But please be sure to leave on time – The United States, Trump, and the Fear of Guests.
It was one of those perfectly orchestrated events at the White House, where fanfares of greatness resound while between the notes the dissonance of reality becomes audible. Vice President J. D. Vance, standing beside Donald Trump, speaks of the 2026 FIFA World Cup as if it were a gift from the heavens – and yet everything sounds like isolationism, suspicion, and a threatening finger wag.
"Of course everyone is welcome," Vance says. And then immediately adds:
"But when the time is up, they’ll have to go home. Otherwise, they’ll have to talk to Secretary Noem."
It is this side note that sticks. It is enough to tip the whole picture. To turn a celebration of sport into a warning. A friendly smile behind which lurks a law enforcement gaze.
Kristi Noem, Trump’s Homeland Security Secretary, stands like a statue of deterrence. Her policies are infamous. Her message clear. And now, in the run-up to one of the world's greatest sporting events, this attitude is directed at precisely those who want to come and celebrate. To sing, to dance, to cry. To experience football – not as a threat, but as a bridge.
What is happening here is not trivial. It is an act of geopolitical bluntness. The spirit these words breathe is not cosmopolitan, not open, not democratic. It is a national tone of command in a moment that should be international. Those who greet guests with suspicion are not hosts. Those who summon them to immigration control before they’ve even landed should perhaps not be inviting anyone at all.
That FIFA President Gianni Infantino stands by silently fits the picture all too well. A man who makes everything possible for money and nothing for decency. For the human right to move, to meet, to rejoice – not a word. Infantino is a silent accomplice of those who use sport as a stage for control and power.
One cannot escape the impression: The United States, as it now presents itself under Trump once more, is not a safe place for international community. Not in language, not in policy, not in atmosphere. One should seriously consider relocating the remaining matches to Mexico and Canada – not out of spite, but out of dignity.
The world has other ways to celebrate than with fear breathing down its neck. And football, that fragile utopia on grass, does not need the shadow of a wall behind every stadium.
Perhaps there will be a rude awakening. Perhaps the fans will stay away. Perhaps national federations will someday say: Not with us. As sad as it would be for the American people – you cannot celebrate a joyful World Cup on a stage where political fanatics set the tone.
Because at some point FIFA must also realize: Democracy is not a side issue. And those who trample it every day should not get to play on its field.
And then there is that motto: United 2026. Together. A word like something from the world of advertising – sleek on the surface, bitter underneath. Together – but where exactly? Together on a deportation flight to CECOT in El Salvador? A cheerful tourist trip straight into a high-security prison, where souvenir stands are replaced by ICE interview rooms? Or a sense of unity, because you cheer for your country in a stadium – only to be arrested the next morning as a "security risk"?
United. What a joke, when every sentence draws a new dividing line. When FIFA’s "we" is sliced apart by the government's "them."
Anyone still talking about togetherness here becomes a complicit actor in a game that is no longer being played on the field.
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