We may be approaching a moment when nations are thinking seriously about boycotting the 2026 World Cup — or, at minimum, asking to relocate their matches to Canada and Mexico while bypassing the United States.
Most of us remember the trauma of Olympic boycotts. The U.S. boycott of the 1980 Moscow Games in response to the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, followed by the Eastern Bloc’s retaliation in Los Angeles in 1984, diminished what should have been apolitical celebrations of global sport. As a general rule, keeping politics out of athletics is a worthy goal. Yet history shows that sport and geopolitics are never fully separable.
Russia remains banned from international football competitions, including the World Cup, and Russian and Belarusian athletes often compete only as neutrals in other sports. Those decisions were controversial, but they were grounded in a shared sense that certain actions carry consequences — even in arenas meant to unite rather than divide.
The case surrounding the United States is different, but it is no longer weaker.
The current administration has made unusual and unsettling demands of visiting teams, supporters, and even athletes — suggesting they should not linger after matches, as if participation itself were conditional hospitality. Few things cut more sharply against the spirit of the World Cup than treating players and fans as temporary inconveniences rather than honored guests.
Recent conduct has not helped. The president’s behavior at the Club World Cup — lingering on the podium as the victorious English club attempted to celebrate, amid credible reports that the actual trophy was withheld — was not merely awkward. It was emblematic. Being awarded a FIFA “Peace Prize” only deepened the sense that sport is being instrumentalized rather than respected. At the same time, widely circulated images of immigration crackdowns, street protests, and visa suspensions have raised quiet but persistent questions abroad about safety, welcome, and the use of state power in everyday life.
More troubling still is the broader context. Threats directed at allies like Greenland, a NATO partner; pressure applied across the Western Hemisphere; and the recent use of force in Venezuela suggest an administration increasingly indifferent to norms that once governed international conduct. These are not abstract concerns. They shape how visitors, teams, and governments assess legitimacy and trust.
It is regrettable to contemplate mixing geopolitics with sport. The World Cup, at its best, is a temporary suspension of grievance — a reminder that shared joy is still possible. But when the host nation itself appears willing to undermine that premise, silence becomes its own form of endorsement.
In light of recent events — from domestic unrest to foreign interventions — asking whether the United States should host the world right now is no longer a provocation. It is a sober question. And sometimes, restraint by others is not punishment, but a plea for reflection.