MILAN — The theme of the opening ceremony for the 2026 Winter Games was “Armonia”—harmony. Inside the cavernous San Siro stadium on Friday night, Italian organizers orchestrated a dazzling spectacle meant to celebrate unity, featuring everything from soaring arias to a high-fashion runway show by Giorgio Armani.
But for the 232 athletes of Team USA, the harmony ended the moment politics entered the frame.
As the American delegation marched into the stadium, waving the Stars and Stripes and beaming with the pride of a lifetime’s work, the festive atmosphere curdled. When the stadium’s massive screens cut to a shot of Vice President JD Vance, who was leading the presidential delegation in the V.I.P. box, a low rumble of jeers began in the upper decks. Within seconds, it swelled into a cacophony of boos and whistles that rippled through the historic soccer venue, drowning out the localized applause.
The 2026 Winter Olympics have officially begun, but the “athletic interlude” promised by the International Olympic Committee has already been breached. Opposition to President Trump’s policies—specifically a renewed trade war that has targeted European exports and a foreign policy that has strained NATO alliances—has followed the U.S. team to northern Italy. Now, athletes, coaches, and families find themselves navigating a geopolitical minefield they had no hand in laying.
The San Siro Incident
For Phillip DiGuglielmo, the coach of American figure skating phenom Alysa Liu, the opening ceremony was supposed to be a career pinnacle. Seated in the stands, he watched with bated breath as the U.S. team emerged from the tunnel.
“It was supposed to be the pinnacle of my life to see my athlete walk into the stadium, but it turned into a really sad moment for me,” said Mr. DiGuglielmo, whose grandparents immigrated to the United States from Italy. “I felt like, hey, the athletes don’t deserve this. They’ve given up their childhoods for this moment.”
At first, DiGuglielmo and many around him were confused. “I thought the boos were for the athletes,” he said. “I was looking around, thinking, ‘What did we do?’ It wasn’t until later that I realized the screen had flashed to the Vice President. But the damage was done. You worry that the skaters, the skiers—they just hear the noise. They don’t see the screen.”
The incident at San Siro was not an isolated outburst but the culmination of months of rising tension. Since the start of President Trump’s second term, relations between Washington and traditional European allies have frayed. The administration’s decision last month to impose sweeping tariffs on Italian luxury goods—including wine, leather, and automotive parts—in response to a digital services tax dispute has sparked outrage across Italy.
In Milan, the fashion and financial capital of the country, those economic bruises are fresh.
“We love the American people, but we are tired of being treated like an enemy by your government,” said Marco Valli, 34, a volunteer standing outside the stadium on Saturday morning. “When we saw Vance, it was a reaction to the policies. The tariffs on our wine, the threats to leave NATO—it makes people angry. The Olympics are in our house, and we wanted to say something.”
Athletes Caught in the Crossfire
For the athletes, the challenge is compartmentalization. The U.S. roster is stacked with medal contenders like alpine skiing legend Mikaela Shiffrin, figure skating “Quad God” Ilia Malinin, and speed skating prodigy Jordan Stolz. They arrived in Italy hoping to focus on edge quality and split times, not diplomatic rifts.
Yet, the hostility has bled into the competition venues.
At a preliminary men’s ice hockey game on Saturday between the United States and Finland, held at the PalaItalia, the crowd was decidedly partisan. While neutral fans usually cheer for the underdog or simply good play, the Italian spectators openly rooted against the Americans, cheering every check and penalty against Team USA.
“You definitely feel it,” said a veteran U.S. hockey player who asked to remain anonymous to avoid inflaming the situation. “Usually, you go to Europe and the fans are great. They love the NHL guys. This time, it feels different. It feels personal. We’re just trying to play hockey, but you can’t ignore the energy in the building. It’s heavy.”
Alysa Liu, whose comeback from retirement has been one of the feel-good stories of these Games, is trying to insulate herself from the noise. Liu, 20, returned to the sport on her own terms, seeking joy rather than just medals. But the external pressure of representing a polarized nation is a burden that is hard to shed.
“I’m here for my skating and for my team,” Liu said in a brief appearance at the mixed zone after a practice session on Saturday. “I can’t control what happens in the stands or on the news. I just have to control my edges.”
