Recently, former FIFA president Sepp Blatter shared his views on the appropriateness of the USA as a host of association football’s quadrennial tournament. In a social media post endorsing comments from Swiss reformer Mark Pieth, Blatter urged fans not to travel to the United States for the 2026 event, warning that the social climate there “hardly encourages fans to go.” Blatter cited recent fatal shootings by federal immigration agents in Minneapolis, Minnesota — Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) killed US citizens Renée Good and Alex Pretti on January 7 and 24, respectively — as emblematic of a society in disorder and a political administration unconcerned about civil liberties. Blatter has a point.

Football’s unifying spectacle?

For a sports event established and still trading on the rhetoric of world peace and unity, such a controversial intervention from a past FIFA leader is unprecedented and extraordinary. FIFA, football’s global governing organization, has long insisted that politics should be divorced from sports. Its statutes historically prohibited expressions of political opinion on the pitch, and its public posture has been to allow host nations’ flag-waving patriotism while disavowing partisan disputes and domestic politics. But the context of what has been happening in the US has now made that firewall look flimsy.

The US is co-host for the 2026 World Cup alongside Canada and Mexico. Eleven US cities, from Atlanta, Georgia to Seattle, Washington, will stage 78 of the 104 matches, including the showpiece grand final in July at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. The US considers what Americans call soccer a rising sport and a marquee opportunity to showcase itself globally. (The word soccer was originally derived from “socia” from the middle of association football.)

Yet, as many know, the country hosting these games is currently deeply fractured. Operation Metro Surge, US President Donald Trump’s aggressive extrajudicial immigration enforcement operation centered in Minnesota, has witnessed more than 3,000 arrests and multiple deaths. The killing of Alex Pretti, an intensive care nurse, by a federal agent while filming immigration enforcement sparked massive protests and led Minnesota Governor Tim Walz to deploy the National Guard.

On January 21, the Eighth US Circuit Court of Appeals lifted an injunction that had restricted immigration agents from arresting peaceful demonstrators. Civil liberties groups denounced this move as a violation of First Amendment protections in a tournament host state. And in what Minnesota activists called the first general strike in eight decades, hundreds of local businesses shut down and thousands marched in protest at the ICE raids and detentions.

In this volatile geopolitical context, Blatter’s announcement sounds like a lot more than rhetorical noise. It seems quite rational and reflects international concern that the US’s civil rights crisis, a colossal breakdown in trust between citizens and federal authority, could disfigure what is meant to be football’s greatest unifying spectacle.

FIFA’s stance on politics, then and now

For decades, FIFA’s official policy was that football and politics don’t mix; players couldn’t display political messages and host countries were told that their internal affairs did not concern world football. In the same way, the International Olympic Committee maintained for decades that sports and politics should remain strictly separate. Politicians were tolerated on pitch sidelines, but political protest was not and players were strenuously discouraged from publicizing their beliefs. That principle stretched credulity at times, especially in 2018 and 2022, when the World Cup was staged in Russia and Qatar — countries that had both been condemned for their poor human-rights records. Yet FIFA’s public neutrality remained the default position.

With the infamous murder of George Floyd in the US in May 2020 and the ensuing global movement for racial justice, FIFA and its affiliates were obliged to shift. The organization embraced inclusiveness and equality as new principles, endorsing anti-racism campaigns, advancing women’s football and signaling support for diversity and LGBTQ+ rights. These themes have become central to FIFA’s brand: Women’s tournaments are positioned explicitly as platforms for empowerment and social inclusion and equality initiatives are now integral to FIFA’s corporate identity.

While it would have been inconceivable as recently as ten years ago, FIFA, in 2021, approved of players taking the knee before games. The move divided fans, but players, especially in England’s Premier League, appeared to welcome the gesture of defiance against racism and perhaps other forms of bigotry. The gesture no longer takes place, at least not on a regular basis.

This evolution was initially tactical: It was a sensible and timely response to the changing zeitgeist of global social movements. Other sports similarly abandoned their bans on politics and social affairs. But in football, the change has morphed into something more doctrinal. FIFA’s embrace of diversity, equality and inclusivity is no longer just an add-on feature of the game; it’s part of its credo. That’s why critics argue FIFA can no longer convincingly separate sport from politics when a host nation’s domestic policies contravene the very values FIFA now claims to uphold. Consistency disappears.

And now the contradiction is visible. The question that’s being asked is: How can FIFA champion equality, anti-racism and inclusiveness on one hand, while blithely staging its flagship event in a country where civil unrest stems from bitterly contested enforcement of immigration policy, and where critics claim human rights are being ignored?

