FIFA World Cup: Migrant workers and their problems get lost amid Qatar's glitz, mesmerising football

Doha: Here Visa, FIFA’s preferred payment method, was not accepted. At FIFA venues – be it in stadiums, in fan zones or in official merchandise shops – the world federation insists on the credit card sponsor of its choice for fans to pay, but not at Asian Town Cricket Stadium where migrant workers came to enjoy a World Cup match on the big screen. They were welcomed by FIFA branding, enjoyed the English commentary on beIN Sports, queued for karak and samosa – some for Coca-Cola or Sprite – and paid in cash. The vast majority of Qatar’s 2.9 million migrant workers don’t possess a Visa card.

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They were excluded from the FIFA universe and yet here, on the outskirts of the Qatari capital, they were a part of the World Cup. Gabriel from West Africa didn’t hide his admiration for the defending world champions on the eve that they breezed past Australia. A security guard, he was enlisted to protect the Senegalese national team at their hotel. He proudly pulled an AS Monaco shirt from under his sweater, claiming that it was a gift from Krepin Diatta. He smiled.

This fan zone was one of the most sanitised spots in Doha’s Industrial Zone, where accommodation is cramped, sanitation is poor, food is bland and labour abuse is everywhere for the about 250,000 workers, who live there. Many of whom have helped built and realise the four-week football extravaganza. Night after night, migrant workers, hailing from Ghana to Nepal, came together to watch the greatest show on earth.

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Downtown Doha, FIFA were staging its own interpretation of football’s marquee event. Before the World Cup, FIFA president Gianni Infantino had promised the ultimate experience. It would be like “a child going to Disneyland for the first time and seeing the attractions and the toys.”

Doha certainly had its toys and attractions, the Qatari capital often felt like a larger-than-life theme park: a Venice-styled gondola inside a mall near the Al Khalifa Stadium, downtown’s new, futuristic Msheireb neighborhood, high-end Scandinavian-styled cottages on the hillside of a new park overlooking Katara, FIFA’s brand-new Mordor-styled hotel in Lusail and the noisy boulevard running through the conurbation, risen from the sand, and complete with an illuminated shark.

Inside the stadiums, cathedrals of capitalism, FIFA was on brand as well with all the typical sponsorship branding and hollow slogans, often all lost in an overwhelming show of deafening musical entertainment. FIFAland 2.0 was a paean to peak commercialism, ‘sportainment’ at its loudest. Everyone seemed a bit lost in the FIFA-choreographed razzledazzle. What was the point of it all? Hard cash for FIFA, and sportswashing, nation-building as well national security for Qatar?

As Gianni Infantino entertained guests and football legends with his interpretation of ‘Lasciatemi Cantare’ during a karaoke at the Chedi Hotel and the emcee at stadiums reminded everyone incessantly that ‘Now is all’, those considerations became less pronounced and ultimately faded: football was the ultimate drug – here was Lionel Messi reinventing himself, there Yassine Bounou proffered another miraculous save to propel Morocco to a historic semi-final, here Luka Modric proved to be the ultimate schemer again, there Kylian Mbappe defied his age again with his stupendous talent.

The World Cup was thrilling and unrelenting. This was the ultimate TV spectacular in shiny, state-of-the-art stadiums against the backdrop of Doha’s soaring skyline and unimaginable wealth. What good was it questioning the motives for staging the tournament in Qatar when you had a catalogue of wonderful, sometimes superlative, matches at your constant disposal?

Supporters also grappled with Qatar as a host, but the power of the game as well as the fine organisation often impressed. In the shadow of Lusail Stadium, where a labour camp sits in plain sight, Sudesh from Kathmandu roamed around in the hope of finding a job, Mark, an Australian fan, said Qatar should never have been awarded the hosting rights in the first place – and yet here he was anticipating the Socceroos’ biggest match ever against Argentina. His wife, a human rights lawyer, had told him not to travel.

Sleeping in Dammam, Saudi Arabia, on a 600-pound round trip, Tony from Wales refused to install the Hayya app on his phone. His wife had been weary of tracking technologies. He also questioned how this World Cup had been built.

At a downtown mall, Sam, an Iraqi in exile in the United States returning to the Middle East for the first time in three decades, had no such concerns. He reveled in what he perceived to be the success of the first World Cup in the Arab World. In the Souq, Jan, a Belgian fan dressed in a Germany shirt, remarked that the tournament was almost too well organised. And that was perhaps the point: amid all the opulence of a FIFA-inspired, Qatari-run Disneyland, it was easy to forget those in Asian City who toiled endlessly for very little.

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