Her coach, however, remains protective. DiGuglielmo noted that while the team has security and support, the emotional toll is harder to mitigate. “These are young adults, some of them teenagers,” he said. “They are scrolling social media. They see the headlines. They know they are representing a country that is, right now, quite controversial here. That adds a layer of stress that has nothing to do with a triple axel.”
The “Safe Zone” Illusion
The IOC has long maintained that the Olympics are apolitical. The Olympic Charter’s Rule 50 prohibits political demonstrations by athletes on the podium or field of play. However, the IOC has little power to control the crowds or the geopolitical context in which the Games take place.
IOC officials have reportedly held back-channel discussions with Italian organizers, urging them to ensure that dignitaries are not highlighted in ways that incite the crowd. But for the opening ceremony, the protocol dictated that the attending head of state or their representative be acknowledged.
“The Games cannot be a vacuum,” said a senior IOC member speaking on background. “We try to build bridges, but when the world is fractured, those fractures show up in the stadium. We saw it in Beijing. We see it here. The hope is that once the sport truly takes over, the excellence of the athletes will silence the boos.”
But outside the “safe zones” of the Olympic Village and the venues, American fans are also feeling the heat.
In the bustling Piazza del Duomo in central Milan, groups of American tourists sporting Team USA gear have reported heckling. Some have resorted to toning down their patriotic attire.
“We were sitting at a cafe, and a guy walked by and started yelling at us about tariffs and NATO,” said Sarah Jenkins, 52, a schoolteacher from Wisconsin who traveled to Italy to watch her nephew compete in speed skating. “I took off my USA scarf after that. I don’t want any trouble. I just want to watch the races. It’s a shame because usually, the Olympics feels like everyone is friends. This feels… tense.”
A History of Friction
This is not the first time American athletes have faced headwinds abroad due to domestic politics. In 2004, during the Iraq War, U.S. athletes in Athens faced a cool reception. In 2008, the Beijing Games were marred by questions over human rights and U.S.-China relations.
However, the 2026 dynamic is unique because of the specific economic grievances of the host nation. The “Made in Italy” brand is a source of immense national pride, and the recent trade disputes strike at the heart of the Italian identity.
“If you tax our Parmesan and our prosecco, you are attacking our culture,” said Giulia Rossi, a student protesting peacefully near the media center. “Trump’s policies are hurting real Italian families. So yes, we boo. We boo to show we are not happy.”
The Trump administration has dismissed the reaction. In a statement released shortly after the opening ceremony, a White House spokesperson brushed off the incident at San Siro.
“The Vice President was proud to represent the greatest nation on earth,” the statement read. “The radical left and European globalists may boo, but Team USA is there to win. We don’t apologize for putting America First.”
This defiant stance, while playing well with the base back home, does little to smooth the waters for the delegation in Milan.
The Road Ahead
As the Games move into their first full week, the focus will hopefully shift to the snow and ice. Mikaela Shiffrin is scheduled to race the Giant Slalom on Monday, an event where she is favored to win gold. A victory there could turn the tide of public sentiment, as Shiffrin is widely respected in Europe for her dominance and sportsmanship.
“Mikaela is a hero to everyone, not just Americans,” said Luca Bianchi, an Italian ski instructor in Cortina. “When she skis, we cheer. We respect the talent. Maybe she can help people forget the politics.”
That is the hope of the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee (USOPC) as well. In internal memos circulated to athletes and staff, the leadership has emphasized “grace under pressure” and encouraged athletes to engage positively with volunteers and local fans.
“Kill them with kindness,” one team official was overheard telling a group of snowboarders in the athlete dining hall. “Show them who we really are.”
For now, however, the Americans are competing in a headwinds that are not just meteorological. They are battling the clock, the judges, and the complex, noisy reality of a world that refuses to leave politics at the turnstile.
When Alysa Liu steps onto the ice for her short program later this week, she will be skating for herself, her coach, and her country. But she will also be skating in a silent dialogue with a crowd that sees her red, white, and blue costume as a symbol of something far more complicated than sport.
“We just have to be brave,” DiGuglielmo said, looking out at the snowy peaks of the Dolomites. “The world is watching. If we skate with our hearts, maybe they’ll stop booing and start clapping. That’s all we can hope for.”