Iran bows out of World Cup amid flags, Pride and protest
Negar Mojtahedi
Iran International
Iran's World Cup campaign ended on Saturday after a 1–1 draw with Egypt and results elsewhere confirmed Team Melli's elimination from the tournament.
Iran International
Iran's World Cup campaign ended on Saturday after a 1–1 draw with Egypt and results elsewhere confirmed Team Melli's elimination from the tournament.
But for many Iranians, the tournament had long ceased to be just about football.
Their final match in Seattle, played during the city's Pride celebrations, became a showcase for the political, cultural and human rights debates that increasingly follow Iran's national team wherever it plays.
Inside the stadium, rainbow flags flew alongside the pre-revolution Lion and Sun flag, while many Iranian supporters wore shirts and carried banners commemorating victims of the January 8–9 massacre. Outside, hundreds marched toward the stadium chanting against the Islamic Republic.
In parts of the Iranian diaspora, Team Melli no longer represents just a football team. It has become inseparable from debates over the Islamic Republic itself.
That question—whether it is possible to cheer for Iran's national team without appearing to cheer for the state it represents—has divided supporters for years. It resurfaced again in Seattle.
A stoppage-time goal by Shoja Khalilzadeh briefly appeared to keep Iran's World Cup hopes alive before it was ruled out for offside following a VAR review. Hours later, a 3–3 draw between Austria and Algeria ended Iran's hopes of advancing to the Round of 32 as one of the tournament's best third-placed teams.
Pride celebration
The match had been designated a Pride celebration by Seattle's local World Cup organizers before the tournament draw paired Iran with Egypt.
The pairing quickly drew attention because both countries have long been criticized by international human rights organizations for their treatment of LGBTQ+ people.
In Iran, same-sex relations are criminalized and can carry the death penalty. In Egypt, LGBTQ+ people have faced arrests, imprisonment and prosecution under morality-related laws.
Although later removed by city officials, Iranian and Egyptian national flags had earlier flown alongside the rainbow Pride flag in downtown Seattle.
Many fans admitted they knew little about the realities facing LGBTQ+ people in Iran.
"I honestly don't know much," one supporter said.
After learning that same-sex relations can carry the death penalty, another described the situation as "devastating."
A self-described queer man who supports LGBTQ+ refugees called the pairing "kind of ironic."
"I do think that it's kind of ironic that Egypt and Iran are doing the Pride match because obviously queer people are persecuted in those countries," he said.
The conversations reflected a broader disconnect. While many supporters expressed strong backing for LGBTQ+ rights, few were familiar with conditions in countries where homosexuality remains criminalized.
In Seattle, the political divide surrounding Team Melli was embodied by the absence of goalkeeper Rashid Mazaheri.
Mazaheri publicly blamed Ali Khamenei and the Islamic Republic for the January 8–9 killings before reportedly being detained by Iranian authorities.
"I offer my condolences to the families who lost their loved ones for Iran," he wrote on social media. "We all know who is responsible for all the recent killings and crimes is none other than Ali Khamenei and the cursed Islamic Republic."
For many protesters outside the stadium, his absence from the World Cup squad served as another reminder that politics continues to shape Iranian football as much as events on the pitch.
The scrutiny surrounding Team Melli has extended far beyond Seattle. Throughout the tournament, players were repeatedly asked about the Islamic Republic, women's rights and LGBTQ+ issues—questions few other national teams routinely faced.
Captain Mehdi Taremi drew international attention when he said, "We respect all LGBT people," a statement that resonated with many supporters given Iran's laws criminalizing same-sex relations.
The exchange prompted comedian and former The Daily Show host Trevor Noah to write on social media: "Funny how some teams get asked about football… and others get asked to explain the world."
For many Iranian fans, the remark captured the reality facing Team Melli. Every press conference, every interview and every match has become intertwined with questions extending far beyond football.
Several members of the squad have also appeared at pro-government events or publicly backed the Islamic Republic, reinforcing the view among many protesters that the team cannot be separated from the state it represents.
Many demonstrators said they did not expect players to openly challenge the authorities. They did, however, expect them not to publicly advocate on behalf of the government.
"I'm here to protest because I think this team is not my team. This is the team of the Islamic Republic and the IRGC."
"I wish I could be in a place where I could support that team, but I am not. We are not supporting you—we are supporting the Iranian people," another supporter draped in the Lion and Sun flag said.
One fan carrying the official flag of the Islamic Republic took the opposite view.
"When it comes to the beautiful game, we should all unite under one flag and chant for our country's name, Iran," he said.
As supporters filed out of Seattle Stadium after the final whistle, Team Melli's World Cup journey had come to an end.
As supporters filed out of Seattle Stadium after the final whistle, Team Melli's World Cup journey had come to an end. Yet the defining images of Iran's final match were as much the Lion and Sun flags, rainbow banners and shirts bearing the names and faces of those killed in the January 8–9 massacre as the disallowed goal that sealed Iran's elimination—if not more so.
For many Iranians, whenever Team Melli takes the field, the game is rarely just about football.
