Openness, civility and humility: The World Cup that America got right

Somewhere between six and eight hours of playing time remain in this FIFA World Cup, before a champion is crowned on July 20, Singapore time – more, if it comes down to penalties. It is not too soon, then, to pass judgment on the 39-day spectacle in Mexico, Canada and principal host the United States.

It is an ungenerous, mealy-mouthed suggestion – advanced by some commentators – that the tournament has succeeded in spite of America, which staged the lion’s share of the 104 games, including every match from the quarter-finals onwards.

On the contrary, the US can and should take credit for a tournament that has gone far better than many of us expected before it began.

Cue the naysayers, eager to remind us of how the Iran team were treated by the Americans, the Somali referee barred from entry and the exorbitant ticket prices (the latter, for the record, firmly FIFA’s problem).

But if one can place those complaints in a necessary basket of caveats, it is easy enough to widen the aperture. In the grander scheme, how can one regard this iteration of the world’s greatest cultural festival as anything but a resounding success?

The football itself has been magnificent. For America, the packed stadiums – despite earlier fears of empty seats – and record television audiences should provide a genuine sense of mission accomplished in bringing the sport closer to the American mainstream.

The US-Belgium round-of-16 match alone drew 42 million viewers across American outlets, making it the most-watched football telecast in US history.

We can have our say about the White House’s meddling in that match – but the people are not their government. The people, in fact, were the stars of this tournament. Credit is due to the thousands of volunteers across the 11 American host cities, while an army of local police officers and state troopers kept things running smoothly.

Where hotels fell short, ordinary Americans stepped into the breach with short-term rentals, driving a massive surge in listings across the host cities.

Viewers of the World Cup’s many magazine shows, such as Netflix’s The Rest Is Football, will know just how welcoming everyday Americans have been to the millions of visitors – whether in Dallas, Miami or Boston, where Scotland’s “Tartan Army” revelled. In the words of The Wall Street Journal’s Peggy Noonan, visiting fans “expected a dark and brooding nation; they discovered a sun-filled magnificence”.

Beyond the logistics and hospitality, the spectacle succeeded because it became a celebration of classically American values. That is not to diminish the role of Canada and Mexico as co-hosts. But the tournament’s main stage, and much of its spirit, was unmistakably American.

What, then, was the core ethos on display?

In this columnist’s view, it was this: that openness to immigration and the free flow of talent is a virtue rather than a vulnerability; that a collective identity can be forged without descending into ugly polarisation; and, above all, that humility matters in both victory and defeat. These are principles that modern populism – prizing insularity, polarisation and hubris – will never quite grasp.

Monument to global migration

Much has been written in the world’s media about how and why the World Cup serves as a monument to global migration, but allow this columnist to labour the point as well.

Consider the French forward Michael Olise, one of the prodigious talents introduced to the wider world this time, whose balletic footwork even a footballing philistine would rave about. Born to a French-Algerian mother and a Nigerian father, he grew up in west London – as his accent readily betrays – yet decided there was no other country he would play for but Les Bleus.

Erling Haaland, the “ravenous Nordic goal-yeti” who is arguably the tournament’s biggest social media sensation, has a similar story. Born in England, he could easily have turned out for the Three Lions, but there was never much doubt that he would play for Norway.

Ultimately, national representation on this stage is a visceral thing. It is a feeling of conviction, a shared purpose with the nation that resides in your heart rather than strictly in your bloodline or circumstance.

At the same time, these players carry multiple identities unabashedly. There is no contradiction in being a national of one country while acknowledging deep ties to another. More than any other spectacle, the World Cup proves that, in an era of open borders, people cannot be forced into neat little boxes.

Haaland himself, for instance, spoke glowingly of the England team – whose star, Jude Bellingham, is among his close friends – and of the country where he plies his trade.

This duality was writ large across many other teams. We see it in the French stars who proudly champion their African heritage, and just as powerfully in the Moroccan squad, powered by players born in Madrid, Paris or Amsterdam – playing with devotion for their “heritage” homeland without disavowing their European upbringing.

We here in Singapore are footballing minnows, of course, but is this ethos not deeply etched into our own national consciousness? Jingoists and dangerous ethno-nationalists – those who demand to know whether you are a “true blue” Singaporean, Briton, Norwegian or Cape Verdean – will never grasp this. They are blind to the higher-order complexity of national identity that these athletes embody.

Tribalism without toxicity

Equally, one imagines that MAGA Americans, disciples of Britain’s Nigel Farage and those lacking expansive minds on our own small island will fail to fathom why there has been no major fan trouble at this World Cup.

Tribalism without toxicity? How can that be? While some supporters’ groups have complained about substandard segregation in stadiums intended to pre-empt clashes should tensions rise, there have, by and large, been no significant reports of violence.

If anything, the few skirmishes have taken place thousands of kilometres away, including incidents involving Moroccans in Europe. Across the US, as well as in Mexico and Canada, journalists have instead noted a spirit of easy camaraderie and friendly banter.

One hopes this holds true for the impending England-Argentina semi-final, given the historical baggage between these two footballing rivals.

But it must be noted that, across the three host nations, the ugliness seen in past editions – such as in Russia in 2018, where homophobic chants and Latin American fans harassing women made headlines – has thankfully not materialised here.

How fitting that this should unfold in America, a country where, at least until the 1990s, partisanship was not a blood sport and differing political stripes did not mean casting the other side as the enemy. The American idealist will be hoping the world of sport can show that such civility may one day return to public life.

A lesson in humility

And what of humility – and the staggering hubris that this World Cup also laid bare?

One need look no further than the murky spectacle of the Oval Office occupant telephoning the head of FIFA in an attempt to have American star striker Folarin Balogun’s red card rescinded ahead of the tie with Belgium.

Whichever way one cuts it, this was hubris at its most grotesque. It perfectly encapsulated America’s modern political attitude: the belief that, as the world’s apex predator, it can bend every outcome, in every arena, to its absolute will.

That this presidential interference came to nothing – ending with the Belgians trouncing the Americans and then rubbing salt into the wound by performing the hip-shifting shuffle known as the “Trump dance” to the tune of YMCA – was as poetic as it gets. Given the unprecedented political overreach before the match, the Belgians were entirely justified in weaponising that celebration.

Yet, if that episode was a masterclass in the perils of arrogance, the tournament offered a perfect counterweight in grace. When one thinks of humility personified, the words of Brazil manager Carlo Ancelotti immediately come to mind.

Football fans will know him as one of the greatest managers the game has seen. Asked why he chose not to celebrate wildly after his side edged past Japan through a nerve-shredding 95th-minute winner in the round of 32, his response was a rebuke to the modern era of gloating: “Sometimes the best way to respect your opponent is to remain humble in your biggest moments.”

It is a disposition that, for all of today’s exhausting polarisation, channels a tradition of magnanimity that in the past many of us would regard as American. One thinks of the graciousness that defined the rivalry between Barack Obama and John McCain, or the small plaque Ronald Reagan kept on his Oval Office desk, which prized shared success over personal credit. True power, as those statesmen understood, has no need to crow.

For all the caveats and controversies, then, this was, through and through, America’s World Cup, ably shared with Mexico and Canada.

The US not only delivered a sprawling global event with undeniable class, but also held up a mirror to the very best of its own founding values.