The countdown to the 2026 FIFA World Cup has begun, and anticipation is building as North America prepares to host soccer’s grandest stage for the first time since 1994. With just over two months until kickoff on June 11, 2026, the world is watching as the United States, Canada, and Mexico ready themselves for a tournament that promises to be historic, complex, and, some say, more politically charged than any World Cup before it.
This year’s edition will be the first to feature a record forty-eight national teams, a significant jump from previous tournaments, and the first to be co-hosted by three countries. The United States is set to host nearly three-fourths of the matches across eleven cities, while Canada and Mexico will host games in two and three cities, respectively. For fans, players, and organizers alike, the scale is nothing short of monumental. As Yahoo Sports put it, “the hype machine is officially warming up and there’s no turning it off now.”
But beneath the excitement, there’s a sense of unease. The political landscape in North America has shifted dramatically since the co-hosting plan was first hatched in 2017. Under the second Trump administration, U.S. immigration and border policies have tightened, creating a host of complications for the millions of international visitors expected this summer. Amnesty International sounded the alarm on March 30, warning that “millions of fans may be at risk for troubling attacks on human rights” stemming from U.S. immigration policies, restrictions on freedom of expression, and discrimination—despite FIFA’s assurances of a “safe, welcoming, and inclusive” tournament.
Indeed, the practical impact of these policies is already being felt. As of last June, the Trump administration enacted a travel ban affecting citizens from nineteen countries, with a January 2026 decree halting immigrant visa processing for seventy-five more. While athletes, coaches, and select staff were initially said to be exempt, the U.S. State Department later clarified that “only a small subset of travelers” would qualify. This leaves fans, foreign spectators, media, and even corporate sponsors from restricted countries facing significant obstacles to attending matches in the United States.
Among the nations affected are four whose teams have qualified: Haiti, Iran, the Ivory Coast, and Senegal. Nationals from these countries will be unable to attend U.S.-hosted games. Many others, including Egypt, Ghana, Jordan, Morocco, Uruguay, and Uzbekistan, are subject to a visa pause that applies to immigration visas but not tourist visas—though “anybody coming from those countries is going to face an extra level of scrutiny,” according to CFR immigration expert Ted Alden. For some, the hurdles are not just bureaucratic but financial: nonimmigrant visa holders from countries like Algeria, Cape Verde, the Ivory Coast, and Senegal will need to post a $15,000 bond to attend U.S. games, a sum that could prove prohibitive for many fans.
“This is going to dissuade a lot of people. Europeans are not going to want to give five years of social media history to the U.S. government,” Alden told CFR, referencing new screening requirements. The psychological barrier is just as real: “Are people going to be scared to enter the United States?” he wondered aloud. Ebenezer Obadare of CFR Africa highlighted another consequence: “There’s something about having your fans in the stadium, rooting for you, shouting their heads off… If you don’t have those people in the stands, it’s not the same thing.”
Security is another pressing concern. Congress approved $625 million for the eleven U.S. host cities, but as of late March, city officials claimed a $150 million shortfall per city and delays in disbursing the funds. President Trump has threatened to move matches from cities he deems “unsafe,” particularly those with sanctuary policies, though FIFA has asserted he cannot unilaterally do so. Intelligence briefings from U.S. officials and FIFA warned in March that the potential for extremist attacks or civil unrest has grown due to heightened tensions over immigration policies and ongoing conflict with Iran.
Meanwhile, cartel violence in Mexico has already cast a shadow over the festivities. In February, the assassination of drug lord El Mencho in Guadalajara—one of Mexico’s host cities—sparked chaos as organized crime groups set fire to public infrastructure and attacked vehicles. The unrest has impacted tourism, raising fresh doubts about the safety of fans and players alike. By contrast, Canadian host cities have so far avoided major safety concerns.
Enforcement at the games is also under scrutiny. During the 2025 Club World Cup, FIFA received 145 reports related to human rights, including an alleged presence by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and Customs and Border Protection. ICE has announced plans to play a “key part” in World Cup security—a move that’s drawn criticism from officials in Germany, the United Kingdom, and Ecuador. Italian officials strongly objected to ICE’s involvement in the 2026 Milan Winter Olympics, with Milan’s mayor calling the agency a “militia.” In the U.S., Congress has proposed a bill to bar federal funds from being used for immigration enforcement at the World Cup, citing concerns for attendees’ safety.
On the pitch, the games themselves are not immune to geopolitical drama. Iran’s national team announced in March that it would boycott matches in the United States due to safety fears, though it may still play in Canada and Mexico if FIFA reschedules its fixtures. FIFA has so far resisted moving any matches, but Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum has said her country would gladly host Iran’s games. Meanwhile, extreme heat in cities like Los Angeles and Mexico City poses another risk to player safety, with last year’s Club World Cup marred by heat exhaustion during midafternoon kickoffs.
Despite calls from coaches, politicians, and some fan groups for a boycott, most experts believe a full team boycott is unlikely. “At the end of the day, [players] want that shot,” Obadare remarked. Individual or fan group boycotts may be more common, and FIFA stands to profit from ticket resales, collecting a 15 percent fee on both ends of the transaction.
FIFA has embedded human rights criteria into the 2026 World Cup bidding process for the first time, and host cities have pledged to promote inclusivity and fair labor practices. Yet, as Andrea Florence of the Sport & Rights Alliance told Amnesty, “the deteriorating human rights situation in the United States has put those commitments at risk.” FIFA President Gianni Infantino, however, has maintained close ties with President Trump, even awarding him the FIFA Peace Prize last year for “tireless efforts to promote peace.”
Amid all the controversy, the tournament will showcase four debutant teams—Cape Verde, Curaçao, Jordan, and Uzbekistan—offering fans a chance to witness new rivalries and fresh stories on soccer’s biggest stage. The 2026 World Cup is also a test case for the shared hosting model, ahead of the 2030 tournament split among Morocco, Portugal, and Spain. As Obadare put it, “it will be a different tournament overall.”
With the world’s eyes set on North America and the clock ticking down to June 11, the 2026 World Cup promises spectacle, drama, and a fair share of challenges. Whether the tournament can live up to its billing as a unifying force amid complex political realities remains to be seen—but one thing’s for sure: once the first whistle blows, soccer will once again take center stage.