In modern international soccer, nationality is no longer a simple matter of birthplace; it has become a choice, a strategy, and increasingly, a battleground.
This subject resurfaced recently when Landon Donovan argued that FIFA should simplify eligibility rules: “The easiest way for FIFA to cut this all out is just say where you were born is the country you will play for.”
He was reacting to the growing debate around dual-national players, most recently Noahkai Banks, a rising Bundesliga talent weighing whether to commit to the United States.
Donovan’s stance is clear-cut. Reality is not. Banks, born in the U.S. but raised in Germany, represents a generation of players shaped by multiple identities and competing opportunities. For federations, these players are assets to recruit. For fans, they can become symbols of loyalty—or its absence.
Amid Donovan’s critique, Mauricio Pochettino, himself foreign-born, is busy preparing the USMNT for this summer’s World Cup. He has a lot to consider, especially after two losses in friendlies this past week. There won’t be another national team match until after he names his 26-man roster, so players on the brink will have to rely on club performances to capture his attention.
That will include Banks, who, after the club’s performances in friendlies against Belgium and Portugal, would be useful in bolstering the backline.
The number of dual nationals, however, remains a major flashpoint, as we see names like Folarin Balogun (born in New York, raised in London), Timothy Weah (son of former Liberian president and Ballon d’Or winner George Weah), and Sergiño Dest (born and raised in the Netherlands) regularly making their way into camps and representing the USA.
Some critics, like Donovan and Alexi Lalas, don’t feel these dual nationals have the same desire to don the USMNT jersey. At times, it reeks of nativism—where players born and raised abroad, or of mixed heritage, are seen as unable to appreciate the honor of playing for the Stars and Stripes.
But a look back at the modern era of U.S. Soccer, beginning with 1990 FIFA World Cup, shows that dual nationals have been part and parcel of the USMNT roster at every international competition.
The Pioneers of ’94
When the U.S. last hosted the World Cup in 1994—as it will again this summer, along with Canada and Mexico—the squad was famously bolstered by dual nationals.
Consider the legends who anchored that era:
● Thomas Dooley: A German-born defender who didn’t speak English when he joined the team, yet became a captain and defensive stalwart.
● Earnie Stewart: Born in the Netherlands to an American father, he provided the clinical edge that defined the ’90s.
● Roy Wegerle: A South African native who became a U.S. citizen in 1991 and brought a level of technical flair the program desperately needed.
● Fernando Clavijo, Tab Ramos, & Hugo Perez: Two were born in Uruguay, the other in El Salvador—all becoming essential figures in the transition to a professional national team.
In 1994, these players weren’t merely there to fill the roster. Ramos, Dooley, and Stewart formed part of the backbone for years to come. Their commitment was rarely questioned, and in many ways, they were considered the missing pieces of the American soccer puzzle, helping the country shift from an also-ran to a regional powerhouse.
What Is a Dual National?
But let me stop for a moment and try to flesh out what is—or isn’t—a dual national. It’s one of those terms that gets thrown around, and there’s no clear definition of what it means.
Are dual nationals kids born and raised in the U.S. with parents from a different country? (Timothy Weah, Claudio Reyna, Ricardo Pepi, Giuseppe Rossi)
Have they immigrated to the U.S.? (Tab Ramos, Fernando Clavijo, Hugo Pérez, Neven Subotić, Vedad Ibišević)
Were they born abroad to American parents? (Gio Reyna, Sebastian Berhalter)
Do they have a single American parent but were raised abroad? (Thomas Dooley, John Brooks, Julian Green, Earnie Stewart, Malik Tillman)
Did they marry an American and quickly naturalize? (David Regis)
“Dual national” is a broad term that often encapsulates all these groups. At its root, it refers to anyone with the potential to represent two nations in international competition.
Pepi was eligible to represent Mexico and the U.S. Tillman represented Germany at the youth level. Rossi, as many will remember, was a USMNT hopeful—born and raised in New Jersey to Italian parents—but ultimately chose to represent the Azzurri.
