When I was a child, I loved flipping through the jagged pages of my dad’s photo albums, bringing to life the Iran of his youth before he fled because of the oppressive theocratic government that was installed in the wake of the 1979 Iranian Revolution. Imperfect though the monarchy before 1979 was, life was rich and full of global cultures, and women were free and educated. In one image, my dad is lounging by the pool at his childhood house, his sister tanning freely in a swimsuit by his side. When I looked at these snapshots, I would ask my dad when we could go to Iran as a family. He would reply, “Now’s not a good time.”
I later learned why. In the 47 years since he left, the Islamic Republic has used violence to maintain power. The many waves of protests in recent decades have been crushed with increasing brutality. During the latest and largest, in January, the government killed upwards of 30,000 civilians.
Then, at the end of February, came a dramatic new chapter in Iran’s history and the experience of its people, when the U.S. and Israel started a war against the country that has now stretched into its fourth week. Trump, who is now sending mixed messages about whether the offensive may be winding down, said he launched it because Iran posed an “imminent nuclear threat”; though early on, he also said he hoped Iranian citizens would seize the opportunity created by the killing of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei to rise up and seek regime change. Khamenei’s death did initially crack open the heavily locked door of regime change in many Iranians minds. But now, after the installation of his son Mojtaba Khamenei and the apparent resilience of the regime, experts have said it’s looking unlikely in the immediate future.
Nevertheless, regime change is what I think Iran needs. After watching the freedoms my dad experienced as a kid disappear, watching blackouts disconnect and silence citizens, including family of mine, and watching in horror as the oppressive regime has killed its own citizens for speaking up, it’s clear Iran needs systemic change from the bottom-up. Ultimately, exactly what leadership comes next should be up to the people living there. I hold out hope for their self-determination, since I know that in the same way the Revolution occurred rapidly in 1979, change could find a way to manifest again.
The Islamic Revolution that led my dad and eventually his parents to flee was an uprising of civilians against the Shah, Mohammed Reza Pahlavi. Many people disapproved of Pahlavi because of his autocratic ways and priority of Westernization for Iran. But the goals of the revolution — equality, economic prosperity, and political independence — didn’t quite pan out. Pahlavi was overthrown by an exiled religious figure, Ruhollah Khomeini, who became the Supreme Leader of the renamed Islamic Republic of Iran.
My dad has been waiting for regime change since the day Khomeini took office in 1979, because he’s seen the Islamic Republic’s brutality and oppression. One of the reasons I support regime change is that I’ve watched my dad exercise the strength to figure out how religion figures into his life, and my conviction that we all ought to be able to decide our values for ourselves.
Although raised Muslim, religion never dictated my dad’s life — he was a professional karate player, a veteran, and loved to ride his motorcycle as a young adult in Tehran — and eventually chose to leave Islam for personal reasons in the U.S. To me, there is no right or wrong religion, so one ought not be forced upon a population. More so, a regime that claims to be religious while killing civilians for speaking up has no truth to it.
Being Iranian is by far the largest part of my identity, and I have longed to go since I was a kid, as I know my dad has longed to be able to return.
Growing up, almost every week my family would dress up and go to our “cousins” house for a formal dinner, since in our culture, the slightest reason was enough to host a party, complete with two kisses, or boos-ha, on each cheek at the door in greeting, and appetizers like kashk bademjaan, kookoo sabzi, or a beautiful array of nuts and fresh fruit.
At college, I gained an even deeper pride for my heritage and discovered a community of Middle Eastern students my age that I’d lacked before. My dad hadn’t taught my siblings and I proficient Farsi growing up since we’re only half, so I took classes. Today, my family watches cheesy Persian shows on the weekend to wind down and laugh about our shared, often ridiculous, Persian norms.
It pains me that the homeland that gave me my father and shaped much of my life has always been out of reach. I’ve always wanted Iran to be open and welcoming so that I could experience it for myself, but even more so that my dad and family can have peace of mind that the country that raised them is free and back in alignment with the values they once believed it represented.
When the U.S. and Israel first launched the war against Iran, while my first thought was the tragedy of the lives ended and displaced, I also felt hope for the chance of long-term change. My dad felt it, too. He’s older now, and couldn’t return to Iran even if he wanted to because of his health. But he’s been watching Iranian news non-stop to see if the day has finally come where there’s freedom in his home country. He said to me toward the beginning of the conflict with a look of optimism I haven’t seen before, “God, I can’t wait to see the day where the women throw their chador in the air.”
I’m afraid for my friends in Iran who I haven’t been able to contact, and for my friends here whose parents are trapped in the country. At this point, the only thing worse than the horrific casualties would be if all of the violence has been for nothing.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s that the Iranian people are steadfast in using their voices for what they need and deserve no matter how dangerous it is. Polling as recent as January shows that the majority of them want regime change. At this point, it’s clear that would require further weakening of the government than has happened so far. But my dad and I are still optimistic that freedom and democracy can come to Iran — whether that’s now, or perhaps sometime in the wake of this war.
One day, I’d love to have felt for the last time the sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing that I’d be told ‘no’ when asking to travel to Iran. Although my dad will likely never go back, I am hopeful my siblings and I eventually will go for him, returning to a freer country. I’ll always be a supporter of whatever Iranian citizens truly want, and I await the day I can see my roots for myself — the day I ask my dad if I can go, and hear him say ‘yes.’
