When Iran conceded goals against England at the 2022 World Cup, Tehran-based author Mehran Hashemi and his family cheered. And through the walls of his home, he could hear neighbours doing the same.
"After the loss to England, many people took to the streets celebrating, dancing and honking car horns, almost as if Iran had won the match rather than lost it," Hashemi told Yahoo Sports. "That alone shows how unusual and emotionally complicated the situation had become."
Four years on, nothing has simplified. Iran returns to the World Cup — opening against New Zealand on Monday at SoFi Stadium in Los Angeles — and the same gut-wrenching question is back in front of millions of Iranians worldwide: do you support the shirt, or do you want it to lose?
The team, the regime, and the flag they won't let you wave
The tensions trace back to the 2022 protests that erupted after Mahsa Amini died in police custody, arrested for allegedly violating Iran's mandatory hijab laws. A generation of Iranians looked to their most famous footballers — global-platform holders, admired globally — and felt let down. Players covered the national emblem before one match, and refused to sing the anthem before the England game. For many, it wasn't enough.
Sardar Azmoun was the exception. The striker — 57 goals in 91 international appearances, formerly of Bayer Leverkusen and Roma — posted on Instagram: "At worst I'll be dismissed from the national team. No problem. I'd sacrifice that for one hair on the heads of Iranian women." He was one of the only Iranian players who said anything at all.
He didn't make the World Cup squad. Iran's official line points to injuries and poor club form. Politically, the timing is difficult to ignore. In March, Azmoun was photographed shaking hands with the UAE's Prime Minister — a U.S. and Israeli ally — and the IRGC labelled it "cooperation with Iran's enemies." His omission from the squad is the kind of selection that requires no official explanation and sends every message anyway.
For those attending the matches in Los Angeles, the fight over symbols is literal. FIFA has reportedly banned the pre-revolutionary "Lion and Sun" flag inside World Cup venues — the flag that predates the Islamic Republic and that much of the Iranian diaspora still identifies with. The Institute for Voices of Liberty has threatened legal action. "For the majority of Iranians, the distinction between Iran and the Islamic Republic is very important and that's what this flag represents," said Nicole Sadighi of the Institute. "Being censored in displaying their heritage flag feels like a betrayal from FIFA."
Visa fights, training camp moves, and a fractured build-up
Iran almost didn't make it to this tournament at all. After U.S. and Israeli airstrikes killed Iran's supreme leader and struck military sites earlier this year, Iran's sports minister declared in March that participation was "definitely not possible." FIFA rejected Iran's request to move group stage matches to Mexico, but did allow the team to shift its training base from Tucson, Arizona, to Tijuana — minimising time on American soil.
Then came the visa situation. All 26 players received U.S. entry clearance. More than a dozen support staff, technical advisers and federation officials did not. Among those denied: Mehdi Taj, president of Iran's football federation and a former commander in the IRGC, which the U.S. classifies as a terrorist organisation. Secretary of State Marco Rubio was blunt: "What we're not going to allow is for them to embed in their delegation a bunch of people that we know have nothing to do with athletics and have ties to the IRGC."
Iran's embassy called it "deliberate and discriminatory treatment" and demanded FIFA hold the U.S. accountable. FIFA, for its part, has stayed quiet.
The group stage — Iran vs. New Zealand (June 16), Iran vs. Belgium (June 21) — will be played in Los Angeles, the largest Persian diaspora community outside Iran itself. The area's "Tehrangeles" nickname isn't affectionate irony; it reflects the scale of Iranian settlement there after the 1979 revolution. These will not be ordinary football crowds.
Some Iranian Americans will be there simply to watch football and feel connected to something from home. Others will be carrying flags their government banned, rooting loudly against the shirt. Both are expressions of the same thing: grief for a country that was taken from them.
Hashemi puts it plainly: "Many Iranians continue to feel disconnected with the team and do not see it as representative of the nation."
That's the atmosphere Iran are walking into on Monday. Whatever happens on the pitch almost feels secondary.
