1978

Anoosh Arta

1978 was indeed not only one of the darkest years in Iran’s history, but a traumatic year in my childhood. The king of Iran left and the murderous Khomeini cast its gloomy wings all over Iran. Since then, Iran has become soulless and dark. I can feel this somber feeling in the air every time I travel there to visit my family. Despite all the oppression and suffocation on behalf of the Islamic regime, Iranian people have tried so hard to keep their vibes alive… but the gloomy air will not leave until after the tyrannic Islamic regime crashes.

I was 7 years old in that year, brought up in the beautiful, colorful and joyful air of 1970’s. The lively music and playful fashion of that time still allures me. Every time I feel down, I listen to 70’s music and it immediately lifts me up.

I can exactly remember that tragic day when all the schools went closed due to the foolish uprising of some naïve dimwits who were backed up by communists and some foreign countries with wrong political views and predictions.

That very next morning of that tragic day was supposed to be my first day as a scout and I was so excited about it. Scouts’ uniforms in my school fascinated me. I still get goose pumps every time I remember those days. Boys in blue marine shorts and girls in blue marine knee-high skirts, light blue shirts, blue marine barrettes, small red scarves around their necks, red armbands on their arms and yellow shoulder cords which were loosely attached from their shoulders to their elbows.

We as students had our own blue marine knee high or shorter uniforms. My uniform had a blue marine and white checkered pattern above my chest. My mom was a fan of ribbons and every day she tied a beautiful ribbon on the side of my head, but nothing could fascinate me more than the scout’s uniform and I had no idea that I had to bury that fancy dream in the back of my mind forever. Not only the scout’s uniform but also my own school uniform became an envy a year after.

It was almost a month before the beginning of the new school year of my third elementary school. My mother went to my school to enroll me in. I was at my grandparents’. When my mother came in, she sadly handed me a piece of paper. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was an illustrated picture of a girl in Islamic clothes. An ugly girl in a long uniform and large pants underneath. A scarf was pulled over her forehead. On top of the page, I could read the permitted colors. For our school, it was dark blue. The scarf which later turned into maghnae (a front closed scarf) and pants could be in dark blue, black, dark brown or dark gray. Jeans were not allowed as they were symbols of the western world. I was shocked. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I loved clothes. I loved colors. I loved fashion at my age. I was always rifling through my mom’s clothes or looking into my mother’s burda magazines for beautiful dresses. I loved the way singers and celebrities dressed. I adored the scouts’ uniforms and now after all these yearnings and hopes…this was how I should get dressed to school?

I can’t tell you how upset and frustrated I was. All my dreams were shattered, gone far and beyond my reach. I ran to my grandfather. He was brushing his teeth in the bathroom and the door was open. I showed him the paper. I was about to cry. "Grandpa, Look! We have to go to school like this…” I said breaking.

My grandpa stopped brushing his teeth, grabbed the picture from me and took a look. He shook his head in disappointment and gave the paper to me. “Islamic idiots! What are they going to turn you into….?” He started brushing his teeth again. I could see the anger in the way he moved the toothbrush against his teeth….

I don’t want to go into details of how we, as children of that tragic time suffered in schools, how we were blamed, warned and humbled for the length of our scarves, the length and width of our uniforms or our pants, how we were degraded and cursed at for the colors of our shoes, socks, bags, even our shawls and coats in the winter, how we were banned from playing and dancing in the school yards and how we were obliged to listen to Koran verses and Islamic whining and chanting during our lunch recess every day. It was a sin to be happy. We had to be depressed, ugly and filled with rage at all the times.

Before that stupid revolution, we danced to rhythmic music every morning. After that, we as students had to stand in lines every morning at 7.30, listen to verses from Koran, march in place as in military camps, yell death wishes to different countries and repeat in many forms that we were Muslims and not Iranians. Something that could never go together, like oil and water.

From those early ages, we were taught not to be ourselves, obey like soldiers, fear like slaves and live like robots with no souls. We were expected to serve one main purpose: Enlarging the Shia Muslim territory. They sent many naïve village children of 13, 14, 15 and 16 from uneducated parents to war with Iraq this way.

We lived in different worlds at home, at schools and outside in the society. We learned how to lie to our beings, how to be threatened and scared all the time and how to play different characters to survive.

I consider myself a lucky Iranian who could leave Iran in that situation at the age of 21. People of my age, who stayed are still suffering and fighting their way to survival and freedom every living day.

Iranian women have been degraded to such a level that some are sentenced to 15-20 years in prison just because they don’t want to be submissive to Islamic mandatory hijab(cover).

It’s been about a few years that brave Iranian women have made campaigns like “White Wednesdays” and “Let the wind blow through your hair” to fight against the obligatory hijab. Many have been raped in prisons, beaten, tortured, acid splashed and murdered by savage and ferocious Islamic militia.

What burns me to my bones is the question I always ask myself and others…. Why has the Persian Empire with all that glory and happy culture of dance, music, science and art been disgraced to such a level after the attack of Islam?

How come have the Persian women from a culture where women and men were equally the same and women had even high military ranks before Islam be humiliated to such a degree that now under the Islamic regime, a woman’s worth is half of that of a man’s and the Persian woman has to fight for her natural rights, one of which choosing her own clothes?

Could I call it naivety, unawareness and stupidity of the old crew that have made Iranian women fight for the wind to blow through their hair?

If a book tells you how to treat “slaves” right, if a book tells you to punish the raped victim, if a book tells you to torture and murder the so called sinners, if a book commands you to be quiet and submissive to “holy” perverts and psychopaths, then there is a serious problem with that book.

I am pretty sure that Iranian women will win this fight against darkness and will soon let the wind blow through their hair.