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As the controversial World Cup draws all the attention to Qatar, the Emirate seeks to offer a broader experience to the visitors through art. Lead by Qatar Museums, an institution founded in by the former Emir Hamad ben Khalifa Al Thani, and supported by the best and brightest international curators and architects in the world, the cultural projects carried in Doha are a testimony to the remarkable ambition of the country to become the new hub of contemporary art. Special guest, Diptyk visited Doha last october. Nevertheless, behind the bankable names of I. Pei who designed the Museum of Islamic Art and Jean Nouvel who is responsible for the impressive desert rose architecture of the National Museum, lie more sensitive stories and couter narratives. Two major new museums project also highlight the fast-paced development of a long-term vision. A way to revisit our understanding of the movement that shaped the image of the Arab world through photography, paintings, movies and props. Another major ongoing project is the Art Mill. Due to open in , it is an industrial site that will be slowly converted into a nine hectares cultural site with over twenty-thousand square meters of exhibition space for contemporary art. As a matter of fact, public art is everywhere and intends to engage with the people in an informal way. Paxlovid buy online: Paxlovid buy online — Paxlovid over the counter. Cytotec mcg price: buy misoprostol over the counter — buy cytotec in usa. Farmacie online sicure: avanafil mg prezzo — farmacie online sicure. Farmacie online sicure: Farmacia online piu conveniente — comprare farmaci online con ricetta. Motilium: riteaid pharmacy — meijer pharmacy cipro. Online medicine order best india pharmacy indian pharmacy online. Viagra Plus Olanzapine pharmacy store hours. Online medicine home delivery: online shopping pharmacy india — top 10 pharmacies in india. Gates of Olympus gates of olympus slot gates of olympus slot. 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A smiling ghost came up through the floor. The Qatari edition was born in corruption, paid for with hydrocarbons, and built on the labor of hundreds of thousands of workers, imported from the Global South and frequently abused in one of the smallest and richest countries on earth. The first ten days of the World Cup in Qatar were soccer as it is, rather than as you want it to be. It was venal, closed, and transactional. I saw some terrific goals. I drank Coke and paid with my Visa card. I lined up for the Adidas store. Everything was brand new, air-conditioned, and covered in an almost invisible layer of pale desert dust. I was safe and occasionally delighted, most often by the people I met. When I arrived for the opening match, at Al Bayt Stadium—which stands alone in the desert, a soaring industrial confection of a Bedouin tent—I knelt down to pick a sprig of the perfect grass, just to check if it was real. It smelled of nothing at all. The turf at the World Cup is a trademarked seashore paspalum imported from the United States; each field is irrigated with ten thousand litres of desalinated water a day. There was camel shit, and that was real, too. At night, in the capital, Doha, you were never more than ten yards from a crowd marshal, waving a green or a red light stick, showing you where to go. The scores of ongoing games were projected onto the flanks of skyscrapers, which winked across the city. It was like being inside a QR code. Qatar is smaller than Connecticut. All but three teams were based in Doha, and, unlike at any previous World Cup, it was possible to attend more than one match in a day. The entire world was there, in generally small proportions. I met a Mexican couple on the sparkling new metro, grousing about the lack of beer. Canadian fans discussed the rumored electronic surveillance. Welsh supporters were ordered to remove their rainbow-colored bucket hats. Doha is a city of six-lane highways and unwalked sidewalks. There are compounds in every shade of beige. Away from the stadiums and the malls, there was never anybody around, which gave rise to an occasional feeling of going to the World Cup alone. One morning, I tried to find the Dutch team, which was training at a facility on the Qatar University campus. The campus, a vast maze of roads and checkpoints, was closed. No one knew where the team was. Instead, I stopped by Caravan City, a trailer park for fans, where a windswept gravel plain was decorated here and there with simple stone mosaics of flowers. I bumped into Jaime Higuera, from New Jersey, who was staying in a trailer with his brother. The trailer was sweet enough, decorated