Perspective, Spring 2017

PERSPECTIVE Iranian Students’ Cultural Organization Published since 1995

University of California, Berkeley Spring 2017

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Letter from the Editor Perspective Staff Spring 2017

Staff photos by Jasmin Toubi Cover photo by Mana Ardavan

Dear Reader,

It is with great pleasure and a full heart that I present to you the Spring 2017 issue of Perspective Magazine. Our team has worked diligently during the course of the semester and we are extremely excited for you to experience it firsthand.

Iranians all over the globe are currently facing trying times, having been affected by recent events in some shape or form. Now more than ever, it is imperative that we do not lose what has proven to be a defining factor of the Iranian identity: our culture. We must embrace the things that make us inherently Iranian, and spread the history and beauty of our amazing culture to as many individuals as possible, especially as we celebrate the wonderful holiday of Norouz. That is a duty that we at Perspective Magazine have fully embraced for the past 22 years.

This semester’s issue revolves around the cultural richness of Iran and its children, no matter where they might be. Throughout this issue you will notice that the article topics don’t follow a general theme. Instead, they are all as diverse and multifaceted as the culture from which they stem. The pieces cover topics that date back to the days of the Iraq-Iran war all the way up to the present.

They cover people from political backgrounds, such as Dr. Ali Shariati, and those of the arts, such as Asghar Farhadi and Maestro Mohammad Reza Shajarian. This issue truly is rich with a diverse array of topics and is the true embodiment of our vision.

As thrilled as I am with this issue of our beloved publication, I am also saddened and nostalgic. This, unfortunately, is my last semester working with Perspective Magazine and it has been nothing short of an amazing and rewarding experience. It has been an honor working with such an amazing and unique organization over the years and I hope you’ve enjoyed every issue as much as I have. Before I leave, I would like to thank my team of writers and editors whose quality of work assures me I’m leaving this publication knowing it is in good hands.

If you are interested in getting involved with the publication, please send us an email at perspective.mag@gmail.com. We accept applications for new writers at the beginning of each semester, and we always welcome donations and advertisements.

Editor-in-Chief: Nima Shajarian Assistant Editor-in-Chief: Negin Shahiar Layout Editor: Sohrob Nayebaziz Assistant Layout Editor: Kimya Khoshnan Copy Editors: Marian Haidarali, Neeka Mahdavi, Saalar Aghili, Azin Mirzaagha Staff Writers: Pouran Mehraban, Vida Seyedkazemi, Ariana Vargas, Nikki Zangenah, Kayla Fathi, Jasmin Toubi, Dorrin Akbari, Zaynab Ahsan, Mahshad Badii, Anahita Ghajarrahimi, Charlotte Laurence (not pictured) Perspective 2

Warm Regards, Nima Shajarian Editor-in-Chief

Table of Contents Tradition

Feature

Ancient Persian Philosophy Swept Under Jasmin Toubi the Rug Dorrin Akbari Poetry for the People The History and Significance of Persian Rugs Nikki Zangenah

4-5 6-7 8

Zaynab Ahsan

9

Mahshad Badii Kayla Fathi Negin Shahiar Nima Shajarian

10 11 12-13 14-15

Perspective One People, Many Great Legacies A Traveler’s Tale The Power of a Name

- My Mother’s Daughter

Azin Mirzaagha Neeka Mahdavi Pouran Mehraban Anahita Gajarrahimi

16 17 18-19 20-21

History

Catching Fire: The Rise of Zoroastrianism A War Far From its End Arabophobia within Iranian Society

Charlotte Laurence Vida Seyedkazemi Saalar Aghili

22 23 24-25

Food

Iranian Recipes for the Busy College Student Ariana Vargas

Ali Shariati and the Complication of Revolutionary Narratives Iran’s Hidden Paradise Do the Oscars Ship Internationally?

The Ban that Bridges Generations The Voice of a Nation

26-27

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TRADITION

Ancient Persian Philosophy Swept Under the Rug

Photos courtesy of The Hannenmen Archive

by Jasmin Toubi

The focus on Western ideas and accomplishments is a pervasive issue in the realm of academia. Specifically, with regards to the subject of philosophy, the views and theories of many great thinkers from across the globe have been overlooked, even when they align with those typically heralded by Western philosophers. This article aims to shed light on some of the ancient Persian philosophers and philosophies whose perspectives have long gone unacknowledged by the archetypical studies of philosophy.

Firstly, Zoroastrianism is an ancient Persian religion whose concepts influenced much of the ancient and modern philosophy studied to this day. Zoroastrianism dates back to the early second millennium BCE, about 1,500 years before the initiation of Greek, or Western, philosophy. Unbeknownst to many, it is the first recorded monotheistic religion, and one of the oldest religions practiced to this day.1 Many beliefs held by Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, the reigning monotheistic religions of today, find their origins in Zoroastrianism. For example, the conception of God as an omniscient, self-created, omnipresent, and holy being that created the universe,2 roughly predates Jewish texts by two hundred years, having influence on all three religions.

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Where Zoroastrianism diverges from these religions is it’s dualist metaphysical philosophy, or the idea that the universe is composed of two substances: one physical, or material, and the other spiritual, or immaterial.3 Though typically associated with the French philosopher Rene Descartes, Zoroastrian Dualism actually predates Descartes by about three thousand years.

Furthermore, essential to Zoroastrian philosophy is its cosmic dualism, or the ongoing battle between good and evil. These two opposing forces are what constitute life, and it is up to humans to use their God-given power of free will to choose between the two with regards to how they live their lives. This choice is imperative to Zoroastrian ethics, and is referred to philosophically as moral dualism.4 The emphasis that Zoroastrian ethics places on “the good,” is also a central topic in ancient Greek philosophy, and can be summarized by the famous mantra, “good thoughts, good words, good deeds.”5 Associating the sun with Ahura Mazda, or the Lord of Wisdom, the Zoroastrian conception of the sun as the source of truth and good was later imitated by Plato in his famous work The Republic.6 Zoroastrianism’s substantial influence on religion and ancient and modern

TRADITION philosophy is largely overlooked by classical academic studies.

Next, Ibn-Sina, or Avicenna, is one of the most significant thinkers of the Islamic Golden Age; he not only wrote about philosophy, but also astronomy, geology, medicine, psychology, math, physics, theology, and poetry. His metaphysics, or study of the nature of being, is a more clear characterization of Aristotle’s conceptions of the existence and essence of objects. Specifying the contingency of existence and the endurance of essence, Ibn-Sina questioned the nature of being and concluded that anything that exists, does so necessarily.7 As a prominent rationalist bridging the gap between Islamic theology and logic and reason, he was a precursor to pre-Enlightenment philosopher Baruch Spinoza. Ibn-Sina’s argument for the necessary existence of God is considered by many to be one of the most influential medieval arguments for God’s existence. His thought experiments demonstrating self-awareness and the immateriality of the soul are also similar to Descartes’ famous cogito statement. He also established foundations for the scientific method of inquiry, diverging from Aristotle’s methods of induction and experimentation, paving the way for the Scientific Revolution. In fact, Ibn-Sina is recognized as one of the greatest thinkers and medical scholars in history, whose contributions to medicine and the European Renaissance are essential, though often are unmentioned.

Moving to political philosophy, Mazdak was a Per-

sian reformer and activist who also had great impact on Iranian and global thought during the latter half of the Sasanian Empire, around 500 AD. His ethical and social principles encouraged people to live moral and aesthetic lives by practicing good conduct, free love, and being kind to people and animals, even advocating vegetarianism.8 Many consider Mazdak to be a precursor to communism, or a proto-socialist, as his views insist that people share their excess wealth and possessions with others in order to prevail over the evils that deter humans from righteousness. As a social reformer, Mazdak promoted pacifism and utilized governmental resources to implement programs meant to aid the poor. Socialism as an ideology is typically unassociated with the Middle East, but Mazdak’s contributions stand contrary to common knowledge.

It is clear that the contributions made by ancient Persians have impacted the world we live in to an enormous extent. The influence of Zoroastrianism on today’s dominant religions and pivotal Greek conceptions is often glanced over, though foundational in nature to its predecessors. Ibn-Sina’s contribution to a variety of disciplines is indicative of a thinker whose work is deserving of greater attention than typically given. Finally, Mazdak’s thought highlights the range of political views held by Persians over time, and challenges the typical views held about Middle Eastern political theory.

1. Nigosian, S.. Zoroastrian Faith : Tradition and Modern Research. Montreal, CA: MQUP, 1993. Accessed March 3, 2017. ProQuest eBrary. 2. Expert, Catherine Beyer Alternative Religions. “What Is the World’s Oldest Monotheistic Religion?” About.com Religion & Spirituality. February 05, 2017. Accessed March 03, 2017. .http://altreligion.about.com/od/alternativereligionsaz/a/zoroastrianism.htm. 3. “BBC - Religions - Zoroastrian: Dualism.” BBC News. October 02, 2009. Accessed March 03, 2017. http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/religions/zoroastrian/beliefs/dualism.shtml. 4. “BBC - Religions - Zoroastrian: Dualism.” BBC News. October 02, 2009. Accessed March 03, 2017. http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/religions/zoroastrian/beliefs/dualism.shtml. 5. “Zoroastrianism.” Wikipedia. March 06, 2017. Accessed March 08, 2017. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zoroastrianism. 6. Expert, Catherine Beyer Alternative Religions. “What Is the World’s Oldest Monotheistic Religion?” About.com Religion & Spirituality. February 05, 2017. Accessed March 03, 2017. .http://altreligion.about.com/od/alternativereligionsaz/a/zoroastrianism.htm. 7. “Avicenna.” Wikipedia. February 28, 2017. Accessed March 03, 2017. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avicenna. 8. “Mazdak.” Wikipedia. February 15, 2017. Accessed March 03, 2017. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mazdak.

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Poetry for the People by dorrin akbari

In a 2008 interview, Iranian rapper Yas observed, “Poetry is in our blood. If Tupac could sing about his life, pain, and culture, why couldn’t I do the same thing in my own language?” Iranians have had a rich history of using poetry as a means of verbally articulating their thoughts and emotions, particularly during times of social upheaval. While poetry has been used to respond to changes in people’s lived experiences, it has also been used to influence social and political trends, sometimes accelerating or even guiding them. A closer examination of Iran’s historical relations with poetry as a form of resistance provides an explanation for the fast growing popularity of hip-hop/ rap music in Iran today.

