It’s not easy being Gianni Infantino. The FIFA boss has to save the world with his football, prevent the world war and yet always eat criticism. One day before the start of the World Cup in Qatar, he completed his own crucifixion. His speech is as disturbing as it is aloof.
After 57 minutes the time has finally come. Gianni Infantino is no longer just FIFA President. He is the Jesus of Qatar. Hallelujah. That was not foreseeable. But then it breaks out of him. Even before that, right at the start of the Swiss’ wild fairytale hours, he’s many things, but now he’s taking on all the guilt in the world. “If you want to criticize someone,” he calls into the Virtual Stadium of the FIFA media center on the outskirts of Doha, “then don’t criticize the players, don’t criticize the coaches. Don’t criticize Qatar!” The 52-year-old spreads his arms wide, lightning flashed from the sky and then the words thundered: “Criticize me, you can nail me to the cross, I’m responsible for everything.”
The FIFA President had talked himself into a frenzy. In a frenzy, which in this sixty-minute monologue is the brilliant prelude to a tournament that many say should never take place. But it won’t be like that. It’s happening. And save the world at the same time. At least that’s how Infantino explains it, who wants to wipe away all criticism of the host country and of course FIFA with an aggressive undertone early on. His speech leaves many questions unanswered, some of which have to do with the use of intoxicants and the East German Ministry for State Security. More on that later. Let’s listen to Infantino first.
“Today I feel very strong feelings. Today I feel Qatari, today I feel Arab, today I feel African. Today I feel queer, today I feel disabled. Today I feel migrant workers” , he enumerates, simply forgetting about the women. But not with Gianni, who much later, when everyone is already overwhelmed by Infantino’s words after 90 minutes, hangs on the ropes and screams a loud “I feel like a woman” into the room. Gianni Infantino feels something. But the rest are surprised.
Because when the FIFA boss says in his one-hour story hour monologue that he knows what discrimination feels like – how LGBTQI people feel, how migrant workers feel, how women feel – because he was in school because of his “red hair” and ” freckles” was teased. When he compares the immigration conditions in Switzerland with those of migrant workers in Qatar. When he says that only his FIFA really cares about people with disabilities. Then there are several juicy slaps in the face that red beat the cheeks of all people who have experienced discrimination. People who experience overt, covert, or systemic degradation and unequal opportunities on a daily basis. As a white, rich, powerful, straight male (all attributions that make life incredibly easier in today’s world), to presume to speak up for the downtrodden and even feel their pain is as brazen as it is impossible.
Did Infantino also have to reckon with state persecution at the time? Did he have to suppress parts of his identity in pain? Was he afraid of being excluded from the family, afraid of experiencing violence, afraid of being executed?
And the manner of the Jesus-I-feel-you-all monologue finally turns this perfidious performance of denial of reality into a farce. This mock emotion, this exaggerated dismay. All garnished with highly theatrical pauses and painful sighs.
Ah, poor Gianni. It’s already difficult for him. Enough of the irony: Infantino’s appearance seems rehearsed, a practiced self-portrayal. A PR performance that could have come straight from the pen of Qatar’s rulers. To make matters worse, he thoughtfully wrote down all those words of false compassion (with stage directions, probably).
As a critical observer, you are left as disgusted as you are amazed and want to ask: What is satire allowed to do? But no, here the FIFA boss really speaks live to reporters from all over the world – and he means it all seriously. In an absurdly sad way, Infantino recalls Erich Mielke, Minister for State Security in the GDR from 1957 to 1989, who told the GDR People’s Chamber four days after the fall of the Wall that he “loves everyone.” At the time, Mielke was met with laughter, while today Infantino mostly shook his head. Like Mielke, the FIFA boss lives in his very own reality, which has taken on absurd forms far removed from reality. Extremely dangerous at that.
Because when Infantino speaks of “hypocrisy” and directs the topic to Europe’s migration policy, he is of course right that criticism is more than justified at this point. But this popular manipulation tactic called whataboutism, a rather cheap and easily debunked form of rhetoric, must not distract from the fact that seldom has anyone stood for hypocrisy like FIFA. And Infantino shows again and again that he has absolutely no problem with it and will continue to do so with his powerful organization.
Back to the speech: Gianni Infantino, who was intoxicated by himself, is soon through with his monologue. But then this: the beer! The rush for everyone! The excitement. Always excitement! Depending on how you read it, the beer ban is Qatar’s stab in the back against FIFA, as colleague Tobias Nordmann noted in yesterday’s quick comment, or it’s just a normal humiliation of FIFA. It appears as puny and small as only Borussia Dortmund in its desperate attempts to keep stars like Erling Haaland. The best players are more powerful than the clubs and one of the richest countries in the world is more powerful than FIFA. That’s how it is. A major setback for Infantino, who likes to show himself in a row with the great leaders of the world.
Shortly before the end of his epoch-making speech, deep in Question Time, he actually does mention the war in Afghanistan and the violence in Iran. Why the media always have to criticize and divide in these cases instead of bringing people together. Just like FIFA, he says. And to top off his dream world full of illusions and misconceptions, he excitedly trumpets a reporter: “If you want another world war? Okay, go ahead. But without me!” In the reporter’s room, instead of a hallelujah, there’s only: Uff!
Gianni Infantino, who always wants to make himself an issue, should be happy to pretend that he can feel like everyone else in the world who is discriminated against. As a homosexual. As a woman. As a migrant worker. However, he remains exactly who he is. A power-hungry man who is as far from Jesus as this absurdly whimsical hallelujah speech from reality.
