For 36 years under Iran’s repressive regime, I lived a life that wasn’t mine

This first-person article is the experience of Montreal chef and activist Atena Barforoushi. For more information on CBC’s first-person story, see: Frequently Asked Questions.

There was no need to cover hair and body in Iran. From childhood until she left the country at the age of 36, she had to hide her voice, dreams and femininity.

Born in 1978, I am the eldest of three siblings. She was just a year before the Islamic Revolution.

I can remember those early moments. When I was 4 years old, her mother took me to a small park in front of her house on a quiet street in the city of Babol. My mother wasn’t wearing a hijab yet, but she remembers her mother hugging me and running to our house when she heard someone passing by.

Years later, I was with her when she was stopped by the moral police for wearing nylons and for wearing a headscarf that was too thin. Once, she was forced to buy her thick socks before the police let her go.

I felt my heart break Thousands of political prisoners executed in 1988I heard parents worrying about missing friends and colleagues — some of them executed. It was a trauma I didn’t understand until last spring, when a key figure in the execution was convicted in Sweden.

Years later, I was still crying and crying.

The trauma of growing up under this regime can manifest anywhere. When I took a bike tour around the island of Montreal last summer, I told a friend that at home he hadn’t been allowed to ride a bike since he was 9 years old. As a teenager, I thought about being caught by the police while riding on my cousin’s borrowed bike. Not only was I punished by the moral police, but I was also punished by my family.

A woman’s body should be covered. Inspire men! That was the reason it was always given.

They could hang out with friends, have girlfriends, leave home, sleepover, and travel. There were so many activities that I couldn’t participate. unacceptable as a girl.

My brothers said they wanted what was best for me as they tried to control what I wore, who I met and where I went. However, I was subjected to religious and discriminatory brainwashing from schools, the media, and society at large. Reciting prayers and reading religious texts was mandatory. Every day we had to chant “Death to America, Israel and Europe.” This regime has created imaginary enemies to keep us separate from the world.

Homebound True Self

As a teenage girl, my life in Iran was dark. Our clothes also had to be dark. At school, they checked the color of our shoes and socks. We were not allowed to listen to music, dance or sing. As we passed by, the men freely teased us.

And the moral police were everywhere – harassing us over hijabs, talking and laughing with friends on the way home from school.

Like many others, I was forced to live a double life. My love of music, fashion and color was confined to my home. In public, I had to pretend I was someone else.

I was 14 years old when I was first imprisoned. We were at his friend’s party when the police broke in, beat us and detained us for three nights. I was punished for 75 lashes, five for me and the rest paid by my parents as fines.

After that, Babol’s life got even darker. Everywhere she felt like she was under a magnifying glass. She was not allowed to go anywhere by herself.

A year later, I was arrested again for skipping class to see an art exhibition. I had to sign papers saying I was going to get married to be released.

I felt that I needed to study in another city to live freely. At first, I was excited to live and study alone in Mashhad, far from Babol. However, both the city and the university were very religious, and I soon felt suffocated and terrified.

Girls had to sit behind the men, which was both humiliating and difficult to see. And I was arrested again just because a classmate put me and three other students in the car. I spent many days in my room. I sold the gold necklace I was wearing as payment for my release.

I graduated and got another job but was fired several times for not following their Islamic law. I saw them focus on how to get around all the restrictions imposed on them as much as I did. I have seen them get into drugs and toxic relationships from time to time. Many had little hope for their future.

After teaching for four years, I was fired for not wearing the proper hijab.

For decades I lived in a country riddled with distrust, separation, questionable murders and executions. A country that tried to kill people’s hopes and happiness, its future is getting darker and darker. Anyone who protested or criticized the authorities was considered anti-religious, anti-establishment, and counter-revolutionary, and the punishment was execution, imprisonment, and torture.

I was one of the protesters in 2009 we filled the streets Opposing the election results we knew had to be rigged. A woman next to me was beaten, so I ran away. It was one of the scariest things I could see. Fire trucks then washed the blood off the streets. It made me sick and depressed — and I opened immigration files to move to Canada that same year.

When I came to Canada in 2014 and felt the wind blowing my hair outside, I was afraid I had forgotten my headscarf at home. But then she remembered where she had been and that feeling really made me feel the freedom of being here.

At the fun summer festival, I was able to dance, dress up, and be myself. And I saw humanity, kindness and love in the smiles of the people around me. I never felt like a stranger among them. I met some good friends who invited me to their home to experience Iranian food and culture.

Cooking Iranian food was like therapy for me. While connecting with people in my new home, I kept in touch with my roots and memories of my old life. At a table filled with Iranian food, I learned that no country, religion, culture, or skin color should separate one person from another. We all share the same love language.

During the pandemic, I learned more about the plight of people around the world — Canada’s treatment of Indigenous peoples, Afghan girls’ struggles, the war in Ukraine — and we are all one humanitarian. I know I am in a struggle.

There are still girls and families at home who live in black and white. Those who survived the bloody days of November 2019, the downing of Flight 752 and the oppression that protesters face today. We need more compassion in this world for people in Iran and elsewhere. I am working now to help build those connections.

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