with paintings of stags. Outside, there was not a soul to be seen. External advisers pointed out that Qatar did not have a single suitable stadium, that it was a potential security risk, and that temperatures in the summer reach a hundred and ten degrees. The tournament was originally scheduled for June and July. In the following twelve years, the World Cup catalyzed a breathtaking construction boom in Qatar, which relied overwhelmingly on migrant workers from South Asia. The day before the opening, Infantino addressed some four hundred reporters in an auditorium in Doha. Today I feel Arab. Today I feel African. Today I feel gay. Today I feel disabled. Today I feel a migrant worker. He was bullied because of something red on his hands. He asked his director of communications what these were called. He berated the reporters for not writing more about disabled people. Where are we going with our way of working, guys? The Iranian players showed their Western counterparts what actual courage looked like, by refusing to sing their national anthem, in solidarity with recent protests against the clerical regime. The Qataris, to varying degrees, were terrified of the influx. Families installed security cameras and checked their window locks. In the days before the World Cup, social media filled with prayers and stoic messages for the test ahead. In this article, single names are pseudonyms. Two days before the opening ceremony and the first match, between Qatar and Ecuador, the authorities reneged on an agreement to allow beer to be served at the stadiums. After the opening ceremony, I talked with a group of young Qatari men who were hanging out in the stadium concourse. The men almost always wear national dress: an ironed white thobe and a white headdress kept in place by a black cord called an agal. Women cover their heads and wear the abaya, a long black gown. At a soccer match between Saudi Arabia and Qatar, the Saudis teased the Qataris for coming as if dressed for a wedding. Mohammed Hussein, who was twenty-five, seemed preternaturally calm. The teams took to the pitch. Qatar, whose team plays in deep red and is nicknamed the Maroon, has never qualified for a World Cup on merit. The host country always plays. In , Qatar won the Asian Cup and was ranked fiftieth in the world, only six places below Ecuador. But the Qatari players were nervous. Their passing was scrappy. Ecuador scored two goals in the first thirty-one minutes. Behind the Qatar goal, a bloc of hard-core fans, dressed in maroon T-shirts, kept up an impressive performance of drumming and chanting for the home team. It turned out that they were Lebanese. At halftime, the Budweiser fridges stood empty and unlabelled. Fans prayed near a Visa-gift-card stand. I came across Garga Umaru, a broad man dressed in a tall straw hat and a long gown in the colors of Cameroon. He was offering to pose for photos with Qatari children. Ahmed, a Syrian Palestinian in his twenties, who had grown up in Qatar, was worried about how the team was playing. No host country had ever lost the opening match of a World Cup; Ahmed feared that Qatar might not score a single goal in the tournament. Ecuador remained in complete control in the second half. Seats began to empty. Qatari families, who had clapped politely during the first half, made for their Land Cruisers. I came all the way here to see you. You should have been playing better than that. Then they left to beat the traffic. Nobody knows how many people died building the World Cup. Last year, the Guardian reported that sixty-seven hundred and fifty South Asian migrants had died in Qatar since the hosting rights were awarded—a total derived from figures collected by foreign embassies. During the tournament, the Supreme Committee revised the estimate of the dead to about five hundred. Autopsies, particularly of poorer migrants, are rarely performed. Barrak Alahmad, a Kuwaiti public-health researcher at Harvard, told me that heat exposure, for example, almost never turns up in official statistics. Doha tripled in size during the twenty-tens. The population of Qatar increased by a million people, or sixty per cent. A lot of that growth probably would have happened without the World Cup. The work was done by migrants. Of the , workers in the construction sector in , 0. It takes in everything from housing to diet, workplace safety, and mental health. Other studies have reported that CKDnt, a chronic kidney condition linked to dehydration, is disproportionately common among laborers in the region. In , a survey of Nepali workers who had spent more than six months in either the Gulf or Malaysia found that a quarter suffered from mental-health