A mural by renowned street artist Paulo Ito has gone viral on social media, showing a weeping, starving Brazilian boy, knife and fork in hand, being served a football on a plate. Before the World Cup began, this image and others served as signals to the international community that São Paulo had not, and could not, forget that there were problems of greater weight than Scolari’s starting XI.
Brazilians have every right to be angry over their government’s decision to spend millions of dollars to host the world’s largest sporting event. The country’s schools are barely funded. Brazilian children reside on the brink of starvation in the favelas overlooking the mythical (and lavishly renovated) Maracanã. The state of public health nears a level as poor as that of public safety. Surely, the anger of the Brazilian people must have been palpable with every match.
Yet a year after the mayhem of last year’s protests, the country was filled with the sound of revelry, not anger. There were exceptions, of course. Dissent could be seen in various manifestations in São Paulo, constant confrontations around the home base of television stations broadcasting the World Cup to all corners of the globe, and the previously mentioned artwork that captured the essence of the toxic nature of Brazil’s partnership with the Federation Internationale de Football Association.
However, in spite of the undeniable presence of opposition to the Cup, no feeling has been more palpable than celebration. The headlines from around the world have shifted from the nature of the Confederations Cup protests and the income inequality that plagues Brazil to the aerial prowess of Robin van Persie and Lionel Messi’s drought-breaking screamer. Even Brazil’s devastating 7-1 loss to Germany in the semifinals produced no major manifestations. Brazil’s mind, it seemed, was too busy trying to comprehend this national sporting embarrassment.
What does that say about the nature of the international attention span when it comes to the troubles of a foreign nation? The mobilization of a portion of the Brazilian population in opposition to the matches being played has done nothing to prevent record-breaking attendance figures and the increase of viewership in the United States. The news coverage from last summer has produced seemingly no tangible effect on the commercial success of the World Cup or incited any major legislative changes within the Brazilian parliament.
Other protest movements surrounding international sporting events have reached similar ends. In the case of the Sochi Winter Olympics, the anti-homosexual laws instituted by the Russian government were met with universal scorn. The pictures of protesters being beaten by Russian police furthered the global narrative of an authoritarian government unjustly limiting the freedom of its citizens.
Global outcry was thorough from the athletes participating to the event’s major sponsors. Statements were made and rainbow pins were worn, ensuring that every viewer knew that the world was shaking its head at Russia. However, the laws that caused the protest still stand. Besides Putin’s assurances that Russia’s anti-homosexual propaganda laws would not interfere with the Games, no further solution has been found. The world—proud of its clear moral superiority—turned away from Russia, despite having changed very little at all.
The case of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro is a bit less blatant. While the reality of Brazil’s problems looms behind the colors and the songs, there has been no public demonstration from the players or from global leaders. No football federation has threatened to boycott the World Cup and very few international organizations have decried the wrongs as they did for Sochi. Perhaps the magnitude of the event at hand is at fault, not the apathy of the global community. The World Cup is, at its core, a communal experience for the world, independent from its competitive nature. As is often said, the World Cup combines the international essence of the Olympics with a sport that is revered the world over, inciting passions that are often only reserved for wars. There is very little that can disrupt the interest generated for the World Cup, especially considering the dramatic nature of the current Brazilian iteration.
On a more encouraging note, the relatively short notice that the world had about the conditions in Brazil may be the reason for the lack of international action. This view can be supported by the rising resistance to the Qatar 2022 World Cup, where most of FIFA’s major sponsors have expressed unease about the humanitarian conditions there. This has led to the public dissent of various high-level FIFA executives and conversations with the United States’ delegation over a possible shift in host nation.
Kicking Themselves
Surprisingly, there is little argument from neutral observers that international sporting events turn out to be fiscally damaging to the developing nations hosting them. While London emerged in good shape from its Olympics in 2012 and Berlin considers the 2006 World Cup a success, Johannesburg and Beijing can find little economic justification for their own events. Indeed, studies have shown repeatedly that there is a lot of waste involved in these ventures.
Accordingly, many demand that FIFA and the IOC be held accountable for their impact on these nations and cities. They argue there must be some punishment for those who continue to encourage unprepared countries to host international events despite the negative economic implications. This argument is weak, however, because although the demands that FIFA and the IOC make from host countries and cities are many, the countries are not forced into anything. Brazil was not forced to host the World Cup—neither was South Africa, nor Beijing the Olympics.
The allure of showing off to the world is often too strong for these ascendant countries to resist, soothing their own self-consciousness with the promise of greatness. Dreams give way to realities, the bane of the gilded imagery pitched by brochures and wide-lens shots of Copacabana beach. Yet, the event rolls on. The athletes compete and the world sits at the edge of its seat, reminding us that reality has little hold when the myths are playing out on our screens. The World Cup isn’t about São Paulo, as much as we all want to make it so.
The problems that face São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, and Brazil as a whole will continue to be there, independent of the global narrative. The protests and the art against the World Cup will not produce legislative change not because they are incorrect, but because the event is incapable of being an effective vessel for harsh realities. It is history in the present, the surest thing an individual can say they experienced that will remain relevant fifty years from now, as Brian Phillips put it, “a bright line connecting you with the human race.” The World Cup is not about FIFA and it’s not about income inequality. It is, perhaps erroneously, above all that.
Until the July 13 at around 3:00 pm Pacific Standard Time, the world had its eyes on Brazil and its vibrant cities. Not because of the cities’ potential to propel Brazil to the status of a global superpower or to disapprove of the condition of its poor, but because of football. Football has that power, that mythical hold over the public consciousness. It’s a power people believe can be harnessed to produce tangible change. The problem lies in the ethereal nature of its hold, capable of capturing our imagination because of its essential simplicity. To force it into a political mold shatters its magic.
Image credit: slate.com