Football cannot end wars or erase suffering. But it can remind people that they are not alone and that tomorrow is still worth believing in

War destroys almost everything it touches.

Homes become ruins. Schools close. Hospitals struggle to function. Families are scattered. Entire communities are forced to focus on little more than survival.

Yet football endures. That is true whether the conflict is in the Middle East, Europe or anywhere else in the world.

Wherever there is a ball and a patch of ground, people still find a way to play.

When the Men’s FIFA World Cup arrives every four years, millions who have little else to celebrate still gather around televisions, radios and mobile phones. For a little while, they are no longer defined by war, poverty or politics. They are simply football supporters.

That is one of the game’s greatest gifts.

Football asks remarkably little of the people who love it. Children can play with a worn-out ball in a dusty field. Strangers can celebrate the same goal as though they had known each other for years. A shared love of the game can create a sense of belonging almost instantly.

Nowhere is that more evident than in places few people would associate with sport.

Families in Gaza have gathered in the rubble to watch World Cup matches, searching for a brief moment of normality amid destruction. Israeli children have continued to play football despite living with the trauma of war. Ukrainians have organized matches while missiles still threaten their cities. Refugees have carried football into camps where almost everything else from home has been left behind.

The circumstances are different. The game is the same.

For a little while, football asks people to think about something other than loss. It gives children permission to laugh. It gives exhausted parents a reason to smile. It reminds neighbours what it feels like to celebrate together instead of merely endure together.

Hope often begins with moments like these.

Every four years, the World Cup magnifies that experience.

Billions of people follow the same tournament. Entire countries pause to watch. Families organize their days around kickoff. Complete strangers become friends for a few hours simply because they support the same team.

The World Cup has always been more than a competition to determine the world’s best football team. It is one of the few occasions when people from every continent, every religion, every political system and every culture willingly share the same experience. The language may change. The flags certainly do. But hope, joy, heartbreak and pride require no translation.

For a brief time, football reminds people that hope can still cross borders that politics and war cannot.

That is why football survives where so many other things do not.

A football match cannot end a war. It cannot rebuild a city. It cannot feed a hungry child. It cannot bring back those who have been lost.

But it can restore a sense of normality. It can remind people that life is about more than conflict, fear and survival. It can remind them that they are not alone.

And in doing so, it can give them hope. That is why the game matters long after the final whistle.

For people whose lives have been torn apart by war, disaster or displacement, hope is often the first step toward believing tomorrow can be better than today.

Even in humanity’s darkest moments, football reminds us that joy has not disappeared, that tomorrow is still worth believing in and that our shared humanity is stronger than the forces trying to destroy it.

That is football’s greatest victory.

Gerry Chidiac specializes in languages and genocide studies and works with at-risk students. He received an award from the Vancouver Holocaust Education Centre for excellence in teaching about the Holocaust.