How Do Citizens View and Narrate Life After the Mahsa Movement?

"Resistance against the flow of life has always been doomed to failure, by every institution, government, mosque, and church. It seems we have also believed this with our flesh and bones after 'Women, Life, Freedom' and the uprising of Zhina." This was stated by a citizen in Tehran on the second anniversary of the 'Women, Life, Freedom' movement to Radio Farda. The political landscape of Iran has experienced numerous ups and downs in recent decades, especially in the last decade, where the country has witnessed widespread protest movements, each more extensive than the last, with their suppression also becoming more widespread. The latest example was the widespread protests that erupted following the death of Mahsa Amini while in custody of the morality police in September 2022; a movement that became famous worldwide under its main slogan 'Women, Life, Freedom', 'Mahsa', or 'Zhina'. The protests of 2022 faced severe repression from the government, reportedly leaving over 500 dead. Thousands were also arrested during the crackdown, with a significant number still serving their sentences. These days, there are no reports of street protests as there were in 2022, but two years after that protest movement, Iranian citizens say this movement has become 'internalized' for many of them and has penetrated various aspects of their lives; because 'resistance against the flow of life always leads to failure.' Perhaps the hijab and the opposition to its compulsory nature is the most significant example of this 'internalization', but various aspects of people's social lives in Iran have changed in the past two years. This report narrates the story of these social changes based on conversations with citizens in several cities in Iran. This report, which you can also read in written form, is the result of reviewing written, audio, and visual narratives from Iranian citizens; those who, despite widespread repression, have not allowed their voices to be silenced and have continued to document what has happened in these two years. As a journalist who is not allowed to operate within the borders of Iran, my mobile phone or computer is where I monitor social developments. Following the events of the past two years, however, has had a different feeling. Not only as a journalist but also as a woman born in the years after the 1979 revolution who spent her childhood and youth in Iran, observing what has happened since September 2022 brings a kind of simultaneous astonishment. However, reading the narratives of women and men and searching through their images in various cities of the country, listening to personal conversations with citizens and experts still does not provide me with a definitive answer to the question of what has changed in these two years. When I recently asked one of my acquaintances in Iran about this, I realized through her perspective that perhaps the question should be asked differently; instead of asking what changed after 'Women, Life, Freedom', it is better to ask what did not change? 'Women, Life, Freedom' or 'Jin, Jiyan, Azadi' is a slogan that entered Persian from Kurdish and was then shouted in numerous languages around the world. Even in recent weeks, women in India carried it on a placard during their protests; a slogan that everyone has embraced in their own way. Parisa, who lives in Iran and wishes to remain anonymous, says the start of the 'Women, Life, Freedom' movement was a great astonishment; the words and slogans indicated a kind of awakening, and the most important feature of it was the slogan 'Women, Life, Freedom', which, according to Parisa, was complete and true in all its simplicity. Exploring narratives, including in 'Watchdog for Harassment', an online platform about women's rights, leads me to the subject of 'visibility'; a visibility that the way of dressing and specifically the hijab is one of its social manifestations; a hijab that many Iranians have not tolerated being compulsory for two years now. The government has tried various methods to enforce the compulsory hijab, but still, a large group wants to be who they are. One of them is Sarvnaz; a young woman who is both an employee and a runner, sharing her observations with me: 'Tehran differs from neighborhood to neighborhood. There are neighborhoods where the number of veiled women is much higher, but in some places, it seems everyone is unveiled and beautiful. It’s not just that they don’t wear hijabs, but they wear very beautiful clothes; in such a way that you wouldn’t believe this is the same neighborhood you walked in two years ago.' Sarvnaz says she sees a similar situation in other cities as well, but an interesting point she raises is the eyes getting used to the absence of compulsory hijab; a situation that can be particularly notable in the social and religious context of small towns: 'For example, in small towns, people have gotten used to not wearing a scarf, having it fall off, or not even having a scarf with them.' The change in social atmosphere and public perception regarding the hijab is narrated by others as well. A young woman living in a city hundreds of kilometers away from Tehran describes the spaces outside cities like this: 'In nature and the mountains, whether we go for a run or a picnic, we have no fear at all. We wear sleeveless shirts or shorts, and we don’t even think about not doing it or not going to a roadside restaurant for food. We do it very comfortably. There are people’s gazes, but no one says anything. It seems we borrow this courage from each other that nothing will happen. I have never seen anything like this in Iran in the past.' A narrative of the struggle between the government and the people over the compulsory hijab in cafes. Courage and audacity are characteristics I have heard from many individuals over the past two years, especially when older generations look at and judge the younger generation; a generation that, of course, are the children of parents who seem unwilling to pass on the same constraints to the next generation and have started the conversation from within their homes. Could this signify the formation of a new and different class in society? I discuss this with a psychologist in Tehran, who points out the emergence of 'acceptance of difference': 'A class has emerged that can engage in dialogue; mostly young people. From a statistical perspective, I think they are more the basis for dialogue and can tolerate. For example, they can say you vote but I won’t vote. Or you do that but I won’t. It seems they can accept more