Even White House interference and Fifa’s greed cannot spoil the celebrations. At last, an arena in which multiculturalism triumphs and underdogs score

Of all the outrageous things Donald Trump has done, from bombing other countries to appeasing dictators, his sneaky interference in last week’s USA v Belgium World Cup match sparked by far the most united and furious reaction across the world. Condemnation was all but universal. Trump’s cheating heart cannot understand the unmatched, ubiquitous power that the “beautiful game” exercises over ordinary lives everywhere. It massively surpasses his own. The world truly loves football. It doesn’t love him. And then USA lost the match anyway. Karma. This modern morality play joyously illuminated the limits of authoritarianism.

In an age dominated by overbearing, illiberal economic and military powers, the men’s World Cup is upending the conventional geopolitical pecking order and power balances in refreshing and instructive ways. In this alternative universe, smaller nations – and ordinary people – can and often do get a bigger shout. Despite huge state investment in all aspects of the game, China again failed to qualify. Russia, never much good at football in the first place, was kicked out after invading Ukraine. And despite all Trump’s Maga hooliganism, the US remains soccer small fry. So much for superpowers.

Simon Tisdall is a Guardian foreign affairs commentator

In a political wasteland dominated by billionaires, war criminals and mega-corporations, the head of the Catholic church is a rare figure of moral leadership

What do Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin and Benjamin Netanyahu have in common? Answer: a chronic inability to tell right from wrong. The three leaders currently causing the most harm in the world share a predilection for violence, a chilling lack of compassion, and extraordinary self-regard mixed with paranoia. Yet the characteristic linking them most closely is their rejection of – or failure to grasp – basic moral standards. Worse, these men typically behave, in their public lives at least, in ways that are fundamentally immoral. And that’s a problem for everyone. Their moral malaise is contagious.

Ideas about what, in absolute terms, constitutes right and wrong are always contentious, as moral philosophers from Aristotle to Kant have shown. Pope Leo, leader of the world’s Catholics, warned recently that “we are living in a time when it is becoming difficult even to recognise what is truly good for everyone”. Yet most people, most of the time, observe a personal moral code held in common with others. There is broad agreement, for example, that it’s wrong to kill, steal, cheat and lie. In an ostensibly secular age, 76% of people worldwide identified with a religion in 2020 – a potent expression of individual and collective morality.

Simon Tisdall is a Guardian foreign affairs commentator

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