Mega sporting events run on a reliable formula. A country wins the hosting rights, spends money it probably shouldn’t, and receives a month-long image makeover in return. The FIFA World Cup has often been held as the ultimate example of this exchange, accused of being the world’s most expensive reputation laundromat.

Critics complain, activists protest, journalists investigate, and then the football begins. But once the goals start flying, everything else fades and the spectacle becomes the story. Qatar 2022 was the clearest example. Human rights questions took a back seat when the spotlight found Lionel Messi, Kylian Mbappé, and arguably one of the greatest finals ever played.

The 2026 edition was supposed to be an easy sell. Three host nations with established football cultures. Democratic countries with modern infrastructure. FIFA’s slogan as the backdrop, unveiled with the usual confidence: “Football Unites the World.”

But this time, the machine has broken. Instead of the hosts emerging cleaner, the tournament itself has come out looking dirtier.

Football meets immigration

Omar Abdulkadir Artan had a valid visa. He was one of 52 referees selected for the World Cup – African football’s referee of the year in 2025 and the first Somali official ever to referee at a World Cup. In Mogadishu, he reportedly rerouted around explosions to reach training sessions. He persevered through every obstacle and earned the right to be there.

Last week, he landed at Miami International Airport. Eleven hours later, he was on his way back home.

US authorities had denied him entry, citing unspecified vetting concerns. FIFA removed him from the tournament. Just like that, one of football’s most remarkable success stories became one of its strangest.

You could spend a long time trying to invent a more fitting metaphor for this World Cup. Football’s favourite claim is that it transcends borders: every four years we are treated to speeches about unity. But then, one of the tournament’s own referees landed at a border checkpoint and found out that immigration officials were not especially interested in football’s poetry.

Artan wasn’t the only one.

Iraqi striker Aymen Hussein was reportedly detained and questioned after arriving in the United States. A photographer travelling with Iraq’s national team was denied entry altogether. Members of Iran’s support staff reportedly encountered similar difficulties, while the Iran team itself ended up relocating its training base from Arizona to Tijuana, Mexico, amid the looming uncertainty over visas and travel arrangements. It became increasingly difficult to dismiss each incident as an isolated bureaucratic mishap.

The World Cup vibe is built on movement. Teams, fans, journalists, support staff, officials — everyone travels. Entire economies spring up around people crossing borders to watch twenty-two people chase a ball. Yet before the tournament has properly begun, much of the conversation has revolved around who could or could not enter, and who might find themselves detained somewhere between the airport gate and the baggage carousel.

The irony is thick here. FIFA has spent years presenting football as a force capable of bridging divisions between nations. But the immigration policy remains stubbornly unimpressed.

The welcome pack

In April, more than 120 civil society organisations, including the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) and Amnesty International, had issued a travel advisory for visitors attending the World Cup in the United States. This warning was neither for a war zone, nor for a country experiencing civil collapse, but for the United States.

The advisory warned visitors about arbitrary denial of entry, invasive social media screening and electronic device searches, violent immigration enforcement that may involve racial profiling, suppression of protest and speech, and potential mistreatment in ICE detention. The coalition had recommended that visitors download apps to immediately notify emergency contacts in case of detention, and brush up on their rights before boarding their flights.

The ACLU had pointed out that the World Cup slogan is “Football Unites the World” while millions of people in America’s host cities live in “daily fear of racial profiling, inhumane detention, separation from loved ones, and summary deportation”. The ACLU’s human rights programme director said: “FIFA has been paying lip service to human rights while cozying up with the Trump administration, putting millions of people at risk.”

Whether one agrees with every claim made in the advisory is almost beside the point. The remarkable thing is that such a document exists at all, and that it captures the atmosphere surrounding this tournament far better than any official slogan ever can.

The other show in town

Mexico City has offered its own version of the same phenomenon.

For more than a week, the country’s teachers’ union had been toppling World Cup statues and blocking roads in an annual push for better working conditions. Their target on opening day was the Zócalo - Mexico City’s main square, where FIFA had set up its official fan zone and where Colombian superstar Shakira was scheduled to perform. The CNTE — Coordinadora Nacional de Trabajadores de la Educación (National Coordination of Education Workers) — had set up camp near the fan zone. On June 1, police dispersed protesters in the area with rubber bullets and teargas. At least one teacher reportedly lost an eye. 

President Sheinbaum acknowledged on Wednesday that the fan festival might have to shut down, even as she denied there was meaningful social unrest. She gave away her ticket to the opening match.

Elsewhere, activists drawing attention to Mexico’s missing persons crisis repurposed the tournament’s slogan, “The ball returns home”, into a sharper question: “The ball returns home — when will our children?” It was a clever piece of protest, though “clever” feels inadequate when the people holding the banners are searching for missing relatives.

In one of the week’s more surreal images, demonstrators staged a football match in the middle of a major avenue as World Cup visitors arrived for the festivities. If football wanted the spotlight, it would have to share.

Football awaits its turn

As the opening match approaches, set to being in a few hours, the headlines belong not to some new wonderkid, or a title favourite or a tactical genius of the game. They belong to a Somali referee interrogated for 11 hours at Miami airport, before being sent home. To the Iranian team, to travel advisories warning visitors about detention and device searches. To those who demand their close ones return while threatening disruptions outside a World Cup fan zone.

Football will eventually reclaim the spotlight. It always does. There will be moments of genius, heartbreak and delirium before this tournament ends. 

And yet, the opening week has already revealed something unusual. For years, critics accused football’s biggest tournament of helping host nations launder their reputations. But as the tournament begins this time, the most memorable moments are coming from airports, border crossings and protest camps.

Usually, football becomes the story. This time, it still awaits its turn.

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