For Haitian Americans Like Myself, Soccer Keeps Us Connected to the Homeland

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This story is part of a series celebrating soccer cultures around the world—and the communities shaped by them. Read more 2026 World Cup coverage here.

I remember the exact Sunday when I realized what a big deal the World Cup was for my Catholic, Haitian immigrant mother: It was summer 1994 and in an unprecedented move, she made us leave mass early to go watch Brazil play against Italy in the final. I was raised in Brooklyn’s Little Haiti in Flatbush and in our community there was never an excuse to miss church. Yet here she was sneaking us out before the final blessing. My six-year-old-brain had barely begun to really process sports—and Haiti wasn’t even playing in the tournament—but I knew then that this would be something worth sneaking out of church for the rest of my life.

This summer the churches in Haiti proper might just schedule masses around the games. Le Grenadiers, Haiti’s national soccer team, have not qualified for the World Cup since 1974, during which they were knocked out of the group stage. Fifty-two years later and we’re back in it, facing off against Scotland on June 13 in Boston.

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Seeing something your parents have only witnessed once in their lifetime brings a sense of elation that can’t easily be described. Jerry Casamir, a Haitian from Florida recalls, “When they qualified I was in South Korea in my hotel room screaming at the top of my lungs!” Online, the scenes from Haiti were pure pandemonium. Thousands gathered in the streets marching and chanting in joy across the country. On Haitian soil or abroad, old or young, the 2026 World Cup has become something we can all celebrate together.

For Washington DC resident Jemmy Marc, who was born in Haiti, the country’s qualification makes the tournament a must-attend event. “As soon as the results were final, I immediately called a friend of mine to celebrate and we set plans into motion to go see them,” he says. Attending the group stage within the borders of the US is an alluring option, of course, but for the Haitian diaspora, there is equal appeal in traveling to watch the games with friends and family back home—an option that’s not currently possible.

The country remains in a humanitarian crisis following the 2021 earthquake and attempted coup d’etat. Gangs of local and international mercenaries are currently keeping Haiti in a constant state of violence and turmoil. The airport in the capital of Port-Au-Prince is closed. The national team has been unable to play any matches at their home stadium in Port-Au-Prince; they have instead competed largely outside of the country. Over a million Haitians are internally displaced. Meanwhile the US government continues its travel ban for Haitian passport holders.

And so, for many of us Haitians, the elation of our team qualifying is matched by a sense that the gap between the diaspora and the home country is widening. For years my uncle has called me an ambassador for the country, willing to drag anyone along for a visit that shows the playful culture of Haiti, instead of the poverty consistently depicted abroad. To experience a once in a lifetime moment involving Haiti’s favorite sport in Haiti, I would have asked my uncle to pick me up from the Port-Au-Prince airport and take me straight to a bar to eat fresh fish and watch Haiti play against Scotland. Voice notes over WhatsApp will never match the excitement of turning onto the road outside my uncle’s house to see a pickup game going on in the field clearing, or honking at every neighbor’s gate to check in on where we’re gonna gather to watch and who is grabbing the beer (always us!).

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Haitian-born New Yorker Adele Austin, however, thinks the timing also feels somewhat auspicious. “To me, on a personal level, it abates a lot of the pessimism that’s been sort of ever-present since July 2021, with all the gang violence that’s made it difficult for Haitians both in Haiti and abroad to have a bit of pride in our country,” she says. “It’s a great moment for representation in sports too, and with such a large portion of the diaspora living in the US, it gives us access to being able to be part of the World Cup experience even more.”

During our half century absence at the World Cup, most Haitians have, like my mother, rooted for Brazil. When we left church that afternoon in 1994, Brazil won their first title in 24 years and began their second golden World Cup era. (My mother was right to skip the church announcements.) I spent my childhood in green and gold, obsessed with a seleção and the jogo bonito—the world renowned showy “street” style of play. Rooting for the constant champions made me a soccer elitist. After being the runner-up in 1998, Brazil won the World Cup again in 2002. But it wasn’t until the 2006 Cup I thought to ask about why we rooted for Brazil so ardently.

My aunt explained that Pelé, a dark-skinned Black Brazilian player who still holds the record for most World Cup wins (three), was the Michael Jordan of Brazil’s first golden era in the 1950s and ’60s. He is still widely considered one of the greatest players ever—full stop. For Black countries in particular, who had long been gatekept out of international competitions by the very European countries that colonized them, Pelé was their David in the face of Goliath. And what a hero he was: almost 1300 goals and still the youngest player to ever win the World Cup in 1958.

During those childhood summers watching the World Cup—often at my aunties’ houses in Long Island, Brooklyn, and New Rochelle—we were only allowed to root for certain teams: if not Brazil, Mexico for my half-Mexican cousin, or France for Thierry Henry and all the francophone players. (Never the fascistas or anyone with a queen or king.) This year we’re facing a group that includes Morocco, Scotland, and, most significantly, Brazil. It’s a tough road to advancing, but as Austin from New York states, “even making it to the group stage is dream-like.”

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The Haitian flag states “L’Union Fait La Force” meaning “Unity Makes Strength.” All those watch parties in Brooklyn with my family, mixing burgers and hot dogs with Haitian staples like griot (fried pork) and “pink” potato salad made with beets, while screaming our heads off on the couch, were a reminder that we were a people constantly being displaced but always holding together the thread of heritage and pride. Distance was of no matter.

This summer in Haiti folks will gather around radios or at restaurants that use generators to stream the game despite the collapsed infrastructure and lack of constant electricity. As for me, I now live in Los Angeles, and going home to watch in New York feels as close to Port Au Prince as I can get. The prospect of wearing my Haiti jersey in Flatbush with the elders of all ages and genders who can’t believe they get to see this momentous event again seems euphoric. There will be way too many Heinekens and a near constant chatter of passes that should’ve been made, chances that should have been taken. I’ll get a chance to speak kreyòl and send my uncle real time reactions via WhatsApp. The results are almost besides the point.

“This appearance can do so much to galvanize Haitians in Haiti and across the globe,” says Marc from Washington DC. “There is so much talent in Haiti. The team is a symbol of our ability and resilience.”

Originally Appeared on Condé Nast Traveler