Women as symbols in Iranian protests

Sahar

I’ve been carefully watching the events unfolding in Iran in the aftermath of the elections in which Mahmoud Ahmedinejad was declared President of Iran.  Of course the debate on whether the elections were rigged or not has dominated the narrative but what’s been interesting is Western mainstream media have taken a special interest in covering this election but with a clear bias.  Western media have categorically taken the side of defeated candidate Mir Hussein Mousavi. We have been exposed to dramatic coverage of chaos in Iranian streets and many have gone as far to say that we’re witnessing another 1979 revolution style uprising. Of course anyone who is familiar with Iran and is history would realize the protests we’re witnessing today are miniscule to that of the protests of the late 1970s which led to a democratic theocracy led by Ayatollah Khomeini.  I have my doubts about the supposed rigging of the elections and the unpopularity of Ahmedinejad but it’s been fascinating to watch how the story is being told to the world through the lens of new media like Twitter, You Tube and Facebook.

The most dominant images flooding out of Iran have been of young Iranian women.  They seem to be at the forefront of the resistance. Many of these women are in fashionable attire wearing the most high fashion labels, beautiful and wearing loose hijab. This latter point may sound minor but in a country like Iran, the politics of the hijab has had powerful consequences.  Covering and uncovering has been infused with political messages since the Pahlavi period—revolving around binary constructions of ‘modernity’ and ‘tradition’. In his effort to ‘modernise’ Iran through European eyes, the Reza Shah banned the hijab in 1936; although the ban was uplifted, the hijab was perceived by the state and higher classes as a symbol of Iran’s backwardness, a hindrance for women’s rights and progress.

Almost hijabless yet oh so chic Mousavi supporter

Infusing the hijab with such political meaning has meant the very act of covering and uncovering is a political act. So it is not a surprise then that during the revolutionary period in which masses of Iranians protested against the Shah’s despotism, women of all classes donned the hijab (its black chador form) as an act of defiance against the monarchy and also in class solidarity. The visibility of the hijab has meant that both ‘modernisers’ and ‘religious orthodoxy’ have used it to validate their ideology. The current state’s endorsement of the black chador wearing women is considered by the current regime as the ‘ideal’ woman of the nation. Shahla Sherkat calls it the ‘official uniform’. According to Nima Naghibi resistance against the regime has continues through dress—whether it’s a different coloured hijab or revealing a fringe—the bad hijabi phenomenon.

The black chador wearing female supporter of Ahmedinejad.

The hijab’s history is coming to the fore as we witness the political consequences of women’s image. It is through women’s body where the politics of validation is played out.  Although it hasn’t been shown much in the media, there are young women on both sides of the political spectrum which interestingly show the ‘modern’ and ‘tradition’ dichotomy that’s always been a cause of contention in Iran– the chador-wearing Ahmedinejad supporter versus the Gucci wearing-dyed fringe-loose hijab wearing Mousavi supporter. Or so it seems.

The presence of Zahrad Rahvanard alongside her husband has greatly legitimized Mousavi’s position. She too is shown in a great deal in these images with her floral hijab, over a black layer—either a symbol of her compromising position or to show a sign of brightness –hope– underneath the blackness of the regime.

Coupled with such imagery, the video of Nega-Agha Soltan, a 26 year old Iranian woman who was killed in a street protest has become the symbol of Iranian women’s efforts to fight Islamic fundamentalism. Like the hijab, her death– captured in her bloody face that’s been disseminated around the world –has become the symbol of the regime’s misogyny and a justification for political dissent.

Mimi from Threadbared has written a brilliant analysis of the hijab in media coverage of the protests. She writes “the image of the Iranian woman in her loose headscarf is not a straightforward arrow from Islamic backwardness to liberal progress, but a nuanced and multi-dimensional map of political discourse and struggle”. Indeed, on the one hand it certainly will be interpreted as a yearning for liberal democracy by Westerners but as I argued in my thesis, the hijab’s meaning and power has been contingent upon political events in Iran and consequently has multiple dimensions and points of debate.

I also can’t help think that the overwhelming images of women in fashion attire, makeup and loose hijab has another dangerous implication: the wonderful potentials of opening Iran up further to consumer capitalist markets. The hijab, specifically the chador, is a hindrance to the exploitation of women’s bodies. Whereas, a loosening of the regime could mean unveiling the Iranian woman (and thus Iran) in which she becomes a more participatory member of global consumer culture.  Her body will become more accessible and susceptible to consumer trends—a return to the Shah’s Falangi dolls. Of course this process is guised under the rubric of emancipation.

Whatever the results of these protests, it is becoming abundantly clear that the strong presence of women on both sides alongside men on the streets and other political campaigning is indicative of the historical mobilisation of women (during the revolution and the Iran-Iraq war 1980-88)) and the significance of the ‘woman question’ is one that cannot be ignored.  Women’s active political participation is fiercely undermining the reductive perceptions many have of Iranian women who are often depicted as victims of Islamic theocracy and silenced by their hijab.  They are therefore complicating the Iranian woman and showing that her position is constantly shifting and being contested.