A Messy Game: The Qatar World Cup In Review

“Why did they put that on him? I don’t like it… Ugh… Why?” These were the words of my collaborator as he expressed his disapproval during a recent meeting about our research project. He was reacting to an image from the 2022 World Cup Final—Lionel Messi wearing a black Qatari robe known as a “bisht” while lifting the trophy. The now-famous picture appeared in a slide deck prepared by our Argentinian team members, who understandably introduced their research updates with a nod to Argentina’s victory, which had dominated their thoughts of late.

While my Argentinian colleagues were naturally overjoyed by their country’s World Cup triumph, the focus quickly shifted to the media frenzy surrounding the bisht, which sparked heated debate worldwide. What should have been a simple gesture of honoring the winning team by the host nation, Qatar, became a flashpoint for controversy. This seemingly innocuous act of cultural recognition was met with a media outcry that overshadowed the real story: Argentina’s achievement on the field.

This incident speaks volumes about how cultural symbols are interpreted—and often misinterpreted—in the global spotlight. At its core, the controversy was never truly about the robe itself but about what it represented to onlookers. The “Us vs. Them” mindset that dominates much of international discourse views any gesture that promotes cultural exchange as a threat to established norms, particularly when it involves accepting or normalizing aspects of a culture perceived as foreign or “backward.”

From the moment Qatar won the bid to host the World Cup in 2010, criticism began to pour in, focusing on a variety of issues from migrant worker rights to LGBTQ+ freedoms and limitations on civil liberties. When the tournament finally kicked off, the criticism intensified; there were protests, media campaigns, and calls for boycotts. The bisht episode was only the latest in a long line of objections raised against Qatar.

Renowned commentator Piers Morgan aptly summarized the situation, questioning, “Who amongst us is morally clean enough to host a World Cup?” His point underlines a broader issue—the selective outrage that politicizes global sporting events. Consider the diplomatic boycott of the Beijing Winter Olympics by the United States in protest against China’s treatment of Uyghur Muslims. While many human rights advocates praised this gesture, it came across as opportunistic, especially when viewed against the backdrop of the U.S.’s reluctance to take a similar stance against allies like Israel or India, who face criticism for their policies in Palestine and Kashmir respectively.

The reaction to Qatar’s hosting of the World Cup fits neatly into this familiar narrative, where progress or positive developments in the Muslim world are often met with skepticism or disdain. When Russia hosted the 2018 World Cup, there was criticism for its human rights record, but it was comparatively mild. In contrast, the backlash against Qatar seemed more severe and relentless, driven by a predisposition to view any achievement by a Muslim-majority country with suspicion.

What was perhaps even more striking than the double standards in media coverage was the Muslim world’s response, particularly on social media. Many were quick to leap to Qatar’s defense, with arguments along the lines of, “Yes, Qatar has issues, but no country is perfect. Other nations violate human rights too, so the criticism must be Islamophobic.” While this reflexive defense may seem reasonable, it carries a problematic undertone—a victimhood mindset that makes it difficult to engage in objective self-critique.

This argument echoes a common narrative seen in other geopolitical conflicts. For instance, defenders of Israel often dismiss criticism as inherently anti-Semitic, ignoring legitimate concerns over human rights. Similarly, equating all criticism of Qatar to Islamophobia shuts down constructive dialogue, making it hard to discern whether critiques are rooted in bias or genuine concern for social justice.

It’s also important to remember that modern nation-states, including Qatar, are motivated by self-interest. Qatar’s decision to host the World Cup was primarily driven by economic and geopolitical goals, aiming to raise its profile and influence on the world stage. While the efforts to represent Islam positively are commendable, they do not place the country beyond reproach.

Many have hailed the World Cup as a crowning achievement for Qatar and the Muslim world, but it’s worth noting that countries with far fewer resources have hosted the event in the past—Latin American nations like Uruguay, Brazil, Chile, and Mexico held the tournament over 50 years ago. Measuring progress by the ability to host a sporting event is shortsighted; the real question is why it took so long for a Muslim-majority nation to do so.

The accomplishment of hosting the World Cup came at an astronomical cost—over $200 billion spent over a decade. This prompts a necessary reflection on how this wealth could have been used to uplift the global Muslim community. With that level of investment, Gulf countries could address economic challenges across the Muslim world, from resolving debt crises in Lebanon, Afghanistan, Egypt, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka, to eradicating famine in countries like Somalia and Yemen. Yet, these funds were funneled into building infrastructure for a month-long sporting event, raising questions about priorities and social responsibility.

Regardless of the mixed reactions and controversy, Qatar undeniably pulled off an impressive feat. As a small nation, it managed to deliver a world-class event, silencing critics and drawing positive attention to the region. The tournament provided a platform for Arab and Muslim talent to shine, and the success of teams like Morocco was partly due to the home advantage offered by the region’s cultural familiarity. Despite attempts by some media outlets to malign the event, the spotlight eventually returned to the sport, highlighting the achievements of players and the vibrancy of international competition.

By the end of the tournament, Qatar positioned itself as a cultural and sporting powerhouse, reshaping its global image. The nation demonstrated its ability to execute a major international event and project a different narrative about the Middle East—one focused on hospitality, sportsmanship, and cultural exchange, rather than conflict and instability. These accomplishments are significant, and Qatar’s efforts to challenge stereotypes and project a positive image deserve recognition.

The debate over Messi’s bisht underscores a much larger issue—the readiness of global audiences to interpret cultural gestures through their own lens, often influenced by biases and preconceived notions. While the criticism of Qatar’s World Cup hosting reflects longstanding geopolitical dynamics, it also serves as a reminder of the complexities involved in navigating cultural representation on the world stage.

Qatar’s hosting of the World Cup may have been polarizing, but it also succeeded in creating dialogue, challenging stereotypes, and opening up new possibilities for cultural understanding. In the end, the tournament was not just about football—it was a reflection of the global complexities surrounding identity, politics, and the power of sport to unite and divide. Qatar can take pride in its role in shaping this conversation, and the world, in turn, must consider the narratives it chooses to uplift or suppress.