Musings of an Iranian-American Woman in 2022
Photo: @dudewithsign
We’re almost two months into the largest revolution Iran has seen since the coup that overthrew the Shah (King) of Iran in 1979. Unable to process the political climate of my heritage country, I find myself oscillating between dissociation and emotional breakdowns on a biweekly basis. I’ve been asking myself, “Why am I having such a hard time moving through these emotions?” And then one day it hit me: because it feels like I don’t deserve to.
As in, I don’t have the right to be vocal about what’s happening in Iran to friends here in America. Because I’m not fluent in Farsi, where do I get off asking people to listen to how this makes me feel? Because I’m better at making a quinoa stir fry than I am ghormeh sabzi (a popular Iranian stew), why am I allowed to share the struggles these women face? Because I could count the number of Iranian friends I have on half a hand, why is this my fight to fight?
I suffer from the quintessential cliché most first-generation children of immigrants face in their lifetimes. The ‘never feeling American enough but never feeling insert ethnicity here enough’ identity crisis. And until now, it lay dormant within me, quietly mocking my sense of belonging from the shadows of my subconscious. Somewhere deep inside me has been the fear that if I wholly embrace my Iranian-ness then I would further separate myself from the non-Iranians around me. But lately, I find that the more I speak up, the more I step into the body of my heritage.
As I witness the absolute courage of the Iranian people – of children, men, and women alike – I’ve never felt more proud to be Iranian. Their courage makes me stronger, and more willing to speak for them where they can’t speak for themselves. It’s as though, through them in their fight, I’m finding my own voice as an Iranian woman. And while my struggles have been far more privileged than theirs, I feel we’re both fighting a battle for freedom, only on different fronts. Them, for the freedom of expression against the current regime, and I against the limiting beliefs that have oppressed my ability to live authentically. I can’t deny the luxury of growing up in America, what with the opportunities I’ve had, the inherent feeling of safety, and simple things such as the ability to do with my hair what I wished.
And although this is a time of violence and great sadness, it’s also shedding so much light on the people in Iran, in a way that has never been exposed to our Western kin. Before, people only knew of Iran as a supposed terrorist state with a propensity towards nuclear weapons. So much so, that for a short time in high school my nickname was terrorist, coined by a group of my friends. But for the first time in my thirty years of life, I’m seeing Iran in the conversation as admirable, willful, and unyielding. Because of the people, separate from the government. Where before we were shunned, we’re now regaled for our boldness, our immovable will to live, and our ferocity for freedom. The people of Iran are finally being seen for who they are: full of passion, poetry, and love.
And I wish I could be with my family there as they live through this revolution. But for now I will represent them here when I can. I will educate people even in the smallest of ways (it’s pronounced EE-rAHn), because every thought turned is an Iranian brought to light. We’re more than what we’ve been made out to be and it’s time that everyone finally knew.
