The young woman in a green shirt and loose hair, without a trace of a scarf, leans against one of the entrances to the Valiasr metro station. It is six in the afternoon, the time when this part of the center of Tehran is abuzz with people and cars while she, as if thinking about a lost love, looks into the distance without caring that a few meters away there are several groups of police officers, They are dressed in olive green and they are in black chadors, they are attentive to abort any protest. Or that women, like her, do not break the rules of Islamic dress.
But it doesn't matter. Many other women, perhaps less thoughtful, but without veils, also walk through these central streets – many accompanied by their partners, children or parents – making their way among dozens of street vendors for whom women with open hair is no longer new. air.
This roundabout is one of the areas where a year ago the Iranian security forces, including their paramilitaries, repressed thousands of people, especially young women who began protesting upon learning of the death of Mahsa Amini, 22 years old. Many burned the veil in public. About 500 Iranians died in the protests, according to human rights organizations (the regime only recognizes 300).
Amini died on September 16 last year at the hands of the morality police, who arrested her for wearing her hijab incorrectly.
“The first thought that came to my mind was that Mahsa could have been me. From that moment I told myself that I also had the courage and I took off my veil.” It is the testimony of Asfar, 23 years old. She has arrived alone to one of the many cafes in the center of Tehran where many of the young women are not covered. Not only is she bareheaded, but she covers herself with a flannel shirt that reaches mid-hip and leaves a large part of her arms exposed.
This clothing, previously quite unusual – not to say exceptional – is increasingly common among younger women, who are not afraid to walk in this way through the streets of the center or south of the city, known for being traditional and religious. “At first, people, especially men, looked terrified. As the months have passed, they have gotten used to it, and I can say that I am not afraid,” says Asfar, who works at a design firm.
He mischievously says that many men like to see how women look prettier now that they can groom themselves better. “Many men have smiled kindly at me when they see me walking down the street,” she concludes.
Many young women of their generation have gone a step further and dye their hair colorful.
Since the first day of the protests, women, especially the youngest ones, have been accompanied by boys of their generation, and older. Many died, were injured or ended up in prison. Many have even dared to break the dress code, which also applies to them (although without the punishments, police persecution and humiliation to which women have been subjected). Taking advantage of the summer, a large number have dared to go out wearing Bermuda shorts, a garment that until now was taboo. “Now I understand what women feel when they have to endure the questioning looks of some people,” says Armin, 32. This young computer scientist says that he has come to feel afraid. “I like it because I understand better what my mother or my girlfriend, who don't wear a veil, have experienced,” he explains.
“This is the time in our lives to be brave. We have to honor the memory of those who have been murdered,” explains Nina, a 36-year-old shopkeeper, denouncing that in recent months the authorities have once again reinforced their campaign to reimpose the use of the veil.
Nina does not deny that she sometimes feels afraid. On more than one occasion a man, whom she identifies as a paramilitary, got out of a car and shouted “whore” at her. She, in a panic, continued walking. A veiled woman who was near her began yelling at the man to get away from her. Other men then joined in and yelled at the man to leave. Similar scenes have been repeated, as shown in the videos circulating on the networks.
Rita, a 52-year-old artist, says that a few days ago one of her friends' motorcycle was confiscated by the police as punishment for wearing it without a veil. “I felt very bad, I told him that I would never again go with a man on his motorcycle or car without a veil. And he told me that if I put on the veil, he would never take me away again.” Men, says Rita, have been great companions in this act of “disobedience.”
At the exit of Tehran's Grand Bazaar, dozens of men try to collect passengers for their taxis. Among them Hussein, 57 years old. He says that many times the police write down the license plates of those who accept unveiled women. But few taxis allow themselves to be intimidated. “I would never dare refuse to take a woman because she is not covered.”