problems. But, in the Gulf, the opposite is true. Qatar was like this before it was Qatar. The country gained independence in Before gas, there were pearls. Many of the divers who swam down to the pearl beds off the coast of Doha were African slaves. In , Qatar became a British protectorate. But slavery was abolished only in , when six hundred and sixty slaves were freed, with compensation of fifteen hundred rupees three hundred and fifteen dollars per person, paid to their owners. In , everyone who could prove residence in Qatar before was offered citizenship. Everybody else needed to have a kafeel , or sponsor, to be able to work in the country. In , following negative publicity surrounding the building of the World Cup, Qatar abolished its kafala system the system is still in place elsewhere in the Gulf , but many of its principles remain intact. At the same time, the separation of the Qatari people from the foreign migrants who work for them is woven into the fabric of the country. In , E. Last year, Qatar introduced a minimum wage—two hundred and seventy-five dollars a month. The starting salary for a Qatari college graduate is around ten thousand dollars a month. Since , a new city has been under construction to the north of Doha. Lusail, which will cost forty-five billion dollars to build, is one of the largest developments in the Middle East. Iskander described Lusail as a modernist imaginary. But everything is seamless. The World Cup final will take place at Lusail Stadium, an eighty-thousand-seat arena meant to evoke a handcrafted golden bowl. A mobility scooter modelled on a stretch limousine waited outside a storefront bursting with luxuriant flowers. Workers in blue overalls and high-visibility vests rested in the shade of an overpass. I stopped by one of the finished apartment blocks, where the rents are about four thousand dollars a month. I asked him what he had learned there. He thought for a moment. It is unclear who will live in Lusail. The city is projected to have around two hundred thousand permanent residents, which is two-thirds of the native Qatari population. They have aides at home. As Qataris, what are we going to do with that? But, with rare exceptions, it is impossible for foreigners to own property in Doha. He is thirty-five now. In the course of five tournaments, he has morphed from an elfin presence with shoulder-length hair, who floated across the turf, to an underslept dad, stepping out to buy some milk. During the warmup against Saudi Arabia, there must have been forty players on the field, going through drills, but the crowd watched only him. Messi stood outside the penalty area, taking casual potshots at the goal. Thousands oohed and gasped each time. When a shot hit the crossbar, he ambled away, apparently satisfied. Messi walks a disconcerting amount during a match. Other soccer players, when they are not involved in the action, often jog to stay in position. Messi pads about. The game is elsewhere. Against Saudi Arabia, which had won one match at the World Cup in twenty-eight years, Messi nearly scored with his first or second touch of the ball, after a minute and forty seconds. Eight minutes later, he scored a penalty, rolling the ball to the right of Mohammed al-Owais, the Saudi goalkeeper. Everyone was pretty happy about it, even the Saudi fans. For the rest of the half, the Argentinean players kept trying to spring open the Saudi offside trap. After years of rejecting technological assistance, to preserve the human fallibility of the game, FIFA was tracking players across twenty-nine body parts, fifty times per second, at the World Cup. The official match ball carried an inertial measurement unit. Offside decisions came down to the width of a nose hair. At halftime, I met Ali al-Khaldi, a twenty-three-year-old ambulance dispatcher from Dhahran, an oil town on the coast of Saudi Arabia. Khaldi had worked the night shift before boarding a plane to Doha. Argentina had not lost for thirty-six matches, a streak lasting more than three years. Khaldi said that he would be happy with a 3—0 defeat, as long as Messi scored a hat trick. Three minutes into the second half, Saleh al-Shehri, a twenty-nine-year-old forward, playing in his first World Cup game, burst through the Argentinean defense and placed a shot past Emiliano Martinez, the startled goalkeeper. The screens in the stadium flashed green, showing the Saudi sword. Then the Green Falcons went ahead. The ball fell to Salem al-Dawsari, a veteran winger who once played a single game in the Spanish league. He pushed it out from under his feet and swiped a vicious rising shot past Martinez. The stadium went berserk. Dawsari performed a cartwheel and