The site, known as Ravagh Keshvardoust, had been turned into a shrine-like space in central Tehran for prayer, mourning and ritual gatherings after Khamenei’s killing. In Iranian religious architecture, a ravagh usually refers to a covered hall or portico attached to a shrine. In this case, the term was being used for a temporary devotional space around the site of Khamenei’s death.
According to Jamaran, a news outlet close to the family of the Islamic Republic’s founder Ruhollah Khomeini, organizers closed the site after a group of kafan-poushan, or shroud-wearers, arrived from Mashhad on Ashura (June 25) and occupied the space under the banner of “avenging the blood of the slain leader.”
The term kafan-poushan refers to activists who wear white burial shrouds in political or religious demonstrations, presenting themselves as ready for death or martyrdom. The symbolism has long been used by hardline factions in the Islamic Republic, especially when they want to frame a political demand as a sacred duty.
Organizers said the group’s three-day sit-in changed the function of the site. What had been a place for prayer, mourning, daily ceremonies and congregational prayers became, in their words, a place for overnight stays, food distribution and protest equipment. They said repeated requests and mediation failed to persuade the protesters to leave.
The decision to close the site was presented as an effort to protect the sanctity of a site named after the slain leader. But politically, it showed something more sensitive: even parts of the pro-Khamenei establishment now appear to see some of the most radical mourners as disruptive, not useful.
The conflict is not between supporters and opponents of the Islamic Republic. It is between two loyalist currents.
One side wants Khamenei’s death to be used as a managed symbol of unity, grief and continuity under the new leadership. The other wants to turn that grief into a permanent pressure campaign against officials accused of compromise, especially over talks with the United States and the interim memorandum meant to end the war.
That split has been visible for weeks.
Ultra-hardline figures linked to the Paydari Front have attacked the negotiating team led by Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf and Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi, accusing them of crossing the late leader’s red lines. Some protesters at hardline rallies have chanted against Ghalibaf and Araghchi, asking what happened to “the blood” of their leader. Some went further, calling for their death or execution.
Iran International previously reported that supporters of the Paydari Front were removed from nightly state-organized rallies in Tehran after requests by President Masoud Pezeshkian and Ghalibaf, in an apparent attempt to contain pressure from the ultra-hardline street while talks with Washington continued.
The same divide has appeared in parliament and in the media. Lawmakers close to the ultra-hardline camp have accused Ghalibaf of keeping parliament closed to shield negotiations from criticism. Conservative activist Mohammad Mohajeri accused hardline lawmakers of trying to use parliament’s podium for factional purposes after the US-Iran memorandum.
Earlier, Iran International reported that the dispute had spilled into a public clash between Raja News, close to Saeed Jalili’s ultraconservative camp, and the IRGC-linked Tasnim News Agency. The argument centered on how far Iran should go in negotiations and whether maximalist demands, including sweeping sanctions relief and regional ceasefires, were realistic.
The closure of the site brings that fight into the religious arena.
State-linked outlets had spent weeks giving the site a sacred vocabulary. Some described it as a place where mourners could approach the “killing site” of the slain leader. Others compared it to Tel Zaynabiyya, a deeply emotional reference in Shiite memory. In Karbala, Tel Zaynabiyya is associated with the place from which Zaynab, the sister of Imam Hussein, is believed to have witnessed the battlefield after Hussein’s killing in 680. Using that phrase for Khamenei’s death places the site inside the language of Ashura, martyrdom and sacred grief.
Ashura is not just a mourning ritual in the Islamic Republic’s political culture. It is also a vocabulary of legitimacy, sacrifice and confrontation. Since 1979, the state has repeatedly used the story of Imam Hussein’s stand at Karbala to frame political loyalty as moral resistance and compromise as betrayal.
But the Keshvardoust dispute shows the risk of that language for the state itself. Once Khamenei’s death is framed as a sacred wound demanding revenge, the most radical loyalists can use the same symbolism against the government, parliament speaker, foreign minister or any official seen as too “pragmatic.”
That is why the incident is politically revealing. The establishment wants mourning that strengthens the system. The ultra-hardliners want mourning that disciplines the system.
In a ruling published on Friday, Solna District Court said the employee had, over several years, maintained extensive contacts with "an Iranian intelligence officer, an agent linked to refugee espionage and individuals connected to a motorcycle gang environment," according to Swedish media.
The court said the contacts posed "a concrete risk" that sensitive information held by the Migration Agency could be passed on and amounted to a serious breach of the employee's duty of loyalty.
National security concerns
The Migration Agency argued it was particularly vulnerable to foreign intelligence activity because it holds information on asylum seekers, Iranian government critics and others who could be of interest to foreign states.
The court agreed that the employee's contacts were incompatible with his position, saying they undermined confidence in both the individual and the agency.
Court rejects appeal
The former official, who had worked at the agency since 2016 and was dismissed in February 2025, sought reinstatement and damages, arguing the agency lacked sufficient grounds to dismiss him.
The court rejected the claims, found testimony from Sweden's Security Service (Säpo) to be credible and detailed, and ruled the agency had acted within the legal time limit for the dismissal.
The former employee was also ordered to pay the state 168,000 Swedish kronor ($17,600) in legal costs.