FIFA President Gianni Infantino has close personal ties with Trump, a fact that has not helped the organization’s credibility on this matter. Under Infantino’s leadership, FIFA offered Trump a widely-ridiculed “Peace Prize” at the World Cup draw. It was a supinely sycophantic act that introduced geopolitics into an otherwise sporting occasion.

Analysts inside and outside football circles worry that FIFA’s seeming acquiescence could reduce the sport to a mere appendage of realpolitik, meaning that football’s moral capital can and will be exploited by host governments for their own agendas in this and future World Cups.

Protest at the World Cup? 

The real question isn’t whether fans can watch 48 teams compete in 104 matches: They will. The tournament infrastructure is already being built, tickets are selling and stadiums are being prepared. But what moral character will the World Cup have?

Trump wants the World Cup in the US. It has more symbolic importance than even the Olympics. It attracts far more attention and lasts longer than a G7 summit. Heads of state will congregate as will all manner of high profile politicians, dignitaries and other kinds of celebrities. The world’s media will attend. Live crowds from everywhere will number in the millions. The hosts will entertain the visitors with pomp and spectacle. But, for all his braggadocio, Trump must surely realize there are risks.

A global sporting event set against a backdrop of civil strife could become a stage for protest rather than celebration. Already, American sports arenas have seen anti-immigration and anti-ICE demonstrations spread into professional games. If similar activism manifests during the World Cup (for example, protests at venues, international delegations refusing to sing anthems, public backlash over entry bans or travel restrictions, etc.), politics could overshadow the spectacle.

Imagine Senegalese fans barred from entering certain US cities. Or headline-making protests in Los Angeles and New York City on match nights. Or even teams and fans using the platform to draw attention to human rights concerns. None of these scenarios are likely but none of them is wildly far-fetched, either, given the current social context and the US’s political direction of travel. FIFA’s administrative muscle in demanding guarantees from host governments has limits. US immigration policy is set by a president emboldened by his base and seemingly deaf to international opinion.

Blatter’s critics also suggest that a stronger FIFA leadership, i.e. one not beholden to Trump, might have already relocated World Cup matches entirely. It’s logistically challenging and financially ruinous, but not impossible. Seasons were shifted for Qatar 2022; matches have been relocated for other tournaments. Yet FIFA’s economic interests and commercial contracts make such a major move barely conceivable, especially considering the US media’s influence in FIFA’s World Cup finances.

So, the Cup will go ahead. But should it?

Pros vs. cons: should or shouldn’t we cancel?

Why we should not hold the World Cup in the US:

1. Moral inconsistency. FIFA’s exalted values of inclusivity and equality ring hollow if the host nation’s core policies violate those principles.
   
2. Civil unrest risk. The US is currently facing large-scale protests and crackdowns that could spill into tournament dates and locations, perhaps necessitating heavy security presences at all games.
   
3. Safety concerns. Recent federal shootings and lifted protest protections raise international safety questions.
   
4. Political exploitation. The World Cup might inadvertently become a tool for partisan agendas, diminishing football’s unifying power.

Why the World Cup should go ahead in the US:

1. Unmatched infrastructure. No other co-host — Canada or Mexico — alone can shoulder the logistical and financial burden on such short notice.
   
2. Football’s universality. Football transcends politics; millions will watch and enjoy without engaging with the host nation’s controversies.
   
3. Economic and cultural opportunity. The tournament could still grow the game in the US and foster youth engagement, long-term.
   
4. Risk of precedent. Canceling sets a precedent where sports events hinge on transient political climates, forcing every future host to meet subjective moral thresholds.

FIFA’s dilemma

The 2026 FIFA World Cup presents a dilemma: a global festival of sport scheduled in a nation currently racked with deep political fissures that show no signs of repair and could worsen over the next few months. Blatter’s call for a boycott echoes wider anxieties about the US’s social cohesion, and the ethical contradictions between FIFA’s stated values and its hosting choices are more conspicuous than ever.

Association football has long been more than a sport. It’s a global cultural force that can and often does mirror global tensions. The World Cup this year will test whether the sport can stay above geopolitics, or whether politics and justice will impose themselves on football’s grandest stage. The strong likelihood is that the tournament will go ahead. But for 39 days in June and July, the world of football and perhaps the rest of the world will hold its breath.

[Ellis Cashmore is the author of Celebrity Culture, now in its third edition.]

[Lee Thompson-Kolar edited this piece.]

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy.