Iran is not a bad word

Let's flip the script

Photo by Mahdiar Mahmoodi on Unsplash

Your account has been flagged

Inside the email are three questions and the statement: “Please answer the following questions. The more details you can provide, the better.”

My first reaction is to reply with the middle finger emoji, but I think that might put me on their bad side. So I answer the 3 questions instead- even if I think they’re ridiculous. I know it’s not personal. It’s the system flagging me. Some of my posts contain words that are “on the list.” 

When I tell my dad about the flagging incident, he chuckles. “Ajab giri oftâdi!” (The verb gir oftâdan means “to get stuck.” This phrase is saying something like “What a mess!/You’re stuck in the middle./You can’t catch a break.”)

But about a week or so later comes a follow-up email asking for more proof of my identity, namely my nationality. Proof of my nationality? Oooh, I get it. This is because I’m from Alabama, isn’t it? I indulge in a little sulk fest before I take to writing as my catharsis. 

A taboo word 

The word in question, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, is “Iran.” A particularly loaded word. I think that’s why a lot of Iranians (myself included) are guilty of having used the more neutral “Persia” at some point. It’s why over the past couple of years when I travel, I’ve noticed myself telling the immigration officer that I’m coming from Tehran, not Iran. I mean, if anything, I’m giving a more specific answer. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say that part of the reason is that I’m hoping it’ll throw them off. (Of course I know it won’t, but you get my point.) 

It’s always been a habit of mine to simply check for Iran on sites that ask you to select your country from a drop-down menu. A lot of times, it’s not even an option. It’s as if to say, “We’re sorry, but the country that you are looking for doesn’t exist.” Basically, if this were a Harry Potter novel, Iran would be “he who must not be named.” 

All this thanks to politics. There are few things in this world that I dislike as much as politics. Maybe cockroaches, but even those you can smash. I see politics as achieving nothing more than creating rifts that become too complex to mend. In Persian, we say siyâsat pedar o mâdar nadâre (Politics doesn’t have parents.) 

But if I thought of Iran and the US as my parents, it would go like this: I love them both with all of my heart. They have raised me and made me who I am. But they’ve gotten a nasty divorce, and now I’m stuck in the middle. Stuck between two people I love dearly. They’re both entirely too stubborn to see that they have a lot more in common than they are willing to admit it. It breaks my heart when one bad-mouths the other. Don’t make me choose. I don’t want to take sides. Each time, I have to come to the other’s defense. But as a product of both, I reserve the right to talk trash about either whenever I please. Yes, I’m allowed this double standard.

On the hyphen

All my life, I’ve considered myself Iranian-American. (Until someone referred to me as American-Iranian which raised a whole new set of questions for me. But before I digress…) Both Iranian and American. There is no doubt about that. The question has only ever been about the degree to which I relate to one or the other. When I get too close to one side, I realize it’s not where I belong. The people from that side welcome me, but there are subtleties that remind me that I am “other.” So I turn around and walk towards the other side, and the same thing happens. And back and forth we go. Too Iranian in the US; too American in Iran. 

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve quoted these lines from Marjan Kamali’s debut novel, Together Tea. It was the first time someone had articulated so perfectly the way I had felt all my life. 

“Iranian-American. Neither the first word nor the second really belonged to her. Her place was on the hyphen, and on the hyphen she would stay…”

For a while, I embraced the hyphen as my personal vantage point. It gave me a unique perspective on things. I could see the US from the Iranian side and Iran from the American side. So I started writing in an effort to dig a little deeper into my own two worlds. In this process, I hoped that I’d be able to provide some insight and perspective- one that focused on the people, culture, and language as seen through the eyes of someone who grew up immersed in Iranian culture smack in the Heart of Dixie. On the flip side, as an ESL instructor, I’m explaining the intricacies of the English language and American culture on a daily basis. 

I have to admit, though, that during all my wandering on the hyphen, I still craved a sense of belonging and hoped that I’d eventually find it. So you can imagine my disappointment this week that while approaching my American side, I was actually stopped, seemingly unwelcome unless I could provide documentation. This was certainly the newest and most aggressive reminder that I am, in fact, other. 

Instead of sulking any longer,  I decided to flip the script. And that starts by destigmatizing the word Iran.

Iran is not a bad word

Say it with me. Iran. Not Persia. Iran. Eee-rahn. Not “eye ran.” Loud and proud. Just like we chant at sports competitions. ([horn] Do-do-do-do-do-do! [crowd] IRAN!) If it makes the word less scary, my mom’s name was Iran. See? Just a person’s name. (And no words could ever describe what an extraordinary person my mom was!) She used to explain to Americans that it may seem unusual, but Iran is also a woman’s name in Iran. I remember how excited she was when the series Ugly Betty aired. “Oh! Her name is America! So that IS a name! Then why are people so surprised by my name?” 

When it comes to identity, I accept that I may not ever feel 100% Iranian or 100% American. In fact, the degrees to which I identify with one or the other may constantly shift. And that’s ok. Who ever said that I had to claim only one or that feeling like I didn’t entirely belong to one had to be a bad thing? Perhaps I was meant to stay on the hyphen. But since the hyphen seems to imply a divide when all I’ve ever wanted to do was connect, I’m changing it to a bridge. And this is where I’ll be. Continuing to build my Iranian-American bridge, hoping that it also helps the people from my two worlds understand each other a little easier.

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