The weight of the three Lions: Football, colonialism, diaspora | World Cup 2026

When England take on Ghana, a former British colony, there is something you should listen to. Watch Kobbie Boateng Mainoo, one of the most talented players in all of football, then watch Brandon Thomas-Asante, Jerome Opoku and Antoine Semenyo. All four boys have similar parents and stories. All four born in England, culture and culture created by English football, all have Ghanaian heritage. But only Kobbie Mainoo is playing in England, while others are playing in Ghana.

Things like this make me question my integrity. It makes me wonder who I should really be rooting for. But we will get to that.

This is about the non-sporting population: Most of England’s 26 players are the children or grandchildren of people from the Caribbean and African countries. Most of those countries were former British Empire countries. Football has never been just a game. It has always been a mirror.

Research from the Migration Observatory at the University of Oxford has revealed that almost a quarter of the 1,248 players selected for the 2026 World Cup squad were born in a country other than the one they represent, and 23.6 percent of the players will represent a country other than the one they were born in. FIFA eligibility rules have changed and this has widened the talent pool.

You see talented players brought up in the best schools in Europe coming home. This has narrowed the gap between traditional and other countries. You see Ivory Coast go head to head with Germany, Cape Verde in action against Spain. It’s not perfect, but things are changing for the better. From South America to the Caribbean to North America to Africa, you will go down the rabbit hole and you will realize that the same truth is still evident: Most of us have suffered from the strong hand of European colonialism and empire. Diaspora is not a footnote. The diaspora is a story.

I have a confession to make: I have a soft spot for the Three Lions.

When my little brother and I were pursuing our soccer goals (he continues to achieve his), we often argued about who we played in the world. On the one hand, we were born and raised in England in the 90s and 2000s, our identity formed by England’s famous Golden Generation. On the other hand, there was Nigeria, our mother and fatherland, our pride and joy, our cornerstone, and her beautiful mess on and off the field. And then there was the good old United States, where we also grew up, where we also played in the youth system.

My love for England and Nigeria started at one of football’s great cathedrals, the original Wembley Stadium. I was four years old, but I will never forget it. Viewing popular twin towers. It was November 16, 1994, the day after my brother’s second birthday. My father, my uncle and I went to watch England play Nigeria, just after Nigeria won the AFCON ’94 and shocked the world at the 1994 World Cup. A very talented team. David Platt, who was England’s captain that day, scored just one goal and a goal in the first half, and I knew I would never be the same again. That day made me love football, and made me free from pain, watching Nigeria lose but feeling something burning. So much so that two years later, when Gareth Southgate missed the penalty against Germany, I cried. The tears were so hot, rolling down my face, they could fry eggs.

Then 1998 came, and I learned football and masochism. England are losing to Argentina. Nigeria is losing to Denmark. All of my loyalty, for all their skill, breaks my heart. In the 28 years since then, I have been able to write a story about how everyone has hurt me. But this is not the medical field.

What I want to address is the hardships of being Black and supporting these Western countries, these places where you were born and raised.

My first real heroes outside of my family, the people who made me think and dream big, were the Black British footballers. Viv Anderson, England’s first Black player in 1978. Luther Blissett opened his England account with a hat-trick against Luxembourg in 1982 to become the first Black player to score for the senior team. Paul Ince became England’s first black captain when he led the team against the USA in Boston in June 1993. In March 2021, Ollie Watkins became the 100th black player to start for England, and as of June 2026, the number stands at 127 following Rio Ngumoha’s debut for New Zealand in Tampa.

These are not statistics. This is the product of resistance and determination.

I think of my heroes: Ian Wright, Paul Ince, Les Ferdinand, Andrew Cole, and Rio Ferdinand. Then my older brothers: Ledley King, Jermain Defoe, Shaun Wright-Phillips, Micah Richards. They are my age: Danny Welbeck, Chris Smalling, Kyle Walker, Daniel Sturridge, Raheem Sterling. Then the younger generation: Marcus Rashford, Jesse Lingard, Jadon Sancho, Trent Alexander-Arnold, Bukayo Saka. Then the new wave: Jude Bellingham, Reece James, Kobbie Mainoo, Rio Ngumoha. These are pioneers. These are giants. The way Ian Wright and Andrew Cole inspired me is the same way a young kid like me is inspired watching Jude celebrate, watching Kobbie pass and walk, watching Reece James shoot down the right wing or seeing Bukayo Saka being right as part of the studio with Quincy Jones and Michael Jackson.

And yet that pride comes with a contradiction that I have never been able to escape: the same world that turns black football players into symbols of national glory can make their existence worthwhile.

You see how the English press treats these children.

How the English media treats these children. We saw it with Marcus Rashford, Jadon Sancho and Bukayo Saka. We have seen it with Raheem Sterling, who is held with a heavy hand compared to his contemporaries. Stan Collymore has spoken many times. The incidents are too numerous to count, the ways words and actions can confuse and harm players. I look at Andrew Cole, the reason I became a Manchester United fan, and Glenn Hoddle’s decision that he needed five chances to score. That idea became reality, and it stuck. And it’s things like this that make it hard to celebrate England sometimes. Microaggressions, digs, a subtle way to bring you down no matter how helpful you are when you do it. That debate is exhausting to have.

So when I look at the brothers in this tournament who chose differently, Guela Doue represents Ivory Coast while Desire Doue represents France, Nico Williams chooses Spain while Inaki Williams chose Ghana, Derrick Luckassen represents Ghana while Brian Brobbey represents the Netherlands, and I understand all aspects of that decision.

I can understand why someone would choose England over Ghana. There is fame and comfort. There are also practical considerations, including stability, economy and federal politics, but that is a discussion for the future. These are no small things, and they are real. I don’t judge anyone because of them.

But something is changing.

Ibrahim Mbaye chose Senegal over France. Ayyoub Bouaddi chose Morocco as France. Cape Verde is making a show at this World Cup. African teams are closing the gap. Over the last ten years, AFCON has become the best tournament in the world, more than the Euros, more than the Copa America, and it appears in the World Cups. Morocco, with its diaspora talent and King Mohammed VI academy, reached the end of 2022, the first country in Africa to do so. More and more diaspora talents are coming home. Not because they have to. Because they want to.

So, as a British-Nigerian-American, when I watch Ghana play England, I understand every aspect of Kobbie Boateng Mainoo, Brandon Thomas-Asante, Jerome Opoku and Antoine Semenyo. Because at the end of the day, we’ve all been colonized, sadly. Some of us work to fight them, others we let them take over. As Nicolas Jackson once said, we are killing ourselves for Africa. This is not just about the continent. It’s for the diaspora, it’s for South America, it’s for the Caribbean, it’s for the USA. It is ours in the Global South and its diasporas. Football is a show of people, and we want to make the world a better place for us and future generations, on and off the pitch. So when Ghana plays England, I don’t just watch the football. I see history contradicting itself, I hope that the future will prevail.

The views expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not reflect the editorial policy of Al Jazeera.