then a backflip. I looked at Khaldi, who put his hands over his face and then kissed his friend. He looked like he was having a panic attack. The Saudis played like giants after that. Hassan al-Tambakti, a young defender from Riyadh, celebrated his tackles like goals. Mohammed Kanno, a tall, leggy midfielder, shadowed Messi everywhere he went. When the Argentinean fans, who came to Qatar in great numbers, tried to rouse their team, the Saudi fans waved their hands and whistled, to show that they were not scared. The result is stunning. The vibe is. Three Saudis rolled out a Green Falcons prayer mat and turned in the direction of Mecca. The Saudi victory kick-started the tournament. Spain defeated Costa Rica by seven goals to zero. A few hours earlier, Japan had defeated Germany, 2—1. The Germans are no longer the same team that won the World Cup eight years ago, in Brazil, but they cruised through the first seventy minutes, with a one-goal lead. The Qataris cheered the underdogs. Asma loves soccer in all forms. She plays midfield. Her younger sister is a mean goalkeeper. Neuer, like the other European captains, had wanted to wear a One Love armband. Before kicking off against Japan, the members of the German team protested their silencing by putting their hands over their mouths. You know, those things really help me sleep at night. She noted that criticism of her country, which once centered on its involvement in corruption at FIFA, had moved on to labor conditions and the treatment of L. At first, Asma assumed that rival nations were trying to get the location of the tournament changed. It just gets, like, very confusing from an Arab perspective. Very, very, very confusing. After the Germany match, Qatari Twitter was a loop of homophobic memes. Skirts were Photoshopped onto the German team. The Japanese were a big hit in Qatar, on account of their extreme cleanliness. The political subtexts of the World Cup were many, and updated by the hour. Gareth Southgate, the English manager, is a centrist, down to his zip-neck polo shirts. He seemed flummoxed by the possibilities. That would be impossible. Pan-Arab feeling was strong in Doha. Egypt, Yemen, and the Maldives also joined the blockade. Leaders pointed to Qatar—look! There were rumors that Saudi troops were ready to invade. The blockade, which lasted until January, , had a galvanizing effect on Qatar. Eighteen thousand Holstein cows arrived from the European Union and the U. Qatar is now a dairy exporter. The blockade was also a reminder of why the country wanted to host the World Cup. The fear of small, preposterously rich nations in the Gulf is what befell Kuwait in , when Iraq invaded and the U. Congress had to think for a moment before doing anything about it. Krieg spent three years in Doha, in the twenty-tens, establishing a staff college for the Qatari military. Under the previous emir, Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa, who deposed his father in a coup, in , Qatar modernized aggressively. Revenues were up fifty-eight per cent in , following the invasion of Ukraine by Russia, the previous World Cup host. A former British diplomat, posted to Doha, told me that a Qatari official once asked him why he thought that the country had invested in a billion-dollar liquid-natural-gas terminal in South Wales. But gas pipelines and defense agreements and department stores guarantee only so much attention in the Gulf. So what do you do? The term suggests using sports to launder a lousy reputation. But, in the case of Qatar, staging the World Cup was more about gaining a reputation at all. Even bad publicity—around labor practices and human rights—is publicity. Does this global conscience really exist, or is it a very short-term thing? In a restaurant in a busy part of Doha, I met Salim, a young clerical worker from Bangladesh. Salim came to Qatar six years ago, from Chittagong. He paid eighteen thousand Qatari rials about five thousand dollars to a middleman to get a job as a building inspector at one of the World Cup stadiums. It took Salim almost two years to earn the money back, and during that time he was terrified of falling foul of his employer, or of any Qatari he happened to meet. Like other migrant workers in Doha, Salim was caught up in the spectacle of the World Cup. He was also working as a FIFA volunteer. He took pride in what he had helped to build but also had a sense that he was disposable. This guy? We are doing work. We are getting paid. After finish this project? You go to Hell. He had intervened in about twenty cases—ranging from inadequate food to nonpayment of workers—but he explained that it was risky to raise complaints. He was nervous about