Before a ball has been kicked, the 2026 World Cup has already failed its first big test.
The decision to deny entry to referee Omar Artan - preventing him from becoming the first Somali official to referee at a men’s World Cup - is a troubling example, among many, of the barriers that exist for a tournament that represents the global game.
The World Cup should be a celebration of joy, connection and hope: the biggest stage in football and a rare moment when the sport brings people together across borders and from different backgrounds and identities. The 2026 tournament has the blueprint to embody that spirit, staged across three nations, with a record 48 teams, and will feature first-time participants, including Cabo Verde, Curacao, Jordan and Uzbekistan.
But alongside debates about goals, refereeing, VAR and tactics, the World Cup also becomes a referendum on the game itself: what it values, who it protects, and whether the ideals it promotes are matched by the reality that people experience. It starts this Thursday in Mexico City at a time when those questions, and questions about Fifa awarding the World Cup to the United States, Canada and Mexico, are impossible to ignore.
This is a tournament being held in increasingly polarised countries and a polarised world, where minority communities across protected characteristics often feel isolated, targeted and unwelcome. Football is not separate from that reality; in many ways, it reflects and amplifies it.
We’ve already seen reports of LGBTQ+ fan groups choosing not to maintain a visible presence because of fears for their safety. Disabled supporters, and many others, have raised concerns about inequitable ticket pricing, ethnic minority communities remain worried about racial abuse, and fans, officials and media from across the world whose countries are on the United States’ travel ban list are being denied access to the country.
Human Rights Watch has said the tournament “risks being defined by exclusion and fear” while also “becoming a sportswashing bonanza for the Trump administration.”
We’ve seen evidence of increased polarisation this season at Kick It Out, too, after receiving a record number of discrimination reports. This includes rises in reports of racism, homophobia, ableism, Islamophobia and antisemitism.
At every level of the sport, discrimination makes it harder for people to feel safe, welcome and able to participate fully. Whole communities are being pushed to the margins, while others are left questioning whether they are truly entitled to enjoy and belong in football.
That is why this World Cup is about more than skill, tactics or nerve. It is a test of whether football’s governing bodies, institutions and stakeholders are willing to defend the values they so often claim sit at the heart of the game.
Fifa has long claimed that football is for everyone and has promoted its ‘Football Unites the World’ campaign ahead of the tournament. It’s a sport capable of connecting five-time world champions Brazil with Haiti, and of belonging just as much to 90,000 fans at Wembley as to the Blue Wave supporters who fill Ergilio Hato Stadium in Curacao. That idea remains powerful, but it only means something if the game’s institutions are prepared to uphold it in practice.
Central to Fifa’s stated principles has been its commitment to recognise, promote and protect all internationally recognised human rights. However, in the face of increasing political decisions by the United States, which attack human rights and the ability of all people to enjoy this World Cup, Fifa has been unwilling, or unable, to utilise its own influence and stature to truly uphold these principles.
Recent incidents have also provided examples of football governing bodies failing to respond with clarity and consistency when discrimination has occurred.
In 2024, Argentina and Chelsea midfielder Enzo Fernandez was not held to account after singing a racist and transphobic song following the 2024 Men’s Copa America. When challenged on this by Kick It Out, Fifa briefed that the incident was CONMEBOL’s jurisdiction, but no action was taken.
During last year’s Fifa Club World Cup in the US, Germany and Real Madrid defender Antonio Rudiger reported racism by an opponent. The referee activated Fifa’s ‘No Racism’ arm gesture, protocol was followed, but there was no communication about any action that followed.
Then earlier this year in the Champions League, Brazil and Real Madrid winger Vinícius Júnior, reported racism by Benfica’s Gianluca Prestianni. Again, protocol was followed, and in this instance, Prestianni was suspended for the second leg pending investigation. However, when the investigation was concluded and Prestianni was adjudged to have used a homophobic slur rather than a racist one, he was given a reduced ban rather than the previously stated 10-game minimum.
Taken together, these incidents raise serious questions about transparency and consistency. If sanctions can be reduced, reclassified or applied unevenly, what confidence should players, supporters and officials have that football’s anti-discrimination framework is robust enough to protect them?
Football is more than a game. In Fifa’s own language, it is supposed to be a force for good that breaks down barriers and brings people together. That is why this World Cup will be a further test: of its anti-discrimination protocols, of the willingness of institutions and platforms to confront hate, and of whether football is truly prepared to be as inclusive as it says it is.
If global communities – including a continent’s leading referee - are unable to travel, participate or simply be visible, then the game has not lived up to its promise.