The impact of resistance poetry could first be seen during the Constitutional Revolution of Iran (1906-1911). Fath Ali Shah, the second monarch of the Qajar dynasty (1797-1834), revived the tradition of the court poetry, which had, to some extent, lost its importance during the reigns of the Safavids and their successors. During this “neo-classical” movement, traditional themes and images were repeated over and over again in poetry, and the balance between language and content noticeably suffered.1 The Constitutional Revolution, however, was the turning point that catalyzed a productive interaction between the poetry of the people and the poetry of the elite. It was a different kind of poet whom the revolution inflamed. The base audience of the poet was shifted from the court to the streets—from the shah to the people.1 The rapid development of free press following the granting of the Constitution provided poets with a platform to address not just the aristocratic minority, but also the common majority. Although not illustrated in the works of all poets, a byproduct of this new audience was a violation of traditional poetic restrictions.The distinction between poetic and non-poetic terms was blurred; the poet used any term suitable for the subject. The gap between poetic and colloquial language diminished to the degree that entire poems were written in the latter. This new informal style set the foundation for the next generation of poetry.

Nearly a century later, the same revolutionary spirit once again overtook the Iranian masses when the disputed June 12, 2009 presidential election changed the face of Iranian politics. This revolutionary movement, known as the Green Revolution, was widely seen as a new peaceful, populist model of rebellion that infused twenty-first century Internet technology with street power. Accordingly, the regime’s facade as a populist theocracy, led by a divinely legitimized guardian and supported by a profoundly devout nation, was torn apart.

Every few weeks, protesters took to the streets to challenge the regime and its leadership.2 When the bloody video of the death of Neda Agha-Soltan circulated around the world and caused an international outcry, Iran’s new revolutionary poets—the rapPerspective 6

pers—entered the scene.3 Neda became an instant symbol of the antigovernment movement. Her death stirred widespread outrage in a society infused with the culture of martyrdom. Poet and singer Shahin Najafi commented on her death in his song “Neda”: What were you trying to say by your gaze Neda?

I will not silence my voice Neda your blood runs through every alley every street’s marked by your blood In spite of such powerful words, the Green Revolution came to a gradual halt. By early 2010, the regime had quelled public displays of opposition, leading the opposition to retreat into a period of introspection and reorganization. The growing hip-hop/rap culture, however, was just beginning.

Iranian rap music is the representation of the cultural, social, and political atmosphere of Iran. The two front-runners of the rap scene are Hichkas, often called the Godfather of Iranian rap, and a group named Zedbazi. Hichkas combined hip-hop with elements from classical Iranian music.

Lyrically, he focused on Iran’s societal issues, imbued with nationalist tradition, and though his flow sounded aggressive, he avoided profanity. Zedbazi took the opposite approach, and pioneered Iranian gangsta rap, becoming the first in a wave of musicians to swear and openly rap about sex and drugs.

Persian hip-hop flourished online rather than in clubs under a conservative government.4 The significance of the internet in promoting the rise of Persian rap meant that, unlike hip-hop’s origins in the impoverished South Bronx, the genre’s beginnings were rooted in the upper and middle classes. As access to technology became more widespread, however, Persian hip-hop left the underground scene, seeping into the mainstream—due partly to the 2006 release of Hichkas’s Jangale Asfalt, the first professional Persian hip-hop album.

Since widespread arrests and trials essentially silenced the Green Movement, rap has been one of the limited means of expressing public discontent. Given its power as a means of expression, rap initially faced a government crackdown.

Iranian rapper Shahin Najafi had a number of fatwas5 issued against him in 2012. The hip-hop artists in exile use boundless lyrics when rapping, while those inside the country tend to be subtle with commentary rather than engage in direct criticism of the Iranian government and its policies.6 With 60% of Iran’s 76 million people under age 35,7 Persian hip-hop has quickly become the first youth-driven underground movement, granting young people a much-needed space for expression.

Recommendations Songs: 1. Tabestun Kutaheh – Zedbazi 2. Palang – Alireza JJ 3. Inja Irane – Bahram 4. Berim Fazaa – Zedbazi 5. Sargarmi – Leito

Albums: 1. Zakharnameh – Zedbazi 2. Doraneh Talaei – Reza Pishro 3. Khodafezi – Erfan 4. Pir Shodim Vali Bozorg Na (Vol. 1 and 2) – JJ and Sijal 5. Bozorg – Mehrad Hidden 6. Toonel – Mehrad Hidden

1. Soroudi, Sorour. “International Society of Iranian Studies.” 1979. Accessed February 12, 2017. https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/4310308.pdf. 2. “Iran Primer: The Green Movement.” PBS. Accessed February 12, 2017. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/tehranbureau/2010/10/iran-primer-thegreen-movement.html. 3. “Verse of Defiance.” PBS. Accessed February 12, 2017. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/tehranbureau/2010/08/ verse-of-defiance.html. 4. “Iranian Hip Hop: Voice of Resistance.” Iranian Hip Hop: Voice of Resistance | The Iran Primer. Accessed February 12, 2017. http://iranprimer.usip.org/blog/2012/jun/15/iranian-hip-hop-voice-resistance. 5. A fatwa is “a ruling on a point of Islamic law given by a recognized authority.” 6. “Iran’s thriving rap culture.” Al-Monitor. January 06, 2014. Accessed February 12, 2017. http://www.al-monitor.com/pulse/originals/2014/01/ iran-rap-culture-thrives.html. 7. “The Youth.” The Youth | The Iran Primer. Accessed February 12, 2017. http://iranprimer.usip.org/resource/youth.

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The History and Significance of Persian Rugs

by Nikki Zangenah

Since their nascency over 2,500 years ago, Persian rugs have since persevered as a bastion of artistic excellence. Known as farsh in Farsi, the Persian rug is “woven into the fabric of Iranian history, religion, society, and culture.”1 Taking power circa 530 BCE, ancient ruler Cyrus the Great is often credited with introducing the art of carpet weaving to the Persian Empire. However, there is considerable evidence that this fine tradition dates back even further.2 The Persian rug has undergone significant stylistic changes over time, and these changes reflect the course of history of Persia and modern-day Iran. As articulated by the Iran Chamber Society, “to trace the history of Persian carpet is to follow a path of cultural growth of one of the greatest civilizations the world has ever seen.”2

Originating at the fingertips of nomadic tribes and village craftsmen, Persian rugs began as hand-woven textiles that served both decorative and practical purposes. Composed mainly of fine sheep wool, these traditional rugs were pigmented with bright, natural dyes extracted from plants and insects. Because they were hand-woven from memory, these carpets featured rectilinear designs that were bold yet uncomplicated, made primarily with the symmetrical Turkish knot, also called the Ghiordes knot.3 Rug making was often a trade of kin, passed down through multiple generations as a family secret of unique techniques for designing, weaving, and dyeing. Distinct in design and palette, each traditional Persian carpet reflects the history and culture of the specific tribe or village that produced it. As such, a rug is usually named after the ethnic group that produced it or the regional market in which it was collected.

Near the end of the fifteenth century, considerable changes took place in the patterns and motifs of Persian rugs. As termed by art historian Kurt Erdmann, this “design revolution” featured more elaborate, curvilinear designs such as medallions, tendrils, and floral ornaments.3 These intricate layouts required increased usage of the asymmetrical, more complicated Persian knot, also called the Senneh knot.3 Soon after the “design revolution” came the pinnacle of splendor of Persian carpets—the Safavid Dynasty of the sixteenth century. Under the reigns of Shah Tahmasp and Shah Abbas, especially the latter, Persian art of all sorts prospered, carpet weaving included.3 Workshops in the royal courts facilitated a concourse of expert designers and weavers, collaborating to produce some of the finest rugs of all time. Sophisticated designs, robust coloring, and intricate details are all characteristic of carpets from the Safavid Period.

Rugs were often made with a combination of silk and wool, in addition to silver and gold threading for further embellishment.

These rugs were woven using detailed blueprints created in advance—unlike traditional rugs, which were produced from memory.

In the court manufactories of the Safavid Dynasty, carpet weaving in the Persian Empire “rose from a cottage métier to the dignity of a fine art.”3 As diplomatic relations with European countries thrived, so did the popularity of Persian rugs. Soon enough, European noblemen were purchasing rugs directly from royal manufactories, sometimes placing custom orders.3 As they increasingly became symbols of luxury and prestige, the popularity of Persian rugs flourished throughout the world, especially in

the “Rug Belt,” a stretch of countries known for their rug-making prowess—including China, Tibet, Turkey, India, and Pakistan.4

In the nineteenth century, the introduction of machinery, synthetic dyes, and commercial designs led to a decline in traditional carpet making, undercutting the quality and value of Persian carpets.1 Additionally, political unrest caused similar periods of decline, but local manufacturers “played an important historical role in reviving the tradition of carpet weaving after periods of decline.”3 In modern times, since the Iranian Revolution, there has been a resurgence of interest in traditional rug making.

In addition to the revival of ancient designs, natural dyes, and hand-weaving, authentic Persian rugs have become increasingly sought after on the international market.

Today, Iran is responsible for the “genesis of most motifs, patterns, and traditional colorations produced in rugs throughout the world.”5 Carpet weaving is the “most widespread handicraft in Iran,” and it remains an enormous part of the country’s economy.2 According to the National Iranian Carpet Center, “hand-woven carpets have ranked first in [the] country’s non-oil exports,” garnering more than $600 million per year.3 Across the globe, in many “palaces, famous buildings, mansions, and museums” alike, “a Persian carpet is amongst the most treasured possession.”2 Rugs also remain an integral part of almost every Iranian household, cherished as heirlooms that are passed down from generation to generation.5 Persian rugs are timeless, not only in their beauty and utility, but also in their significance to our culture and identity.

1. Hoang, My Hanh. "Persian Rugs." The TED Case Studies. November 18, 2004. http://www1.american.edu/ted/persian-rugs. htm. 2. "A brief history of Persian Carpet and its patterns." Iran Chamber Society. http://www.iranchamber.com/art/articles/ brief_history_persian_carpet.php. 3. "Persian carpet." Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persian_carpet. 4. "Oriental rug." Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oriental_rug. 5. Beringer, Susie. "Persian Rugs, Persian Carpets & Oriental Rugs - History." FarsiNet. September 15, 2004. http://www.farsinet.com/persianrug/history.html.

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FEATURE

Dr. Ali Shariati and the complication of revolutionary narratives

by Zaynab Ahsan

“Revolution” is perhaps one of the most evocative words amongst the people of the Iranian diaspora. For some, this word evokes nostalgic images of an Iran they once knew. For others, it fondly reminds them of their time participating in demonstrations and envisioning a new Iran. For many, it brings to mind the names of politicians and leaders such as Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, Ayatollah Khomeini, and Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh. One name which is often absent from diasporic Iranians’ thoughts and conversations regarding the revolution is that of Dr. Ali Shariati, a leader in leftist Islamic thought. Despite his significant impact on revolutionary politics in Iran and around the world, Shariati is notably absent in the historicization of the Islamic Revolution of 1979. This erasure calls for an examination of Shariati’s life and legacy in hopes of uncovering a new lens through which to view the revolution.

