Global Voices:

Reza Talebi

.... Tractor: More than a football team

All of this reflection leads to a contemporary scene far from Madrid. Recently, amid the stress, suppression, and tension that define public life in Iran, a remarkable event unfolded: Tractor S.C., a team from the city of Tabriz in Iran's Azerbaijan region, became the national champion. In another context, this achievement might have been merely another football victory, but in Iran, it carries significant symbolic meanings.

Despite sustained efforts by state actors to reshape the team’s identity, co-opt its image, or inject nationalistic slogans into its narrative, Tractor has maintained its grassroots character. It has become not only a football team but also a symbol of cultural resistance — especially for Iran’s Turkic population.

Turks are the largest ethnic group in Iran, estimated at 40 percent of the population. They are present across all regions of Iran, and, for centuries, various Turkic dynasties ruled the country, laying the foundations of a shared cultural heritage.

Anti-Turkish and anti-Arab sentiments — or more broadly, xenophobia — remain among the social problems occasionally witnessed in Iran. The tendency to reduce the country’s political and social challenges to the alleged culpability of Turks or Arabs, along with the humiliation of these ethnic groups in certain football matches, reflects a more profound issue with unresolved tensions that become especially visible in stadiums.

Tractor's historical rivals — Tehran-based giants Esteghlal and Persepolis — represent the center politically, economically, and symbolically. In contrast, Tractor has come to embody the margins, the provinces, and the periphery. And now, for the first time in years, the balance of power seems to be shifting.

Tehran-based teams — ranging from Persepolis to Saipa, Pas, and Esteghlal — have collectively won the Iranian Premier League numerous times. Alongside them, provincial teams such as Malavan Bandar Anzali, Sepahan of Isfahan, and Foolad Khuzestan have also managed to win the league, becoming champions from outside the capital. The victory marks the first time, however, that Tractor from Azerbaijan has claimed the championship title.

Just as Marías suggests that Real Madrid gains meaning through its rivalry with Barcelona, Tractor’s very identity has been forged in opposition to central power. If that antagonism were to disappear, even fans might be uncertain whether to rejoice or mourn.

Tractor is more than a football team. It is a cultural and political phenomenon, playing two parallel matches — one on the field and one in the public arena, where ordinary people push back against state control over narrative and identity.

While the Iranian state, much like Salazar, continues to rely on its equivalent of the “three Fs” to manage society — religion, ritual, and controlled entertainment — Tractor defies this logic. Its power lies not just in its goals but in the emotions it unlocks: pride, defiance, and solidarity. The Iranian regime may attempt to control the game, but the stands and streets present a different story.

In a world where many feel trapped in systems of control, football might not save us — but it can open up the space to imagine justice. This space extends beyond the confines of the pitch, reaching all the way to Tabriz and beyond.

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