These days, my timeline is flooded with protest videos and empowering footage of women in Iran, setting fire to their head scarves, cutting their hair, shouting “Zan, zendegi, azadi!” (Women, life, freedom) at the top of their lungs. A question I’ve been asked a few times lately is, “what is the price of these bold acts of protest for Iranian women?”.
The short answer is, very high. However, it is worth recognizing the tangled context of women’s bodily autonomy in Iran to answer this question. History is a good start, but perhaps only through lived experience can one grasp the true merit of their defiance.
Hijab became compulsory just a few years after the Islamic revolution in 1979, but the truth is that women’s bodies have always been at the forefront of Iran’s national identity. Let’s not forget Reza Shah’s “Kashf-e hijab”, which shortly banned the hijab in the 30s, using women’s bodies as a representation of the Pahlavi zeal for a secular, modern Iran. During this time, women’s bodies were also policed. Women who wore a scarf or chador in public were subject to attacks and discrimination instigated and supported by the government’s unveiling reform.
The misogynistic government policies that have forcibly unveiled and veiled Iranian women for generations have shaped the collective life experiences that have unified women on the streets today. Besides the visible control of women’s bodies in public, whether it be by strange men or the morality police on the streets, many Iranian women have spent a lifetime being policed behind closed doors – in the privacy of their own homes.
When something becomes illegal, it begins to be perceived differently. Over time, laws begin to permeate a society’s moral fabric, shifting and shaping norms and perceptions. This may not be entirely true, but if freedom is fiercely controlled and information heavily censored, seeing past, to which I quote a song by Half Moon Run, “rules and narrow margins”, becomes difficult. This is why we must recognize this fight as a fight for basic legal rights and bodily autonomy – not one against religion.
I cannot speak for the brave women in Iran, as my experience is skewed by the privilege of passing by. I can say however, that I have never passed by without the policing of my body. On my first visit post-puberty, my first visit as a “woman”, I was asked to cover up out of “respect” for some distant male relatives coming over. On the streets, I was harassed by women dressed in chadors who wanted to “tell me something” or morality police that threw me in the back of a van so that I would “respect” the rules.
I still remember being impressed at how fearless some women were in these encounters. How ordinary it seemed to reply “mind your own business” and drive or walk away. I remember begging my mother to buy me this bright blue floral shawl I had seen in a windowsill, to which she showed little enthusiasm. Her years of growing up in a semi-conservative home as a young woman shaped her into a daring adult who tested her father’s religious boundaries in small pushes. She didn’t want me to think that I needed to wear hijab for anyone else. A few days ago, she told me in tears, “I will never wear hijab for the respect of any man ever again. Somehow, I feel responsible for the situation we’re in.”
Her experiences are different from mine. She grew up being forced to veil out of respect for men. When she got married into a progressive family, she was forced to take that same veil off, as to not look “dehati”, a word sometimes used demeaningly to refer to village people. I didn’t think much of it then, but now, I am appalled by this notion of respect in every sense.
If there is a revolution in Iran, it must be one which shifts the toxic narrative of “respect” that has normalized control of women’s bodies. The price is high – because beyond these acts of public defiance – it is standing face to face with the oppressors in private.
The price is 38 ½ years of prison for Nasrin Sotoudeh, for defending women and girl’s right to have a choice. The price is Sahar Khodayyari, the “Blue Girl”, for dressing up as a man just to watch a football match. The price is 3 years in prison for Melika Qaragozlu, for sharing a video protesting the mandatory hijab. The price is our Rosa Parks, Donya Rad, arrested for eating breakfast without hijab. The price is the uncertain fate of Niloofar Hamedi behind bars for breaking the story of Zhina, Mahsa Amini, whose only crime was being a woman.
These days, my timeline is flooded with messages from exhausted Iranians who will pay anything. A friend of mine wrote:
“I swear to god, the image of freedom is so sweet that I for one am not ready to give up. It’s really death or freedom.”
Jin, jiyan, azadi is about respect and choice for women.
