Social Protest   What of the Victims of Violence?

As Mexico prepares to shine internationally as a co-host of the 2026 World Cup, a persistent reality remains outside the spotlight: more than two decades of violence have left hundreds of thousands of people dead and missing. Behind the official story of progress and celebration, victims’ collectives are making themselves heard — even with a ball at their feet — to remind us that the war is not over. For while ‘the ball is coming home,’ thousands of people still are not.

For those coming from afar who do not know what is happening here, for those who view our country from a distance and see only idyllic landscapes, vibrant celebrations, and culinary delights, and for all those who, for whatever reason, still remain unaware, one thing must be made urgently clear: Mexico, co-host of the 2026 Soccer World Cup, has been entangled in an armed conflict for twenty years — a war within its own borders.

Unlike its landscapes, its cuisine, and its vibrant spirit, this conflict is not embedded in the nature or culture of the Mexican people. It is a violence of power, one that finds its only home in money. The past twenty years stand as the clearest testament to this.

Wounds Torn by Violence

For two decades now, Mexican society has been trapped in a spiral of violence. In its turmoil, around 400,000 people have lost their lives and another 130,000 are missing. These figures represent only two of the many forms of violent crime that have become part of daily life across large parts of the country.

An illustrative example: after its recent renovation, Mexico City’s football stadium—the venue set to host the World Cup opening match—has a capacity of up to 87,000 spectators. The number of murder victims over the past twenty years would fill five such stadiums, while the forcibly disappeared (those officially recognized—the real figures are significantly higher) would fill it one and a half times. During this prolonged period of escalating violence, Mexico was first governed by right‑wing political forces such as the conservative Partido Acción Nacional (PAN), then by the centrist Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI), and, since December 2018, by Morena (Movimiento de Regeneración Nacional), a left‑wing populist party. Despite their differing agendas, all of them have advanced the same narrative: that Mexico’s internal conflict is rooted in organized crime—specializing in international drug and arms trafficking, vehicle and fuel theft, human trafficking, money laundering, kidnapping, robbery, extortion, and other offenses—and that the government is confronting it through lawful means and the deployment of the military.

Over time, however, it became evident that, while these political forces governed Mexico, they did so in collusion with the very actors in organized crime they purported to fight. This is illustrated, for example, by the case of former Secretary of Public Security Genaro García Luna, who designed military strategies to combat the cartels and was later convicted in the United States of conspiracy to traffic cocaine and of collaborating with the Sinaloa Cartel, receiving a lengthy prison sentence. Six PRI governors have already faced trial over alleged ties to organized crime, and the United States is currently seeking the extradition of a Morena governor accused of cooperating with the same cartel.

These and many other examples illustrate the close symbiosis between politics and crime and lead us to conclude that the war in Mexico is not, as claimed, fought between cartels and the authorities, but rather between rival factions of organized crime competing not only for territory, operatives, and resources, but also for control over political decision‑making.

It is the reality behind the public discourse of political leaders, who speak of progress, economic stability, and reconciliation while vehemently denying the existence of an armed conflict—even as massacres unfold across Mexico and clandestine mass graves continue to surface.

Amid this climate of violence, and in the face of international attention surrounding the World Cup and its accompanying promotional campaigns, the authorities have opted for a series of cosmetic adjustments—both to infrastructure and to the statistics on organized violence. Suddenly, it is stated that the country’s homicide rate has dropped by 40 percent, and that 70 percent of the missing have finally been accounted for—all since 2025, just one year before the major soccer event.

This public denial of the war underpins not only foreign investment and the interest rates on loans the Mexican state has taken from international institutions, but also tourism and the World Cup as a whole.

“The Ball Is Coming Home — When Will They?”

Mexico successfully bid to host the event and invested 53 million pesos (around €2.65 million) to spruce itself up and roll out the red carpet for the tournament—alongside the United States and Canada. The responsible authorities spared no effort, working at pace to refurbish city centers, stadiums, and the tourist hotspots expected to attract the largest crowds. In some cases, they went as far as installing (somewhat gaudy looking) Victorian-style chandeliers in subway stations just weeks before the opening ceremony.

Through such cosmetic measures (and in the hope that no one but the victims will mention the war), the government is celebrating its third World Cup on Mexican soil, after 1970 and 1986. Hence the slogan now emblazoned on the asphalt of major thoroughfares: “The Ball Is Coming Home.”

However, this phrase only truly entered the public consciousness after relatives of victims of violence added a brief coda on Paseo de la Reforma, one of the main arteries in the capital’s most tourist‑heavy district: “The Ball Is Coming Home — When Will They?” By them, they are referring to their loved ones, lost to the prevailing violence. “The World Cup puts Mexico in the international media spotlight,” explains Jorge Verástegui, a member of the collective that organized the chalk message on the multi-lane avenue. Since 2009, he has been searching for his brother Antonio and his nephew Antonio de Jesús, both of whom were detained by police in Coahuila and handed over to organized crime. “That’s why this is the moment to make the issue of the disappeared and of violent crime visible. The government speaks of decisive countermeasures, but we—the relatives of the victims—want to show the world that this is not the case.”

Keeping Memory Alive Through Soccer

For this reason, visitors touring Mexico these days may find themselves invited to a cascarita—a quick, informal street soccer match organized by relatives of the victims. “Mete un gol por los desaparecidos” is the rallying cry behind this protest movement: Score a goal for the missing. In this way, visitors may come to realize that protest, too, can take shape with a ball at one’s feet. “The issue of violence—and especially that of the forcibly disappeared—lies in the suffering it causes. People are deeply afraid and tend to avoid the victims,” Jorge explains. “Playing soccer in the street is a way for us to reconnect with society in a new way. And it works: many people—children as well as adults passing by—have connect with us through this initiative. We want to bring as many people on board as possible. That’s why we use soccer as a kind of canvas on which we can make visible what is happening in this country.” Following the same logic, those walking through Mexico’s streets these days may come across Panini-style stickers on the walls. But instead of the portrait of a World Cup player, the sticker bears the image of a person who has been disappeared or murdered.

Jorge stresses that these forms of civic protest are not intended to boycott the World Cup or to harass visitors. “We simply want to draw attention to what is happening in Mexico. We ask visitors to share the missing‑person posters of our family members, because they reflect the reality of our country. At the same time, our protests are meant to have a preventive and educational effect: we tell people that they can visit Mexico and enjoy the World Cup, but that they should always remain cautious. This is a country marked by insecurity—where anyone can kill or make someone disappear without impunity. We want to spare their loved ones from ever having to join our collectives.”

Welcome to Mexico

To those who come from afar, who view our country from a distance and do not know what is happening here, this must be said: this, too, is Mexico—far more so than the sombreros of the charros, tequila shots, or Day of the Dead parades. Here, death walks the streets every day, all year round—and it has done so for a long time.

Welcome.