The Little Mermaid was my favorite animated movie growing up. I admired the extraordinary mermaid, Ariel. Her character fascinated me. She was beautiful, fearless, and curious, yet extremely naive. She was a dreamer and an explorer, hungry for her freedom. Her father, King Triton, and her fish friends, Flounder and Sebastian, were overly protective because they knew someone out there was evil, deceiving, forceful, unfair, and aggressively trying to trap her. That someone was the cruel Ursula. I compare her journey to that of young Iranian girls. These passionate young women are constantly clashing with both their overprotective families, who are aware of the harsh punishment their children may face for seeking freedom, and the conservative government, whose only objective is to deny them that freedom.
Being young, fearless, and freedom-hungry in Iran is a recipe for disaster. My struggle to fight for my individuality created much tension between me and my parents, schools, and society as a whole. But even growing up as a teenager in Iran, I found ways to beat the system. I still lived a fun and exciting life, and as I sprinted through my teenage years, eyebrows and trends were the least of my parents’ worries. My version of being reckless and having fun was to party, meet boys, and dance to Western music.
Like Ariel, I needed to avoid two main groups of people if I wanted to continue with my spontaneous lifestyle. The first was the overprotective King Triton—my loving parents who wanted my brother and me to experience life, but were very frightened about our clashing with government officials; and the second was the villain Ursula—the government that refused to tolerate the youthful experimentation that is typical of teenage behavior. A constant battle raged among these three key players, and our cultures collided in the Tehran bubble. We were continuously clashing with one another’s values and beliefs, which resulted in chaos and challenge.
Iran has state-controlled television, and the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance is responsible for censoring the media. Censorship is largely seen as a means to maintain stability in the country. Officials censor the foreign films and documentaries shown on TV and in theaters to make them “appropriate” and “Islamic.” Sexual proposals are exchanged for marriage proposals, beer becomes lemonade, conversations about politics are altered, and women’s necklines are often covered or completely removed. However, one of the most common ways for the Iranian population to be exposed to Western culture is through satellite TV and uncensored foreign movies. Despite the government’s ban on satellite television, because it couldn’t censor its content, many homes still had illegal dishes.
Additionally, anyone could gain access to the newest film releases. I began by using Reza, my friend’s middle-aged “movie dealer,” who delivered movies to her house every week. He could’ve passed as a businessman commuting to Wall Street, except that he was missing a tie (yet another government restriction on dress). He always carried two briefcases filled with hundreds of movies—from documentaries and cartoons to racier movies like Striptease with Demi Moore. My parents tried to confiscate and hide the risqué ones, but I always got my hands on them. In the end, it didn’t matter. Watching movies became much easier with satellite television, so I no longer needed Mr. Wall Street! Watching the Western screen would inspire some of my actions and a lot of my outfit choices. My parents and the officials couldn’t restrict my freedom once I was exposed to TV shows like Beverly Hills, 90210 and Baywatch. I wanted to jump in with the trends those kids were following.
My friends and family always joked that Baba’s eyes bled whenever he saw me wearing lipstick or an outfit he didn’t approve of. His eyes turned crimson red out of anger. I wasn’t fazed. I wanted to be free to express myself as I pleased. If Brenda Walsh wore something on 90210, I wanted to wear the same thing on the streets of Tehran. They couldn’t tell me not to wear my stylish clothes when the Quran doesn’t mention anything about going to hell for being fashionable.
I would hide my risky outfits under my manteau and put on lipstick when I went out, then remove it before I came home. One time, Baba found a tissue paper I had used to wipe my lipstick in front of our house. He furiously showed it to Maman and told her I needed to be reprimanded. He would beat his chest like a furious father, but I know that deep down he was just worried I would get in trouble with the government.
A few months before we got arrested, Neda and I attended a house party just blocks away from my house, accompanied by my rebel accomplice Liana. It wasn’t unusual for teenagers to have alcohol at parties, but I never had the urge to try it before this night. I debated about waiting to drink, but ultimately decided to forego such restraint. Everyone was doing it! Including my biggest crush, Omid, who poured my first drink. I blame it on the gaze of his big brown eyes and his long eyelashes!
I tried aragh sagi, which literally means “dog alcohol.” It is a cheap, heady moonshine made from raisins and was outlawed after the Revolution, becoming a black-market beverage. It is clear and strong, and it usually contains at least 65 percent pure ethanol. I felt woozy after my first sip. With each taste, I tried not to gag. Omid poured some soda into my glass to dilute the alcohol and handed it back to me with a devilish smile on his face. I hoped that would work. I didn’t want to puke in front of Mr. Right.
Omid and I sat close together on a velour couch in the living room. He was very funny, handsome, and always impeccably dressed. As Ace of Base’s song “All That She Wants” played in the background, I kept thinking, you are all that I want… With every gentle stroke through my hair, I became weak in the knees. This was the closest to heaven I had ever felt. He kept telling me how beautiful I was. (Just so you know, when a guy tells you how beautiful you are right before you’re about to make out, it’s most likely his penis speaking. And I am talking to you, all you swooning teenage girls out there!)
He grabbed my hand and took me to the kitchen, where we had a bit more privacy. I was so anxious; the butterflies in my stomach were having a circus. Then he lifted me onto the kitchen counter and opened my legs a bit so he could stand between them. His fingers moved gently up and down my face, which brought goose bumps all over my skin. I could no longer hide my nervousness as all the hair on my body gravitated toward cloud nine.
