my sister was 8 years old when morality police in Tehran stopped us because she wasn’t wearing a headscarf. Dad tried to tell them, she’s only 8, it’s not mandatory until she’s 10, but it didn’t matter to him because she “looked” older. She was forced to wear a scarf before he let us go.
The same day another police stopped us because he could glimpse my mother’s ankles, even though she was wearing a long trench coat. She had to buy and put on black tights before he let us go.
In 1997 we got stuck in the airport in Teheran because they “lost” dad’s passport. Mom ended up leaving with me and my sister, leaving dad behind. Since he’s an Iranian citizen, the Swedish embassy couldn’t help even though he also is a Swedish citizen. My uncle went every day to the airport to pester them about the passport. They “found” the passport 2 months later, finally allowing him to fly back to Sweden.
when ordering school photos my dad would always ask the photographer to edit out our cross necklaces in one copy, so that he could send it to our grandparents. He knew it wouldn’t be safe in case officials checked the mail and realised we we’re christian.
These are mild examples of the oppression and fear the Iranian people have had to live with for over 40 years, of the oppression Iranian women have had to live under.
i could give a thousand more. the people of Iran are terrorised by it’s government. I could tell you about relatives executed and relatives scattered around the globe. About the per capita executions and the examples of attacks on Iranians outside Iran by agents of the regime. The risks of traveling into Iran as a Iranian citizen.
I’m just part of the Iranian diaspora. I’m Iranian, yet not Iranian. Cut off from my heritage due to the risks, due to the distance. It’s an open wound. A wound that will never have a chance to heal unless the regime falls.
but my wound is a paper cut compared to my dad’s, compared to the Iranians in Iran fighting for freedom and justice. The ones that’s been truly robbed of their homeland. For that, I have no words.
what we’re seeing now is a fight to reclaim it. A fight for justice for Masha Amini, as well as other women before her -and sadly after her. A fight for human- and women’s rights.
I can only voice my support.