a security camera in one corner of the restaurant. Salim was considering his options. He missed his wife. They were planning to move to Europe. The cost was around five thousand dollars. Qatar is often most shocking in the ways that it resembles the most unequal corners of other societies, including our own. It is the frankness of the Qatari system, more than its iniquity, that is unusual. It is not, you know, the Qataris behaving badly. It is us, as a global community, really having to confront what it looks like when you rely utterly on a system that deprives people of rights beyond their economic function. During her research in Doha, Iskander noted that recruiters targeted communities in parts of South Asia and North Africa that were suffering the impacts of climate change. I had tea in the district with a group of laborers and mechanics from Peshawar, Pakistan. A crane operator in his twenties named Imran had been in Doha for a little less than a year. In Pakistan, Imran had worked on fifty-ton cranes, earning about two hundred dollars a month. In Qatar, he had learned to use a hundred-ton crane, with a computer, and was making almost seven times as much. Imran was a buoyant, positive soul. But the long, hot days were a killer. When an older relative named Asif joined the conversation, however, Imran deferred to him and agreed that Doha was a good place after all. Until about five months ago, the group of men had lived in Al Wakrah, a suburb south of Doha, where the English team was staying. Their current lodgings were at the rear of a warehouse, the front of which was a scrap yard for old trucks, which were being dismantled for parts to sell in Lebanon and Nigeria. The men slept five to a room. Shalwar kameez, freshly laundered, hung from pegs above their beds. A vaguely irritating burning smell, from the scrap yard, drifted in the air. The Industrial Area had a fan zone, a temporary enclosure next to a highway leading out of the city, where workers could follow the World Cup. Next to the fan zone, a game of cricket was taking place in the dust. The fan zone had a large screen and around four thousand plastic garden chairs. Everybody who entered was given a lottery ticket, with a chance to win a water bottle and other merchandise at halftime. Qatar was playing Senegal, which in its first game had narrowly fallen to the Dutch. I was curious to see whose side the crowd was on, and it was most definitely the Maroon. The hosts played better in this game. Each time a Qatari player went over the halfway line, there was wild excitement and the sound of hundreds of plastic chairs tipping over. A few minutes before halftime, Boualem Khoukhi, an Algerian-born defender, who was naturalized to play for Qatar, miscued a clearance and ended up sitting on the turf. Boulaye Dia, a Senegalese striker, slammed in the opening goal. A few rows in front of me, a man stood up and spun around with happiness. The biggest whoops from the rest of the crowd came when the camera settled on a large-breasted Senegal fan. Qatar lost the match, 3—1. The upsets continued. Morocco beat Belgium, which was ranked second in the world. In Brussels, fans set fire to a car and some electric scooters. The Belgians crashed out in the group stage. There were goal floods—fourteen goals in a single day—and goal droughts. There were five 0—0 draws in the first week, four more than in the entire tournament in It was unclear whether the winter timing was helping or hurting matters. After defeating Germany, Japan went one better and toppled Spain. The Germans went home. The French looked ominous. The Brazilians, more than anybody else, looked like they were having fun. Before their second match, against Switzerland, the team bus bounced on its suspension in the parking lot of Stadium —a reusable structure made largely from shipping containers—and then the players tumbled out, looking sheepish. It is in how the players perform the most ordinary aspects of the game: little dabs here, slippery feints, ugly toe pokes, a shared urge for continual, needless experiment. The game was stodgy, to be honest. But, in the eighty-third minute, Casemiro, who is known as a defensive midfielder, sent a half volley flying into the top corner of the net. Yann Sommer, the Swiss goalkeeper, puffed out his cheeks and watched it go. The Brazilians ran to the corner of the pitch and bounced in a tight huddle. Their fans got going—thousands of windmilling yellow scarves—and soon the temporary stands of Stadium were bouncing, too. The U. During the England game, in particular, the U. The results left the team needing to beat Iran, of all countries, to progress to the knockout stages. In the semiotics