Trump Defies FIFA Critics: “World Cup Will Be America’s Safest Event Ever”

Paul Riverbank, 1/27/2026Can America deliver the “safest” World Cup amid tough borders and global scrutiny? Find out.

Mark Pieth, who’s no unknown in the world of FIFA reforms, added fuel to the debate. In a chat with a Swiss outlet, Pieth delivered his own warning—almost sardonic, but underpinned by genuine concern. Even with a ticket, you might be turned back at the airport, he suggested—if not worse. “If you’re lucky,” he said. His language edged towards hyperbole, but there’s no mistaking the underlying anxiety. Pieth likened the current U.S. mood to what soccer fans sometimes face in Mexico, except instead of cartel trouble, it’s unpredictable border enforcement fans had to worry about.

The background is as complex as ever. Millions—ten by some estimates—plan on descending on North American cities for a taste of World Cup glory in 2026. While Canada and Mexico are co-hosting, it’s the U.S. that will see the real surge, especially once the tournament heats up with the knockout rounds. But beneath the expected fanfare lies a knot of security measures and legal red tape. Trump’s hard lines on immigration have translated into visible action for some: stepped-up ICE patrols, more aggressive visa checks, a handful of high-profile deportations that captured the news cycles. The fallout from recent ‘zero tolerance’ stances and legal wrangling over detentions hang over the tournament like a low cloud.

Of course, American officials are keen to project reassurance. The State Department has fast-tracked a special “FIFA PASS” program, promising expedited visas for ticketholders and efforts to keep lines moving rather than clogging up airports. White House statements tout “unprecedented success” in the making, and President Trump’s favorite refrain on this score is equal parts hospitality and vigilance. “We’ll welcome fans freely, but rules are rules,” is how his approach could be summed up. “Come for the spectacle, but don’t expect leniency if you fall foul of the law,” runs the subtext.

From FIFA’s side, Gianni Infantino—who’s managed to maintain a strikingly cordial relationship with Trump—remains bullish. He’s talking up crowds in the millions, the promise of a “truly global festival,” as if the realities of border policy are just a passing inconvenience. And, in fairness, American sporting history is full of similarly grand reassurances. During the preparations for Los Angeles 2028, President Trump spoke openly about deploying military assets for safety—never subtle in his formulations, always direct: “It’ll be great. Safety comes first.” Old footage of National Guard deployments at crowded U.S. events offers an odd kind of comfort. Security is visible, sometimes unmissable, but for most visitors it simply fades into the background hum of large-scale American events.

It’s not all just hand-wringing or rally-round-the-flag. The Arctic, of all places, has also become the battleground for America’s new hard-nosed approach. While the world watches for soccer, Trump’s sights on the Northwest Passage—rarely discussed outside shipping circles—have led to unusual diplomatic pressure on Canada, with the U.S. positioning itself as both economic gatekeeper and security overseer in this rapidly thawing region. It’s far removed from cheering stands, yet the mindset is linked: project strength, shape the rules, let the world play by American terms.

International fans, meanwhile, seem torn between anticipation and uncertainty. Some will take Blatter’s and Pieth’s advice at face value, staying home and watching the World Cup through the comforting flat glow of a television screen. Others will shoulder the paperwork and queues—maybe rolling their eyes at the drama but coming anyway, too swept up by the promise of seeing their heroes live. For all the high-level wrangling and warnings, the decision for most fans is simple: take the risk, or take a pass.

Still, the larger question—how open is the U.S. to the world at this moment?—hovers in the background, its answer as yet unfinished. America’s gates aren’t shut, but neither are they as carefree as they once were. These anxieties are not just about soccer or sports security; they point to a broader unease about travel, belonging, and shifting global alliances. For now, those with tickets in hand will have to weigh the warnings against their own sense of adventure—and hope the game, in the end, is worth the journey.

