had the “disappearance” of some 30,000 dissidents to his name by the time he was done, and that night watched the final alongside Henry Kissinger, a fellow criminal against humanity, who had also helped Videla rig a match to ensure Argentina’s appearance in the final.
I remember that final too. It was my second. My first was Germany-Holland in 1974, my one and only memory of watching with my dad, who died two years later. We watched Argentina-Holland live, my mother, my grandmother, our Dutch Catholic priest, and me on our black-and-white TV in the dining room of our house in Hamlaya, a tiny village in the mountains of Lebanon where we thought we’d escaped the war and where the signal from Cyprus was always clear. Father Niederer didn’t have a TV. He spent the evening with us and his high hopes, especially after the Dutch managed to hold Argentina to a tie through the first 90 minutes. In the 90th minute a Dutch striker had almost won it, hitting the goal post instead. Extra time briefly ended Father Niederer’s faith as Argentina scored once, then again to take the title in a 3-1 match. The junta won. All those masses for nothing. Kuper had also watched with his grandparents when he was 8 in Leiden, the smaller town between Amsterdam and The Hague. For Kuper, the next two decades were all TV watching, then as an in-person spectator until he started reporting about the World Cup for the Financial Times in 1994, the first the United States hosted (with Kissinger’s help). This year will be his ninth. He now proposes to tell you A Soccer Journey in Nine Tournaments, as goes the book’s subtitle, by synthesizing four decades of his reporter’s notebooks. (The English edition calls it A Footballing Journey in Nine Tournaments: Snobs would have you believe that calling it anything but football is a misnomer. I don’t play that game and use the terms interchangeably.)
Wisely, Kuper is not interested in recounting matches. Football matches are like military battles and soap operas. “There’s nothing deader, for a writer, than a dead football match. I’m sorry, but you really had to be there,” he writes. Kuper is interested in the unexpected insights into national character that an improvised dance party might reveal; in the endemic corruption of a tournament that turns us all into addicts every four years; in the failed promise of economic booms that leaves the poor in host countries like Brazil, South Africa, Qatar, and Mexico as exploited as in colonial times. The colonist is fifa, the dictatorial soccer federation expecting to reap $14 billion from this year’s tournament.
Kuper describes the exploitation in South Africa, Brazil, and Qatar, the regressive, repressive American ally that spent more than $200 billion preparing for a 2022 tournament built on the graveyards of imported labor working in near-slave conditions and without rights. “Under Qatar’s traditional ‘kafala’ system, migrant workers were practically the property of their employers,” Kuper writes. “A boss could deport an employee for no reason, or hold their passport and keep them in Qatar against their will.” Qatar had promised to reform the kafala system. The moment Argentina hoisted the 2022 trophy at Lusail Stadium, all promises vanished. Now Saudi Arabia, an even more regressive, undemocratic country with its own kafala system, is set to host in 2034.
The book at first felt disheveled, jumping from one scant segment to another like so many rapid passes in a game, as if Kuper was eager to throw in every anecdote he could find in his notebooks. Kuper’s interview with Diego Maradona, one of the game’s greatest players and one of its most distasteful characters, is pointless other than to show Kuper scored the five-minute encounter.
European journalists have no problem buying access, either, or accepting lavish gifts: “I flew to the Chelsea-Manchester United Champions League final in Moscow as a guest of UEFA, the European football authority. I had a fabulous room in the five-star Marriott Grand Hotel. (Did UEFA corrupt me? I don’t think so.)” He never makes the connection between that sort of payola and the buying of referees and game-fixing he documents so well.
Some of his insights are no more penetrating than comparing Germany’s emerging prosperity on and off the pitch in 1990 to a bus driver’s “villa with a veranda in a spotless village,” or telling us that “A World Cup can’t change a country. But it can divert an individual’s life path,” as if there were anything comparable between France’s decline into riots, fading power, and economic stagnation after the 1998 World Cup with his decision to quit the Financial Times and become a French citizen. As all World Cup books must, this one pays homage to cheaters like Maradona, biters like Uruguay’s Luis Suárez, criers like Portugal’s Cristiano Ronaldo, and charisma-challenged virtuosos like Messi, now hobbling through his last show.
