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Kenya, 11 June 2026 - The 2026 FIFA World Cup was supposed to symbolize football's most ambitious era yet: 48 teams, three host nations, and a tournament marketed as a celebration of global unity.
Instead, the last week has revealed something deeply uncomfortable.
For many players, officials, and supporters from outside the traditional centers of football power, the World Cup has begun not with excitement, but with interrogations, visa denials, delayed arrivals, invasive searches, and uncertainty.
And whether FIFA wants to admit it or not, that is already damaging the tournament's image.
It would be easy to reduce this to a debate about American immigration policy. That misses the larger point.
The real question is: How did FIFA award the world's biggest sporting event to a host environment where so many participants and supporters could face unpredictable entry barriers?
FIFA knew the United States has strict visa rules, extensive security screening, and a complex immigration system. None of that is new. Yet the organization sold the tournament as an open, global celebration while seemingly assuming the practical difficulties would somehow solve themselves.
That assumption now looks reckless.
A World Cup host is not merely providing stadiums and hotels. It is agreeing to welcome the world. If players, referees, officials, and supporters cannot reliably enter the country, the event's core promise starts to collapse.
Artan's story resonates because it strikes at football's favorite narrative: meritocracy.
Here was a Somali referee who rose through CAF competitions, became Africa's Referee of the Year, and earned selection for the World Cup on merit. For many Africans, his appointment was historic — proof that talent from a country long associated with conflict and hardship could still reach football's highest level.
Then he was turned away.
FIFA may argue that immigration decisions belong to governments, not football administrators. Legally, that is true. But morally and politically, it is not enough.
If FIFA cannot guarantee access for its own selected officials, fans will reasonably ask what "global football family" actually means.
The outrage is not coming only from the affected countries. Supporters in Europe, Africa, Asia, and Latin America are reacting because the incidents reveal a broader imbalance in global football.
Some delegations appear to move freely. Others face suspicion, delays, and extraordinary scrutiny.
Whether intentional or not, that creates a hierarchy of belonging at an event that claims to represent the entire planet.
Football fans are sensitive to hypocrisy. They have heard FIFA talk for years about inclusion, anti-discrimination, and unity. They have seen glossy campaigns insisting that football belongs to everyone.
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Then they watch teams searched with dogs, officials denied entry, and fans stranded despite holding valid travel authorizations.
The contradiction is hard to ignore.
The danger for FIFA is that these stories are arriving before the football has truly taken over public attention.
World Cups usually develop a dominant narrative: a breakout star, a shocking upset, a host nation's passion, a tactical revolution. The early narrative here risks becoming bureaucracy, suspicion, and exclusion.
That matters because perception outlives results.
Most people no longer remember every score from past World Cups, but they remember the images and controversies: Zidane's headbutt, the vuvuzelas in South Africa, corruption allegations, political protests, migrant worker debates in Qatar.
The 2026 tournament is in danger of becoming associated with visa chaos and unequal treatment.
And unlike a refereeing mistake or a bad match, this is not something the next game can erase.
Not completely. The tournament can still produce great football, unforgettable moments, and genuine celebration.
But FIFA has unquestionably failed in one crucial area: preparing the world for the realities of entering the host country. The organization either underestimated the problem or chose to downplay it.
Both possibilities are troubling.
A successful World Cup requires more than functioning stadiums and television contracts. It requires trust, the belief that qualification, accreditation, and purchased tickets actually mean something.
Right now, that trust has been shaken.
This episode should force a broader rethink of how mega-events are awarded and organized.
Hosting rights should not be judged only by infrastructure, commercial potential, and political influence. They should also consider mobility, accessibility, and participants' practical ability to enter and move freely in every region.
Because football's claim to be universal means little if the world cannot reliably get through the airport.
And that is why the anger will persist long after the final whistle of the 2026 World Cup.
The writer is an accomplished sports journalist based in Kenya. He comments on topical issues.
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the views of Dawan Africa.
If FIFA cannot guarantee access for its own selected officials, fans will reasonably ask what "global football family" actually means.