The women of Iran

Years of oppression by the Islamic Religious Police has not quelled the expressive nature of the women of Iran. Journalist and photographer Steven Knipp recalls a recent visit to this ancient nation and his encounters with its strong-willed, dark-robed female citizens — captured here in words and imagery.

As a reporter who has travelled widely in the Middle East and Central Asia — from Israel on the shores of the Mediterranean, to Uzbekistan on the Afghan border — the one nation that most surprised me has been Iran.

And what astonished me most about this star-crossed country was its women. Everywhere I went — from the teeming, traffic-choked streets of Tehran, to the dusty desert town of Yazd, to the dazzling city of Isfahan — they were wonderful: vividly upbeat, bold and bright. Politically astute, they were audaciously outspoken, often in several languages. While many men demurred, the women I met were never afraid to voice strong opinions about anything under the sun.

Unlike other Islamic nations, such as Saudi Arabia or Iraq, Iranian women can work, drive and vote, own property, or businesses, and run for political office. Divorce is allowed and not uncommon.

During my Persian travels, I got the distinct impression that all Iranians admire Islam's sense of discipline and are grateful for the art and architecture that were its gifts. But it seems that many younger Iranians, especially the women, have little interest in its rigid dogmas and social intolerance.

Over decades of repression, many Iranian women have developed a stubborn, rebellious streak aimed at the florid-faced finger-pointing mullahs who rule their homeland with an iron fist. One restriction that some Iranian women disdain is the Islamic edict forbidding mixed-sex socialising. Adult females cannot associate with any male who is not their husband, father, brother or son.

Many young single women especially feel this decree to be ironic and ignore it whenever they feel safe enough to do so. After all, it was the beloved Persian poet Omar Khayyam who wrote the famous line celebrating life's earthy essentials: "A loaf of bread... a flask of wine, a book of verse — and thou."

Another ruling that some Iranian women loathe — because it affects their daily lives from the instant they step outside their homes — is the implicit requirement that all females over the age of 12 wear the chador, an all-concealing black robe. This became mandatory after the 1979 Islamic revolution; and many Iranian women have been resisting it ever since. Prior to the revolution, black chadors were only seen at funerals.

Despite this draconian fashion restriction — and the additional judgement that females must always keep their hair hidden — many of the women of Iran have managed magnificently to remain utterly feminine. Some are keen on bright lipsticks, nail polish and eye shadow. And have a passion for stylish handbags and shoes.

Iran’s spiritual police (a religious enforcement squad, introduced in 2005 as part of Iran’s law enforcement system) defend the chador, claiming it is in the Koran. But, in fact, Islam’s holy book has no mention of the shroud-like garment; it merely suggests that women ‘dress modestly’. Many men, and some older women, insisted to me that even if chador-wearing wasn’t required by law, most women would still prefer to wear it.

I found this view difficult to believe. And I think I found my proof. On my final day in Iran, I boarded a midnight flight from Tehran to Paris, keen to sleep. But as I settled into my seat exhausted from a fortnight of constant travel, I found myself encircled by a gaggle of giggling black-robed perfumed women. As my plane lifted off, I drifted off.

Five hours later, though, as the Airbus descended into Charles de Gaulle Airport, I awoke, astonished to find that the black robes had vanished. In their place: a cheery bevy of beaming young ladies in their 20s, dressed in stylishly embroidered blue jeans and immaculate white T-shirts. And everywhere there was hair, gloriously gleaming hair — in neat bangs or prim braids, in cute ponytails, or luxuriously long locks.

One young lady, seeing my bewilderment, said": “We are not in Iran now — so we can do what we want, say what we want. And yes, dress as we want!"

ABOUT STEVEN KNIPP

A seasoned storyteller based currently in Hong Kong, Steven Knipp is also an American journalist with 20 years’ experience — as a reporter, writer, foreign correspondent and magazine editor. Steven’s byline has appeared in such publications as the Washington Post, New York Times, Wall Street Journal, National Geographic, Time.com, Newsweek, Vogue China and the San Francisco Chronicle.