Soon you get used to the Kuper style. It has the verve of 1970s Dutch football—total football, as they called it—placing every element of the game in service of the story without letting judgments necessarily mar the exuberance. Yes, the game is corrupt—there’s a hint that even Nelson Mandela had a part in the $10 million bribe disguised as a cultural gift that bought the World Cup for South Africa—but there was that priceless moment when the Japanese let loose on their own soil at the Japan-Belgium match in 2002 and showed the world a joy we’d rarely seen. There may have been hooliganism in the past, but in pubs and on trains fans from opposing teams typically drink and dance together. Kuper unfortunately doesn’t venture into calculating the demographics of World Cup-conceived babies every four years. I suspect the cross-fertilization is as rich as during the Crusades. But he documents an alarming incidence of heart attacks during every tournament.
Another paradox: World Cup play is inferior to anything you’ll see in club football in top leagues in England, Germany, Spain, Italy, and France: Any of those countries’ top clubs could beat all but the four or five highest ranked national teams at the World Cup, if not even them. Any league match is technically more proficient and cohesive than a World Cup match. Any league match lacks those ridiculous disparities we’re going to see when, say, Spain plays Cape Verde or Germany plays Curaçao, that Caribbean Dutch protectorate with the population of Flagler County (think Ronald Reagan’s Marines invading Grenada).
Just 16 countries traveled to Germany when I watched my first World Cup in 1974. The format went to 24 in 1982, then 32 in 1998, and now 48 countries—a quarter of the planet’s nations. There’s really nothing wrong with that. Elitism is over. We can’t democratize the world. We can democratize the World Cup, though there’s no doubt fifa expanded the thing to shake down more cash even as it dilutes and cheapens play. The federation’s mercantilism handed Mexico and Canada only 13 games each, compared to 78 in the United States, an imbalance as insulting as our president’s attempts to destroy both countries’ economies while ridiculing one and reducing the other to a mass of criminals, and getting a fifa “prize” for it.
Still, we look past the absurd. “Most football fans took it for granted that FIFA was corrupt,” Kuper writes, needlessly capitalizing the federation’s acronym the way some media still capitalize “covid.” Diseases should not so blithely be respected. “They’d heard the stories of officials stashing bribes in secret bank accounts. However, fans care more about what happens on the field. Once we start to doubt that the matches we are seeing are real, the emotion we invest in World Cups becomes pointless.” In the spirit of magic realism, why not give Curaçao and Cape Verde a chance on the same stage as the greats? It’s not as if the American team belongs there, either, if it’s quality we’re looking for. But there they are.
We’re mostly missing the point if we watch the World Cup for quality. Like the Olympics but without the frazzle of a zillion sports scattered like so many pixels on our screens, it’s our quadrennial dreamland on these simple, perfectly groomed fields where cubism and leaves of grass meet so the world’s teams kick around a planet-shaped sphere as luck and fate outscores the best of them.
“The World Cup exists to transform reality into illusion,” the Mexican novelist Juan Villoro wrote in an article for The New York Times this week. I think of it more in reverse: It exists to transform illusion into reality. The illusion is that we are one world playing the same game, speaking the same language, respecting the same rules, existing on a level playing field regardless of origin, race, religion, even fifa ranking. The reality is that for those five weeks, away from the dingbattery of dignitaries and fifa’s sycophantry, away from the tensions between Canada, Mexico, and the United States—on the pitch, in pubs, in living rooms, in street parties, in the palmed stadiums of our smartphoned hands and maybe even in our hearts, despairing as we are the rest of the time—that illusion may well be true.
Preventing fans and players from freely entering the United States, and forcing them to bear the personal cost of policies directed at their governments, produces no discernable security benefit but does produce a steady stream of international criticism.
The 2026 FIFA World Cup has begun on American soil, the first time the United States has hosted the tournament in 32 years. When it concludes, the country will begin preparing for the 2028 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. In exchange for the privilege of hosting the world’s two largest sporting events, and the enormous revenue they generate, a host nation should ease its visa policy to the fullest extent consistent with ordinary security interests.
Previous World Cup host nations made this the norm. South Africa in 2010 created a dedicated events visa and waived normal fees entirely for ticket holders. Brazil in 2014 created a fee-waived visa category tied directly to match tickets. Russia in 2018 abolished visa requirements entirely for Fan ID holders. Most recently, Qatar in 2022 created a universal entry document for all fans and loosened its terms further mid-tournament.
Instead, the United States has adopted the widest nationality-based exclusion policy since the Chinese Exclusion Act.
