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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.
The coalition cited the Trump administration’s "racist immigration policies, mass detention and deportation, and attacks on freedom of expression and peaceful protest."
A coalition of more than 120 US-based civil society groups on Thursday issued a travel advisory ahead of the upcoming FIFA Men's World Cup over what the ACLU called the "deteriorating human rights situation" in the United States amid the Trump administration's deadly anti-immigrant crackdown, suppression of free speech, and more.
Citing the "absence of meaningful action and concrete guarantees from FIFA"—world soccer's governing body—"host cities, or the US government," the coalition published a warning urging "fans, players, journalists, and other visitors traveling to and within the United States" for the tournament to "have an emergency contingency plan."
The US, Canada, and Mexico are jointly hosting the tournament, which is set to kick off with group stage matches in Mexico City and Guadalajara on June 11 and Los Angeles and Toronto the following day.
"World Cup games will be played in 11 different cities across the United States, which, like many localities, have already been the target of the Trump administration’s violent and abusive immigration crackdown," the coalition wrote.
BREAKING: We're joining over 120 organizations issuing a travel advisory to warn anyone visiting the U.S. for the 2026 FIFA World Cup of possible civil and human rights violations.FIFA must pressure the Trump administration to protect the people traveling to and working at the games.
— ACLU (@aclu.org) April 23, 2026 at 7:12 AM
"While the Trump administration’s rising authoritarianism and increasing violence pose serious risks to all," the advisory continues, "those from immigrant communities, racial and ethnic minority groups, and LGBTQ+ individuals have been and continue to be disproportionately targeted and affected by the administration’s policies and, as such, are most vulnerable to serious harm."
According to the groups, those harms potentially include:
Visitors are also advised to download Human Rights First's ReadyNow! mobile app "to notify trusted contacts in case of possible detention."
Journalists covering the tournament are urged to "consult resources from the Committee to Protect Journalists or Reporters Without Borders for information on how to keep themselves safe while entering the US and while reporting inside the country."
Daniel Noroña, Americas advocacy director at Amnesty International USA, said in a statement Thursday that “fans, journalists, and others traveling to the United States for the 2026 FIFA World Cup risk encountering a deeply troubling human rights landscape, shaped by the Trump administration’s racist immigration policies, mass detention and deportation, and attacks on freedom of expression and peaceful protest."
ACLU human rights program director Jamil Dakwar said that “FIFA has been paying lip service to human rights while cozying up with the Trump administration, putting millions of people at risk of being harmed and their basic rights violated."
“The Trump administration’s abusive actions continue to threaten our communities, tourists, and fans alike—and it’s past time that FIFA use its leverage to push for meaningful policy changes and binding assurances that will make people feel safe to travel and enjoy the games," Dakwar added.
FIFA faced worldwide ridicule for awarding President Donald Trump its first-ever Peace Prize last December amid his administration's illegal high-seas boat-bombing spree, and just ahead of his bombing of Nigeria, kidnapping of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro, launch of the US-Israeli war of choice against Iran, and threats to attack several other countries.
Despite US bombing that's killed thousands of its people—including hundreds of children—and FIFA's refusal to relocate its matches outside the United States, Iran, which easily qualified, is planning to take part in the tournament.
On Thursday, Iran's embassy in Italy decried what it called a "morally bankrupt" effort by US Special Envoy for Global Partnerships Paolo Zampolli to ban it from the tournament and replace its bracket slot with Italy, which is reeling from missing its third consecutive World Cup final.
If a government can pressure a global sports institution into legitimizing its leader under the banner of peace, then global civil society must be capable of compelling that same institution to correct its course.
In December, US President Donald Trump was awarded FIFA’s newly created “FIFA Peace Prize–Football Unites the World” by FIFA President Gianni Infantino. The decision immediately sparked disbelief and criticism worldwide, raising a fundamental question: What does FIFA mean by peace?
If football is truly meant to unite the world, then this prize—and the process that produced it—must be seriously reconsidered.
The awarding of the Peace Prize did not emerge from a transparent or democratic process. It reflects a broader pattern in which the Trump administration has exerted political and diplomatic pressure on international institutions to secure legitimacy and public endorsement. In other words, bullying. FIFA, despite its claims of neutrality and independence, appears to have yielded to that pressure.
But power imposed through coercion can be reversed through organized, collective, nonviolent action. If a government can pressure a global sports institution into legitimizing its leader under the banner of peace, then global civil society must be capable of compelling that same institution to correct its course. It is not about punishment or humiliation. It is about legitimacy.
The United States’ current posture toward the rest of the world—marked by sanctions, coercive diplomacy, military threats, and disregard for international norms—stands in open contradiction to the values the Peace Prize claims to represent. One cannot credibly speak the language of peace while practicing domination.
Revoking this prize would send a clear message: Peace is not a public-relations exercise, nor a political trophy extracted through pressure.
When intimidation succeeds without challenge, it becomes precedent. When it is challenged collectively and nonviolently, it becomes brittle.
Revoking this prize would send a clear message: Peace is not a public-relations exercise, nor a political trophy extracted through pressure.
This controversy unfolds as the 2026 FIFA World Cup approaches. Scheduled from June 11 to July 19, it will be the first-ever 48-team tournament, with 104 matches across 16 cities, 11 of them in the United States, the others in Canada and Mexico.
International fans, activists, and political figures are questioning whether the current US political climate—particularly immigration enforcement practices, travel restrictions, and border policies—makes the country a safe and welcoming host for a global celebration meant to unite humanity.
Calls to boycott the 2026 World Cup are spreading across social media, as supporters report canceled travel plans; withdrawn ticket purchases; and growing fears of arbitrary detention, visa denials, and hostile treatment at borders. Human rights organizations have repeatedly warned about detention practices and the erosion of civil liberties—concerns that take on heightened urgency when millions are expected to cross borders for a global event.
If there is one nonviolent action in 2026 with the potential to shift global consciousness, it is an international campaign demanding accountability from FIFA itself.
Such a campaign could call for:
FIFA is not a neutral body floating above politics. It is a global institution with 211 member associations, whose decisions reflect values, alliances, and power relations. What FIFA chooses to reward—and whom it chooses to honor—sends a message to billions.
One of the most powerful nonviolent levers lies beyond stadiums and borders: broadcasting. The World Cup exists not only as a sporting event, but as a global media product. Television networks and streaming platforms pay billions in licensing fees that finance FIFA’s operations. Without those fees—and without audiences—the tournament loses its economic foundation.
A coordinated nonviolent campaign could therefore call on broadcasters to:
This action would not target players, fans, or workers. It would target the financial and symbolic infrastructure that allows FIFA to operate without accountability. This is not censorship—it is ethical refusal.
For such a campaign to succeed, it must be global, visible, and coordinated. That is why social media is not secondary—it is essential. Social media platforms are today’s nonviolent infrastructure. They allow millions of people to act together across borders, languages, and cultures without centralized control. When used strategically, they transform isolated actions into universal pressure.
A global campaign could:
This is how nonviolent movements grow: through visibility, participation, and persistence—until silence becomes impossible.
In order to succeed, however, this must be more than a media moment. It must become a grassroots nonviolent movement.
Football clubs, supporters’ associations, players, national federations, and fans everywhere should be called upon to stand—not against the sport, but for human dignity. This is about withdrawing consent from illegitimacy and restoring meaning to the game. Football has always been more than a game. It reflects who we are—and who we choose to become.
After all, people are not football fans first. They are human beings first.
The question now is simple: Will FIFA continue to serve power—or will it revoke the Peace Prize and reclaim the game for humanity?
This article was first published in English on Pressenza and is now available in: Spanish.