Iran: the fight for ‘women, life, freedom’ isn’t over | By Sahar Zand, British Iranian journalist and filmmaker
As a little girl growing up in the Islamic Republic of Iran, I dreamed of becoming a man - it seemed the only way to be free.
I can't pinpoint a specific moment when that thought began, but I do recall a particularly hot summer's afternoon. I was nine years old, and had travelled with my family to a seaside village called Chamkhaleh, in the north of Iran.
We went there every year. Swimming in the Caspian Sea and making sand castles on its beautiful beaches were among my favourite pastimes, but this summer was different.
In Iran, when girls turn nine, they are legally considered to have entered womanhood and are required to follow a series of restrictive rules, written by men. The most symbolic of these is possibly the mandatory wearing of the hijab.
That year, my mum sat me down and explained that if I wanted to get in the sea I had to go in fully covered. That meant wearing a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved top, and a loose covering called a mantou. My hair also had to be covered in a thick headscarf. Just like all the other "women".
I felt imprisoned by these layers as I entered the water. The morality police were stationed on the beach, making sure that I wasn't showing too much hair or skin to - "god forbid" - arouse the men. Their watchful eyes made me feel dirty, and somehow guilty.
Then I found myself in water that was far too deep. As the tide pulled me out, I felt weighed down by my now-heavy clothes. I gasped for air, but my scarf covered my face. I screamed for help but perhaps the loud engines of the morality police's motorbikes drowned out my voice.
I woke up on the beach, coughing up water and shivering. My dad had noticed me struggling and rushed in to get me out, just in time. That was the last time I ever set foot in my beloved Caspian Sea.
Growing up in Iran, I felt like I was drowning every single day. My voice, my skin, my thoughts, my soul - everything had to be veiled.
Women in Iran are second-class citizens. They are oppressed under discriminatory laws, based on religion, in almost all aspects of life from marriage to inheritance and even travel.
They're banned from riding bicycles in public, having sex outside of marriage, and even entering sport stadiums, where men are present. They also have no legal protection against domestic violence and sexual harassment.
In the 20 or so years since I almost drowned, Iranian women have been adrift in a sea of suffering and inequality.
The only way out, for those who have the means, is to embark on dangerous journeys to places far from home.
At the age of 12, along with my mother and baby sister, I escaped.
After years at the mercy of people smugglers, sleeping rough and living in various refugee camps across Europe, we found safe haven in the UK. For my friends and family who stayed behind, freedom was a concept they hardly dared dream of.
WOMEN, LIFE, FREEDOM
Then last September, everything changed.
The death of Mahsa Amini, 22, in the custody of the "morality police" became a spark that ignited the largest anti-regime protests in the 43-year history of the Islamic Republic.
Women and girls defied the morality laws by publicly removing their hijab, some burning them in bonfires. The chant of "women, life, freedom" became the slogan of the unrest.
Three simple words embodied the basic rights that Iranians were fighting, and risking their lives, for.
Fuelled by frustration at the overzealous policing of oppressive laws and the country’s declining economy, tens of thousands of people joined the protests, demanding social freedom, political change, and liberation from the Islamic Republic's theocracy.
Around the world, crowds gathered to show solidarity with the movement and express their anger at Mahsa Amini's killing.
Supreme leader Ali Khamenei, Iran's spiritual leader, who also has the final say over all government matters, has portrayed the protests as riots backed by "foreign enemies out to overthrow the regime".
In response, furious crowds chanted "death to the dictator" and "death to Khamenei". Such "blasphemy", punishable by death, would have been unimaginable before.
I remember in school being made to chant "death to America, the UK and Israel", and being taught that Khamenei was chosen by "Allah" so any insult towards him was an insult towards God.
In an attempt to crush the protests, the Iranian authorities cut off access to the internet, but tech-savvy Iranians soon found new ways of getting their message to the outside world.