Ali Shariati, born Ali Shariati Mazinani, was born on the 24th of November 1933 in Mazinan, a village in Iran’s Khorasan Province. By 1964, Shariati had obtained doctorate degrees in History and Sociology and established himself as an intellectual and political leader. Shariati became known for the eloquent and spirited ways in which he articulated political and religious thought. He created a prolific body of work on a wide variety of topics ranging from women’s empowerment to anti-capitalist politics. Despite respect and admiration by many academic, intellectual, political, and religious leaders, Shariati’s work was not always well received. In 1974, the Iranian government, then under the leadership of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, detained Ali Shariati and sentenced him to over a year of solitary confinement. Not long after, in 1977, Shariati was assassinated while traveling in Europe.

While the life of Dr. Ali Shariati was brought to an end two years prior, his legacy lived on and inspired many political leaders and activists during the revolution. A major part of this legacy is a distinctly Islamic feminism. In his popular book and speech Fatemeh is Fatemeh, Shariati explains that Fatemeh is more than a mother or a wife, emphasizing the importance of recognizing her as an entity of her own. Fatemeh thus represents the empowered Muslim woman as a universal and accessible figure with whom all Iranian and Muslim women can identify. In this work, Shariati also speaks of tears as an expression of deep love and compassion and the potential for weaponization of women’s tears in the revolution. In his essay Our Expectations of the Muslim Woman, Shariati uses Zaynab and Fatemeh to further advance this idea of the universal revolutionary Muslim woman. He describes this woman as one who defies both “traditional” Islamic gender roles and Western, imperialist ideas of modern femininity. Shariati repeatedly utilizes icons of Islamic femininity as a means of centering women in revolutionary efforts.

Shariati’s relationship to capitalism, anti-capitalism, and Marxism is also worth noting. Shariati was a devout anti-capitalist, and saw

capitalism as a tool for Western domination and imperialism. Simultaneously, he rejected notions of an adamantly secular and/or atheistic anti-capitalist or Marxist political leader. He saw Marxism as deeply flawed and unfit for any Iranian revolutionary movement. Shariati saw Islam as central to a revolutionary political analysis both as a way of incorporating humanistic values into notions of political liberation and as a tool to make leftist politics accessible to the largely religious Iranian working class. In a binary view which places secular anti-capitalism in opposition to Islamic values, Dr. Ali Shariati occupies some sort of middle ground.

The legacy of Ali Shariati is one which profoundly challenges dominant political thought. Shariati’s political analysis is Islamic; it is feminist; it is anti-capitalist. It embodies all of these things, which to many appear inherently contradictory. Upon examining Shariati’s work, scholars have noted the ways in which he challenges a binary view of Islam and “modernity” as directly oppositional to one another. Shariati utilizes Islamic values as a frame through which to communicate a set of progressive political views which are often associated with secular and Western politics.

It is perhaps for this very reason that Shariati is erased in many Iranians’ narrativization of the revolution. In talking about the history of Iranian politics, many Iranians rely on a dichotomized view which positions certain leaders and ideas as categorically “good” and others as inherently “evil.” Those Iranians who are more resolute in their secularism and distrust in the Islamic Republic often rely on a depiction of Islamic politics as oppressive and backwards in order to serve their analysis. Similarly, Iranians whose ideas and values more closely align with those of the Islamic Republic are quick to dismiss any notions of liberation or gender equity as Western falsities. Both of these tendencies, often informed by familial and political trauma, prevent us from reaching a more full understanding of revolutionary politics which allows for nuance and complexity. People like Ali Shariati, people who defy conventional and dominant thought, have no place in these simplistic views of the revolution. It is only when we begin to understand the complexity and nuance of these issues, when we embrace those figures such as Shariati who challenge everything we understand, that we may begin to approach true understanding.

1. Ali Hamchenan Tanhast(Ali Is Still Alone). Tehran: Islamic Republic of Iran State Television. 2. Ali Hamchenan Tanhast(Ali Is Still Alone). Tehran: Islamic Republic of Iran State Television. 3. Ibid 4. Fatemeh, first daughter of the Prophet Mohamad and his wife Khadija 5. Shariati, Ali, Fatima is Fatima, trans. Laleh Bakhtiar 6. Ibid 7. Zaynab, daughter of Fatemeh and Imam Ali 8. Shariati, Ali. “Our Expectations of the Muslim Woman” Lecture. Trans. Laleh Bakhtiar 9. Bilal Ahmed.

“Marxism and Shi’ism” Souciant. February 24 2014. 10. Saffari, Siavash. " Rethinking the Islam/Modernity Binary: Ali Shariati and Religiously Mediated Discourse of Sociopolitical Development." Middle East Critique 24, no. 3 (June 10, 2015).

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Iran's Hidden Paradise

by Mashad Badii

Henna peaking out from under short sleeves, sun-kissed skin in a country where skin rarely sees the light of day, the faint scent of massage oil in the air—in Iran, it’s quite easy to spot someone who’s just been away on an island resort vacation, and one of the most notorious get-aways is Kish Island in the Persian Gulf. Marked by a combination of loose enforcement of Islamic dress and skyhigh 5 star hotels, Kish draws over 1.5 million tourists a year. Each visitor comes searching for even the smallest taste of what Iranian-Americans have cheekily dubbed “Iran’s Hawaii.”1 To many, Kish presents a spark of hope for a return of great Iranian tourism. That hope is not misplaced—I, too, can recall the bliss I felt the first time I waded into Kish’s cool waters and splurged in its shopping malls. Kish is bright, booming, and beautiful.

But Kish is also a lie. Much like industry now dominates Hawaii’s natural beauty, it’s hard to appreciate bright blue fish in a soothing sea when the coastline is crowded with offers of massages, authentic-yet-factory-made shell necklaces, and shopping malls so tall one has to squint at the sun to see how high they go. For the tourist that wants suitcases full of free-trade imports and three course meals at a five star restaurant, Kish is the perfect travel destination. But if you want to see true beauty, nearly unmarked by commercialism, and a deeply layered cultural reality, Qeshm is your destination.

Sunny year-round and the largest island in the Persian Gulf, Qeshm appears at first glance a bare, sandy wasteland with attractions few and far between, and hotels only two levels as opposed to Kish’s 200. Indeed, when I first landed in Qeshm this past winter, I couldn’t help but view the island with a skeptical eyebrow and disdain. It took over an hour to reach the city from the airport, wi-fi was spotty at best, and room service was a far cry from Kish’s lilac-scented towels. On day one, I eyed my mother constantly, wondering why we hadn’t simply gone to Kish again.

But then came day two. In a 10-seater SUV cramped with 15 people, my family and I embarked on a bumpy journey across the Qeshm landscape. We began with Hengam Island, a minute island off the coast of Qeshm where speedboats dance around clev-

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er dolphins, waves kiss the sand, and women use homemade henna to draw elegant patterns from memory. Locals handed out seafood samosas with warm laughter, filling the crooked streets with their seashell-crafts, each necklace and studded jewelry box different from the rest. Equally breathtaking was the next stop: Naz Island. Due to the tide, this island was only accessible during a few hours each day before the sea flooded the landscape. Here, moss-covered cliffs dotted the horizon and daring climbers could see the sky and sea into the infinite future, the sky untouched by pollution.

From Naz, we moved on to the Mangrove Forests that grew curiously out of the sea.

Then we explored Zeytoon Park, where divers can see vivid colors of coral reefs undisturbed by heavy human activity and group members without sealegs can ride camels. At the brink of sunset, we finished off our journey at Star Valley. Said by locals to have formed when a

in my life.

The following day, my family and I went on to explore the many other hidden beauties Qeshm offered: the old bazaar, the Salt Caves, and countless quiet, sandy beaches void of distracting plastic bottles. But beyond the landscape, what struck me most during my final hours on Qeshm was the unparalleled kindness and complexity of its inhabitants. Taxi drivers driving hours back and forth between the airport and city never failed to fill the car with laughter. Little girls painting henna in the bazaar quickly quirked their eyebrows, chastising patronizing customers by remarking they are top of their class at school. Unruly poverty dots the Qeshm countryside, but so does rich fashion, food, language, and storytelling.

So yes, Kish will give a tourist looking for a top-tier shopping spree exactly what they desire. But where Kish’s beaches scream moneymaking schemes and tourism, Qeshm provides a look beyond superficiality and into

star fell from the sky and carved out the rocky terrain, this valley rivals the Grand Canyon’s beauty.2 Even with my hijab constantly falling and my poor rock-climbing skills, nothing could stop me from gasping in awe at the sight of the sun touching the horizon from the top of the cliffs. From there, the valley lived up to its own name. I had never seen so many stars

a culture warmth, vibrancy, and complexity.

And of course, the dolphins were a nice perk.

1. "High hopes." The Economist. May 20, 2014. Accessed February 09, 2017. http://www.economist.com/blogs/ pomegranate/2014/05/irans-kish-island. 2. "Qeshm EcoTourism" Qeshm EcoTourism. Accessed February 10, 2017. http://www.qeshmecotourism.com/pages.php?id=33.

DO THE SHIP INTERNATIONALLY?

by Kayla Fathi

For famed Iranian screenwriter, producer, and director Asghar Farhadi, the driving force for creating his films derives from the complexities of human relationships. These complexities are highlighted in the turmoils of an ending marriage in both A Separation (2011) and The Past Elly (2009). His art has viewers relating to all characters, even those that would traditionally be vilified or deemed antagonists. Farhadi stated in an interview, “If you want to write something on my grave, it should be ‘empathy.’”1 He goes on to explain how we easily relate ourselves to heroic characters, but it is a necessary component in understanding films to be able to place oneself in the shoes of a person who has done something wrong, and as both the writer and director of his films, he attempts to get the viewers to do so by unveiling the Photo courtesy of reasons that influGoogle Images ence each character’s behavior. With a preference for handheld cameras and tracking shots,2 Farhadi attempts to keep scenes as raw and honest as possible. The majority of his films take place in Iran, and the impact of Iranian society clearly bleeds through in his work, but it does not limit the films in any way. A key to his success on an international level is that his art transcends barriers of culture, religion, socioeconomic class or gender identification, and pulls on the hearts of anyone willing to open themselves to his work.