Nationals from 39 countries currently face US entry restrictions, ranging from partial limitations to outright bans. Among those 39 are 4 countries whose national teams qualified for the tournament. Haiti and Iran face complete entry bans; Ivory Coast and Senegal face partial restrictions. Although players are exempt from the presidential ban, fans have no pathway to acquire tourist visas to support their teams, player families cannot watch their loved ones play in the biggest match in the world, and local media cannot obtain visas to cover the games stateside.
President Trump has also barred the Iranian national team from sleeping on American soil, requiring the players to overnight in Tijuana and cross the border only to compete.
At the same time, the United States created a system called FIFA PASS, which gives World Cup ticket holders the ability to schedule a prioritized consular interview. So, while some are fully banned, those who are not can expedite their visa appointment. This pattern recurs throughout this administration’s approach: Those fully excluded receive nothing, while those who are not excluded receive an expedited benefit unavailable to the general public.
One might wonder how these bans are allowed in the first place. The legal vehicle is INA section 212(f), a provision historically invoked with restraint and for targeted purposes. Before Donald Trump, presidents used it for specific suspensions tied to specific conduct: Haitians intercepted at sea under Ronald Reagan, maritime interdiction extended under George W. Bush, senior Haitian government officials (affiliated with the 1994 coup) under Bill Clinton, and persons responsible for grave human rights abuses by the Iranian and Syrian governments under Barack Obama. Despite leading a country built by immigrants, Trump has used the same authority to ban ordinary people from large portions of the world. This is unlike anything seen among fellow Five Eyes countries.
Although nationality-based exclusion has historical precedent, the current bans appear to function as instruments of punishment rather than legitimate security measures. The justification typically rests on elevated visa overstay rates or insufficient governmental cooperation, meaning that individual nationals are effectively penalized for the conduct of others. This year’s World Cup will reflect that reality in diminished diversity, and the consequences extend beyond mere attendance. President Trump has also barred the Iranian national team from sleeping on American soil, requiring the players to overnight in Tijuana and cross the border only to compete.
No story captures this more sharply than that of Omar Artan. Named Africa’s best male referee in 2025 and selected by FIFA for the tournament, Artan was set to become the first Somali referee ever to officiate at a World Cup. He cleared the visa process, boarded his flight, and landed in Miami. US Customs and Border Protection denied him entry over unspecified “vetting concerns,” and FIFA removed him from the tournament. He returned home to a hero’s welcome in Mogadishu, received by thousands at the stadium and by Somalia’s prime minister, who wrote that Artan had “already won the hearts of millions.”
As in the first Trump administration, serious questions remain about whether these bans serve any genuine security purpose. Instead, they appear to function as diplomatic punishment aimed at governments this administration dislikes. Preventing fans and players from freely entering the United States, and forcing them to bear the personal cost of policies directed at their governments, produces no discernable security benefit. What it does produce is a steady stream of international criticism. On the opening day of a World Cup the United States is hosting, Omar Artan’s story is the image America has projected to the world.
Our goals are bigger than getting a ball in net. We want justice, and the day Mexico has that, there will truly be something to celebrate.
From teachers to the mothers searching for the forcibly disappeared, Mexico will be holding numerous, massive protests against the 2026 Men's World Cup as it kicks off in Mexico City on Thursday. This follows hundreds of protests and actions held over the past months as FIFA and governments prioritize tourists and corporations over urgent local needs and the environment.
1. Take FIFA to forget that there is empire: The World Cup, being held in Mexico, the US, and Canada, will “unite the people,” said Canadian soccer player, Jonatha Osorio. “The world will be invading Canada, Mexico, and the USA with a big wave of joy and happiness,” said FIFA president Gianni Infantino, on a glitzy summer's evening in New York.
The same countries are also currently holding talks to renew the US-Mexico Canada (USMC) North American free trade agreement for another 16 years. The USMCA, an update to the North America Free Trade Agreement, is codified empire, depriving Mexico of corn sovereignty, institutionalizing the US' dominance and Mexico's structural and economic dependence, while sacrificing Mexico's rivers and soil to US and Canadian mines.
The giddy glamour of the World Cup spectacle is not unity but sedation, its stadium lights obscuring the negotiated details of imperialism and the unfestive realities of barbed borders, wage apartheid, and centuries of accumulated harm.
