Iran’s imposition of mandatory hijab, or Islamic veiling, on its female population started in 1979 and has long been an extremist oddity. No other Muslim nation currently imposes such a rule, except the Taliban in Afghanistan. Iranian women resisted the rule right from the beginning, as seen in the massive, female-led demonstrations of March 1979. But it took another few decades for the issue to become central to a mass uprising.
On September 16, 2022, the death in custody of Mahsa Amini, a young Kurdish woman who had been arrested due to her allegedly “improper hijab”, sparked a mass movement that offered the gravest challenge the Islamic Republic had faced. It soon became known by a slogan it had borrowed from the left-wing Kurdish movements of Syria and Turkey: Women, Life, Freedom.
With Iran mired in severe social and political repression, international isolation and economic misery, many Iranians have long come to reject the rule of the country and its supreme leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. The movement thus received energetic support from Iranians, who came out in large numbers. Unlike previous cases, mass protests occurred all over the country, from Sunni-majority areas such as Kurdistan in the west and Balochistan in the south-east to Tehran and hubs of the Iranian heartland such as Isfahan and Shiraz.
The movement also started going beyond the negativity of rejecting the Iranian government towards a more positive posing of its own alternative. The very slogan it had picked, with its progressive connotations, was a clue.
Iranian singer Shervin Hajipour gave voice to the ethos of the moment with a song whose lyrics were collated from social media musings of Iranians about their dreams for the future. Baraye (For The Sake Of) become a household name in Iran and also global sensation, winning a Grammy for Hajipour.
But ultimately the movement failed to live up to anything like the task of posing a real alternative to the Iranian government. Songs are one thing but a successful revolution requires political leadership and a defined programme. Inside Iran, the government acted fast enough to not allow the formation of any political alternative.
More than 8,000 civil society activists were arrested. Sidelined for years by the government but also by anti-government activists, the reformist faction of Iran’s official politics had no room to pursue an alternative project. Outside Iran, the opposition found itself divided and hapless. It initially staged mammoth rallies in cities such as Toronto and Berlin.
An attempt to organise a three-day strike in December 2022 led to shutdowns in some Kurdish cities but nothing like a national shutdown necessary for a governmental change. In early 2023, a number of well-known opponents came together to form a coalition (colloquially called the Mahsa Council) but it quickly collapsed. Without a political way forward, the movement ended in failure.
Or did it?
Three years later, it is clear that the movement did partially achieve the goal it had started with: challenging the mandatory hijab rule.
Already in September 2022, there were many cases of women burning their hijabs and dancing in public squares all around the country, and videos were posted online. But one of the most striking acts came from Donya Raad, a young art decorator who staged a revolutionary action.
On September 28, 2022, she sat down for breakfast in an eatery in southern Tehran and published a picture of herself doing so, without the hijab. A friend sitting next to her was also hijabless. Two days later, she was arrested and sent to Tehran’s notorious Evin prison. But her Rosa Parks-like act inspired so many others and it wasn’t possible to arrest everybody.
Not one to give concessions under pressure, Iran’s leaders didn’t allow for changes to the hijab law. In fact, the hardliner-dominated parliament passed a draconian hijab bill that would have made the rule even stricter than before.
But millions of Iranian women continued their acts of daily civil obedience by simply refusing to wear the hijab. The government tried fighting back. In the past three years, it has closed down many establishments because they served women without the hijab.
In some cases, there have been arrests of women who posted hijab-less pictures online. But the sheer scale of the women’s actions means that the government has had to retreat. Earlier this year, Iran’s national security council ruled not to enforce the hijab bill.
Today, what Ms Raad did has become commonplace. All over Tehran, and many other cities, women move around without hijab, some even wearing shorts or tank tops.
In recent days, a concert held in northern Iran by brothers Sirvan and Xaniar Khosravi shocked many by featuring many women who swayed to their catchy pop music, without a head cover. Although the government is still shutting down establishments and occasionally enforcing the hijab rule, there is no going back to pre-2022 Iran.
The movement’s pressure also explains why the government allowed a reformist like Masoud Pezeshkian to run and win the presidential elections last year, ending years of banishment for reformists. Mr Pezeshkian had promised to ease the hijab rule.
Meanwhile, the reformists openly commemorated Mahsa Amini and the movement her death inspired. In a statement issued on her death’s anniversary, Azar Mansouri, head of the Iranian Reformist Front, called her “a national symbol for the long-lasting struggle of Iranian women for dignity, freedom and the right to choose”.
“On the third anniversary of her passing, a historical duty is on our shoulders,” Ms Mansouri said. “Not only to keep her memory alive but to reform the hurtful processes and open a national dialogue about rights, freedom and human dignity.”
The 2022 movement did not bring down the government, but it has changed Iran in subtle and more lasting ways. Three years later, its aftershocks continue.
