Iran's World Cup Journey: Politics, Identity, and Football
The World Cup usually offers teams an escape from reality. Iran have walked straight into the eye of a storm.
They arrive in the United States carrying more than tactics and training plans. Until this week, the host nation had been at war with their country. An agreement to halt hostilities and reopen the Strait of Hormuz was only announced on Sunday. It has calmed nerves, not erased tension.
On Monday night at SoFi Stadium in Los Angeles (Tuesday, 02:00 BST), Iran will finally start their World Cup against New Zealand. On paper, it is a group game. In practice, it feels like a collision of politics, identity and football.
A team on the move before a ball is kicked
The build-up has been chaotic. Visa problems, security concerns, a fraught political backdrop – Iran’s preparations have been pulled in every direction.
After months of uncertainty, the squad abandoned their planned base in Tucson, Arizona, and shifted to Tijuana, on the Mexican border. It was a reluctant move, forced by fears over entry issues and safety, and by the growing storm around their very presence at this tournament.
Manager Amir Ghalenoei did not pretend it was business as usual.
"Without any doubt, this kind of behaviour has impacted the spirit of football," he told the BBC. For him, a World Cup is supposed to be simple at its core: "Football is supposed to bring nations and cultures together. It is about bringing joy."
Instead, his players arrived late and underprepared. Little time to settle. Little time to adjust. He has tried to keep their minds on “strategy and performance”, but the noise has been relentless.
Still, Ghalenoei insists on one thing: "I know how committed these players are to performing."
Tehrangeles, and a divided crowd
Los Angeles is often called "Tehrangeles", home to one of the largest Iranian communities anywhere outside Iran. The nickname drew smiles from Ghalenoei and Mehdi Taremi at the pre-match news conference, a brief moment of lightness in an otherwise heavy week.
SoFi Stadium will be packed with Iranian-Americans. Many will wear Iran’s colours. Many will not be there to support the team at all.
They will come to protest.
Fifa’s decision to ban the pre-revolutionary Lion and Sun flag – a potent emblem for Iranians in exile – has ignited anger. For many in the diaspora, that flag is not a relic but a statement of opposition to the current regime.
"You don't come to Los Angeles and tell us we can't fly the Lion and Sun flag," said activist Arezo Rashidian, who is helping organise demonstrations outside the ground. "This is the largest Iranian community outside Iran. Many of us came here after the revolution. We're opposing Fifa's ban and standing in solidarity with the people of Iran."
For those protesters, the national team sits in an uncomfortable space. Some see the squad as an extension of the Islamic Republic, whether the players like it or not.
"It's unfortunate that the regime turns athletes into mouthpieces," Rashidian said. "We want athletes to remain athletes."
Even so, she will be there. So will many like her.
"We understand the pressure they're under," she said. "We'll carry our colours. We'll cheer for Iran – the country – held captive by the Islamic Republic."
Inside the stadium, the anthem, the flags, the cameras – every symbol will carry extra weight.
Players caught in the crossfire
The squad insist they are here for football.
"As players of the national team, we play for every single Iranian, whether in the diaspora or in Iran," said Taremi. He spoke of unity, of joy, of a desire to bridge divides rather than deepen them. "In every country people have different opinions. We are here to unite people and bring joy. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. We don't get involved in politics."
That is the ideal. The World Cup, in its purest form, allows players to step out of the domestic storm and into a global festival.
But for Iran, the line between sport and politics has almost vanished.
Investigative football journalist Samindra Kunti summed up the scale of the burden: "There is no winning for Iran's team. Given the circumstances, the political pressure, the location of the matches and the diaspora in Los Angeles, they're under enormous pressure."
"It's impossible to avoid the politics. Everything becomes a reminder of their situation."
Every decision the players make – whether they sing the anthem, what they say in interviews, how they celebrate a goal – will be read, dissected, judged. By the regime at home. By the host nation. By a diaspora determined to make its voice heard.
And all this comes before the first whistle.
On Monday in Los Angeles, Iran will finally walk out to play New Zealand. It will look like a football match. It will sound like a World Cup. But for this team, on this stage, can it ever really feel like just a game?