of Qatar , the many meanings of a showdown between the Great Satan and the Islamic Republic were almost too much to process. Two days before the match, the U. Soccer Federation displayed images of the group table with the Iranian flag altered to its pre-revolutionary design, in a gesture of solidarity with women protesting against the regime. At a crowded news conference, at which no female reporters were invited to speak, Berhalter, the U. It was a minefield. By my count, Berhalter was asked twenty questions, nine of which had nothing to do with soccer. Berhalter was criticized for the way that the U. He did a spell with Colombia. He worked in the M. Queiroz is fluent in the language of healing in which the sport likes to speak about itself. Outside Al Thumama Stadium, which was built in the shape of a gahfiya —an Arab woven cap—there were people dressed up as bugs, with large, L. I met Amir Salek, an Iranian venture capitalist who has lived in the U. Salek was wearing a star-spangled banner around his waist and a headdress with Iranian colors. He was attending his seventeenth game of the tournament. He thought that the stakes favored the U. The noise inside was ferocious. The Iranian fans had brought horns. The crowd was partisan, but polyglot. When Saeid Ezatolahi, an Iranian defensive midfielder, walked out, he raised his arms to the black circle of the sky, as if to better absorb the din. The Iranians never got going. Their play was skillful but disjointed. Seven minutes before halftime, Musah played a perfect pass out to the right. Pulisic was taken to the hospital with a pelvic contusion. The second half was more of the same. A single Iranian goal would have changed everything. The drums never stopped. In the ninety-third minute, Morteza Pouraliganji, an Iranian defender who grew up near the Caspian Sea, sent a low diving header skittering wide of the post. His teammates scratched their heads. Matt Turner, the U. At the end, the U. So much of the act of watching sport is about making a story, willing a memory into existence—imagining how we want things to be—only for something more prosaic and unexpected to happen in its place. Qatari V. Drones buzzed in the Doha sky. The hubbub of the dispersing crowd joined with the other sounds of the city. In order to function properly, Democracy needs the loser. What happens to all the stuff we return? When the piano world got played. The Vogue model who became a war photographer. The age of Instagram face. Sign up for our daily newsletter to receive the best stories from The New Yorker. Save this story Save this story. To host, Qatar underwent a construction boom, during which unknown numbers of migrant workers died. Lusail, a new city to the north of Doha, is one of the largest developments in the Middle East. A hospitality worker at the opening ceremony. A cameraman during the match between Uruguay and South Korea. The Iranian team prepares. To reach the knockout round, the U. The many meanings of the match were almost too much to process. Cartoon by Teresa Burns Parkhurst. Copy link to cartoon Copy link to cartoon. Link copied. Cartoon by Liana Finck. Lusail Stadium, where the final of the World Cup will take place. New Yorker Favorites. On Television. By Vinson Cunningham. The Lede. Treating political violence as a contagion could help safeguard the future of American democracy. By Michael Luo. The A. Tammy Kim. The New Yorker Interview. By Joshua Yaffa. The Relentlessness of Florida Hurricane Season. For residents still picking through the destruction caused by Hurricane Helene, the arrival of Milton was met with anxiety, horror, and, in some cases, weary acceptance. By Carolyn Kormann. By Sam Knight. News Desk. The Pursuit of Gender Justice. For the first time, the International Criminal Court has concluded that an armed group specifically targeted women. By Jina Moore Ngarambe. Don Luigi Ciotti leads an anti-Mafia organization, and for decades he has run a secret operation that liberates women from the criminal underworld. The New Yorker Documentary. A short documentary goes behind the scenes with the Montana state representative as she fights for trans medical care and makes a momentous decision in her own life. On the trail, Emhoff has made loving music, and his wife, look like a campaign in itself. By Sarah Larson. Outrage and Paranoia After Hurricane Helene. These are significant things in North Carolina, where Trump and Harris are within a point of each other. By Jessica Pishko. The Political Scene. Among the Gaza Protest Voters. Will their tactics persuade her, or risk throwing the election to Trump? By Andrew Marantz.

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