Subotić and Ibišević were both born in the former Yugoslavia and, with their families, fled the country’s civil war, ending up in the United States. Subotić was in the U.S. setup but chose Serbia at the senior level. Ibišević was a standout in high school and college before being called up to the Bosnia national team.
There are plenty of other examples as well, but you get the point.
A Shifting Lens of Identity
At present, however, the conversation has taken a sharper, more complicated turn.
While the 1994 (and subsequent) dual nationals were predominantly of European or South American descent, the current generation is notably more diverse, with many dual-national stars being Black or of African and Caribbean descent.
Strangely, as the team has become more successful and the talent pool has deepened, the authenticity of these players is questioned more frequently than it was thirty years ago. That was never the case for players like Dooley or Stewart.
This shift in rhetoric suggests that the dual-national debate isn’t always about where a player was born or where they learned to kick a ball. It often reflects a broader, more uncomfortable tension about what a “real American” looks like in the 21st century.
When a player like Noahkai Banks or Malik Tillman weighs their options today, they aren’t just choosing a team; they are navigating a social landscape far more scrutinized than the one faced by the class of ’94.
Fans and pundits alike expect players to be politically aware while also accepting a USMNT call-up unquestioningly. Players weighing these options see the racial abuse many Black national team players receive and may question the logic of representing a country whose fans reject them.
It’s also not just about politics or society. Some players truly have a choice. It’s not like Dooley or Stewart were ever likely to get a look from Die Nationalelf or the Dutch national team.
But when pundits question their loyalty before they’ve even had a chance to prove themselves—or say “good riddance” when they delay a decision—it plants a seed. It is a discomforting trend in which the loyalty of Black dual nationals is scrutinized with a ferocity we never saw in the ’90s.
We must ask why the “American-ness” of this generation is debated, while Thomas Dooley’s lack of English in ’94 was seen as a charming quirk of a globalized game.
In Banks’ case, he’s 19 years old and in the best form of his young career. He’s been part of the U.S. youth setup, playing in 11 matches. This is a monumental decision, and he should take the time to consider his options—whether to play for the U.S. or make a one-time switch to Germany.
It borders on entitlement to expect otherwise. And Donovan, of all people, should understand that projecting your own vision onto other players—and how they should shape their careers—is, at best, unproductive.
The Best Team Possible
I understand the perspective of pundits like Alexi Lalas and Landon Donovan, who often preach a brand of exceptionalism. Their view is rooted in an era where playing for the U.S. was an absolute privilege.
But their stance often ignores the reality of today’s elite players. Expecting a 19-year-old in 2026 to make a life-altering decision based on 1990s-era sentimentality isn’t just unrealistic—it’s bad business.
Pochettino’s job isn’t to police patriotism; it’s to win soccer games.
That leads to an obvious point: USMNT manager Mauricio Pochettino must assemble the best 26 players to achieve the team’s goals at this World Cup.
It doesn’t matter where a player was born or what their political positions are. If they can help the team win and are eligible, the manager should pick up the phone.
If a player needs more time, give it to him. This isn’t a 32-year-old in the twilight of his career; it’s a young player considering his future. If he chooses the U.S.—even in 2030—that could still mean three World Cups.
Burning that bridge now because he’s hesitant seems myopic.
How we handle this now could hamstring future managers and make their jobs more difficult—especially as, in a globalized world, more dual nationals will be eligible to play for the U.S.
The Unified Future
The USMNT remains what it has always been: a cultural casserole reflective of the country itself—a mishmash of backgrounds, accents, and stories unified by the same red, white, and blue kit.
Whether born in Brooklyn, Birmingham, or Nuremberg, the players on that pitch carry forward a tradition that began long before the current landscape.
In soccer, as in the country itself, our strength has always been our ability to recruit the best and brightest.
We should continue doing that.
David Shams is an Iranian-American writer and photographer. A former college player and coach at various levels, David has chronicled the game since high school. As a vibes-forward storyteller, he prioritizes the visceral atmosphere of the terrace over the modern game’s heavy reliance on analytics. Whether documenting his groundhopping across Europe and Asia or sharing a match with locals at pubs around the globe, David captures the romance of the beautiful game. His debut novel is set for publication in late summer 2026. You can find his work on Substack and Instagram.