‘Legacy, what legacy?’ Fight goes on for migrant workers in Qatar 100 days after World Cup

T he grass inside Lusail Stadium is lush, richly coloured, moist. One hundred days after the World Cup final, the pitch is still watered daily and cut once a week; a team of around 30 workers are on hand to maintain the site. Empty white seats glare from stands that once housed swaying, jubilant Argentina fans; an unseasonable wind whistles under the roof that once held in their songs. The nearby boulevard, where Lionel Messi and his victorious teammates paraded into the December night, is almost empty save for groups of south Asian workers, cloths covering their heads to protect them from the midday sun, filling in the gaps between paving slabs with fresh cement.

There is still work to be done here even though the circus has moved on. But many of those who remain are patently at risk of exploitation and abuse despite Qatar’s attempts to mask the cracks in its partially successful labour reforms. When Qatar announced those flagship measures in August 2020, a decade after it won the right to host the World Cup, Fifa called them “groundbreaking”. The Qataris claimed they were a “major step forward”. The UN said they marked a “new era”. Even Qatar’s strongest critics gave them a cautious welcome.

The dismantling of the much‑criticised kafala system – under which workers were unable to change jobs – and the introduction of a minimum wage raised hopes that, after years of criticism for the abusive conditions endured by much of its vast low-wage migrant workforce, Qatar had finally turned a corner.

Since the reforms came into force the Qatari authorities say around 400,000 workers have been able to change jobs, and 280,000 workers saw their pay rise in line with the minimum wage. And yet, three months after hosting the “best