In Uzbekistan, the World Cup is about a lot more than just football

TASHKENT — On a mild spring evening at Milliy Stadium, thousands of Uzbek supporters stayed long after the final whistle of a routine FIFA Series friendly, serenading their players as if they had just lifted the World Cup itself. Fireworks crackled above a giant national flag projected onto a ferris wheel, hotels blazed in the blue-white-green of the state colours, and traffic ground to a halt as fans strained for a glimpse of the team bus. The cause of this euphoria? A 5-4 penalty-shootout victory over Venezuela that, in pure football terms, will be forgotten within weeks.

Yet the outpouring was never about the result. It was about the realisation that, for the first time in their 33-year history as an independent nation, Uzbekistan will appear on football’s greatest stage this summer in the United States, Canada and Mexico. In a country where sport and statecraft have long been intertwined, qualification has become a symbol of a society recasting its identity after decades of isolation.

Islam Karimov’s quarter-century rule, which ended with his death in 2016, left Uzbekistan largely closed to the outside world. Foreign visitors required multiple permits, photography in Tashkent’s ornate metro stations was banned, and even sunset prayers were discouraged. Today, the scene could hardly be more different. When the Venezuela match kicked off, loudspeakers outside the ground reminded late-arriving supporters that maghrib prayers were under way—an act unthinkable a decade ago.

Akbar Yusupov, editor-in-chief of The Tashkent Times, remembers teachers and nurses being bussed to cotton fields each autumn, a practice that has now been abolished. “A decade ago in Uzbekistan to now is like the earth and the sky—completely different,” he says. Under President Shavkat Mirziyoyev, restrictions have eased, visas have been liberalised, and billions of som have poured into cultural and sporting infrastructure. The payoff is visible: 3,500 mini-football pitches, a new 55,000-seat stadium due in 2026, and a national football centre opened this year.

The loosening of the police state remains partial. Opposition parties are still barred, torture is described by Amnesty as “routine”, and a 2022 protest in Karakalpakstan was violently suppressed. Yet incremental freedoms have allowed Uzbekistanis to reclaim their Islamic heritage and, increasingly, to dream in the language of sport. Government spending on sport has doubled since 2020, and average coaching salaries have followed the same trajectory. The goal, officials admit privately, is to vault into the top 10 of the 2028 Los Angeles Olympics medal table after finishing 13th in Paris.

Football is the vanguard of that ambition. Years of youth-level investment—Uzbekistan’s U-17s reached the 2023 World Cup quarter-finals, the U-20s won the Asian title, and an U-23 squad competed at the 2024 Olympics—have produced a senior squad whose core has played together since adolescence. Their breakthrough came via a tense 0-0 draw away to the UAE that secured passage to the 2026 World Cup and erased memories of near-misses in 2006, 2014 and 2018.

Abdukodir Khusanov, a 22-year-old Manchester City centre-back, has become the nation’s first global football star. In Samarkand’s Siyob Bazaar, stallholders who speak no English light up at the mention of “Premier League” and proudly recite Khusanov’s name. Expectations are soaring despite a daunting group that includes Portugal and Colombia. To add tactical steel, the Uzbek federation turned to Fabio Cannavaro, the 2006 World Cup-winning Italian captain, who demanded “warriors” after a recent 3-1 friendly win over Gabon.

Cannavaro’s appointment is the final piece of a project designed to announce Uzbekistan well beyond Central Asia. Government officials talk of “putting the country on the world sports map”, while fans in the Andijan supporters’ club are already rehearsing drums and chants for American audiences. Hundreds are expected to make the journey to the U.S., and state broadcasters have promised blanket coverage in restaurants, courtyards and public squares.

Back in Tashkent, student-turned-tour-guide G’olib Toshniyozov believes the tournament can accelerate the nation’s self-image. “The team has improved and so has the country,” he says, weaving past souvenir stalls where the only football merchandise on offer bears the crests of Real Madrid, Barcelona and Manchester City. “Uzbekistan is developing day by day.”

Whether Cannavaro’s side can survive the group stage is an open question. Yet the bigger victory, many here argue, has already been secured: a once-secretive state is preparing to greet the world, and its people finally have a dream that stretches well beyond the touchline.