Asghar Farhadi’s storylines tend to revolve around a deeply rooted ensemble that are all intertwined with simultaneously isolated emotionally, always in a distinct home, be that a villa near the Caspian Sea, or an apartment in Tehran. The audience gets a full scope into the intricacies of each character. The emphasis on the house is rooted in Farhadi’s fascination with what goes on behind the walls of the homes of others, which is a fascination he traces back to his childhood roaming the streets of Isfahan.1

What is even stronger than provoking an audience’s emotions is to provoke their thoughts. Farhadi believes that the creation of the question mark is one of the greatest things to happen to humans.3 This belief of his is exemplified by the thread running throughout his films in which the audience is never given a clear conclusion. He allows the consumers of his work to interpret it as they would like, whether that is through a societal context, a critical view, a moral lens, or a personal connection to a certain aspect of the film. He sees this aspect of movies “as a modern art; an art in which the artist doesn’t look at its audience from a superior level and it does not impose its viewpoint on the viewer.”4 The creation of discourse surrounding his films is heavily encouraged, and even Farhadi himself finds new perspectives in his own work as a result.5

Farhadi’s filmmaking career dates back to the age of thirteen when he made 8mm and 16mm short films for the Iranian Young Cinema Society throughout his youth,6 and created a short film each year after that until he entered the University of Tehran for a bachelor’s degree in Dramatic Arts. He later received a master’s degree in Stage Direction from Tarbiat Modares University.7

His influences range from fellow Iranian directors Masoud Kimiai and Abbas Kiarostami to the Italian neorealism8 of Federico Fellini as well as Japanese directors Kurosawa and Ozu.5

Asghar Farhadi’s films have garnered a myriad of awards.

His most recent work, The Salesman (2016) won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, an Oscar that he won in 2012 for A Separation. Due to the current political climate as a result of President Trump’s Muslim travel ban, Farhadi boycotted attending this year’s Oscar’s ceremony with the intention of respecting the people of Iran. He was represented by Anousheh Ansari and Firouz Naderi of NASA.9 He is the only Iranian to have won an Oscar, let alone two.

1. Eng, Matthew. "Asghar Farhadi." Reverse Shot. Accessed February 25, 2017. http:// reverseshot.org/interviews/entry/2306/farhadi. 2. YouTube. January 21, 2016. Accessed February 24, 2017. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwTnxbXZurc. 3. Rajeev Masand.

YouTube. October 30, 2013. Accessed February 24, 2017. https://youtu.be/watch?v=g6YZjb_B3l4. 4. Dehghan, Saeed Kamali. "A Separation's Asghar Farhadi: 'We need the audience to think'" The Guardian. July 15, 2011. Accessed February 25, 2017. https://www. theguardian.com/film/2011/jul/15/a-separation-asghar-farhadi-interview. 5. ”Farhadi: My films influenced by Hitchcock, Neorealism." IFilm. Accessed February 24, 2017. http:// www.ifilmtv.com/English/News/NewsIn/740/Farhadi-My-films-influenced-by-Hitchcock-Neorealism 6. “Asghar Farhadi.” Wikipedia. February 19, 2017. Accessed February 23, 2017. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asghar_Farhadi. 7. “Asghar Farhadi.” Wikipedia.

February 19, 2017. 8. Italian neorealism is a film movement characterized by stories using the poor and the working class. The films in this genre are filmed on location, often using non-professional actors. 9. Vivarelli, Nick. "Asghar Farhadi to Be Represented at Oscars by First Female Space Tourist and Former NASA Scientist." Variety. February 24, 2017. Accessed February 25, 2017. http://variety.com/2017/film/awards/asghar-farhadito-be-represented-by-first-female-space-tourist-and-nasa-exec-at-oscars-1201995676/.

Perspective 11

FEATURE

by Negin Shahiar

The Ban that Bridges Generations

“These are strange times, my dear,” or so goes the refrain of Iranian writer Ahmad Shamlu’s acclaimed poem In This Blind Alley. Throughout the work, which was written shortly after the 1979 Iranian Revolution, Shamlu juxtaposes images of light and dark, fire and ice to convey the triumph of the human spirit in the confines of an oppressive society: “He who pounds on the door in the nighttime Has come to kill the light.

Light must be hid in closets at home.”1

In view of recent events, the poem, although written more than thirty years ago, rings true today. On January 27th, President Donald Trump incited popular protests globally after passing an executive order suspending the entry of nationals from seven predominantly Muslim countries, including Iran.

The constitutionality of the order was challenged almost immediately after its issuance, and a nationwide temporary restraining order was passed and upheld within a few weeks.2

Three days prior to the signing of the executive order, Perspective 12

the Oscars committee announced its nominations. The latest masterpiece of Iranian director Asghar Farhadi, The Salesman, was included among the contenders. Centered around a couple whose relationship begins to turn sour during their performance of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, the drama took home two Palmes d’Or at the 2016 Cannes Film Festival. The prestigious awards were not to be the film’s last—on February 26th, The Salesman was honored as “Best Foreign Language Film,” and Farhadi was awarded his second Oscar. But this time around the director did not make an appearance.

In protest of Trump’s travel ban, Farhadi refused to attend the ceremony, and Iranian-American scientist Firouz Naderi and engineer and businesswoman Anousheh Ansari accepted the Oscar on his behalf. Through a speech read by Ansari, the director told the world, “My absence is out of respect for the people in my country and those of six other nations who have been disrespected by the inhumane law that bans entry of immigrants to the U.S.”3

I learned of the win through the procession of posts on my Facebook newsfeed. My family and friends equated the

FEATURE director with nothing less than the pride of a nation. For the Iranian people, Farhadi’s films have come to serve as the light in the blind alley that Shamlu perceived, perhaps much in the manner that the writer’s poetry did during his own time.

The parallels between the worlds of Shamlu in 1979 and Farhadi in 2017 cannot be eluded. The discriminatory order against Iranians issued by Trump echoes the hostility faced

by Iranian expatriates in the U.S. during the hostage crisis. My mother once told me that, exiled in America during the revolution, she would spend her weekends in the airport waiting for flights from Iran to land, just to hear political updates from the newly arrived. One day I will tell my children of my own weekend spent at the airport, serving as a translator for Iranians who had been detained because of the travel ban.

Undeniably, our parents, who endured political upheaval and war, suffered more. But our generation nevertheless has its own battles to fight. In response to the suspension of the initial executive order, Trump issued a revised travel ban on March 6th. Even with changes intended to blunt legal and political opposition, the order is seen as the most significant hardening of immigration policy in generations.4

Accordingly, my generation of Iranian-Americans has never been more politically active than it is now. Our determination to effect change is discerned through our strong presence at marches across the country, our voices joined together to chant “No Ban, No Wall.” It is perceived through the thousands of letters we have written and calls we have made to congressional representatives, through statuses and tweets we have posted and

articles we have published, standing firmly against the executive order. And it is understood, perhaps most powerfully, through the outpouring of youth volunteering their translation services to detainees held at airports throughout the U.S.

I witnessed this firsthand when I traveled to San Francisco Airport to offer my own translation services. I found myself among a group of undergraduate and graduate students who had skipped class, cancelled meetings, and postponed commitments to volunteer. But students made up only a portion of the translators. We worked alongside recent graduates, long-time professionals, and the retired. For a moment in time, as we stood together at the arrivals gate waiting for flights to land, two generations overlapped to achieve a common cause. “Light must be hid in closets at home,” Shamlu wrote. Our coming together is the light that Shamlu realized, and the strength of my generation lies in what those who came before us lacked — the stories of an entire generation of Iranian-Americans who endured what we are living through now. We will take both their triumphs and failures as we work to affect change, so that maybe our children won’t have to again, so that maybe our generation will be the last one that does.

The generation before us grew up reading Shamlu’s poetry; as we enter adulthood, we find ourselves delving into Farhadi’s films. Our parents persisted through the strange times that Shamlu discerned, while the political climate of our own time may nonetheless be stranger. The characters have changed, yet we find history repeating itself—and through our collective experiences, generations are bridged.

1. Shamlu, Ahmad. "In This Blind Alley." PBS. July 24, 2010. Accessed March 08, 2017. http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/ tehranbureau/2010/07/in-this-blind-alley.html. 2. Savage, Charlie. "Analyzing Trump’s New Travel Ban." The New York Times.

March 06, 2017. Accessed March 08, 2017. https://www.nytimes.com/2017/03/06/us/politics/annotated-executive-order-immigration-travel-ban.html. 3. Begley, Sarah. "Oscars 2017: Read Asghar Farhadi's Oscar Speech." Time. February 26, 2017. Accessed March 08, 2017. http://time.com/4683357/oscars-2017-asghar-farhadi-speech/. 4. Thrush, Glenn. "Trump’s New Order Bans Immigrants From 6 Muslim Nations, Except Iraq." The New York Times. March 06, 2017. Accessed March 08, 2017. https://www.nytimes. com/2017/03/06/us/politics/travel-ban-muslim-trump.html.

Perspective 13

The Voice of a Nation

BY NIMA SHAJARIAN

There has rarely been a voice as influential as that of the great Mohammad Reza Shajarian. Commonly referred to as Ostad or Maestro, Shajarian has been revered as the greatest voice in Iranian music. He has made it his life’s work to advance the tradition of Persian sonati music while, at the same time, giving the people of Iran a voice and message they can get behind.

Shajarian’s life began in the conservative and heavily Muslim city of Mashhad, in the Khorasan province, on September 23, 1940. He was the first of six children, five boys and one girl, of Mehdi Shajarian and Afsar Shahverdiani. His father was well-known in the city of Mashhad as a man of his faith. Mehdi Shajarian was actually known to have a beautiful voice himself through his recitations of the Quran, and his own father was said to have a voice so beautiful that birds would sing alongside him. Ironically, it was Mehdi Shajarian who put his son on his path towards becoming the best traditional singer in Iran. At the young age of four, Shajarian learned how to recite passages of the Quran from his father and fell in love with the amazing things that could be done with the voice. The problem was, however, that singing alongside instruments is considered haram, or forbidden, according to Islam. Being a known man of God, Mehdi Shajarian couldn’t outwardly approve of his son’s endeavors to pursue music through mainstream singing.

Shajarian would practice singing by learning the beautiful intricacies of the voice from tapes, the radio, and other local singers. He was unique because he wanted to learn from as many people as possible, not just one master. Some of his instructors included Ahmad Ebadi, Abdollah Davami, Nour-Ali Boroumand, and Esmail Mehrtash. He began his singing career at Radio Khorasan in 1959. He quickly rose above all else with his passionate and unique singing style and would eventually move on to the capital city of Tehran. However, when he began singing for Radio Tehran, Shajarian was now singing with instruments—with Radio Khorasan he sang purely a capella. The addition of instruments made his singing haram. Shajarian did not want to potentially embarrass his father, and so he went by the pseudonym Siavash Bidgani. But Shajarian’s singing style and genre were eventually accepted by his father, and it was only then that he would change his name to Siavash Shajarian and, eventually, MoPerspective 14

hammad Reza Shajarian, his birth name. Since then, he has been presented with countless awards and accolades including the UNESCO Mozart Medal, France’s National Order of Merit, and the Golden Picasso Medal. He has also been nominated for two Grammy awards and was named one of NPR’s 50 Great Voices.