The US and Mexico are employing selective hospitality for the World Cup—or, more precisely, implementing racist and classist measures of city beautification for some, and social cleansing, deportations, raids, repression, and evictions for others.
2. A corporate exploitation bonanza: The soccer ball is the pretext. The World Cup is actually a giant advertising campaign—experiential marketing designed to drive sales for the corporate sponsors and move mass amounts of merchandise.
Behind those sales there is extreme exploitation. Adidas and the company Someone Somewhere paid 150 Indigenous Nahua embroiderers in Naupan, Puebla 36 pesos (US$2) an hour to hand-stitch the Mexico World Cup jersey—which Adidas then sold for 4,000 pesos. Diario Cambio reported that the women were also forced to abandon their traditional sewing techniques and use French knots and zigzag stitching instead to fill in commercial logos—a sidelining of cultural knowledge. The companies also promised the workers social security, in order to justify their "fair trade" branding (and pricing), but never kept the promise.
And while World Cup merchandise floods Mexico's street stalls and shops, an estimated 70% of Mexicans will watch the matches on television, with a corresponding increase in junk food purchases to go with that. Inside statidums, FIFA has prohibited the use of reusable water bottles in the three host countries, meaning spectators must buy water or soft drinks, generating huge amounts of rubbish as well as profits for corporations.
3. Coca Cup: The Cup trophy arrived in a Coca-Cola plane at Mexico City's airport in late February. The Mexican government rolled out the red carpet, with foreign affairs secretary Juan Ramón de la Fuente receiving the corporation and the trophy as though they were fellow officials. The trophy and massive Coca-Cola boards then toured the country, including a photo shoot at the sacred and world heritage site, Chichén Itza, and an appearance on the president's daily news show.
Coca-Cola has had advertising at every FIFA tournament since 1950. The promotions and sponsorship are a major part of its strategy to increase consumption during the games, and for acquiring new customers. Coca-Cola, along with companies like Pepsi and Nestle, extract (steal) over 133 billion liters of Mexico's water annually, and Mexico is already the biggest consumer of Coca-Cola globally, at an average of 163 liters of soft drink per person per year. The FIFA-Coca-Cola alliance is spoon-feeding more empire to a country it is already slowly poisoning.
4. Red carpet for tourists, disposable locals: The US and Mexico are employing selective hospitality for the World Cup—or, more precisely, implementing racist and classist measures of city beautification for some, and social cleansing, deportations, raids, repression, and evictions for others.
The US is promoting the World Cup as a way to "showcase" their "hospitality," while simultaneously violating a range of human rights with its closed border, Immigration and Customs Enforcement racial profiling, and illegal and cruel deportations.
In Mexico City over the past month, officials have also held anti-migrant raids, where police, the military, and migration authorities have detained people who are typically irregular precisely because of the closed border to the north and horrific wait times and unfair outcomes from Mexican institutions. Social cleansing for the World Cup also includes removing vendors from the area near the Mexico City stadium and homeless people from parts of the city where tourists are expected. Sex workers report that a new 17-kilometer bike lane built for the World Cup has left thousands of them without work, and local communities, who weren't consulted, said they support bike lanes, but this one cuts through bus stops, endangering pedestrians.
The government is also valuing Mexico's beautiful axolotls more as World Cup mascots than living creatures. It spent 62 million pesos adorning walls around the city and the light-rail with axolotl images, while nearby in Xochimilco, the animals are endangered due to contaminated runoff and public works.
Further, the government is staging Day of the Dead celebrations in June just for tourists, while erecting massive metal perimeters around Mexico City's main square. There is a two-kilometer exclusion zone around the stadium that is causing huge difficulties for locals as well as stopping protesters and protecting the tourists and wealthy who can afford expensive stadium seats.

5. Street soccer: "The streets are our soccer fields, and we assert our right to the city, to protest, and to freedom of assembly," said members of the Assembly for the Common Good and Against the War. And indeed, billions of dollars and corporate sponsorships aren't necessary for sport or fun. Known as cascaritas in Mexico—and by other names around Latin America and much of the Global South—informal and improvised soccer games played in parks, parking lots, and in the streets can be easy, free, and truly inclusive.
This soccer is played with a few backpacks or empty water jugs as goal posts, a hand-painted or chalk-drawn court, and an empty can or an old plastic ball. The name, cascaritas, comes from orange peal, because even an orange can be a ball—though it will eventually become quite beaten up and the peal will come off. When the objective is to have fun, any genders and ages can join in, only a few basic rules are followed, and even those watching are more involved, as they are the neighbors and friends of the players.
