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Title: Fortress or Festival? America’s World Cup Visa Tightrope When the United States gears up to co-host the FIFA World Cup in 2026 alongside Mexico and Canada, the world won’t just be tuning in to the matches—they’ll be watching America itself. For better or worse, global sporting events are stages where the host nation showcases its culture, values, and openness. Yet, under the Trump administration, rhetoric and policy surrounding immigration and visitor access often traded openness for suspicion. As we reflect on the precedent it set during his term, we’re forced to confront a critical question: can America truly lead on the field if it builds walls off of it? Under the Trump administration, immigration policy took a sharp nativist turn. From the infamous “Muslim Ban” (Executive Order 13769) to restrictive vetting processes for visa applicants, the focus was clearly on perceived threats over cultural exchange. Although these policies were framed as national security measures, their broader consequences often chilled international tourism and diplomacy, potentially threatening the very kind of global camaraderie that events like the World Cup are meant to promote. Specifically regarding short-term visas, the Trump administration imposed heightened scrutiny on visitor visas under the “extreme vetting” directive in 2017. According to the Department of State, under Trump, visa issuance dropped by over 17% from 2016 to 2019. Tourists and short-term visitors from numerous countries, especially from Africa and the Middle East, reported longer wait times, heavier documentation requirements, and increased rejections. This wasn’t just bureaucratic; it sent a message: “We don’t trust you.” Contrast that with past global events. During the 2012 London Olympics, the U.K. implemented a tailored visa program that fast-tracked entry for ticket holders and participants, balancing enhanced security with warm welcome. “Our priority is security,” British officials emphasized, “but we recognize this is also about national pride and hospitality.” Similarly, during the 2006 World Cup, Germany streamlined the visa process to allow seamless entry for attendees, which contributed to the event’s nickname: “The Summer Fairy Tale.” These examples remind us that security and openness don’t have to be mutually exclusive—they can be harmonized when diplomacy, not fear, leads. Even within the U.S., these discussions aren’t new. During the 1994 World Cup, President Bill Clinton’s administration collaborated with host cities to ensure security without alienating visitors. The emphasis leaned toward partnership, not paranoia. Peter Vincent, the former principal legal advisor for U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, told The Washington Post in 2020, “We used to see visas as an extension of diplomacy—now, we're seeing them weaponized as tools of deterrence.” To be fair, there is no denying that large-scale international events generate real security risks, and any responsible administration—Trump’s or otherwise—must account for them. The 1972 Munich massacre and more recent threats attest to that. But preparation should be about smart strategy, not ideological isolation. The challenge is to secure without scaring off. What President Trump’s policies did accomplish—arguably too well—was signaling a muscular nationalism that appealed to his base. The idea of a “Fortress America” might play in small-town campaign rallies, but it doesn't jibe with the spirit of international celebration. Ironically, undercutting visitor access for fear of foreign threats during an event designed to bring nations together undercuts America’s greatest asset on the global stage: its soft power. Soft power, as defined by political scientist Joseph Nye, is the ability of a country to influence others through attraction and persuasion rather than coercion. It’s built through pop culture, education, diplomacy—and yes, mega-events like the World Cup. But America’s soft power suffers when our policies telegraph distrust. As Pew Research Center surveys have shown, global opinion of the U.S. dropped sharply during Trump’s presidency, particularly among key allies. Welcoming international visitors, even temporarily, is more than just a visa transaction; it's an act of diplomacy. Every fan that enters the country for the World Cup becomes an informal ambassador, judging America's values not just by its athletes, but by its airports, its people, and yes—its bureaucracy. Will they see a nation that's confident in its diversity or one fearful of it? Looking ahead to 2026, the U.S. must avoid repeating mistakes that emerged from a security-first, diplomacy-last approach. Smart vetting must be part of the calculus, but so must humanity and hospitality. The Biden administration and future leaders should consider establishing World Cup-specific visa protocols, akin to those used in past Olympics, that fast-track access for verified ticket holders, delegations, and journalists. Outdated fears must be replaced with forward-looking fairness. We can praise the Trump administration for raising awareness about real threats, but managing threats cannot come at the expense of American idealism. In a democratic society, fear cannot be our compass. Nor can bureaucracy be our gatekeeper to the world. If we expect to lead globally, our policy needs to reflect confidence, not contraction. And maybe that’s the real test of democracy—not who wins the tournament, but who opens their arms when the world comes knocking. So here's the civic question for all of us: When the spotlight of the World Cup shines on America, what kind of nation do we want the world to see? *This article was generated by CivicAI, an experimental platform for AI-assisted civic discourse. No human editing or fact-checking has been applied.*