The greatness of Shajarian, however, only begins with his talented voice. The other aspect is how that voice influenced an entire nation. After the Islamic Revolution of 1979, when Ayatollah Khomeini and the Islamic regime overthrew Mohammad Reza Pahlavi and his monarchy, times became much more difficult for artists. Interestingly enough, however, the Supreme Leader approved of Shajarian’s music as an example of an acceptable and, in fact, exemplary art form. His reasoning was that Shajarian was singing sonati, or traditional, music that uses poetry as lyrics. The music was invigorating the mind rather than making people dance. Shajarian had laid the foundation for othe r

sonati singers to thrive in a post-revolutionary Iran. It wasn’t until Khomeini’s death in 1989 that things became tough.

Shajarian’s fight against the government took many forms. For years the government and its radio stations had attempted to take advantage of Shajarian’s music. When he recorded music, they attempted to change his lyrics to either lessen the impact they could potentially have on listeners or to censor certain words. The government was also playing his music during times of sadness and grief, such as for the funerals of government officials and soldiers. It was being played during times of melancholy rather than times of celebration and happiness as he’d always intended. He had had enough and eventually forbade the government from playing his music.

A few years later, in 2009, the tensions between the Islamic regime and the Iranian people would intensify upon President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s controversial reelection. Shajarian watched as his beloved country and its people went through one of the nation’s bloodiest and most upsetting times in decades, as countless Iranians took to the streets to protest, only to be met with armed militia. He spoke out, and shortly afterwards the radio stopped playing one of the last songs they were still broadcasting: Rabana. This was actually a prayer that was played during the holy month of Ramadan before the Iftar. Shajarian had never actually intended for his voice to be the one to recite the

prayer, but after recording it so that other reciters could do the same, the radio stations quickly realized that there was no one who could recite the prayer the way Shajarian had. He saw that it made the people happy, even those that didn’t practice Islam, so he granted permission for its continuation. But the government radio stations stopped playing Rabana as well.

The great maestro had become saddened and upset with the actions of the government and their statements against the people of his beloved country during the events of 2009. In an interview during the controversial election, President Ahmadinejad said that he didn’t care that the people were protesting because they were people of the “dirt and dust.” This did not sit well with Shajarian. It was then that he would go on to proclaim that he was also a man of the dirt and dust, for he was a man of the people, the people loved him and he loved them.

He stated that when the wind comes, the dirt and dust will rise and have the power to create great change. In the city of Los Angeles, with an estimated Iranian population of half a million, Shajarian was presented with numerous awards from the city at one of his sold-out concerts at Shrine Auditorium. After humbly accepting the honors, Shajarian sat down, and right before he began singing, he proclaimed to the audience that the concert was for the people of the dirt and dust. The crowd stood and erupted with applause and cheer as Shajarian began his concert that would conclude with his usual encore of Morghe Sahar, a song that, as the great scholar Abbas Milani describes it, “asks for the rise of the day of freedom and end to the night of oppression.”

But Shajarian did not stop there. He would go on to record the song Zabane Atash (Language of Fire) that begins with “lay down your gun, as I hate this very abnormal shedding of blood. The gun in your hand speaks the language of fire and iron.” As can be seen, the song asks for the bloodshed and killing of the protesters to come to an end. The beauty of Shajarian’s use of songs such as Morghe Sahar and Zabane Atash is that they are not Shajarian’s own words. Throughout his life, Shajarian has used various poems to portray where the country was at that time, painting a history of Iran over the past few decades.

Even after the election of 2009, Shajarian has continued to battle with the government. For Shajarian and other musicians, it has become increasingly difficult to perform in Iran as their shows continue to get cancelled at the last minute for various reasons, such as safety and women being “unfit” to perform at certain venues. Shajarian, in fact, has not been able to perform in Iran for several years. But this didn’t stop him from going on tour with his daughter, Mojgan, with the Shahnaz Ensemble in 2012 where he allowed his daughter to sing solo, something that’s forbidden in Iran.

In today’s political climate, it is very hard to determine the future actions of the Iranian government. What is very obvious, however, is that the voice and legend of Mohammad Reza Shajarian will continue to reach the people and influence them in ways very few ever could. He is the voice of every generation; he is the voice of an entire nation.

Perspective 15

PERSPECTIVE

One People, Many Great Legacies

BY AZIN MIRZAAGHA

The achievements of Iranians worldwide is a testament to the resilience and intellectual potential of the Iranian people, despite their history of turmoil and unpredictable circumstances. The notable contributions of Persians have been of great importance to our understanding of the world we live in. The dedicated work of such individuals have immensely impacted society. Inspired by their ancestors, Iranians have continued to make their mark in both the arts and the sciences.

In the fields of science and mathematics, Iranians have taken leaps in technological advancements and medical breakthroughs. Maryam Mirzakhani was most recently recognized for her achievements. The young mathematician became the first woman and first Iranian to be awarded the Fields Medal for her work in the symmetry of curved surfaces. Anousheh Ansari, who just recently accepted the Oscar Award on behalf of Asghar Farhadi, is recognized for being the first self-funded woman to fly to the International Space Station. She has also been acknowledged for her accomplishments in business and technology, most notably her contributions to tech companies such as Telecom Technologies Inc, Sonus, and Prodea Systems. There are many other Iranians with powerful roles in the world

of tech. Omid Kordestani, currently the executive chairman at Twitter, was among Google’s first employees and had a leading role in their business operations, helping to bring Google to where it stands today. Computer security expert, Parisa Tabriz is a leading member of Google’s security engineering team. In 2012, she made Forbes Magazine’s list of "Top 30 People Under 30 To Watch in the Technology Industry." Furthermore, Firouz Naderi is an Iranian-American scientist and the current Director for Solar System Exploration at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL). In this role, Naderi oversees the planning of JPL's robotic solar system missions and the development and operation of missions, including the Cassini orbiter.

Vital medical advancements have also been made under the working minds of Iranians. They include those of individuals such as Dr. Ali Tavassoli, a chemical biologist at the University of Southampton, who paved the way for a purely chemical method of gene synthesis known as click chemistry. Roxana Moslehi is a genetic epidemiologist and associate professor in Epidemiology and Biostatistics in New York. The greater length of her research has been dedicated to the identification and characterization of cancer susceptibility

Photo courtesy of Google Images

genes.

Since the ancient times of Hafez and Ferdowsi, Iranians have flourished in the arts from poetry to music and more recently, cinema. Iranians have captivated audiences around the globe with their works, making the arts a truly valued aspect of Iranian culture. Contemporary poets and authors such as Simin Behbahani, Mahmoud Dowlatabadi, and Simin Daneshvar have produced pieces that are highly regarded by Iranians and many others around the globe. Simin Behbahani, who passed away recently in 2014, was a distinguished and iconic poet and lyricist. Referred to by many Iranian intellectuals as the “lioness of Iran,” Behbahani was twice nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature. Mahmoud Dowlatabadi is revered for promoting social and artistic freedom in Iran throughout his writing and acting career. His famous piece, Kelidar, is one of his many written works depicting rural life. Simin Daneshvar was considered the first major Iranian female novelist, and her famous novel Savushun was the first novel written from the perspective of an Iranian women. Musically, Iranians have gone to great lengths to produce masterful works. Just last year, renowned vocalist Shahram Nazeri was honored by UNESCO for his recent musical project centered on key cultural aspects of Isfahan and recognized overall for his messages of love and peace in his songs. Individuals like Hayedeh, Googoosh, Leila Forouhar, and Parisa are considered iconic singers and vocalists of their time, leaving notable legacies that are of great importance to Iran’s long tradition of musicality. Iranian cinema has reached heights on the world stage over the last few decades.

The late Abbas Kiarostami produced brilliant and renowned films during his time. Younger directors have followed in his steps, creating iconic films that have garnered great attention across the world.

Wherever in the world they may be, Iranians continue to impact the world, leaving behind great legacies. Individuals like those mentioned earlier have not only significantly contributed to society, but have also made fellow Iranians proud of their heritage. More importantly, they have inspired younger generations to follow in their footsteps. These accomplishments reveal an image of the Iranian people beyond what is portrayed through political discourse and media representation, that we are a people of many great legacies.

1. "Meet the Top 15 Most Successful Iranian Women on Intl. Women’s Day." Real Iran. Accessed March 01, 2017. 2. "Iranian Among Top World Scientists." Iran Review. Accessed March 01, 2017. http://www.iranreview.org/content/Documents/Hepatoblastoma-Treatment-by-Stem-Cell-Injections-in-Iran.htm. 3. "UNESCO Honors Legendary Vocalist Shahram Nazeri." Iran Review. Accessed February 28, 2017. http://www.iranreview.org/content/Documents/-Atlan-Wins-US-Best-Documentary-Award.htm. 4. MacBride, Elizabeth. "Iranian-Americans Have Reached Highest Echelons Of Tech, But Still Failed To Stop Visa Restriction." Forbes. December 25, 2015. Accessed March 01, 2017. https://www.forbes.com/sites/elizabethmacbride/2015/12/20/100-influential-iranian-americans-in-silicon-valley-and-beyond/#6bff2f4f7c2f. 5. "Roxana Moslehi." Wikipedia. June 20, 2016. Accessed March 01, 2017. https:// en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roxana_Moslehi. 6. "Mahmoud Dowlatabadi." Wikipedia. March 04, 2017. Accessed March 01, 2017. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mahmoud_Dowlatabadi.

Perspective 16

T

PERSPECTIVE

A Traveler's Tale

BY NEEKA MAHDAVI

My friends will tell you that I have the world’s longest stories. I won’t deny it; I love the details. I don’t feel as if I’ve shared enough if the listener doesn’t feel exactly the same way I was feeling at the time of the experience. I’ve always loved a good tale. On long road trips with my family, I’d pepper my parents with dozens of questions. As everyone in the car dozed off, three-year-old me would ask, “But what’s Mehran’s last name? What’s his dad’s name? Does he have any siblings?” As an elementary school student, I used to whizz through a book a night. I could never get enough.

My parents fostered this craving.

From answering my questions, telling stories of their childhoods in Iran, taking me to the library, and encouraging me to learn more about others, I think they were secretly pleased with this affliction. My mom firmly believed in the idea of learning from other narratives. So, we went to Passover celebrations, we attended Christmas Eve mass, we’d learn from our Bahá’í and Zoroastrian friends, and read about Muslim youth. It wasn’t just religion though; we’d seek to familiarize ourselves with others in any way we could, which cultivated my next passion: travel.

