I am the proud daughter of Iranian immigrants. Though I was not born in Iran, I will always consider my Iranian heritage to be a major part of my identity. I have always revered the culture, the language, and of course, the music. However, over the past few months, that sense of pride has been repeatedly challenged by the absolute horror of what is occurring in Iran right now. In case you were not aware, in September of 2022, an 22-year old Kurdish woman named Mahsa Amini was killed by police for wearing her hijab incorrectly and violating Iran’s “morality laws.” It was the final straw in what has been decades of the regime’s oppression against women, an oppression that arguably began well before the Iranian Revolution of 1979. Since then, I’ve stared in complete shock at my social media feed — at brilliant Iranian students being held captive at universities, at protesters and journalists being beaten and kidnapped by government forces in broad daylight, and, most recently, at the news of executions. Please know that I have saved you the incredibly disturbing details here, mainly because my stomach churns just at the mere thought of them.
I know that many Iranians who have moved to America, as well as those with Iranian parents like me, have felt an immense sense of guilt for continuing to live and work normally in the U.S. while people are losing their lives in a fight for basic human rights. I have felt this guilt immensely; I have felt horrified, sad, and angry from what I have seen in the news as well as my own privilege and confusion. I’ve cried so many times over the past few months, and my shock has kept me frustratingly docile and immobile. I have come to understand, though, partly through my incredible graduate courses in intersectional feminism, that these deeply uncomfortable emotions are the most visceral and stable origin points to bring about revolution and change, or at the very least, a conscious awareness. So, I think it’s time I turn my tears into what I think I do best: words. Though it might be small, I do have a platform.
I admit that I was afraid to post about this for multiple reasons that all feel vapid now. I was afraid I’d get details wrong, I was afraid I wouldn’t be seen as serious or earnest, I was afraid that I was afraid, etc. I think the main reason it took me so long, however, was because I just didn’t want to believe that all of this was happening. I wanted to keep my pride intact. I later realized, however, that this sense of pride is anchored in an image of Iran that I see reflected in my parent’s eyes —an image that I grew up understanding was exclusively composed of compassion, warmth, and love. It’s also one that I was privileged to see, given that I was born, raised, and currently live in the U.S., and not Iran. The reality, of course, is that this picture-perfect image has been lying in pieces for the people that have lived there since the Revolution — this shattered image is the reason my parents have lived in the U.S. for the past thirty years. Of course, things like compassion, warmth, and love are all still there —they always have been, and they always will be, even if it needs to be hidden in the nooks and crannies. But at the moment, it’s being threatened.
Given that this is, after all, a music blog, I hope that if I share some of the music of Googoosh —perhaps the most famous female Iranian singer in history — these songs, along with the information I’ve shared above, might inspire you into supporting this cause in any way you are able (which, at the moment, involves sharing it on your social media feeds, as the internet is being blocked in Iran). “Pol” (“Bridge”) and “Ejaz” (“Miracle”) are sung in Farsi, and “I Love You” is a cover of the 1969 Eddie Holman song of the same name. Each of these songs practically bring me to tears every single time I listen to them. Googoosh’s voice has always been so transcendent, full, and otherworldly. I’ve been listening to her since I was a child, and she, along with my own mother, of course, are constant reminders that Iranian women, like all women, are incredibly strong, creative, and brilliant beings. “Pol,” in particular, is all about empathy; in the chorus, she asks her partner to join her in sharing, dissecting, and analyzing their pain, and thinks of their joined arms as a bridge towards mutual understanding and healing – I can’t think of a more fitting image for this movement than this. Of course, there are so many other talented female Persian singers, musicians, writers, poets, and artists – if you’d like, I can post their work, too.
There is so much grief at the moment, but at the same time I can see a faint glimmer of hope that is slowly growing bigger and brighter with each passing day. This is, arguably, the first women-led revolution in history. Of course, this is not just a feminist issue, although feminism definitely catalyzed it. It’s a human rights issue, too – about the freedom to make your own choices, to support others in their right to make their own choices, and, finally, to be able to do both of these things without humiliation, persecution, or death. My parents expressed to me recently that they feel hope for the first time in a very long time that they, along with other Persians and Persian-Americans, will be able to return to a country rid of a ruthless regime, to take their (now adult) children and help them fill in the gaps in their identities. They feel hope for the first time in a long time that the people of Iran will finally, finally, be able to live without constant fear. This is all due, of course, to the brave women and men fighting every single day in Iran to make it so.
So I ask, please find it in your heart to share what you can about and bring awareness to this profound and vital moment in history — it is up to us to be their voice.
Woman. Life. Freedom.
P
photo credit
kid with a vinyl 