The Story of a 'House with a Forbidden Zone' in an Interview with Parastoo Faravahar

I first saw Parastoo Faravahar 17 years ago. At that time, I was a young photographer capturing the funeral of her parents, Dariush and Parvaneh Faravahar, who had been brutally murdered by agents of the Islamic Republic of Iran at their home. She and her brother Arash moved ahead of thousands of participants to the beginning of Baharestan Square, while Dr. Yadollah Sahabi was trying to conduct the funeral prayer. Amidst the large crowd, I saw Parastoo Faravahar through my camera lens, with her arms outstretched, asking the crowd to step back so the ceremony could proceed. The photo I took at that moment was published the next day on the front page of the newspaper Sobhe Emrooz, showing Parastoo Faravahar shouting. Years passed since that day, and I saw her again, this time in the United States, where I showed her the photos from her parents' funeral. When viewing the photos, I asked her about the impact of that event on her artistic work and her efforts to keep her parents' names alive in the place where they were murdered. She, residing in Germany, travels to Tehran every year on the anniversary of her parents' deaths and is in Tehran this year as per her usual routine. I asked her why she thinks her parents were murdered. She explained that at the beginning of the reformist government, there was a political opening that brought forth the dormant potentials in society to reclaim lost rights. There was an underground social movement that could have rapidly grown and garnered support. In her view, those killed in the political murders of Fall 1998 were a group of individuals who had the potential to advance a secular movement in Iranian society demanding political and social rights. The victims were those who had challenged the concept of Velayat-e Faqih (Guardianship of the Islamic Jurist) for years. They were the sharp end of the attack against the presence of Velayat-e Faqih in society. Therefore, this social movement was targeted, particularly the secular movements that had the potential for growth and support, which subsequently diminished in influence for years. I asked her what she remembers from the day of her parents' funeral. She recalled that it was an incredibly valuable day for her because she had just returned to Iran a few days prior, had gone to the forensic medicine department, and received her parents' bodies. The horrifying image of their torn chests was etched in her mind, and she felt completely bewildered. The weight of the situation left her in shock. When they announced the funeral, and she went to Fakhroddoleh Mosque, the massive presence of the crowd was immensely valuable to her. Despite the fear many felt—evidenced by the sunglasses they wore—people surged forward. This was incredibly valuable for her, and she cherishes the moment of that wave of people. However, it was also bittersweet because she thought about how her parents had stood firm on certain issues after 1981 and had worked in small gatherings, which gradually grew larger. Their efforts were aimed at initiating a movement, yet the thought that this movement came to their funeral was very bitter and heavy. They had spoken out in complete isolation for years, and their lives ended in such a trap, with 18 intelligence agents storming their home to kill them. This was a bitter realization: why did the people only come out when their bodies were taken? She believes that the funeral was significant because it was the first time since the 1980s that a crowd came out in the streets for political opponents of the regime, breaking a barrier. However, the bitter aspect is that many who were instrumental in institutionalizing violence within the government are still in such positions today and continue to exert that violence. This aspect is very bitter, as it seems we are trapped in a cycle where the fabric of violence continues to claim victims from different generations. Regarding the importance of paying attention to her parental home after that event, she stated that for years, her parental home has been a completely forbidden place, especially on the anniversary of her parents' murder. Regardless of how people have died, their loved ones should have the right to remember them and visit their home. However, this prohibition is greater than at other times. The house is a complete forbidden zone. She tries to maintain it as her parents lived and worked there and where they were murdered, creating a space to remember them. Yet this possibility still does not exist, and it remains a place waiting for a time when this can happen. When she goes there, the first thing she tries to find is traces of abandonment, to sense where it has spread and to express that feeling of desolation. She attempts to counter this desolation with her presence and actions there. In her view, this is about preserving memory and history, something that is not allowed in her country. The only narratives that are permitted are those of the government. However, to preserve their own narrative, they must strive, and she is doing her part. I asked her what impact her parents' murder had on her artistic work. She explained that when one returns to their childhood, it carries a promise of good things, comfort, and security. When a tragedy occurs, such as the murder of her parents, which shatters the security of life, especially in their own home—where they provided her mental security—turning it into a slaughterhouse, this contrast of meanings changes a person. At least it changed her. When she returns to her home, the presence of her parents and the memories of the years that shaped her life coexist with the presence of crime and murder. The interchangeability of these phenomena—security, beauty, tragedy, and violence—has altered her perspective on life. What she does is channel these experiences into her art. Her main focus is creating works and spaces that reflect her mindset, which she believes is not unique to her but is very Iranian. When they think of their country, all the attachments, dependencies, and beauties they have in mind coexist with tragedy, bitterness, and defeat. All these elements exist simultaneously and constantly transform into one another. The issue of violence has become so significant for her due to her experiences that many of her works revolve around it. The themes of physical abuse, torture, and the conditions of torture are embedded in a layer that may seem normal, but for her, this normality is filled with patterns. She works with traditional Iranian motifs, not merely as designs but as structural motifs that possess a balanced aesthetic. At first glance, one might think everything is in harmony and the world is in balance. However, as one examines the works more closely, they reveal figures that are in a violent relationship with one another, prompting the viewer to question their initial perception. This moment breaks the beauty and symmetry, exposing the violence, which undoubtedly stems from her personal life experiences. I asked her who she believes is the main culprit in her parents' murder case. She identifies the government apparatus as the main culprit, which not only theorized violence but also created organizations that executed this violence. When agents of the Ministry of Intelligence admit that the physical elimination of dissenters was part of their organizational duties, what does that mean? How can murder be part of a government agent's responsibilities? Therefore, it is the apparatus that is responsible for such crimes, and while individuals in influential positions certainly bear responsibility, the primary responsibility lies with the government. Finally, I inquired about the status of the investigation into her parents' murder. She stated that the case has been closed by the judiciary of the Islamic Republic of Iran, but the general perception and her belief, along with those familiar with the details of the case, is that it should be reopened. The truths surrounding it must be clarified. What the judiciary did regarding this case was essentially to close it to silence the uproar, not to conduct a judicial process.