The governor of Utah, Spencer Cox, part of the host delegation for the 2034 Winter Olympic Games, summed up a tension that surfaced repeatedly in mixed zones and press conferences when asked whether Milano Cortina 2026 had become politicised. “I hate the questions the media ask the athletes,” he said. “These are kids out there competing. I think you should be asking them about their sports. Let the politicians take care of politics.” In the same appearance, Cox added: “We love our athletes and we are grateful for them… I like that we live in a country where people can speak their minds… We care about unity.”
His words reflect a broader question that ran through these Games: if the global spotlight pushes political debate onto the ice and snow, do athletes really want to remain silent, or are more of them choosing to respond? With the 2026 FIFA World Cup set to be hosted by the United States, Canada and Mexico, and the Olympic Games Los Angeles 2028 less than two and a half years away, the political environment in the United States is once again intersecting with the global sports calendar. With Donald Trump in the White House, issues such as migration, war and civil rights are already part of the public narrative surrounding international sport.
“Ask about sport”… but what if they answer about politics?
At Milano Cortina 2026, a pattern emerged: athletes attempting to keep the focus on competition while the political and media environment expanded the scope of the conversation. Spencer Cox himself acknowledged that “there are lots of divisions” and emphasised that “we care about unity,” yet the boundaries blurred when debate moved from competition venues to social media and back again. In that climate, Donald Trump responded directly to athletes’ remarks and used sport as a symbolic platform. After comments by Hunter Hess, he wrote: “The U.S. Olympic skier Hunter Hess, a real loser, says he doesn’t represent his country… If that’s the case, he shouldn’t have tried out for the team… Very hard to root for someone like this!” One day after the men’s hockey final between the United States and Canada, he also shared an AI-generated video depicting himself in a USA jersey striking a Canadian opponent before scoring.
The case of Eileen Gu illustrated how political scrutiny can follow athletes across Olympic cycles. Born in San Francisco and representing China, she responded in Italy to criticism from Vice President JD Vance with measured clarity. “I’m flattered. Thanks, JD. That’s sweet,” she said, before adding: “I feel like a bit of a punching bag for a certain strand of American politics at the moment.” She expanded on the focus surrounding her nationality: “So many athletes compete for a different country… people only have a problem with me doing it because they lump China into this monolithic entity and they hate China. So it’s not really about what they think it’s about.” She concluded with a direct observation: “And also, because I win.”
Identity, representation and the limits of the Olympic stage
In a different tone, Alysa Liu framed her experience less around politics and more around identity, autonomy and the pressures of visibility. After winning gold, she reflected on her break from competition following Beijing 2022: “I really hated skating when I quit. I didn’t care about competitions… I hated fame. I hated social media. I didn’t like interviews. I hated all of it.” Upon returning, she defined a different priority: “Protecting my identity is my main goal… Being grounded is really what keeps me.”
Other athletes addressed political issues more directly. Hunter Hess explained his position before the opening ceremony: “Carrying the flag doesn’t mean I represent everything happening in the United States.” He added: “For me, it’s about representing my friends and family… If it aligns with my moral values, that’s what I represent.”
Olympic champion Chris Lillis expressed a similar distinction: “I love the United States. I would never want to represent another country at the Olympic Games,” before adding: “It breaks my heart what is happening… I hope when people watch athletes compete, they understand that’s the America we’re trying to represent.” Meanwhile, Gus Kenworthy, now competing for Team GB, addressed immigration enforcement directly. “Innocent people have been killed and enough is enough,” he wrote. “We cannot sit back while ICE continues to operate with unchecked power in our communities,” calling on lawmakers to establish “real limits and accountability.”
Rule 50 and the institutional boundary
At an institutional level, the International Olympic Committee (IOC) again invoked Rule 50, which regulates political expression in Olympic venues. Ukrainian skeleton athlete Vladyslav Heraskevych was disqualified after refusing to remove a helmet displaying images of athletes killed in the war. “These people sacrificed their lives and because of that I am able to be here today. I will not betray them,” he said. IOC spokesperson Mark Adams explained the organisation’s position: “We want all athletes to have their moment… We understand his grief and we want him to express it, but in the competition area no messaging is allowed.” IOC president Kirsty Coventry, who met personally with the athlete, acknowledged the significance of the gesture: “No one is disagreeing with the message. It’s a powerful message of remembrance… The challenge was finding a solution within the field of play. Sadly, we were not able to reach one.”
The tension extended beyond competition. Ukraine’s foreign ministry spokesperson, Heorhii Tykhyi, requested an investigation after a volunteer born in Russia, Anastasia Kucherova, carried the Ukraine placard during the opening ceremony. “The fact that the IOC chose a Russian person to carry Ukraine’s placard is despicable. It goes beyond any human morality or principle,” he said, formally requesting clarification. Kucherova later explained her decision: “When you walk beside these people, you understand they have every right to feel hatred toward any Russian. However, I think it is important to make even a small gesture to show that perhaps not all people think the same.”
With the 2026 FIFA World Cup and the Olympic Games Los Angeles 2028 approaching, the underlying question moves from one host city to another without disappearing. Will host cities provide a stable environment for supporters if protests emerge around major venues? How much space will remain for athletes and teams to avoid political questions when global attention extends beyond the field of play? At the same time, Ukraine remains in the World Cup qualification playoffs, and its possible participation would add another symbolic dimension to a tournament already shaped by geopolitical context. As global sporting events return to the United States, the intersection between sport, identity and politics — visible throughout Milano Cortina 2026 — is likely to remain part of the international conversation.
