I’m a proud soccer mom. I spend my weekends traveling up and down the East Coast from Boston, Massachusetts to Richmond, Virginia, and everywhere in between. All this is so that my son can play soccer. Many times, during a few-hour drive, I found myself asking myself, “What am I doing?” But the truth is, this reality became clear to me years before my son was born.
I am a child of immigrants. My family is from Colombia, and my mother played on the Colombian national basketball and tennis teams. She was an accomplished athlete at a time when women’s sports were far from mainstream. I grew up hearing about her tennis matches with her biggest rival, her sister, and her love for basketball. My mother was very tall by Colombian standards, standing at a whopping 5 feet 10 inches.
Basketball was one of the few places where she felt tall and at home. That sense of belonging didn’t last long. My mother became pregnant at the age of 17. My mother married my father, my younger brother was born, and soon I was born too. My mother came to America when my brother was 7 and I was 3 because she believed Colombia would not give us the future she wanted.
As newly arrived immigrants tried to build a life in this country, sports took a backseat to survival. After several years of struggle, my mom finally brought stability and sports came back into our lives. This time it wasn’t tennis or basketball, and it wasn’t something my mom told me. My brother became obsessed with baseball. I think his decision to play a sport that no one in our family had ever heard of came from a desire to belong. Being the child of immigrants can be excruciatingly isolating, but I think baseball finally allowed my brother to feel like an American.
As a child, the only thing I wanted was to be recognized by my older brother, so I followed him to the baseball field just to impress him. We both inherited our mom’s athletic ability and played through high school. Baseball was embraced and community-building in the United States, but ironically, each time I returned to Colombia, the sport that had made me feel at home in the United States made me feel alienated there. Colombian children played soccer day and night in the streets, beaches, schoolyards, and every square imaginable. I had no idea what to do with the soccer ball. It hurt every time I kicked it. My toes felt like they were being shattered. So I decided to just watch the kids play.
I don’t remember the exact moment it happened, but I remember the promise I made to myself. My future children will play soccer, a sport played all over the world. I wanted them to be able to play anywhere, meet anyone in any country, and quickly find connections. As soon as my son Mateo could walk, I put a soccer ball at his feet. Happily, his mother’s athletic genes clearly lived on in him. Mateo has been playing competitive soccer since he was 8 years old and loves the game.
Soccer has given him more than athletic ability. It gave him confidence and discipline and a deep understanding of teamwork. It gave him a community. I’ve seen the lessons he learned in the field shape the way he moves through the world and connects with others. One of my biggest hopes was that soccer would allow me to feel at home with anyone, anywhere. And that dream came true. He has played soccer in the favelas of Brazil, on the beaches of Senegal and on the streets of Colombia. Everywhere he traveled, a soccer ball was on his toes, and friendships were formed as easily as breathing.
That’s why the World Cup is so important. Soccer is a world sport, and the World Cup will be held on June 11th in the United States, Mexico, and Canada. It should be a moment of joy, connection and global celebration. Rather, we are at a time when immigrant communities across the country are living in fear. The Trump administration has said ICE will have a presence at World Cup games. While the exact nature of its presence remains unclear, the very idea of ICE being associated with the world’s most beloved sporting event sends a chilling message to immigrant communities.
I am honored to be one of the many people and over 70 organizations that have come together across ideologies and disciplines to demand “No ICE in the Cup!” We don’t want ICE in the stadium. We don’t want ICE at the airport. We don’t want ICE on our streets. We want all communities, especially immigrants, to feel welcome, safe and free from fear. Last weekend, young people between the ages of 9 and 13 gathered to participate in a soccer tournament with a common message: ICE has no place at the World Cup. This is the true state of soccer. It’s about finding common ground across differences and protecting each other.
Soccer builds a sense of belonging. This is a reminder that everyone has the right to feel safe on and off the field. I have never been more proud to be a soccer mom than I am right now. We stand with others in defense of immigrant communities, asserting that all people, regardless of immigration status, are entitled to dignity, safety, and the freedom to live without fear from governments that seek to harm them. This is bigger than the game. This is about what it means to be in community with each other. This is the living embodiment of care. This is what it means to be a nation.
paola mendoza I am the co-author of a best-selling YA novel. sanctuary. She is a filmmaker and organizer who lives in Brooklyn with her son and dog.