It must have been in some terminal on a layover in Frankfurt where I fell in love with airplanes and airports.

There was something magical about the crowded rush of people who could be going anywhere in the world. I’d look at solo travelers and wonder if they were meeting up with their loved ones or whether they were leaving them. I’d look at couples and wonder where they met. The airport was one of the unique places in the world where we could all meet up, despite our diverse backgrounds, and have the potential to tell our story. From then on, books and questions weren’t enough. I couldn’t wait for my next flight. The airport, airplane, and new destination provided opportunities for dozens of stories and interactions I could never experience otherwise. Traveling was a way that I could access the stories that fed my never ending curiosity. From a post graduation trip to Turkey to six months of living and traveling around Europe, and everything in between, I was desperate to know more.

Needless to say, I didn’t hesitate to apply for the Peace

Corps this year. I had waited years to live and volunteer in a foreign country, yearning to interact with people different than me, and excited to hear about their lives and experiences. Of course my parents, the original storytellers, were supportive of my decision. However, like most parents, they did express some initial safety concerns when I mentioned the South American countries I was considering for service. Before I called my mom to reassure her of my decision, I thought back to one of the most memorable stories she told me. Thirty-nine years ago she spent her first night in the United States as an eighteenyear-old college student alone in the airport. I realized that her bold decision later manifested itself into advice for me. As a young high-schooler preparing myself to visit my friend at college, I found it a bit daunting to fly in to JFK, take the subway at 5 AM, and direct myself to Grand Central to take a train to Connecticut. My mother reassuringly told me, “How are you going to learn if you don’t do the things that scare you? These are the experiences you need to have.” So when we spoke about my upcoming travels, I reminded her that while safety is always an important concern, xenophobia could, and often did, stop people from traveling anywhere, especially to the country she and my father call their homeland. We agreed that fear of the unknown was too often a barrier in the quest to expand our worldview.

Now, a few months later, I see this fear of what is strange and foreign rampant and rising in our nation. Travel bans and building walls have become too ingrained in our daily dialogue. Airports are no longer a place to express stories, but to hide them. Protests and outrage have become tools of survival. We’ve let fear close our ears and our hearts to the thrill of a new story. Storyteller Rives Collins once said, “Storytelling is among the oldest forms of communication. Storytelling is the commonality of all human beings, in all places, in all times.” Now more than ever it’s important to ask questions, to listen to stories, to share our own, and, of course, to spare no details.

Illustration: http://bit.ly/2lDpuXM

Perspective 17

The Power of a

Name “ Teh-reex-ie.Teh-rex-ie?

Teh-reex.�

My family members were looking at me quizzically for choosing to go by an American nickname instead of the name given to me in honor of my late grandmother. I balked and used my non-fluency in Farsi as an excuse to evade their questions, suddenly uncomfortable with the justification I had used for most of my life.

One of my earliest memories is looking up at my kindergarten teacher and my mother while they have a conversation over my head about an altercation that occurred earlier in the day: another student called across the playground, harassing me about my name, changing it into words associated with filth and idiocy. After some discussion with my teacher, my mother asked if I wanted to continue going by my given name or if I wanted to go by my English middle name, Patricia. Both adults encouraged me to chose the English name, perhaps thinking it would help me socialize more smoothly with the other children. Patricia was a mouthPerspective 18

by Pouran Mehraban

ful for a four year old and reminded me of a crotchety old lady so we went through several ways of shortening it, finally settling on Trisha.

As a half-Persian, half-white child growing up in the shockingly white Idahoan farmland, doing anything but assimilating to whiteness, the dominant culture in the area, spelled social doom. Assimilating meant making sure those around me felt comfortable and unchallenged within their homogeny, even if it meant distancing myself from half of my identity. I never used my first name, avoided talking to my Persian family, blushed whenever I had to mumble an explanation as to why the name I used didn't match the name on my state-issued ID, and even tried to tuck in my lips when smiling in order to make my smile more like the thinlipped smiles I was so accustomed to seeing.

Despite my efforts, my non-whiteness seemed to hover about me, eliciting semi-regular debate amongst my peers once they were old enough to articulate our differences.

Wasn't I white because I was half-

white? Wasn't I white because I had grown up in an exclusively white community? Wasn't I white because I only knew about white culture? Then the other side would chime in: my hair was too different, my nose too prominent, my skin not pink enough, and my last name had too many non-European syllables anyway. The debate as to whether or not I could ever fully fit in slogged through my childhood and into adolescence.

By puberty I knew I would never be fully accepted in white circles. My white family, though they did their best to love me, didn't know how to interact with my non-white identity, much less cultivate or guide me through it. It felt impossible to be loved fully when neither I nor those who claimed to love me knew exactly what I was. I was half-white and felt half-loved.

I made a break for it and moved to Los Angeles at sixteen. It felt like an entirely new world: people of color surrounded me, overhearing Farsi was common, and nobody looked at me twice for simply existing as a non-white person. Despite some

questions as to why I chose to go by Trisha instead of my first name, my new peers did something my peers in Idaho never had: they fully accepted me as part of their group—someone who was just another ethnically-mixed person in a city known for its diversity.

A short year later, I moved to Berkeley where my only relative was my mother's sister who had lovingly nicknamed me Trixie years earlier for my acrobatic antics. She thought Trixie was a cute name and I—since I had never felt particularly attached to the name we settled on in kindergarten — let her introduce me to a new area with a new name. It certainly suited me better than Trisha. The origins of Trixie came from a place of love and positivity but Trisha, a name that had been given to me to allow me to hide my non-whiteness, was still its origin.

Trisha had been a person defined by discomfort and insecurity, and while Trixie was better and certainly more

fun, she too still didn’t quite feel comfortable in her skin.

When I traveled to Iran for the first time at eighteen, my family members accommodated my foreign nickname as much as their accents would allow but, the more I learned about my late grandmother and the culture I had been separated from, the less I felt the desire to distance myself from them. Instead of only knowing the anti-Iranian sentiments that permeate the mainstream American narrative of Iran, I now knew it to be a place brimming with rich history and warm hospitality. It became a heritage I couldn't help but be proud of.

I didn't immediately ask people to start calling me Pouran, but after that first trip I slowly stopped asking people not to. Last summer, when a friend of mine introduced me to her family as Pouran, I decided to not say anything about a nickname.

After years of shame, hearing the name no longer reminded me of what

I wasn't—it reminded me of a culture and group of people I now felt connected to.

When I last visited my Persian family and nervously told them that some of my close friends had started referring to me by my first name, I was surprised by the quiet happiness that suddenly permeated the room. They put me at ease by launching into stories of my grandmother and expressed how happy they would be to use the name again. The warmth with which the news was received only strengthened my sense of belonging, something I had longed to feel as a child.

I don't expect the transition to Pouran to be perfectly smooth. One friend already asked if I'm choosing the name as a way to distance myself from my white family and hide the half-white part of my identity. But choosing Pouran isn't about hiding anything, it's about coming out of hiding and finally giving the Persian half of my identity the space it deserves.

Perspective 19

My Mother's Daughter

by ANAHITA GHAJARRAHIMI

My cultural identity as an Iranian-American woman hinges on my mother’s deep influence throughout my childhood.

One of my earliest memories was when I was probably no more than two years old, strapped into a car seat in the back of my mom’s red Toyota Corolla. She drove around the neighborhood, trying to get me to fall asleep for my daily nap. The cassette tape she chose was Cinderella by the Black Cats; the familiar chimes of the song’s beginning filled the car as she made circles around the block, sometimes glancing over her shoulder at me.

For as long as I can remember, I associated my Iranian heritage with my mother instead of my father, even though both parents were Iranian.

One of the most repeated rituals of my childhood included the simplicity of always being reminded to turn on Channel 8 on Sundays because the Iranian program Appadana would start at noon. My mom made it her duty to come to my elementary school year after year and give a presentation about Norooz, or Persian New Year, to my class.

Her argument was simple—if the Chinese moms got to give out food on Chinese New Year, why couldn’t she give a presentation with her haftseen and pass out chai ba ghand? I remember she encouraged me to wear lebas-mahali, or traditional folkloric clothing, to the presentation she made to my fourth grade class, just to show how special it was to be who I am.

My mom became a “stay-at-home” mom after my little sister was born when I was in first grade. Consequently, she became the person I Perspective 20

spent pretty much my whole day with outside of school. While we were together, she constantly spoke in Farsi with me, in comparison to my dad who speaks English at home, assumably because he immigrated much earlier than she did.

My mom even pushed a very disinterested eightyear-old me to go to Farsi lessons once a week, because she knew I would regret not going when I grew up. Once I became old enough, it would be my responsibility to remember my Farsi and keep my Iranian heritage alive; she wouldn’t be there to guide and remind me forever.

The biggest connection my mom had to my Iranian identity was, unsurprisingly, the food she cooked. The fact that she became a stay-athome mom in my elementary school years explained just how much Iranian food I consumed throughout my childhood. Her tahchin was obviously, to me, the best tahchin ever made; any tahchin I eat now will never taste the same. She cooked so much Iranian food that sometimes she forced herself to make pasta with meat sauce or breaded chicken to shake things up. Norooz was extra special because my mom treated it as the true Thanksgiving—cooking from the morning, marinating the fish for the sabzi-polo, putting out mast and kookoo sabzi and tadig effortlessly.

Until I was eight or nine, my mom would lie down in bed with me before I fell asleep and tell stories to me about her childhood growing up in Tehran, her little dachshund Kopol, and her years at university that coincided with and got interrupted by the 1979 revolution. Now, around ten years later, I would give anything to

hear these stories again. To remember how my mom’s dog loved raw shrimp, even though she wasn’t supposed to eat any; she got her name Kopol because of her chubby stomach. To relive how I imagined my mom’s big childhood house, which had a garden where she and her brother played soccer when they were little. To listen in awe and pride as she spoke about her passion for painting and the art classes she took when the universities were closed.

I lost my mother to cancer when I was sixteen years old, and as more time passes, I realize that the strongest connection I had to my Iranian heritage was through her. Trips to Iran are not the same without her alongside me complaining about the heat or raving about the fresh walnuts we were about to eat. Norooz, among all the other

holidays, feels so muted and unimportant without her here. I miss being able to see her feel proud of her perfectly cooked sabzi-polo mahi. Setting up the haft-seen without her feels wrong, incomplete.

Now, I find myself grasping at straws trying to connect myself to my heritage. Learning how to read and write in Farsi again, listening to Persian music, simply speaking to my dad and my fellow Iranians in Farsi makes me feel closer to her. Instead of relying on my mother to keep these parts of who I am alive, I have to do it myself, and I have learned to be okay with that. After her death, these two already interrelated parts of my life—my mother and my Iranian heritage— became one.