6. Protest, organizing, and community is what actually brings people together: Over the past few months, movements and collectives around Mexico have held hundreds of events protesting the World Cup and its direct impact, as well as using it to draw attention to the reality in the country, and beyond.
People have held soccer against genocide and for Palestine, feminist soccer, soccer matches against the looting of water and against gentrification with US President Donald Trump's head as a ball, soccer in San Pedro Xolostoc to promote community building, and soccer matches against a rubbish dump on Indigenous lands. In Jalisco, collectives held an Anti-World Cup People's Cascarita to denounce that while the state and national governments prepare for the World Cup, they aren't doing anything about the water crisis, housing, and disappearances. Various groups stood in front of the World Cup Watch to announce the formation of an Assembly for the Common Good and a series of anti-World Cup actions. And of course there have been countless actions for the forcibly disappeared, and the massive education worker strikes and marches—mentioned below.
For Thursday, families looking for the forcibly disappeared have called for a national protest, and will be joined by teachers, retirees, transport workers, small farmers, healthcare workers, and other movements. Already, participants in this protest have faced problems, with a contingent of 17 buses from Guerrero state of student teachers and parents of the 43 Ayotzinapa students that were forcibly disappeared, being stopped by police from reaching Mexico City, Monday.
"The ball is coming home, when will they?" activists painted in massive letters on the road in Mexico City, in front of a wall of posters for the 133,00 forcibly disappeared. Our goals are bigger than getting a ball in net. We want justice, and the day Mexico has that, there will truly be something to celebrate.
7. Safety for the World Cup, but not for women, Indigenous communities, activists, or journalists: Mexico announced that it will deploy almost 100,000 security forces (including police, military, and private security) to the three cities hosting the World Cup. The national government also approved US Armed Forces' entry into the country, to train and prepare Mexican forces for the World Cup. Meanwhile, no such resources are deployed to prevent or solve femicides—with an impunity rate of 95%—nor to clean our dead rivers, monitor workplace abuses, and so on.
8. Students and educators come last: The Mexican government initially announced a massive three-month-long school holiday to accommodate the World Cup schedule, by bringing forward the usual holidays by six weeks. Many teachers are only paid for classroom hours and struggle during holidays, while parents and carers would have had to seek childcare, and children would have missed out on significant learning. After much criticism, the measure was retracted.
Teachers have also gone on strike and threatened to stop the World Cup, holding protests, marches, road blocks, and more since mid May to demand pension rights, among other worker rights, which President Claudia Sheinbaum promised in her campaign but hasn't delivered. Instead, these protests have been blocked with hundreds of police and repressed with tear gas and rubber bullets, with one teacher losing his left eye and sight in the other, as a result. Protesting teachers used rope to tumble three giant statues of soccer players that the government had erected on a key road in Mexico City.
9. Complicit venues: The venue in Mexico City, Azteca Stadium (technically called Banorte), the largest in Latin America, is owned by Televisa via Grupo Ollamani. Last year, the government granted Televisa a water concession next to the stadium for 450 million liters a year—thereby illegally privatizing local public water, and causing water shortages for those nearby. Not only does Televisa own the stadium, but it and TV Azteca are the companies with transmission rights.
In Guadalajara, clandestine mass graves have been found near the Akron Stadium, where four matches will be played. In Guadalajara too, the government is employing heavy machinery to renovate and clean up the city in preparation for the World Cup, but there is no digging equipment available to help searchers find the thousands of forcibly disappeared.
Republican voters were the only political faction who believed Trump has improved global views of the US since beginning his second term in office.
As soccer fans from across the world travel to the United States this month to cheer on their countries' teams at the 2026 FIFA World Cup, a poll released Wednesday by Data for Progress suggests Americans don't believe many visitors have warm feelings toward the host country after a year-and-a-half of President Donald Trump's leadership.
Overall the poll found that 62% of American voters think the country's reputation has deteriorated under Trump, with just 32% saying it's gotten better.
Republicans were the only political faction to believe Trump has improved global views of the US, while Independents and Democrats overwhelmingly said the president has made them worse.
The poll also found 52% of US voters believed Trump's mass deportation policies have hurt the country's image in the world, with just 34% saying the deportations have helped.
