Where is the Home Team? Who Gets to Belong?

“We understand the human need and desire to belong. By promoting diversity and supporting the removal of societal barriers, we aim to contribute to more inclusive and accessible spaces for all.”—Aponwao Ideas

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The Search for a Home Team

I grew up in a country where the national pastime was béisbol, despite being a South American nation on a continent full of fútbol powerhouses. Instead, we are more of a Caribbean nation full of baseball powerhouses, alongside Cuba, the Dominican Republic, and Puerto Rico. Throughout my childhood and teenage years, and until I was 42, I never even knew of a Venezuelan fútbol team. There was simply no talk around it.

So, what do you do when you have been involved in the World Cup since Mexico ’70? I was 14 then, and it was the first-ever World Cup to be broadcast worldwide. My uncle traveled to Mexico to witness the event, and when he returned, he brought back vivid stories of how his team, Italy, advanced to the finals only to lose to Brazil—a team with the most spectacular player to have ever existed. (Sorry Messi.)

Where are the ties to belonging?

Well, when you don’t have a team, and your immediate ancestry (Colombia) doesn’t either, you adopt your closest neighbor. And that team was Brazil. Many of my classmates and friends were immediate descendants of the 1950s immigrant wave: Italian, Spanish, Portuguese. They had their teams as part of their blood and DNA. My most significant ancestry, Spanish, was seven generations away, while Brazil simply bordered us. I chose my team out of passion and proximity, but I was about to learn that others expected a genetic passport to belong.

But Why Brazil???

I lived the 2006 World Cup while working at Boeing,  project managing the systems integration of the 787 fuselage. Our key international partners were Alenia (Italian) and KHI (Japanese), responsible for the design and build of specific sections of the fuselage, and Labinal (with offices in Mexico and France), in charge of the wiring design.

Now, try telling these people that work interferes with the World Cup. That’s not going to happen. But Boeing, understanding the global model, adapted. A flat, immense screen was placed in the cafeteria of the 787 headquarters in the twin towers in Everett—mind you, this Boeing cafeteria is the size of a large mall’s food court.

To my surprise, regular work was paused during games. Critical meetings were not, but most activities paused. That didn’t mean work didn’t get done; it was simply accommodated to the situation. My direct boss knew exactly where I was (if he wasn’t watching fútbol himself). A simple phone call would do to solve any pressing issue.

The screams of goals, against or in favor, the cheering, and the excitement that we see today in the famous 2026 World Cup watch parties established in many cities were no different from the ones I lived twenty years ago in the Boeing offices. Everybody was thankful because the direction came from the very top. Management understood the meaning of a World Cup for our international partners, and they pivoted.

And what was the team I supported? Of course, Brazil. I came dressed for every game in my yellow and green regalia, complete with colorful flowers in the best Rio style. Everyone, Americans and foreigners alike, thought I was Brazilian. I even had pictures with Pelé (yes, I am dropping names) when I met him in Chicago with Beckenbauer after the Italia 90 World Cup. So when they asked me more about Brazil, I told them: ‘I am not from there. I’m from Venezuela.

This fact blew their brains. “Then why are you supporting the team? Are your parents Brazilian? Did you live there? Do you have family there? Friends?”

No, to all questions.

Brazilian people didn’t understand it either. Because of these reactions, and the constant, “But why Brazil???” my sense of belonging to Brazil started to erode. I was living in a place that saw no rhyme or reason for me to support the country. Of course, I continued to be a crazy Brazilian fan, but while in my “previous” life there were no questions—many Venezuelans with no ties to a fútbol country would support Brazil—now, I was questioned every single time.

The explanations became exhausting. My passion wasn’t valid without a pedigree. An invisible barrier, deciding I didn’t truly belong in that circle.

I recognize that the hidden barriers and subtle questionings I’ve faced over who belongs where are undeniably small. They pale in comparison to the deep, systemic exclusion experienced daily by so many marginalized communities. Yet, these quieter, everyday experiences still carry a valuable lesson, offering a clear window into how we welcome—or distance—one another.

The Reality of Exclusion

This interaction mirrored a much deeper reality of my life: As an immigrant, I am not seen by many as an American. As an American, I am no longer seen by many as Venezuelan.

So, as I was looking for a home fútbol team when I was 14, I am at almost 70, questioning: what is my home country team?

Not belonging to a fútbol fan base, in the big scheme of things, is absolutely irrelevant. And for those that do not consider me American or anything else, I would like to say that I don’t care, but sometimes I do.

In my love for hiking and reading, and during my grieving process, I found a book club here in the Pacific Northwest that hosted reading retreats in the mountains. I was fascinated. I applied to one of them, and they told me, “Sorry, we give priority to those who have participated before.”

So, let me get this straight. You have a club where everybody “is” welcome, but if you have not participated before, you are not going to be selected. What is the point of having open applications if your first round of decisions is a bunch of rejections for anyone new? How can I participate, if an unwritten rule for participation is that you have to have already participated?

That is exclusion. That would be fine if it were their stated policy, but it wasn’t. They were simply using a disingenuous line—“club for everybody”—with an intentional, hidden, exclusionary practice.

That hidden (and now more than before, not hidden at all) exclusionary practice is alive and well, because there is a narrative around Inclusion as a tool of division.

What are the reasons for which people are excluded? Of course, you are not going to include a dedicated tennis player on a swimming team, just as you wouldn’t include someone who cannot sing in a professional choir. Those boundaries make sense based on objective and tangible skills and qualifications.

People who exclude love to use these tactics as a shield, hiding behind the idea of “merit” or “readiness.”

But when you want to join a space simply to participate, learn, work, read, play, or share—and exclusion becomes a deliberate filter for what you are not—that is where the line is drawn.

When exclusion is backed by nothing but baseless barriers, both hidden and highly visible, any claim of community is hollow. We aren’t just dealing with a lack of awareness and empathy; we are dealing with an explicit rejection of the idea that everyone belongs.

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