500 PROTESTERS KILLED
Inside Iran, among my friends and family, there was shock at how widespread the unrest was. Almost everyone witnessed some form of violence towards the protesters or knew someone who had been arrested. Whether or not they dared to join the demonstrations on the streets, everyone seemed emboldened, daring to believe that change could be possible.
The authoritarian system that governs Iran was born out of a populist revolution in 1979. Its entire structure is based on not being overthrown in the same way. Determined to cling to power at any cost, the government instituted a brutal crackdown.
According to Iran Human Rights (IHR) and other rights groups, in 2022 more than 500 people, including 70 minors, were killed by the regime. IHR reports this as being the "highest rate in five years".
The Iranian regime has also executed at least four people for crimes connected to the unrest, which it insists has little to do with Mahsa Amini's death.
Among those who lost their lives in the protests was 16-year-old Nika Shakarami, shown singing in the above video. Iran's chief of police said she fell to her death from a high building. This claim is disputed by the teenager's mother, who insists Nika was killed by blows to her head as punishment for taking part.
University student Hamidreza Rouhi, 19, was shot dead while demonstrating. His last Instagram post reads: "If the internet gets shut down forever, I want this to be my last post: Long live women, Long live freedom, Long live Iran."
One of the youngest victims was nine-year-old Kian Pirfalak (shown below with his mother) who, in videos published by his family on social media, said he dreamed of becoming a robotics engineer. Amid violent protests, he was shot by attackers on motorcycles while in a car with his father on their way home. His father was seriously injured but survived.
FORCED UNDERGROUND
Six months on, at least outwardly, life appears to have returned to normal.
Public demonstrations are less frequent and, when they do happen, smaller in size and intensity. The 22,000 demonstrators who were arrested - many of whom faced physical, psychological and sexual torture while in custody - have recently been pardoned.
But as the Islamic Republic prepares to celebrate its national day on 1 April, the flames of protest still flicker below the surface. Protesters are regrouping, finding new ways of resisting and asking themselves if they’re prepared, like Mahsa Amini, to pay the ultimate price for freedom.
"The protests in Iran have changed form," says Omid Shams, a UK-based human rights lawyer who has been documenting human rights violations during the protests. He points to the anti-government graffiti that is still splashed across walls all over the country. Every time those defiant slogans are wiped clean, they reappear within days.
Part of the reason the initial wave has subsided, says Mr Shams, was a lack of leadership and a clear plan of action.
"But now various collectives are creating a vast underground network, to devise a long-term plan for change and an effective transitional process."
The unrest continues, albeit more hidden than before. In the evenings, the now familiar chant of "women, life, freedom" still echoes from apartment windows. And public banners glorifying the Islamic Republic's leaders are defaced and destroyed.
These are still punishable offences, but not as risky as gathering on the streets.
Social media platforms like Instagram, TikTok and Twitter, which protesters are accessing illegally, have become another battlefield, with photos and videos that cross the regime's rigid boundaries regularly uploaded.
The latest video to go viral was posted on TikTok on 8 March to mark International Women's Day. In defiance of the country's modesty laws, five teenage girls danced to Calm Down by Rema and Selena Gomez without headscarves and wearing crop tops.
According to @shahrak_ekbatan, their neighbourhood Twitter account, the teenagers were later detained by security forces. They were made to delete the video and replace it with a new one, where they appear wearing headscarves and loose clothing, expressing remorse, saying "they'd made a mistake".
In response, women and girls in Iran, and abroad, have started sharing videos of themselves following the same dance routine without head coverings.
LIVING IN FEAR
"People can't stay out on the streets forever," explains Mahmood*, a twenty-something who has been part of the movement since the start. "We demonstrated for 100 days straight. Now it's time to try something new."
Mahmood has paid the price for his part in the protests. He was seriously injured when police broke up a demonstration. As he was running away, a motorbike caught up with him. His next memory is the sound of gunshots and feeling a sharp, burning pain in his body, as if he was being "electrocuted".
"I thought I'm either going to die, or even worse be arrested".
Mahmood, protester
X-rays later revealed he had 250 shotgun pellets buried in his back.
