FIFA's ambitious expansion of the World Cup to 48 teams—a milestone increase from the traditional 32-nation format—was presented as an opportunity to broaden global participation and welcome smaller footballing nations onto sport's biggest stage. Yet the tournament's promise of becoming the "most inclusive" World Cup has been sharply contested by human rights organizations and supporters' groups, which point to a troubling contradiction: while the tournament opened its competitive doors wider than ever, the United States tightened its immigration gates, effectively locking out legions of legitimate fans and workers.
The Sport & Rights Alliance, a coalition of human rights and supporters' organizations, released damning findings this week documenting systematic visa denials that undermined FIFA's stated commitment to international inclusion. The problem was neither isolated nor accidental—it reflected broader patterns across multiple nations with significant football-following populations. Ronan Evain, executive director of Football Supporters Europe, highlighted the severity of the situation during interviews with the alliance, noting that tracking down even a single Moroccan ticket holder who successfully obtained a US visa proved nearly impossible. The same barriers affected supporters from Egypt, Jordan, Iraq, and Uzbekistan, effectively creating a tiered World Cup experience where geographical and geopolitical considerations dictated who could physically attend.
The contrast between FIFA's rhetoric and reality became impossible to ignore when prominent figures themselves encountered these obstacles. Omar Abdulkadir Artan, a Somali referee with a valid visa to officiate at the tournament, was barred from entering the United States just days before the competition began. The Trump administration justified the denial by citing alleged links to suspected members of terrorist organizations—a characterization that raised profound questions about the transparency and fairness of visa review processes, particularly for citizens of nations subjected to heightened scrutiny under US immigration policies. FIFA President Gianni Infantino's public response—a somewhat dismissive "Chill, relax"—only intensified criticism that the governing body had abdicated responsibility for protecting participants' access to an event it had marketed as globally welcoming.
The human cost extended beyond individual rejections to create visible imbalances in stadium attendance. Several nations, most notably Senegal, found their supporters drastically outnumbered in the stands due to wholesale visa suspensions affecting most of their citizens. This demographic disparity transformed the tournament experience, diminishing the cultural and atmospheric contributions that international fans typically bring to World Cup matches. The absence of these voices and presences stripped matches of their traditional multicultural character, replacing it with a narrower representation of global fandom.
FIFA's institutional response to these criticisms has been notably evasive. Neither the organization nor the White House provided substantive comments addressing the alliance's concerns, despite explicit requests. Meanwhile, US Homeland Security Secretary Markwayne Mullin defended the visa denials by claiming his department had coordinated with FIFA officials during the review process. This assertion, however, raised uncomfortable questions: if coordination occurred, had FIFA actively endorsed these restrictive policies, or had it simply failed to push back against them? The lack of clarity suggested either complicity or passive acceptance—neither position consistent with FIFA's professed commitment to inclusion.
The geopolitical dimensions of these visa barriers merit particular attention for Southeast Asian readers and policymakers. The Trump administration's immigration crackdown created a climate of fear around international travel to the United States, with the Sport & Rights Alliance specifically warning that FIFA had allowed a "distinctively dangerous climate of fear" to permeate the tournament environment. Journalists covering the event faced uncertainties about entry, supporters questioned whether their travel would be welcome, and families split across borders had to contemplate whether attending matches was worth the risk of exclusion. For a region where cross-border football fandom remains vibrant and integral to the sport's culture, such barriers represent a cautionary tale about how host nation immigration policies can fundamentally compromise international sporting events.
The human rights organization Human Rights Watch acknowledged that the tournament produced moments of genuine celebration and progress. Haiti's return to the World Cup for the first time in 52 years represented a triumph for Caribbean football, while Cape Verde's unexpected run captured the spirit of possibility that World Cup expansion was meant to enable. The presence of rainbow flags during Pride Match Day in Seattle demonstrated that social progress remained possible within the tournament framework. Yet these bright spots, according to Minky Worden, director of global initiatives at Human Rights Watch, could not overshadow "the dark side of policies by the tournament's principal hosts."
Looking forward, the Sport & Rights Alliance plans to release a comprehensive report in September detailing the full scope of human rights issues that emerged throughout the tournament. This documentation will provide essential evidence for future World Cup host nations considering how immigration and access policies intersect with sporting inclusion. The report's findings will likely influence FIFA's future bidding processes and host nation agreements, potentially establishing new standards or protections for international participants.
The 2026 World Cup's expansion to 48 teams raises critical questions about whether subsequent tournaments can achieve genuine inclusivity. Without meaningful institutional reforms—including stronger commitments from FIFA to negotiate access guarantees with host nations—future expansions risk replicating the same contradictions witnessed this year. For Malaysian stakeholders and Southeast Asian football communities, this moment underscores the importance of advocating for inclusive hosting practices that welcome supporters, workers, and participants from across the globe, regardless of geopolitical circumstances or immigration enforcement priorities that may distort the universalist ideals that international sport is meant to represent.
