The tyrannical host nation had just imposed an 11th-hour ban on selling beer at the venue. Setting soccer fans’ sobriety aside, what matters is what political message, if any, will reverberate beyond the borders of the tiny Islamic monarchy after the final whistle of this month’s championship match.
The beer ban sparked international uproar and laid bare the borderline-theocratic policies (alcohol consumption is forbidden for Muslims in the country) that the ruling family worked so hard to obfuscate ahead of the games. It also revealed the inherent conflict between Qatar’s controversial practices and its standing among international organizations that, in naked pursuit of profit, allowed the repressive nation to host the premier global sporting event in the first place.
That hypocrisy is now front and center on the biggest stage, and it’s too late for rest of the world to tune out or look away.
Advocates for civil rights and basic freedoms should use the World Cup as a catalyst for change in the months and years ahead, holding accountable not only Qatar but the Western governments and international groups that enable its dismal behavior.
Of course, there was no shortage of criticism against Qatar in the leadup to the World Cup, primarily about its treatment of women, LGBTQ individuals, and migrant workers. For varying social, religious, or cultural reasons, not everyone may be as outraged at the legitimate plight these groups endure in the face of Qatari repression. Perhaps it also seems irrelevant to many of us, since humans naturally struggle to empathize with targeted communities in far-flung countries that are almost entirely alien to them.
What set the beer ban apart is how close it hit to home for so many. Few things are as ubiquitous and unifying as a cold sudsy brew. As you read this, hundreds of millions of people in bars, pubs, and homes across the globe are watching the most popular sport on the planet while sipping their favorite ale. This could explain why, during the World Cup’s opening week, the beer ban seemed to be dominating the conversation.
The last-minute move crystalized for World Cup fans what human rights organizations failed to make clear in the 12 years since Qatar was chosen to host the tournament under questionable circumstances: that the Qatari regime does not hold human rights as sacrosanct; that the freedom to love and be loved is not universal in Qatar; and that you don’t have the freedom to enjoy your favorite beverage on a Sunday night surrounded by friends and family.
Speaking of family, the Qatari monarchy, the Al Thanis, reportedly called for the last-minute reversal. However, the Wall Street Journal notes, “a select few who have purchased five-figure hospitality packages will still access alcohol inside the venues.” In other words, the regime appears to allow people to circumvent the dictates of their closely held religious beliefs as long as the price is right.
An illuminating moment came when Gianni Infantino, the president of FIFA, the international institution governing world soccer, responded to the policy change and ensuing backlash: “If this is the biggest issue we have for the World Cup, I will sign immediately and go to the beach and relax,” Infantino said. “I think personally, if for three hours a day you cannot drink a beer, you will survive.”
When confronted with allegations that FIFA is helping Qatar steer attention from its human rights violations, he countered, “I think for what we Europeans have been doing in the last 3,000 years, around the world, we should be apologizing for the next 3,000 years before starting to give moral lessons to people.”
Few deny Europe’s past atrocities, as much as one can speak of “Europe” as some monolithic entity. Likewise, there is no shortage of criticisms it deserves for specific policies in the here and now. And the fact that there was not enough outrage voiced at former World Cup hosts—Russia in 2018 easily comes to mind—doesn’t absolve the Qatari monarchy from justified condemnation. When Mr. Infantino deflects to Europe to shield Qatar from scrutiny, he is engaging in whataboutism of the highest order.
The issue at hand does not pertain to the past 3,000 years, but to the year 2022. And in 2022, Qatar is actively embarking on an intense public relations campaign to purify its image and effectively leads the international community to turn a blind eye to its behavior on the world stage, which, in addition to aforementioned evils, includes funding the genocidal terror group Hamas and propping up with the Taliban.
The basis for Infantino’s passionate defense of Qatar almost certainly relates to FIFA’s record-breaking revenues of $7.5 billion for the preceding four-year period since the last tournament, obtained with Qatar’s help. The Associated Press explains that “the extra income was buoyed by commercial deals with state-backed companies in the gas-rich World Cup host country. Qatar Energy joined as a top-tier sponsor, and new third-tier sponsors include Qatari bank QNB and telecoms firm Ooredoo.”
This hefty sum and financial ties effectively make FIFA beholden to Qatar. So, any lingering hope that Mr. Infantino will strongly condemn Doha’s human rights record is nothing more than a pipe dream. One can only hope that the country is held accountable in the coming months, not merely in the public sphere but in the policy realm.
Unfortunately, the likelihood of that happening is slim, considering how intertwined the tiny Gulf nation is with the West, both economically and in terms of Middle Eastern security and stability.
But that doesn’t mean it’s not a goal worth pursuing through public pressure and by lobbying our leaders to act. At the very least, we can begin to demand accountability from institutions like FIFA, which reward oppression with lavish praise in exchange for lucrative arrangements.
I’ll drink to that.
Eitan Fischberger is an international relations and Middle East analyst based in Israel. His work has been published in National Review, the New York Daily News, and more. Tweet him @EFischberger.
The views expressed in this article are the writer’s own.