easily. This behavior is not tolerance; it is a kind of acceptance of difference.' The manifestation of the change that this psychologist refers to can be found in other behaviors that Mahtab (a pseudonym for a young woman in Iran) points out; that when she moves around without the compulsory hijab, she no longer faces jokes or catcalls from others, especially men: 'I haven’t heard anyone jokingly or sarcastically say 'Has the revolution happened?' or 'Has the Shah returned?' for a long time; it seems that it is no longer part of the everyday phrases men say to women.' But this is not the whole story of the past two years. Whether you follow online spaces and social media or sit down to talk with Iranian citizens, other phenomena also manifest themselves, and perhaps more prominently than others. One of them is the spread of anger; an anger that emerges with the ups and downs of developments in Iran, which can sometimes be breathless. Niyousha (a pseudonym for a woman in Iran) says the people's anger towards the government has suddenly increased. The reasoning she provides for this increase in anger is noteworthy: 'Until now, we thought our demands had no benefit. I might be wrong, but I think this is the first time that through our persistent struggle, we have been able to restore one of the lost rights of women. Women are breaking and dismantling the strict laws of the government. Understanding this situation raises this anger about why we have not been able to reclaim our other rights until now.' However, the root of anger and alongside it, despair can be sought in another major change of these two years; the increasing economic pressure and consequently the instability that has cast a shadow over all aspects of Iranian citizens' lives. A young woman in Tehran describes inflation and the economic situation saying, 'Although we have been waiting for years for the price of gasoline to change, it seems the only constant is the price of gasoline, and the prices of everything else are constantly fluctuating.' A look at the price of the US dollar in the free market in Iran over the past two years may be a tangible indicator for a deeper understanding of instability. Before the protests of 2022, the price of the dollar in the free market was around 32,000 tomans, but less than six months later, it reached 60,000 tomans and still fluctuates around that range. Mahsad (a pseudonym for another woman in Iran) describes the manifestations of ongoing instability in society and the country like this: 'There is instability in everything. It starts with the economy, where you don’t know what price you will buy meat at tomorrow, and your monthly shopping basket can suddenly double in price, to the massive wave of migration. You are constantly losing; your money, your job, your friends, and even the relationships you have built. And this is very damaging. People have become very nervous or depressed. In many circles, you hear people asking each other about the antidepressants they are taking after greetings and small talk or when they plan to leave the country.' Migration is another phenomenon that has intensified again in the past two years. Many of those who have migrated or decided to leave Iran are skilled and educated individuals. The destinations have also diversified; nurses heading to Oman, doctors going to Germany, construction workers seeking jobs in Eastern European countries, and so on. A situation that a friend inside the country, who closely witnesses this wave of departures, describes as 'very bitter' and says the wave of migration has even reached those who you would have never imagined would pack their bags one day. However, alongside all of this, that is, courage and audacity, anger and instability, despair and pressure, another phenomenon has also become more prominent in these two years: empathy. Niyousha, who lives in Tehran, says compared to the past, people are less confrontational in taxis, shops, and malls and are more considerate of each other: 'It has happened to me many times that passing people tell you there is a patrol ahead, don’t go, cover up, turn around...' Kilometers away from the capital, Sarvnaz also confirms the increase in empathy among people and says it has happened to her many times that someone has given her a hijab reminder, and she has seen the reactions and support of others. Sarvnaz also refers to another social situation that she calls 'network': 'A kind of network has emerged where we women and people ask each other about the conditions, like what is happening in your city, how is the hijab situation, etc. I think there is a need for a kind of emotional support and comforting each other to say we still go out without a hijab. Such a network exists in society.' And on the other side of the behaviors these women talk about are men who practice this empathy. Like Mojtaba, a young married man who says the biggest change of the past two years for him has been this change in perspective: 'The most trivial example of this issue is hijab and the car. For example, if my wife’s scarf or shawl fell in the car, I used to think she didn’t want to wear hijab, but we all pay the price for her. But since my perspective on the issue has changed, I have realized that all these years, our freedom has been violated, but a larger part of the cost was borne by my wife. Now I no longer think I am doing her a favor by accompanying her; my understanding has changed, and I have realized I have a duty to reduce the significant gap in bearing costs.' Perhaps the hijab and the resistance of women who oppose its compulsory nature is the outward manifestation of social changes in the past two years in Iran, but a searching gaze at our surroundings shows changes in various layers; an acquaintance who did not want to endure her previous work environment after 2022, a friend who decided to continue her work without permission on the official theater and concert stage, a filmmaker who turned on her camera to capture images without going through legal procedures, or a writer who is self-publishing her book without censorship, and so on. Arman (a pseudonym) who lives in Tehran says, 'Resistance against the flow of life, which is always moving forward, has always been doomed to failure by every institution, government, mosque, and church. It seems we have also believed this with the depth of our flesh and bones after 'Women, Life, Freedom' and the uprising of Zhina.' Perhaps more simply put, many have decided to live a single life instead of a dual one, one at home and another in society. To be one. To be themselves; just as they prefer.