Thousands of Mexicans are demonstrating in the streets of Mexico City to highlight their social demands at the start of the World Cup.
Mexico’s President, Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo, has been emphatic: “We will not use repression or deploy security forces to clear the streets,” she stated—effectively conveying the message that “this, too, is Mexico; its citizens have the freedom to voice their demands.”
With this strategy, she has preempted criticism, positioning the country as a place where society is respected. And it has worked. Many tourists have taken to social media to express their acceptance of this phenomenon, embracing it as part of the World Cup’s local flavor. Mexicans have done what they do best: making the soccer atmosphere their own and throwing themselves passionately into the start of the World Cup.
Mexico will host only 13 of the 104 World Cup matches, yet the only three-time host nation has embraced the event as if it were entirely its own. While its co-hosts—the United States (78 matches) and Canada (13 matches)—seem to view the tournament with a certain detachment, in Mexico, the World Cup is experienced with a different kind of intensity. This is evident in the way stadiums have filled up for matches between teams unknown to the general public—as seen during the play-off round—and in how every team’s arrival (such as Spain’s this Monday) turns into a celebration, or how the Iranian delegation was welcomed into the country after being rejected by the United States. Added to this is the uncertainty: the torrential rains that hit the capital with clockwork regularity every June; the highly likely protests threatening to bring the city to a standstill; and the organizational shortcomings… Yet Mexico, the great host, wants soccer.
The country’s role as a host began with the play-off matches, which drew full stadiums for games that seemed destined to go unnoticed. New Caledonia and Jamaica played before thousands of fans who cheered for them as if they were the home team. Ticket prices—around 200 pesos (13 dollars)—played a significant role, contrasting sharply with official tickets, which have become the most expensive in history. For many Mexican fans, those qualifiers offered the closest chance to feel part of a World Cup that, financially speaking, feels increasingly out of reach for them. More recently, as national teams have arrived at their base camps, fans have waited for hours just to get a photo, a wave, or an autograph. It goes beyond rivalry; they have done the same even for South Africa, their first opponent. The contrast with their co-hosts is inevitable: in Canada, soccer generates little interest, while in the United States, the receptions have been defined by immigration controls.
The political stakes match the scale of the tournament, which will be the largest in history and the first to be hosted by three countries. While U.S. President Donald Trump uses the event as a political showcase—a weapon against his adversaries and a means to strengthen ties with FIFA—Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum has decided not to attend the opening ceremony, gifting her ticket (number 001) to a young Indigenous woman. Sheinbaum’s absence is unprecedented. From presidents and kings to emirs, leaders have always kicked off or attended the 22 previous editions of the planet’s most-watched sporting event. Sheinbaum could thus become the first head of state in history to miss a World Cup opening ceremony.
