When Curaçao’s football team played their opening match of the Fifa World Cup last Sunday, what mattered most was not the scoreline. They lost 1-7 to mighty Germany. But for one evening, a Caribbean island of just 150,000 people shared football’s grandest stage with one of the sport’s superpowers.
Until then, few outside the Caribbean had ever heard of Curaçao, a constituent country of the Kingdom of the Netherlands that is not among the 193 member states of the United Nations. Yes, for 90 minutes, Curaçao players represented their people before a global audience measured in billions.
The 2026 World Cup has highlighted a curious fact—football recognises a broader range of human communities than the international political system does. Fifa has 211 member associations, 18 more than the UN. Those additional members include territories, dependencies and communities whose political status may be disputed, ambiguous or unresolved, but whose identities are no less real.
Millions live in territories that possess distinct histories, institutions and aspirations, yet have little or no direct voice in global affairs. The UN remains one of humanity’s most ambitious political projects. But admission to it has never been determined solely by legal criteria. Recognition is ultimately political. Powerful states and geopolitical rivalries often decide who gets a seat.
Fifa evolved differently. Its membership reflects history, sporting traditions and cultural identities rather than strict definitions of sovereignty. As a result, the footballing map of the world often differs from the political one hanging on the walls of classrooms.
The four British nations provide the most familiar example. England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland each compete independently despite belonging to the United Kingdom. The Faroe Islands field their own team while remaining part of the Danish realm. Hong Kong and Macau participate separately despite being part of China. Aruba and Curaçao play under their own flags although they remain linked constitutionally to the Netherlands.
No one questions their place on the football field. Yet many of these same entities would find it difficult, if not impossible, to secure independent representation in international diplomacy.
The issue extends far beyond football. Take Taiwan. Home to more than 23 million people, it has its own government, military, judiciary, passport system and one of the world’s most sophisticated economies. Taiwan possesses expertise that could contribute significantly to discussions on public health, trade, climate policy and technological standards.
Yet because of the dispute surrounding its political status, Taiwan remains excluded from the UN. While its athletes compete internationally under the name Chinese Taipei, its citizens remain outside the principal institution that claims to represent the world’s peoples.
Horn of Africa offers another example. Since declaring independence from Somalia in 1991, Somaliland has built functioning institutions, conducted elections, maintained relative stability and developed many of the characteristics associated with statehood. Yet, with a population of more than 6 million, it remains largely invisible within the formal structures of global governance. Unlike Curaçao, the territory enjoys neither diplomatic recognition nor a place in football’s elite competitions.
Western Sahara presents yet another unresolved case. For decades, the territory has remained the subject of competing claims and diplomatic deadlock. While Morocco, which claims the territory, prepares for the spotlight of international football and will co-host the next World Cup, the Sahrawi people remain largely absent from both global sport and global politics.
The debate over recognition is often framed in legal language. Diplomats speak of sovereignty, territorial integrity and international law. Important as these concepts are, they can sometimes obscure a simpler question: who gets to be heard? For communities that fall outside conventional categories of statehood, the consequences are not merely symbolic.
Exclusion carries costs. Limited international standing can complicate trade, restrict access to development financing, reduce participation in international programmes and diminish influence over decisions that affect daily life. During global crises, from pandemics to climate-related disasters, exclusion can carry practical costs.
Small island territories know this well. Places such as Curaçao face challenges ranging from economic vulnerability to rising sea levels. Yet their ability to shape international responses often depends on larger states whose priorities may not fully coincide with their own.
This gap between those affected by global decisions and those empowered to shape them is one of the quieter shortcomings of the contemporary international system. None of this means that every territory seeking recognition should automatically become a sovereign state. The world is too complex for such simple solutions. Many disputes remain deeply contested and politically sensitive.
But there are alternatives between full recognition and complete exclusion. Observer status, participation in specialised agencies and greater access to international forums can provide meaningful avenues for engagement without prejudging sovereignty disputes. The Holy See and Palestine demonstrate that participation need not depend entirely on full UN membership.
The founders of the UN sought to create an institution capable of fostering peace and cooperation after the devastation of the Second World War. Their achievement remains extraordinary. Yet the world of 2026 bears little resemblance to that of 1945.
Today, millions of people live in political entities that fall somewhere between recognised states and ordinary regions. But on the football field, identity is not measured solely by diplomatic recognition. Communities that might otherwise be overlooked are given a platform, a flag and a voice. For a few weeks every four years, the world acknowledges their existence.
Long after this World Cup is over, it may endure as a reminder that beyond the official map of the world lie millions of people whose identities, aspirations and stories do not always fit the categories recognised by international diplomacy. Football found room for them.
E D Mathew
Former UN spokesperson
(Views are personal)