I can confidently say I am my Iranian mother’s Iranian daughter.

Perspective 21

HISTORY

CATCHING FIRE The Rise of Zoroastrianism

BY CHARLOTTE LAURENCE “East-wind when to Yazd, though wingest say thou to its sons from me . . . “ “Within the magian’s court they reverence my name, Because my breast is glowing with an undying flame.”

— Hafez

Transport yourself on Hafez’ East-wind to the desert city of Yazd, to the temple Yazd Atash Behram. Passing through an amber glass enclosure into the sanctum, you gaze upon the poet’s undying flame. To get this far, no other may penetrate than he who is born Zoroastrian, perhaps even distant progeny of the man who first—it is reputed—lit the flame that has illuminated its faithful continuously for over 1,500 years.

Zoroastrianism is one of the oldest monotheistic religions, founded in ancient Iran around 3,500 years ago by the Prophet Zoroaster (also Zarathustra). A priest, husband, and father to six, he was born into a Bronze Age culture that upheld polytheistic traditions.

Following a vision, he accepted only one God, and for a millennium, the religion he inspired prevailed as one of the world’s most powerful. Spanning almost 1,300 years, Zoroastrianism remained Persia’s official religion from 600 BCE to 650 CE.

Like the “undying flame,” the religion has endured to this day, albeit much diminished in the face of Islam. A 2006 New York Times article suggested that less than 190,000 adherents of Zoroastrianism existed worldwide at that time.1 Although small in number, they represent a diverse diaspora spreading across many parts of the world. The largest community is found in India, followed by concentrations in Central Iran (in Yazd alone perhaps 40,000), Southern Pakistan, and as far afield as the UK, Australia, Canada and the U.S.

Herodotus, Greek historian and contemporary of Socrates born in the Persian Empire of the 5th Century BCE, tells us that the Persian’s taught their sons three things: “to ride horseback, to use the bow, and to speak the truth.”2 It is the last of these commendations that speaks most ardently to the legacy of Zoroaster, and most especially under the auspices of the Achaemenid kings. Cyrus the Great, a scion of this royal line, died only 50 years before Herodotus’ birth and ruled in accordance with Zoroastrian beliefs. He adhered to the Zoroastrian law of Asha (righteousness and truth), and in consequence made no attempt to proscribe other religions. Famously, he permitted the Jews to return from exile in Babylon, and to rebuild their holy temple. This act of benevolence had unforeseen consequences: Zoroastrian philosophy profoundly influenced Judaism.

The religion and its core values survived massive destruc-

tion by Alexander of Macedonia. The seventeen surviving hymns called Gathas, credited to Zoroaster, promoted what Indo-Iranian linguist A.V. Williams Jackson calls a doctrinal triad, grounded in “good thoughts, good words, good deeds,”3 a manifesto that would not be out of place at a campus rally today. In the words of the prophet himself: “I practice good thoughts, good words, good deeds; I abjure all evil thoughts, evil words, evil deeds.”4 This gives insight into the doctrinal architecture of the religion: its duality and struggle between good and evil.

For Zoroaster, the eternal conflict evoked two primeval spirits. Ormazd Ahura Mazda (“Wise Lord”), the creator, gives Zoroastrianism its monotheistic character. Ormazd lived in Heaven, while his arch protagonist, Ahriman or Angra Mainyu (“Destructive Spirit”), the originator of death and all the world’s evil and devil-like tendencies, could be found in hell. Their incessant struggle pervaded the fabric of human life.

Every good deed of man edified the spirit of good, every bad one fortified the kingdom of evil. Moreover, the divinities were taking roll call. Good deeds guided the soul after death to empyrean light, or anaghra raocoa, while bad ones gave you a front-of-the-line pass to eternal perdition and darkness.

Zoroastrianism exhibited yet another duality: it was not just spiritual, but also intensely pragmatic. All that Ormazd created, it necessarily followed, deserved love and respect—especially the natural environment. Adherents cherished purity of the elements, of earth, fire and water—and traditionally decried pollution of rivers, land or air. They were “coincidental” environmentalists, long before it came a fashionable cause célèbre.

To achieve a balanced blueprint for civilized life, the more vocational virtues were complemented by ethical and moral virtues.

Themes like purity of body and soul, charity, benevolence, and famous generosity, which is of utmost importance for Indo-Iranian cultures to this very day. Of the more questionable virtues through today’s optics was incestuous marriage, even parents and children.

This was a common way of perpetuating the religious strength and unity of the community. Perhaps to assuage the awkward feeling this matrimony evoked, they drank. Heavily. Ancient Iranians were famous for the vice of intemperance, even in the face of the severe punishment that their religion—in theory—demanded.

Zoroastrianism, never an evangelical religion, is presently a small enclave in the shade of much larger religions. It is also quite possible that Zoroastrianism cast a long shadow over other religions. The Zoroastrian moral and ethical code profoundly influenced post-exilic Judaism which, as father of the other Abrahamic religions, influenced Christianity and Islam. In short, artifacts of Zoroastrianism continue to flourish across some of our most widespread religious and secular platforms.

1. Goodstein, Laurie. "Zoroastrians Keep the Faith, and Keep Dwidling." New York Times. N.p., 6 Sept. 2006. Web. 2. Curtis, John, Béatrice André-Salvini, and Nigel Tallis. Forgotten empire: the world of Ancient Persia. London: The British Museum Press, 2006. Print. 210. 3. A. V. Williams Jackson, International Journal of Ethics Vol. 7, No. 1 (Oct., 1896), pp. 62. 4. A. V. Williams Jackson, International Journal of Ethics Vol. 7, No. 1 (Oct., 1896), pp. 55.

Perspective 22

HISTORY

A WAR FAR FROM ITS END

by Vida Seyedkazemi

The Iran-Iraq War could not have happened at a more vulnerable time. After centuries of ruling, the imperial dynasties of Greater and modern Iran were overthrown and Iran was in a period of social, political, and economical instability as it transitioned into the Islamic Republic. The consequences of this war were tremendous, an estimated 750,000 deaths for Iran and 500,00 for Iraq.1 The war ended in 1988, but the implications of the war are still a significant part of Iran’s society today.

Strengthening of the Islamic Republic

Iran was ruled by monarchs from the establishment of the Achaemenid dynasty by Cyrus the Great in 550 BCE until the the end of the Pahlavi dynasty in 1979. The Islamic Revolution of 1979 brought upon a new system of governing; a theocracy was set in place with elected governmental bodies at the national, provincial, and local levels with Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini as the leader.

High generals and well-trained commanders of the Iranian army that remained in Iran were all overthrown after the revolution in fear of developments of coups against the new system of government.

With Iraq’s attack on Iran, Ayatollah Khomeini called for the use of 20 million men, many of them teenagers and children, to form an army. Men were drawn in to volunteer with the notion that they were fighting to emulate the concept of Shia heroism, with an emphasis on martyrdom. The war was even referred to as “The Sacred Defense” (defa’-e moqaddas). This form of religious virtue motivated the driving of Iraqis from Iran, solidifying the developing Shia mentalities and mindsets the country was incorporating into its political system.

With the overthrow of the Pahlavi dynasty, Iran lost many key supporters and allies, including the United States. The Iran-Iraq War was a consolidation of Iran’s isolation from western countries and its need to defend itself on its own. This mentality is still present today among officials affiliated with the political factions. While speaking at the Iranian Defense Ministry, President Hassan Rouhani stated, “if anyone decides to invade our country, we will firmly confront them as we did so during the eight-year Sacred Defense.”2 Additionally, the development of the Basij, a paramilitary volunteer militia that receives orders from the Iranian Revolutionary Guards, was established at the very beginning of the Iran-Iraq War and it still currently serves a fundamental role in Iran’s social, religious, and political atmosphere. In these ways, the Iran-Iraq War strengthened the spiritual ideologies of the Islamic Republic and the establishment of a theocratic government.

Remembering and Honoring the Martyrs

Driving through common streets in various cities among

Iran, one will immediately notice the presence of large murals that glorify and pay tribute to the soldiers who had died in the war. These originate from the time of the war, where every available space and surface was used to promote the war effort. Posters, mosaics, murals, postage stamps, and narratives were used in all public spaces to grab the attention of everyone in society, young, old, and illiterate, and were used to praise the martyrs and encourage everyone’s involvement in the war. Many of these sculptures and murals are still present in public spaces today, and a lot of them have shifted towards honoring the fallen and remembering their efforts and sacrifices. Streets where many of these men and boys had once lived have been named after them and plaques of their pictures and names are placed in their respective regional precincts. Through this, a sense of appreciation and honor for fallen victims of the Iran-Iraq War is still present in Iran’s society today.3 Health Concerns Today

Aside from the social ramifications that affect those involved with the war, the effects of the Iraqis’ poison toxins are still prevalent today in Iran. According to a declassified CIA report, Iran suffered more than 50,000 casualties from Iraq’s use of chemical weapons and toxic gases. A UN team identified mustard gas and tabun as two chemical poisons that were used on Iranians, in addition to tear gas, choking gas, arsenicals, and nitrogen mustard. Years after the war had ended, doctors began noticing respiratory problems with a combination of other symptoms (corneal disintegration, rotting teeth and dementia) related to mustard gas among civilians and veterans. The latency period for some of these chemicals can be up to 40 years, meaning the onset of symptoms for some individuals may have not even appeared yet. To date, there are about 70,000 people registered as result of low-dose exposure of these chemicals during the war.4 Many of these individuals face life-threatening respiratory and cardiovascular diseases and continue to die from longterm fatal illnesses. The effects of these chemical weapons used on Iranians has been so ever-lasting that the total casualty count of the war may not be known for years to come.

The Iran-Iraq War served as a salient factor in shaping Iran’s political and social spheres. It has helped shape the policies and the political rhetoric of the nation and it still continues to affect the way Iranian officials approach issues with foreign affairs, such as the nuclear program, relations with western countries, and neighboring problems in Syria and Iraq. Although the Iran-Iraq War ended over 25 years ago, its memories and impacts are still alive and will always be an intricate part of Iran’s history.

1. The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. "Death Tolls of the Iran-Iraq War – Charles Kurzman." Death Tolls of the Iran-Iraq War – Charles Kurzman. Accessed March 04, 2017. . 2.

