"Those are not the Iranian national soccer team. Those are the regime's national soccer team." Shiva Amini, a former Iranian women's international now living in New York, isn't pulling punches — and she's not alone.
As Iran's men's team, Team Melli, prepares for what would be its seventh World Cup appearance at the 2026 tournament co-hosted by the US, Canada, and Mexico, the Iranian diaspora is split in a way that goes well beyond typical football tribalism. This isn't about tactics or squad selection. It's about whether the shirt means anything at all.
The silence that broke something
The rupture started in 2022. As Mahsa Amini's death triggered mass protests across Iran over mandatory headscarf laws, the men's national team was at the World Cup in Qatar — smiling, celebrating, saying nothing. For many in the diaspora, that silence was the betrayal. "They had a big platform, and instead of talking about that, they were laughing," said Amini. "It was honestly a slap on the face."
Players who did speak out faced consequences that make the silence easier to understand, if not to forgive. Amir Nasr-Azadani is behind bars for his involvement in the 2022 protests. Sardar Azmoun, arguably Iran's best player, was reportedly left out of World Cup warm-up squads this year after a social media post greeting UAE political figures angered Iranian authorities. That's the environment these players operate in. Courage has a very real price.
Still, knowing that doesn't make the silence land any differently for people like Arad Ershad, a New York graduate student who grew up in Tehran. "They were like my icons, my legends," he said. "How can you just be silent?" His position now: he'll only support Iran if the government is overthrown before June. Otherwise, he's backing Portugal.
Whether Iran even shows up is an open question
The political complications don't stop with the players' conduct. Iran's participation in the tournament is genuinely uncertain. The US-Iran conflict has prompted Iranian officials to cast doubt on the team travelling to the United States. Iran requested that its matches — including an opener against New Zealand on June 15 near Los Angeles — be moved to Mexico. FIFA has repeatedly refused.
Donald Trump has publicly discouraged Iran from attending, citing safety. FIFA's leadership has insisted Iran stick to the schedule. Where that standoff lands is anyone's guess, and that uncertainty hangs over any betting markets built around Iran's group stage chances. A team that might not show up is a team worth treating with caution on the odds.
For those in the diaspora who do want to attend, the plan isn't simply to watch football. Masoud Ahmadi, a 62-year-old who plays for Iranian American club side Sina FC in Los Angeles, is hunting for a ticket — and if he gets one, he'll be carrying the pre-revolutionary lion-and-sun flag. "We're going to definitely raise our voice," he said. Sasan Sadri, who manages the same team, wants to wear a shirt calling for leadership change. "I don't support the regime, but soccer is soccer."
Los Angeles is home to the largest Iranian community outside Iran, many of whom fled after the 1979 Islamic Revolution. That city is scheduled to host Iran's matches. The political theatre inside the stadium, if the team arrives, could be unlike anything the World Cup has seen.
Nader Adeli, who manages an Iranian American over-60 club team in LA, put it simply: "Sports should never become a political issue. As people, we have nothing against any Americans, we have nothing against any Iranians. It is just the governments." A reasonable position — and one that's almost impossible to hold when the government in question sends players to World Cups as a propaganda exercise.
Amini's call for the Trump administration to deny visas to the men's team is the logical endpoint of that frustration. Whether that happens, whether Iran travels, whether the players find their voice — none of it is settled. What is settled: the stands in Los Angeles will tell a story the football itself might not.
