At a Portland park on Sunday, the kind of cheers that typically accompany a goal rose into the air as volunteer coaches and players focused on the fundamentals: “Push!” and “Press!” shouted in encouragement, followed by “Good ball!” when play clicked. Organizer Som Subedi said the tournament, which he dubbed a “World Cup for immigrant and refugee girls,” is designed to offer children and their families something more than a competitive day—an environment where they can feel safe enough to enjoy sport amid anxiety over federal immigration enforcement.
Subedi said the idea grew out of ongoing concerns that immigration operations affect players’ families and that fear has reached youth sports settings. During an opening ceremony, he told attendees that “ICE and federal enforcement must be out of our parking lots, out of our soccer fields, and most importantly, out of the fear in our hearts and minds,” using the acronym for U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
Subedi, an immigrant from Bhutan who later became a U.S. citizen, also described the personal history that led him to create the event. He said he belongs to the Lhotshampa community, a Nepali-speaking ethnic group that Bhutanese authorities targeted in the early 1990s, and that he lived in a refugee camp in Nepal before arriving in Portland in 2008. He said he wants families who are affected by enforcement pressures to feel valued and welcomed, telling The Associated Press, “This is more than a competition. It is more than soccer,” and adding that the effort is meant “to make this a community event so that they feel valued and welcomed.”
For some players, the fear is not abstract. Valeria Hernandez, 15, said her brother was deported to Mexico late last year, and she described the emotional impact on her life and routines. “I broke down at that moment. I was really sad,” she told the AP, choking up. She said her brother had been her best friend and her main inspiration for playing soccer, and that it also became harder to attend practice because he previously gave her rides.
Hernandez said she managed the disruption by staying connected to her brother and by continuing to participate. She said she sent him a picture from the tournament before her first game and that she tried to carry his enthusiasm into her own play, saying, “He was just very passionate about it,” and that she wanted to be “just like him.” At the ceremony, Hernandez’s mother and younger sister were also given brightly colored scarves as symbols of support as they dealt with their family’s separation, with Subedi saying they “deserve to be united.”
Subedi said parents and caregivers still face fear even when they show up for games. He described how his daughter, 11, was afraid to attend practice after immigration agents were reported near her school during the previous winter. He said he showed her he carried his REAL ID and passport, but that she remained nervous; “I had to calm her down, and she went into the practice, but also not without the fear,” Subedi told the AP.
The tournament aimed to reduce that fear with community presence. Subedi said officers from two police departments and a local immigrant rights group attended, and that at times officers were seen chatting with attendees or in a patrol vehicle in the parking lot. He said that under Oregon’s sanctuary law, local police are prohibited from assisting with federal immigration enforcement, and he described the departments’ role as supportive rather than enforcement-focused. Subedi said the officers’ presence helped families feel protected, stating, “and their presence helped families feel protected, not policed,” and he added that having a crowd of supporters contributed to a secure atmosphere.
Others echoed the emphasis on bringing together people from different backgrounds. Esraa Alnabelsi, who arrived in the United States from Syria in 2012, said it was exciting to watch her 13-year-old daughter play while also seeing different cultures and religions come together. “We really have to be in one hand to face all that’s happening now in Oregon and other states,” she said. Subedi said the event also fostered solidarity among the players themselves, noting that some girls who did not come from immigrant families were still allowed to participate because the tournament was open to everyone.
Organizers made participation possible through donations. Subedi said the tournament, including jerseys and cleats, was free for the girls, who were split into six teams, with some teams representing communities such as the Karen people in Myanmar and the African Refugee Immigrant Organization. He said teams that placed first and second received trophies, and dozens of people volunteered as referees and coaches. Sergio Medel, a volunteer coach whose team included his 16-year-old daughter, described the point of the day as reassurance: “I hope that when they walk away from here, they feel like, ‘Hey, we’re not alone,’” he said.
In describing soccer’s appeal to families and newcomers, Subedi said the game helped create a common language. He said he has loved playing soccer since childhood and described it as a sport “where there is no language needed,” saying, “You just come together and play.”