Smith W. “Our Defense is a Holy Defense!” - The Iran-Iraq War and its Legacy in Contemporary Iranian Factional Politics, Journal of Georgetown University-Qatar Middle Eastern Studies Student Association 2015:3 3. Khakpour, Arta, Mohammad Mehdi Khorrami, and Shouleh Vatanabadi. Moments of silence: authenticity in the cultural expressions of the Iran-Iraq war, 1980-1988. New York: New York University Press, 2016. Wright, Robin. "Iran Still Haunted and Influenced By Chemical Weapons Attacks." Time. January 20, 2014. Accessed March 04, 2017.

Perspective 23

Arabophobia within Iranian Society Walking through Cairo’s Khan el Khalili souk surrounded by bright blue evil eyes, coined jewelry, and Islamic calligraphy gave me nostalgia for the Iranian bazaar I visited as a child. The sea of colorful headscarves complemented by azhan, the Islamic call to prayer, reminded me of my Muslim majority motherland.

Yet, as I grew up it was implanted in my head to differentiate my Iranian identity from surrounding nationalities: we came from a culture that preceded Islam and resisted through Arabization for a long time.

Nevertheless, the successful Islamization of Iran naturally resulted in aspects of Arabization that are still apparent in Iranian society and its diaspora due to their simultaneous merging in the the Iranian Plateau in the 7th century. This reminder of an intrusion on our rich heritage, which from the perspective of many Iranians, is the reason for a lasting resistance to Arab cultural diffusion and fabrication of a retrospective nationalism that insinuates xenophobic sentiments towards our neighbors. The Iranian divide with the Arab world has preserved Persian culture, while also contributing to a rift between the two identities.

Anti-Arab tendencies preceded the Muslim conquest of the Sassanid Empire as seen through Zoroastrian texts that proved Persians judged Arabs based on their diets in ancient times. The dualistic ideology of this endemically Persian religion served as the state religion of ancient

Perspective 24

Persian empires for almost a millennium and saw everything on Earth as good or bad. Effectively, certain Zoroastrian dietary laws compared the purity of their foods with the impurity of other ethnic groups, particularly the Arabs. This is why the famous pejorative epithets for Arabs, like soos-mar khor, malakh khor, and shir-e-shotor khor, all refer to Arab dietary habits of eating lizards, locusts, and drinking camel milk. These ancient Zoroastrian values laid the foundation for the way Persians view Arabs, evident almost a millennium later in Ferdowsi’s 11th century poetry, which heavily contributes to contemporary Iranian nationalism. These instances of pre-Islamic Arabophobia question the rationalization of Arab resentment on the basis that Islamization came from Arab invasion and occupation of the Iranian Plateau for a prolonged period.

The rationalization of Arab resentment was evident growing up in a Persian community. Fortunately, the Farsi school I attended throughout my childhood was non-religious in order to be inclusive of religious minorities like my Baha'i friends.

Aiming to deter from any Arabic influence in our language instruction, my teachers would replace Arabic loan words such as “salam,” which means peace in Arabic, with greetings like “dorood,” a traditional Farsi word. However, I later learned that my Farsi school never taught me the tashdid, a diacritic mark derived

by Saalar Aghili from Arabic for an enunciation of a letter within a word, hence my confusion when I laid my eyes on the small "w" shaped symbol hovering over a Farsi word for the first time.

I was confused as to why my Farsi school would have an intentional omission that impedes pronunciation of my mother tongue. Digging deeper to see how feasible it is to actually eradicate Arabic influence from Farsi, I found that beyond Farsi’s vocabulary that is derived from Arabic anywhere between 30-50%3 at a given period of history, there are phonological and grammatical elements on loan from Arabic as well. It seems like erasing these Semitic traces in an Indo-European language was impossible.

In modern times, movements to emphasize Greater Iran’s pre-Islamic glory have come in governmental and communal support.

With a turn to modernization in the 20th century, the newly established Pahlavi Dynasty aimed to prosper forward—ironically, by reflecting on the past. The government attempted to build societal morale and optimism by looking back to the glory of the Achaemenids and Sassanids before the coming of Islam.

The paramount moment of such retrospective nationalism came on the 2500th anniversary of the Persian monarchy, in which the Shah at the time, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, commemorated Cyrus the Great’s establishment of the Persian Empire in 550 BCE. Key political and royal

figures from around the world were invited to the ruins of Persepolis for a 3-day event that had an extravagant price tag of $100 million.4 One component of looking far back into the past is the hiatus of what came between then and now.

Post-Islamic and post-Arab influence brought upon a golden age in Greater Iran, giving way to scientists like polymath and writer Abu Ali Sina, mathematician and poet Omar Khayyam, and many others contributing to the contemporary arts and sciences of Iran. Distinguished Islamic architecture that led to the rise of domes and geometric diligence in Iran’s structural masterpieces seemed forgotten throughout the anniversary celebrations in Persepolis, the desert outskirts of modern Shiraz.

Within Iranian society, artistic expressions shed light on an-

ti-Arab remarks through forms of art like literature and music. The father of modern Persian short story telling, Sadegh Hedayat, upheld anti-Arab tendencies in his nationalistic writings of dirty and diseased Arabs, particularly in Seeking Absolution, which took place in Karbala, Iraq.5 Today, Behzad Pax’s Iranian rap produces songs like Arab Kosh, or Arab Killer, that are found on popular streaming websites for Iranians like RadioJavan.6 Such aggressive behavior stems from a long established attitude of Arabs that has been present in Iranian society for millennia.

It is this attitude shown through ancient texts, nationalistic approaches, music, and much more that lets the physical divide placed by the Zagros Mountains in Western Iran to go beyond just geography and deep into Iranian-Arab

1. "Encyclopædia Iranica." RSS. Accessed March 07, 2017. 2. "BBC - Religions - Zoroastrian: Under Persian rule." BBC News. Accessed March 07, 2017.

3. "Encyclopædia Iranica." RSS. Accessed March 07, 2017. 4. Adler, Nina. "Iran 1971: Als der Schah zur größten Party auf Erden lud - SPIEGEL ONLINE - einestages." SPIEGEL ONLINE. February 14, 2017. Accessed March 07, 2017. 5. Electricpulp. com. "Encyclopædia Iranica." RSS. Accessed March 07, 2017. 6. "Behzad Pax - Arab Kosh." Radio Javan.

Accessed March 07, 2017. 7. Nehme, Dahlia. "Top Saudi cleric says Iran leaders not Muslims as haj row mounts." Reuters. September 07, 2016. Accessed March 07, 2017. 8. Budick, Ariella. "When prayer hall meets disco ball." April 10, 2015. Accessed March 07, 2017. 9. Fathi, Golnaz. 2013. Accessed March 07, 2017.

relations. Dangerous tension comes from the Arab side as well, where Iranians are sometimes referred to as majus, or fire worshipers in connection to their Zoroastrian past.7 Living a past identity often leads to disregard for what is happening in the present. From the modern geometric constructions of Monir Farmanfarmaian, influenced

by Shah Cheragh Mosque,8 to the abstract take on traditional calligraphy based on Arabic script by Golnaz Fathi,9 aspects of Arab influence are subconsciously cherished and embraced by Iranians today. These hints of influence actually reaffirm the perseverance of Persian culture to withstand the influx of strong Arab culture. Our differences with the Arab world are what define us as Persian, but our many similarities are what should bring us together.

Mohammad Reza Pahlavi’s parade at Persepolis for the 2500th anniversary of monarchy in Iran

Perspective 25

Iranian Recipes for the Busy College Student

BY ARIANA VARGAS

One day during my first semester after transferring to UC Berkeley, I cooked some kabob koobideh for lunch.

The entire process took around two hours. This didn’t even count the grocery trip, and after posting a picture of my delicious meal all over social media, I felt revitalized as I chowed down on such familiar tastes in such a strange new environment. Despite the cathartic experience and well

deserved social media feedback, that was my first and last home-cooked Iranian meal in Berkeley. The pace of life at Berkeley led me to trade my zereshk polo for a quick sandwich or stir fry. That being said, Iranian food is fantastic and a great reward for a long day! Below, I’ve adapted some favorite Iranian recipes to fit the typical college budget and lifestyle.

Maast-o-Khiar This recipe is easy without modifications!

1 container plain yogurt 2 English cucumbers, peeled and cubed Salt Pepper 2 tbsp dried dill You can use mint as a substitute for dill but if you buy dried dill it tastes about the same and lasts a long time! When you substitute the dried dill you should use around 1 tablesoon of dried dill to every 3 tablespoons of fresh dill.

Salad Shirazi adapted from Persian Mama This one is classic, simple, and refreshing!

1 English cucumber, unpeeled (or Persian if possible) 2 ripe, firm Roma tomatoes ½ medium red onion 3 tbsp fresh cilantro, mint, or dill Optional: ½ green pepper (no seeds) DRESSING: ½ tsp salt ¼ tsp black pepper Lime Juice (about 1 lime) 2 tbsp olive oil Chop the cucumber, tomatoes, onion, and cilantro and mix. Season with salt and pepper, lime, and olive oil.

Refrigerate for around 30 minutes.

Perspective 26

FOOD Lubia Polo adapted from my Persian Kitchen ½ lb meat ½ onion 2 garlic cloves ½ tsp turmeric ¼ tsp cinnamon 1 lb green beans ½ can diced tomatoes 1 tbsp tomato paste 1 tbsp advieh 1½ tbsp brewed saffron 1½ cups rice oil salt & pepper When you shop for meat, you can usually find discounted meats, and aged meats can actually taste better so don’t be afraid to take a chance! The advieh is a blend of spices including around 1 tablespoon each of cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom, and a ½ tablespoon of cumin. You can buy it or make it if you have the spices available. Saffron is expensive, so to make it last longer an easy trick is to put some dried saffron in a mug, add water, and microwave it until the water level rises. This will infuse the saffron into the water, allowing the saffron flavor to have a farther “reach.”

Start by sauteeing the diced onion and garlic. Add the turmeric and cinnamon. Next, add the meat and remaining seasonings. After the meat is cooked, add water and tomato juice and cover on low for about 45 minutes.

Meanwhile, saute the green beans and cook the rice. Mix the two together and add the advieh, mixing everything together.

This recipe will take around 1 hour since the meat is slow to cook. You can expedite this by using leftover rice and cooking the meat the night before.

Middle-Eastern Restaurants & Flavors of Berkeley Dining halls: Usually not many options but some- Middle Eastern Market: It’s quite a ways down times they offer pistachio ice cream.

San Pablo, but the market serves a variety of Persian dishes including classic kabob koobideh and Alborz: Iranian restaurant in Berkeley which of- koobideh soltani. fers most classic Iranian dishes. Pricey — and closing soon!

D’Yar: The dishes are Mediterranean, but they have beef kabob plate and locations close to camBongo Burger: The restaurant offers a “Persian pus.

Plate” which has distinct Iranian seasonings.

Perspective 27

PERSPECTIVE

Perspective 28