Forty-eight years ago, while the world celebrated the 1978 FIFA World Cup in Argentina, a military dictatorship took advantage of the planet’s biggest sporting event to project an image of normalcy.
Behind the packed stadiums, the celebrations, and the international broadcasts, thousands of people were being persecuted, abducted, tortured, and disappeared.
Soccer did not cause those crimes. Nor was it their origin. But it did become the perfect stage to show the world a country different from the one millions of Argentines were actually living in.
Nearly half a century later, the World Cup is once again being played in the United States. The differences between the two historical contexts are profound and evident.
Among the most evident differences between the two contexts is the way power carries out and communicates its actions.
Argentina’s military junta operated in secrecy: it hid detention centers, systematically denied forced disappearances, and built a machinery of silence to cover up the repression.
In contrast, President Donald Trump’s administration does not hide its immigration policy.
Operations carried out by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) are public, promoted through press conferences, videos, and official statements, and the president himself frequently presents them on his social media accounts as achievements of his administration and victories in its immigration enforcement strategy.
However, there is a parallel worth observing: while millions of people focus their attention on sports, public debate about other realities loses space.
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“Bread and Circuses”
The phrase “bread and circuses” remains relevant. For centuries, governments have understood that major spectacles bring people together, stir emotions, and divert attention—at least temporarily—from the conflicts affecting a society.
Today, the United States faces deep political polarization, questions about its immigration policy, and a climate of growing tension toward immigrant communities.
In that context, President Donald Trump’s administration has intensified ICE operations, a strategy that has drawn criticism from organizations that defend human rights and immigrants’ rights.
The numbers tell part of the story. As of June 2026, 19 people had died in ICE detention centers.
In addition, there have been several cases of people who died after being shot during immigration operations, incidents that are now prompting questions, investigations, and demands for transparency.
Among those names are Renee Good, Alex Pretti, Lorenzo Salgado Araujo, and Joan Sebastián Guerrero.
But names matter more than statistics.
Each one represents a family waiting for answers. Parents, children, siblings, and neighbors continue asking how a detention ended in tragedy.
Why Are They Killing Us?
The question is born from the fear that today runs through thousands of immigrants.
Because the persecution no longer distinguishes only between people with or without legal status. In numerous operations, language, skin color, workplace, or simply appearance seem to turn someone into a suspect.
For years, political rhetoric has portrayed immigrants as responsible for nearly every problem facing the country: public safety, the economy, employment, education, and health care.
No campaign of persecution can be sustained solely by agents in the streets. It also needs a narrative.
Today, that narrative finds a powerful amplifier on social media, where misinformation, fear, and hate speech spread at a speed never seen before.
“Repeat a lie often enough and something will stick,” says an old phrase attributed to political propaganda. Repeating a lie enough times ultimately turns it, for many people, into an apparent truth.
Meanwhile, millions of immigrants continue waking up before dawn to work, pay taxes, sustain entire sectors of the economy, and pursue an American dream that seems to grow farther away every day.
Fear Is in the Air
It is evident in those who no longer take their children to certain activities, in those who have stopped attending medical appointments, and in those who avoid reporting crimes out of fear of becoming the next target themselves.
The operations continue. The investigations move forward slowly. Families wait for answers.
And the World Cup goes on.
Forty-eight years ago, soccer helped construct an image that concealed part of Argentina’s reality.
Today, without equating historical contexts or political systems, it is worth asking whether the world’s biggest sporting event once again coincides with a moment in which thousands of human stories are pushed into the background.
The World Cup will come to an end. The stadiums will empty once again. The broadcasts will end.
But the families of Lorenzo Salgado Araujo, Joan Sebastián Guerrero, Renee Good, Alex Pretti, and so many others will continue waiting for justice.
Because when the final whistle marks the end of the World Cup, the question will remain the same:
How many lives can remain hidden while the ball keeps rolling?
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