"A revolution isn't going to happen in just a couple of months," says Sara*, a 21-year-old university student. "Big changes require more time and planning."
Mahmood tells me that people are taking down CCTV cameras and "planning other forms of heavier attacks".
As part of the crackdown, there have been reports of Iran’s security forces systematically targeting protesters' eyes and genitals. Hundreds of protesters, many verified by Mr Shams's team, have reported being blinded so far.
"I live in fear of being identified as a protester," says Mahmood, who still has more than 200 gunshot pellets in his back after being operated on for four hours. "I can't go through any metal detecting gates at shopping centres or airports."
Among the protesters who have been caught, there have been a series of forced confessions, hasty trials and four public executions. Dozens of others, including some minors, were given the death sentence.
Iran is one of the last countries in the world where juvenile offenders can be executed, with the age of legal responsibility only nine years old for girls, compared with 15 for boys.
The international community has failed Iranians, says Mr Shams, by not taking real action to hold the regime accountable.
"When a government commits a crime against humanity at this scale and doesn't face consequences, it's no surprise they manage to suppress protests."
Omid Shams, human rights lawyer
But none of the protesters I've spoken to are convinced the regime has won. Sara points out that protests are happening at more regular intervals.
Its supporters adopted the colour green as a symbol of hope and democracy. Despite its initial momentum, the Green Movement failed to bring about significant change in Iran's political system, and many of its leaders were forced into exile.
Then in November 2019, an increase in fuel prices sparked a series of protests across more than 100 cities and towns. Demonstrators called for economic reforms, an end to government corruption and greater political freedom. The Iranian government responded with a violent crackdown, resulting in hundreds of deaths and thousands of arrests.
"The main difference between this movement and previous ones is that people are targeting the regime itself. For the first time in decades, a divided nation has united in the fight."
Omid Shams, human rights lawyer
Mahmood echoes this view: "The poor, rich, middle class, whatever your gender, sexuality, ethnicity or religion, we are all now fighting against a common enemy."
FIGHTING FOR SURVIVAL
There are four million university students in Iran, and the majority of them are young women. They have been a driving force in this movement from the start, organising protests and creating attention-grabbing art installations to express their anger and publicise the movement on social media.
Now, many believe they are fuelling its survival.
Raha*, a 21-year-old student in Tehran, tells me that universities are more closely monitoring whether or not students are wearing their hijabs, and threatening them with suspension if they flout the rules.
"Away from the security, we drop our headscarves."
Raha, university student
"The people protesting now are much fewer than before," Sara, another university student, says. "It makes me feel like I'm alone."
Recently, her parents have started receiving these calls too, which has made her more cautious.
But Mahmood, Raha and Sara are determined to keep fighting for change.
A LASTING LEGACY
For many women in Iran, change is already evident in their own lives.
Young Iranian women are challenging behaviour within their own families, says Raha, like the unfair advantages given to their brothers, and the pressure to dress and act "modestly". Some are even standing up against domestic violence.
"We used to think it was normal that we didn't have certain freedoms but now we fight back."
Raha, univesity student
"In the Islamic Republic of Iran, people's lives have no value," says Mahmood. "But you can't keep scaring people forever. Every time you try, they come back braver than before." For him, there is only one way forward, and that is revolution.
Mr Shams stresses the need for the world to stay focused on Iran, and keep applying pressure on the regime.
"If we're not hearing from people on the streets, it's not because they're not there - it's because they've been silenced".
Omid Shams, human rights lawyer
Street demonstrations may have eased for now, but displays of public defiance and discontent remain. As the regime tries to conceal these traces of disobedience, the protesters' calls for an end to the dictatorship are intensifying underground.
I have been a British citizen longer than I was in Iran, and have often felt detached from my home country.
But for the first time in my life, I am proud to call myself an Iranian woman. And I am finally hopeful that perhaps, in a future not so far away, there will be a route to freedom in Iran other than being born a man.
*Names have been changed
Watch Sahar Zand's TEDx Talk: Why Iranians are cutting their hair for 'women, life, freedom'