Africa's 2025 Referee of the Year flew to Miami to officiate at the World Cup. He left 11 hours later from a holding cell, bound back for Mogadishu, having never set foot on a pitch. That's the opening image of the 2026 tournament.
Omar Abdulkadir Artan, a Somali referee with the correct visa and the correct paperwork, was deemed "inadmissible due to vetting concerns" by U.S. customs officials. Andrew Giuliani, executive director of the White House Task Force for the World Cup, confirmed it was done "for very good reasons" — and refused to say what those reasons were. A tournament that is supposed to celebrate the world's game has already turned one of its officials away at the door.
It's not just one case
Artan isn't alone. An Iraqi team staffer was sent back at customs. Dozens of journalists — many from the Middle East and Africa — have been refused clearance to cover the tournament. A 40-person Moroccan supporters club was denied entry without explanation, despite having spent heavily on tickets, flights and accommodation.
Ian Wright, hardly a doom-monger, called it a "World Cup of chaos" on Instagram. "Every few hours it's another story — fans denied, players denied, officials denied, journalists denied, now refs," he said. "Is this the spirit of football?"
It's a fair question. And it doesn't have an easy answer right now.
Trump, for his part, declared the tournament already a success — pointing to ticket sales. The best seats for the U.S. opener against Paraguay are priced at $2,735. More than it cost to attend the 2022 World Cup Final. The cheapest ticket for that game is $1,120. As of midweek, the Los Angeles fixture still hadn't sold out.
The comparison that stings
In 1990, Italy made a difficult call. Alcohol was banned in stadiums and surrounding bars on match days. Food and drink sales dropped 85 percent in Rome. Business owners were furious. But it kept the tournament safe and welcoming for fans travelling from every corner of the globe — and it worked. It's remembered as one of the great World Cups.
The principle was simple: the common good matters more than the bottom line.
The 2026 tournament has 48 teams, 104 matches, and a revenue model built on scale. FIFA's expansion from 32 teams exists largely because more games means more money — Infantino and Trump share that much common ground. The commercial ambition is enormous. The welcome, so far, is not matching it.
Human Rights Watch's U.S. program director Tanya Greene put it plainly: "What is happening to players and staff and fans coming to the U.S. for the World Cup is representative of the horrors millions of people in the U.S. are experiencing under this regime."
Anyone pricing up markets around this tournament — attendance figures, viewer numbers, the commercial performance of host venues — is working with a variable that's genuinely hard to model: how many people simply won't come because they're afraid they won't get in. That uncertainty is real, and it's already showing in unsold seats.
Artan arrived as Africa's best referee in 2025. He left in a deportation holding cell. That's where the 2026 World Cup stands before a single match has been played.
