By the time the first ball is kicked in 2026, the FIFA World Cup will already have been shaped by far more than tactics, training camps, or team sheets. It will have been shaped by borders, visas, and by who’s allowed to arrive, and who’s told they cannot.
Daily Maverick sports journalist Yanga Sibembe offers an unflinching look at what it means for the world’s most watched sporting event to be hosted by the United States, alongside Canada and Mexico, at a moment when politics refuses to stay outside the stadium.
Football, we are told, is neutral. Matter of fact, FIFA insists on it. We are told that the game belongs to everyone. But neutrality makes no appearance when the host nation controls the gates.
A World Cup that not everyone can reach
The 2026 World Cup promises scale like never before. More teams. More matches. More cities. More spectacle. But spectacle means little if access is selective.
For fans across Africa and parts of the Global South, U.S. immigration policies and visa restrictions have already raised concerns about who will be able to attend. And not just hypothetically. For many supporters, the World Cup isn’t just a tournament. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime journey. And journeys require documents, approvals, and the anxiety of consular interviews that end with stamped rejection letters.
The idea of a “global festival” becomes fickle when entry itself is political. Sibembe notes that skepticism always surrounds World Cups. South Africa faced it in 2010. Russia did in 2018. Every host is questioned. But this time, the tension feels much sharper.
The United States has the stadiums, the money and the broadcast power. But what it lacks, at least right now, is the sense of openness that a global event demands.
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Why FIFA chose America
To understand why the tournament landed in North America, one must understand FIFA’s long game.
The U.S. is not a traditional football nation, especially in the men’s game. But it is a strategic one. Infrastructure is already built. Transport systems exist. Corporate sponsorships follow easily. And perhaps most importantly, FIFA sees the U.S. as a market still growing, still expandable.
Mexico brings football culture. Canada brings geographic balance. The United States brings scale.
On paper, it makes sense. And Sibembe is careful not to dismiss the decision outright. Expansion has always been part of FIFA’s vision. Taking the game to new audiences is not inherently wrong.
But the problem is when expansion comes at the cost of inclusion.
The boycott that won’t happen
Former FIFA president Sepp Blatter has called for a boycott of the 2026 World Cup. The call itself is awkward. Blatter’s legacy is complicated at best and… disgraced at worst. His departure from FIFA stripped him of moral authority long ago.
And Sibembe is clear that this history weakens the weight of his words.
Still, the call matters not because of who made it, but because of what it shows us.
There’s a discomfort in the air. A growing sense that the tournament is being shaped by forces that have little to do with football.
Yet a boycott remains unlikely. History suggests as much. Teams played in politically charged tournaments before. They will likely do so again.
For players, World Cups are not symbolic gestures. They are careers. For nations, they are rare chances at visibility.
Football will absorb the discomfort and move on.
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FIFA’s neutrality problem
If there is one thread that refuses to disappear from the conversation, it is FIFA’s insistence on being apolitical while repeatedly acting otherwise.
Sibembe points to the clearest example. Russia was swiftly banned following the invasion of Ukraine. The decision was fast, decisive and very public.
Israel, despite ongoing violence against Palestinians, continues to participate without sanction. The contrast is hard to ignore.
FIFA’s neutrality appears selective, reactive, and influenced by power, pressure, and global alliances rather than consistent principle.
Sport, as Sibembe reminds us, has never existed in a vacuum. South Africa itself was once banned from FIFA under apartheid. Politics did not corrupt football then. It protected it.
The issue is not whether politics belongs in sport. It already does. The actual concern is whose politics are acknowledged, and whose are overlooked.
South Africa returns, hopeful
Amid all this complexity, there is another story unfolding. A story of return. After nearly fifteen years, Bafana Bafana is back on the World Cup stage. There’s no loud bravado and no crazy expectations. There’s just a team that has slowly found its identity. Less dependent on stars. More committed to cohesion.
Sibembe cautions against panic after disappointing results. This is not a squad that needs dismantling. It needs belief. And preparation that is thoughtful rather than reckless.
Friendly matches matter. Not against giants who crush confidence, and not against minnows who offer false comfort. The balance is delicate.
And looming quietly in the background is another concern. Visas. Diplomacy. The unspoken reality that even teams may face administrative hurdles before footballing ones.
Still, there is optimism. Careful. Grounded. Earned.
“We don’t have anything to be afraid of,” Sibembe says. “We will just go there and play.”
A tournament that reflects the world it lives in
The 2026 World Cup will be massive. It will be watched. It will be celebrated. It will deliver moments that remind people why football matters.
But it will also reflect the world it exists in. A world of borders. Of selective access. Of institutions that claim neutrality while practicing discretion. The World Cup has always been more than football. In 2026, it may finally be impossible to pretend otherwise.
And perhaps that honesty, uncomfortable as it is, is where the real conversation should begin.
For more on this conversation, watch the video below:
Image via Al Jazeera.
