On Football & Belonging: Should you Support Your Country of Nationality or Heritage?

There is one word we hear constantly during the World Cup: “We.”

 A pronoun. (Don't worry, I'm not taking you back to GCSE English.)

"We played well."

"We should've started a different striker."

"We're through to the next round."

It’s odd, because most of us have never kicked a football on the world stage. The closest many of us get to international football is shouting tactical advice at the television, convinced we know better than the manager... (Thomas Tuchel, you're doing just fine.)

Yet every four years, something remarkable happens.

Train stations become chanting sections. Pubs erupt into celebration, strangers hugging strangers after a last-minute winner. For a few weeks, football makes millions of people feel connected to one another. That tiny word, we, suddenly feels completely natural.

But who exactly is "we"?

The Concept of Britishness

With the World Cup being hosted in America, Britishness is reflected back to us through an exaggerated American lens.

Suddenly, being British means fish and chips, pub culture, dry humour and, depending on the day, sounding like a character from EastEnders or someone who has wandered out of Shakespeare. Even escalator etiquette becomes part of the joke. The references are recognisable, but incomplete. They reduce Britishness to a set of accents and cultural symbols rather than the lived reality of who makes up Britain today.

The World Cup is not only the biggest football tournament in the world: it's one of the biggest stages for national identity.

We often think nations are held together by borders, passports or flags, but they're also held together by stories about who belongs, who represents "us," and what being English, Ghanaian, Brazilian or Japanese is supposed to ‘look’ like. The World Cup doesn't create those stories. It amplifies them.

As a Black British Ghanaian, that's something I've always been aware of.

Growing up, supporting England and Ghana never felt like supporting two different teams. It felt like supporting two parts of myself. It never felt contradictory. Yet one question has followed me more times than I can count.

"So... who do you actually support?"

Usually asked with genuine curiosity. But it carries an assumption, that identity has to be one thing or the other, as though it works like a knockout tournament. The reality is messier, and far more interesting. Millions of people live between cultures, languages and histories. They shouldn't have to fit into one box.

Britain, for example, has never been one single story. It has always been shaped by movement, migration and the exchange of cultures. Yet some people's idea of "true Britishness" is far narrower than reality. Football has a way of exposing that gap. Look at England's 2026 squad: players with roots in Ireland, the Caribbean, and West and East Africa. That doesn't make the team any less English. It tells a more honest story about what England looks like today.

Is Belonging Conditional?

But that acceptance isn't always unconditional. When England win, the players are praised as national heroes, symbols of modern Britain. But defeat has a way of changing the conversation. Following England's loss in the UEFA Euro 2020 final, Bukayo Saka, Marcus Rashford and Jadon Sancho were subjected to a wave of racist abuse after missing penalties. Hours earlier, they'd been celebrated for reaching the final. Overnight, criticism of their performance became criticism of who they were.

The players hadn't changed. The shirt hadn't changed. The passport hadn't changed. Only the result had.

If someone's place in the national story can be questioned after one missed penalty, how secure was that sense of belonging in the first place? What kind of environment allows belonging to be revoked that quickly?

Moments like that expose something uglier about identity and nationality,  how conditional belonging can be. But they also reveal something else. Thousands of supporters also rallied behind the players. In Manchester, the Marcus Rashford mural in Withington, defaced with racist graffiti within hours, was quickly covered with handwritten notes and messages of love. It was a reminder that national identity is never one fixed idea. It's constantly being negotiated by the people who live it.

For many of us from ethnic minority backgrounds, those age-old questions of belonging surface outside football too.

"Where are you from?"

"London."

"No... where are you really from?" 

Often meant as harmless curiosity. But it can reveal an assumption that being British looks or sounds a certain way, that some people naturally belong, while others are expected to explain themselves.

Identity Isn’t Pizza

One of my favourite things about the World Cup happens after a team is knocked out.

Growing up in a Ghanaian family, I’ve seen how loyalties shift. If Ghana are out, support and conversations immediately turn to Morocco, Senegal or Côte d’Ivoire. 

Yet somehow, the questions still come.

“I thought you supported Ghana?”

I do.

Supporting another African nation doesn’t erase that. It reflects another layer of my identity, but it also shows how football can expand our sense of “we”. You don’t need to share a passport to feel invested in another team’s story. Sometimes admiration, hope or a sense of shared possibility is enough.

That's why Morocco becoming the first African nation to reach a World Cup semi-final in 2022 felt bigger than football. It challenged long-held assumptions about who could compete at the very top.

I don’t stop being British because I celebrate Ghana. I don’t stop being Ghanaian because I support England. Identity isn’t a pizza where giving someone else a slice leaves you with less. It’s something that grows.

As a Black British Ghanaian, the World Cup has never asked me to choose between England and Ghana. It's reminded me that I don't have to.

Because in the end, one of the most interesting thing sabout the World Cup isn't who lifts the trophy in the end — but rather, the stories we tell about ourselves and each other while we're watching.

So the next time you find yourself shouting "We scored!" it might be worth pausing for a moment. Who is included in that “we”? And how do we make sure it truly includes all of us?  

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