Outside the stadium, in Mexico’s public squares and in millions of homes across the country and in the United States (where millions more Mexicans live), the nation’s challenges, its political polarization and its anxieties receded, if only for two hours. It was a truce of sorts: a moment of reconciliation made possible by sport.

It’s a feeling rooted in history.

In ancient Greece, the Olympic Games took place under a truce called the Ekecheiria. It did not signal the cessation of all hostilities, nor herald the dawning of peace across the Hellenic world. It was a sacred pause in honor of the spirit of the gathering. The truce guaranteed safe passage to athletes, pilgrims and spectators on their way to Olympia. During the Games, cities could remain rivals, even enemies. But above them stood a shared belonging worth honoring: a Panhellenic identity.

Our own Olympic Games have tried, in their own way, to defend the same ideals: the possibility of a celebration of all humanity rising above conflict. They have not always succeeded. Perhaps that is because the true universal festival is not the Olympics, but the World Cup.

The 2026 World Cup began with its three host countries, Mexico, Canada and the United States, mired in disputes and with tensions rising. Their joint bid was meant to showcase regional unity. The U.S. in particular has made life harder for some foreign supporters, referees and teams. What happened with the Iranian team would have violated the spirit of the ancient Ekecheiria.

But with the tournament now underway, it feels like the world has collectively exhaled. Soccer has once again offered something only soccer can offer: a glimpse of a shared humanity.

Mexico itself has been transformed. Before the opening whistle, commentators fretted that the country’s various maladies — from poverty to violence and corruption — would mar the festivities. The country’s problems have of course not vanished. But the tournament has brought to the surface that other Mexico so often buried beneath the ugly headlines: a Mexico that is colorful, hospitable, generous and musical — chaotic in the best sense of the word. A Mexican fan (unsuccessfully) helping someone cross a gigantic puddle, Koreans and Mexicans dancing together inside a taqueria, a duck (named Merlin) wearing the team’s national colors — this is the Mexico I’m happy the world can glimpse.

Equivalent scenes have unfolded across all three host countries. The Scots took over the streets of Boston — and embraced a police officer who juggled a soccer ball a few times in front of them. The Brazilians painted Times Square yellow, days before the French turned it blue. The orange tide of the Dutch marched on Arlington, Texas, behind its double-decker bus; the Japanese fans, as they always do, stayed after the final whistle to tidy the stands. What has prevailed is that sense of community — a rebuttal of the divided, isolated world in which authoritarian voices delight.

The World Cup does not stop wars or end political cruelty. It does not make the world more democratic. It does not redeem governments or erase injustice. The ancient Ekecheiria did not do that either. Its beauty lay precisely in its limits: It carved out a fragile space in which enemies could remember, however briefly, that they belonged to something larger than their quarrels. It was a truce that helped people see their better selves.