Warnings rarely stir much beyond the expected fuss, especially in the run-up to global sporting events. But when Sepp Blatter, former FIFA chief, took to social media with his advice for soccer fans—essentially, “Give the U.S. 2026 World Cup a miss”—the stir was felt well beyond the pitch. Blatter’s words, blunt and provocative, landed at a delicate moment. He cited American immigration clampdowns and painted the U.S. under President Trump as a place unfriendly to international guests: “For the fans, there’s only one piece of advice: stay away from the USA!” Plenty dismissed him as a has-been, still trying to claw his way back into football’s headlines after his own messy exit. But not everyone shrugged.Mark Pieth, who’s no unknown in the world of FIFA reforms, added fuel to the debate. In a chat with a Swiss outlet, Pieth delivered his own warning—almost sardonic, but underpinned by genuine concern. Even with a ticket, you might be turned back at the airport, he suggested—if not worse. “If you’re lucky,” he said. His language edged towards hyperbole, but there’s no mistaking the underlying anxiety. Pieth likened the current U.S. mood to what soccer fans sometimes face in Mexico, except instead of cartel trouble, it’s unpredictable border enforcement fans had to worry about.The background is as complex as ever. Millions—ten by some estimates—plan on descending on North American cities for a taste of World Cup glory in 2026. While Canada and Mexico are co-hosting, it’s the U.S. that will see the real surge, especially once the tournament heats up with the knockout rounds. But beneath the expected fanfare lies a knot of security measures and legal red tape. Trump’s hard lines on immigration have translated into visible action for some: stepped-up ICE patrols, more aggressive visa checks, a handful of high-profile deportations that captured the news cycles. The fallout from recent ‘zero tolerance’ stances and legal wrangling over detentions hang over the tournament like a low cloud.Of course, American officials are keen to project reassurance. The State Department has fast-tracked a special “FIFA PASS” program, promising expedited visas for ticketholders and efforts to keep lines moving rather than clogging up airports. White House statements tout “unprecedented success” in the making, and President Trump’s favorite refrain on this score is equal parts hospitality and vigilance. “We’ll welcome fans freely, but rules are rules,” is how his approach could be summed up. “Come for the spectacle, but don’t expect leniency if you fall foul of the law,” runs the subtext.From FIFA’s side, Gianni Infantino—who’s managed to maintain a strikingly cordial relationship with Trump—remains bullish. He’s talking up crowds in the millions, the promise of a “truly global festival,” as if the realities of border policy are just a passing inconvenience. And, in fairness, American sporting history is full of similarly grand reassurances. During the preparations for Los Angeles 2028, President Trump spoke openly about deploying military assets for safety—never subtle in his formulations, always direct: “It’ll be great. Safety comes first.” Old footage of National Guard deployments at crowded U.S. events offers an odd kind of comfort. Security is visible, sometimes unmissable, but for most visitors it simply fades into the background hum of large-scale American events.It’s not all just hand-wringing or rally-round-the-flag. The Arctic, of all places, has also become the battleground for America’s new hard-nosed approach. While the world watches for soccer, Trump’s sights on the Northwest Passage—rarely discussed outside shipping circles—have led to unusual diplomatic pressure on Canada, with the U.S. positioning itself as both economic gatekeeper and security overseer in this rapidly thawing region. It’s far removed from cheering stands, yet the mindset is linked: project strength, shape the rules, let the world play by American terms.International fans, meanwhile, seem torn between anticipation and uncertainty. Some will take Blatter’s and Pieth’s advice at face value, staying home and watching the World Cup through the comforting flat glow of a television screen. Others will shoulder the paperwork and queues—maybe rolling their eyes at the drama but coming anyway, too swept up by the promise of seeing their heroes live. For all the high-level wrangling and warnings, the decision for most fans is simple: take the risk, or take a pass.Still, the larger question—how open is the U.S. to the world at this moment?—hovers in the background, its answer as yet unfinished. America’s gates aren’t shut, but neither are they as carefree as they once were. These anxieties are not just about soccer or sports security; they point to a broader unease about travel, belonging, and shifting global alliances. For now, those with tickets in hand will have to weigh the warnings against their own sense of adventure—and hope the game, in the end, is worth the journey.