Trump's immigration policies collided with the World Cup earlier this week when Somali referee Omar Artan, who was selected by the International Federation of Association Football (FIFA) to work at the celebrated event, was barred from entering the US despite having a valid visa.
A Trump administration official claimed Artan had an "association with suspected members of terror organizations," but provided no evidence for the allegation. US Rep. Rashida Tlaib (D-Mich.) called his treatment by the US "a disgrace."
Polling data published last year by Pew suggests that Democrats and Independents are more accurately measuring global public sentiment of the US under Trump's leadership than Republicans.
Specifically, Pew found that net positive perceptions of the US dropped by 10 percentage points or more among residents in a dozen countries between 2024 and 2025, including in key allies such as Canada, Mexico, Germany, and France.
What's more, Pew found only five countries where the United States' reputation has improved since Trump's election: South Africa, India, Israel, Nigeria, and Turkey.
Trump during his second term has taken a number of actions that have sparked anger from foreign governments, including making repeated threats to seize Greenland as a US territory, invading Venezuela and abducting its president, imposing an oil blockade on and threatening to take over Cuba, launching a global trade war, and waging an illegal war of choice on Iran.
"I’m just simply a referee who’s trying to live his dream, the biggest dream of my life, to come to the World Cup."
The Trump administration is facing international outrage after Somali referee Omar Artan, who was selected by FIFA to work at the 2026 World Cup, was barred from entering the US.
As ESPN reported on Monday, FIFA confirmed that US Customs and Border Protection (CBP) had denied Artan entry into the country after he arrived in Miami on Saturday on a flight from Istanbul.
CBP said that it had denied Artan entry after subjecting him to "additional inspection" and determining him "to be inadmissible due to vetting concerns."
FIFA released a statement after Artan's denial of entry in which it didn't criticize the US for barring one of its own referees, merely saying that "FIFA is not involved in host country immigration processes, including visa adjudications."
Artan reacted with disappointment to being denied the opportunity to referee the World Cup, but said he is "in a positive mood" and "focused on the next challenges in my refereeing career."
"I would like to thank FIFA and [the African federation] for all their support and I promise to keep my refereeing levels up as I concentrate on the future," Artan added. "I want to thank the football family for their messages and wish my colleagues all the best success during the World Cup and I look forward to joining them again in future competitions."
In an interview with The New York Times published Tuesday, Artan said that he was interviewed by CBP at the Miami airport for 11 hours and then detained for several more before being told he was being sent home.
"I am very, very disappointed," Artan told the Times. "I’m just simply a referee who’s trying to live his dream, the biggest dream of my life, to come to the World Cup."
"I had the right papers and everything," Artan added. "I had the right visa."
As noted in a Monday report from Agence France-Presse, Artan is a highly respected official, having been "named by the Confederation of African Football as men's referee of the year."
President Donald Trump has a long history of making racist attacks against Somalis, referring to them collectively as "garbage" last year, and accusing them last month of being "all crooks." Last June, Trump issued a proclamation designed to "fully restrict and limit the entry of nationals" from Somalia and other nations.
Given Trump's well documented bigotry, critics were quick to link the president's racism with the poor treatment Artan received upon arriving in the US.
"What an absolute disgrace," commented Jeremy Corbyn, former leader of the UK Labour Party. "A FIFA-certified referee being denied entry to the United States purely because he is Somali. The World Cup is meant to bring people together. This is racism, plain and simple. Shameful."
Meral Hussein-Ece, a Liberal Democrat and member of the UK House of Lords, accused the Trump administration of completely spoiling the entire purpose of the World Cup, which is to bring people together in friendly global competition.
"A Somali referee makes history—first ever from his country to officiate a World Cup match," wrote Hussein-Ece. "The US: 'Not allowed in.' So much for 'sport brings the world together.' Unless you’re from the 'wrong' country. Shameful. The ‘World Cup’ belongs to everyone—not just those the US approves of."
Christina Unkel, president and general manager of the Tampa Bay Sun Football Club, said what happened to Artan is "heartbreaking on so many levels," as "he worked so hard, proved himself on so many levels, and [was] selected as the best of the best."
Journalist Helen Kennedy said that countries around the world need to send Trump a strong message that the treatment of Artan is unacceptable.
"The world should boycott these games," she wrote. "How much does it take to show that?"
The US and FIFA have turned the world’s greatest football celebration into a human rights crisis.
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.