By Afra Kashefi
One year ago, I was on my way to the United States when the protests broke out in Iran. I was so worried that I could not wait to land. So, I bought an internet package on the flight to follow the news in my country. And, I saw what I was praying would not happen: Mahsa Amini had died or was killed, to be exact.
The death of Mahsa Amini shook the basis of the Islamic Republic’s power and its grip on our people. Although many outside the country expected the regime to go away, we who fought against the Islamic Revolution inside Iran knew it wouldn’t be yet the end of it. Our uprising came in a long trend of periodic mass mobilization that has left the regime weaker and more illegitimate, but still standing. However, the women’s movement, rallying around “Woman, Life, Freedom”, has been one of the largest public mobilizations in recent years, one that reignited our hope for the future and reinforced our commitment to freedom.
Our uprising came in a long trend of periodic mass mobilization that has left the regime weaker and more illegitimate, but still standing.
More than a decade ago, we found ourselves between the hard choices of letting madness represent our country because we did not vote or risking our lives to defend it if we voted. What ensued made us realize in unprecedented ways that the regime would not shy away from killing its own people on the streets; and that it would resort to any method of oppression and torture to remain in power. From that and through so many ups and downs of political changes, we have learned the hard lesson that we always have to predict the consequences of our political actions. Otherwise, we could very well run the risk of delivering the wishes of the dictator. Over the years, we have learned that sustainable change will only come gradually and with our persistence. We need to not lose completely while also giving ourselves the chance to breathe.
In Iran as in many other places, the pandemic exposed the country’s structural problems.
The COVID-19 pandemic in recent years handed the regime in Tehran its golden opportunity to further restrict the public space. In Iran as in many other places, the pandemic exposed the country’s structural problems. An order by Ayatullah Khamenayi banning foreign vaccine imports left millions helpless. Some people rushed to Armenia to get vaccinated but only so many could go to another country for immunization during a pandemic that halted movement and trade. The death toll spiked as one of the highest in the world.
Since then, against lowering living conditions caused by the pandemic and international sanctions, the morality police have been on the nerves of a young generation that is connected to the world and frustrated by the lack of opportunities. Day in and day out, we woke up to videos of Iranian mothers in agony pleading with the morality police that their daughters, being pushed into the car, were sick and thus could be spared. When we came of age in the 1990s and early 2000s, we had to grapple with the regime’s brute force in an environment far less connected to the outside world. In the past two decades, the regime and the populace it attempts to control have grown in two opposite directions. With education and hyper-connectivity, society is much more liberal while the system has growingly adopted a more fanatical view of state-societal relations.
In the months that led to the protests, every street corner in Tehran was occupied by a morality police van, Gasht-e-Ershad. It closed shops of women vendors who did not abide by their standards of attire. Sapideh, a young woman who had taken away her Hijab on a bus was arrested, tortured and then forced to apologize on live television. We did not know the details of her experience until much later when she went public with it. Torture and abuse including sexual violence have long been an instrument for the regime to subjugate women.
With education and hyper-connectivity, society is much more liberal while the system has growingly adopted a more fanatical view of state-societal relations.
The public frustration stemmed as much from the repressive nature of the regime’s behaviour as from the realization that from the multitude of challenges the Iranian people were grappling with, the government had prioritized controlling the appearance of women in public spaces. As the Iranian people were growing more impatient for change, the regime was doubling down on its methods of terror and control. The fear that any of us, women activists, would be arrested anytime was palpable. My anxiety attacks were getting worse and I thought I could very well end up dead in a psychic hospital as had Behnam Mahjoobi, the Gonabadi Dervish activist in 2021. I had to leave Iran for a program abroad earlier than it was scheduled in order to save my life and sanity.
Outside Iran, the conversation was different. Every time Iranians mobilized to take to the streets against the regime, the world and the Iranian diaspora naively expected the regime to collapse the next day. And this time was no different. Thanks to four decades of the Islamic Republic’s survival that has sent millions of educated Iranians into exile, we have one of the most diverse and vibrant diasporas. However, like any other diaspora, it is detached from the society inside the country. Its understanding of the events and its aspirations for the future are deeply grounded in a static reality that does not exist anymore. However, their language skills and institutional affiliations give them access to global platforms and policy circles where they speak and advocate on behalf of the Iranian people. Yet, with all the good intentions, they fail to understand or at least register the priorities of those on the ground. Their continuous advocacy for sanctions that hamper the economic prospects of the people and make them further vulnerable to the brutalities of the regime is just one example of such misguided perceptions about the demands of our people. Rallying behind old ideas of monarchy in an age where people only demand more rights and self-determination is another. The regime always propagates that protests and voices of dissent are incentivized by foreign intervention rather than the indigenous aspirations of the people. Some in the diaspora inadvertently corroborate that by trying to take the primary seat instead of amplifying the voices and agency of Iranians inside the country.
Rallying behind old ideas of monarchy in an age where people only demand more rights and self-determination is another example of misguided perceptions of some in the diaspora about the aspirations of our people.
Since 2005 when I became active in our civic space, I have seen how Iranian women have grown more sophisticated in their methods of mobilization and demonstration as well as in their strategies for the future. We cannot register human rights organizations. The regime’s isolation and international sanctions prevent us from accessing outside funding and limit our international networking because of travelling and visa constraints. Yet, the women’s movement in Iran and the pro-freedom and democracy forces in general are only getting stronger.
Years of struggle with the Islamic Republic have taught us, the activists in Iran, that change takes time and strategy. The regime’s adamant efforts to limit public space and silence critics have forced us to be more creative in how we demonstrate. It has also taught us the significance of solidarity, patience, and tolerance, and has given rise to a strong and organic sense of comradery, the lack of which tore apart the nascent diaspora coalitions earlier this year. The major difference between those inside Iran and the diaspora is that we give up any personal or group interest for the common cause while for some in the diaspora, it is the other way around.
After months of living abroad and much deliberation, I decided to return to Iran. For months, I watched in tears behind a screen the events that transpired inside my country, the lives that were lost, the hopes that flourished and were shattered. But my fight, our fight, was in Iran, alongside my people. Now in Iran, while the threats and risks are only growing, it makes me more hopeful to see the frontiers our women have concurred in the past year. There are more women on the streets without compulsory Hijab. The people have grown more adamant to stand by each other against the morality police on a daily basis. Although mass demonstrations have subsided, neither is our resistance over nor does the regime rest its campaign of vengeance. University students, professors, and administrators are fired on boggy charges for being anti-establishment. Women are fired from work for not having appropriate dress. Businesses are shut down for violating morality laws. Families are not allowed to even visit their lost ones’ graves.
As we commemorate the first anniversary of Mahsa Amini’s death and remember all those who have given the ultimate sacrifice for a free Iran, we know that our Iran, this rich land of old civilization and beautiful literature, will be ours again. For that, we keep educating and mobilizing. We keep fighting. We, the women of Iran, are here for the long haul.
The author is a renowned women’s rights activist in Iran. Due to fears of persecution and retribution by the Islamic Republic, this essay is published under a pen name.