His head bent closer and closer to mine. I could feel his warm breath on my neck, which sent chills down my spine. Our cheeks brushed against each other’s. My heartbeat accelerated. We hadn’t even kissed yet. Then he tipped my chin up and slowly rubbed my bottom lip with his thumb. He closed his eyes, and as I did the same I felt his warm, wet lips delicately touch mine. I think I fell in love in that one kiss. He pulled me even closer to his body with a tinge more aggression, and then a really awkward attempt at French kissing followed. I had no idea what I was doing, but the moment was mine. As our lips locked, I envisioned our future together—grand wedding, children, the whole nine yards.
I was abruptly catapulted back to reality when I heard Neda shout that Maman had arrived an hour early to pick me up. Are you kidding me?
I was feeling an intense spinning sensation from the moonshine, and Omid was begging me to stay, but I knew I couldn’t. Maman would never allow it. I struggled to put on my headscarf and manteau, because my balance was off. I got into the car praying that my mother wouldn’t smell the alcohol on my breath. It felt much longer than a two-minute car ride around the neighborhood. All the streetlights were blurry, colorful streaks. I couldn’t believe I had finished an entire glass of that poison. I was slowly suffocating, hoping she wouldn’t find out what I had done as I held my breath.
When I got home I quickly ran to my room and shut the door. I felt a tornado of moonshine wrap terrifyingly around me as my body lurched. A few minutes later, Maman showed up.
“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.
“Just changing and getting ready for bed,” I replied, the face of innocence. She walked toward my closet, where I tried to hide and desperately fight the awful feeling of vertigo.
While I was pretending to look for clothes, Maman ordered me to let her smell my breath. I thought to myself: OK, do you work for the Basij now? Are you serious? “Why do you want to smell—”
Before I could finish my sentence, she slapped me right across my face. “Were you drinking?”
“No, of course not!” It seemed like every time I tried something new, I was greeted with a well-deserved slap in the face from one of my parents.
Luckily, Baba wasn’t home that night. Only God knows what my punishment would’ve been if he had known I was drinking. Maman firmly told me never to lie to her again, and that I didn’t need to get ready for school the following day. She didn’t want me to be around my accomplices. I was so scared that I didn’t even ask why or try to leave the room. I overheard Maman and Aria talking about the party in the other room. It was just my luck that the host turned out to be one of my brother’s friends, and he told her what had most likely happened at the party. Omid. The kitchen. That kiss. I knew I was never going to hear the end of it, and I was livid with my brother for selling me out. Whatever happened to the “bro code?”
The following morning, my mother went to the next extreme to ax my connection with Liana. She went straight to Liana’s parents, who agreed that we shouldn’t be friends. Maman reasoned that because Liana’s mother was a Christian, she was more liberal—she allowed her daughter to drink at dinner and her curfew was much later. My parents grounded me for one month. The only time I was allowed to leave the house was to attend school—the same place where I got educated on how to be wild and reckless.
As unfair as Maman’s handling of the situation was, at least my parents weren’t the government officials. Possession of alcohol carries a heavier legal penalty than some hard drugs. I could have received eighty lashes for getting caught with alcohol. If Muslims are caught repeatedly, they may even face the death penalty. It seems like a steep price to pay, but that didn’t stop my friends and I from breaking the law and finding ways to live like the characters we saw on forbidden TV shows and movies. And we weren’t the exceptions; it is estimated that more than one million Iranians are drinkers.
The Islamic Republic’s ban on alcohol is just another front in the Iranian “culture war” against Western influence. If a Muslim ever wants to buy alcohol, it’s easily obtainable. In fact, alcohol is so widespread that Iranians are the third highest consumers of alcohol among all Muslim-majority Middle Eastern countries. Lebanon and Turkey take the prize for first and second, but it’s legal to consume alcohol in both of those countries. Do Iranians drink more heavily because alcohol is prohibited? In a country where drinking is illegal and taboo, it doesn’t make much difference whether you have one drink or five, at midnight or at noon, after work or during work.
As with any addiction, the first step to solving a problem is acknowledging that there is one. Recently, the government called its first-ever conference on alcohol abuse in Iran’s history, quietly opened its first rehabilitation center, and admitted that there are at least two hundred thousand alcoholics in the region. Even though the figure is said to be much higher, these are baby steps in the right direction. Cheers to illegal alcohol!
Around the time Maman grounded me, I decided that Omid would be my future husband. He was the leader of his group of friends and a notorious party boy. Basically, he was everything parents wouldn’t want their young teenage girl to date, especially in such a restricted and conservative society. But, inevitably, we dated. Because hey, girls just want to have fun!
I felt compelled to tell Aria and Maman about our relationship; someone would’ve probably “outed” us anyway. Iranians sure do love to gossip. Plus, I thought they would respect our relationship more if we were honest. Maman knew that I would most likely find a way to date him regardless of whether she approved, and she preferred to stay in the loop. Omid came from a good family, which made her feel more at ease. But I didn’t tell Baba; he would never have accepted my having a boyfriend at fifteen years old, no matter what stock he came from.
Omid was controlling. Iranians call men like him gheyrati. They are overprotective and only want you for themselves. He didn’t allow me to attend parties or drive around Jordan Street without him, which made Maman grow to like him. She thought he was keeping me safe. But she didn’t know that I was accompanying him to all sorts of inappropriate and foolish house parties.
His mother was a well-known fashion designer in Iran who designed custom-made clothing in their beautiful home in the mountains. We spent a lot of time in their basement with friends, playing spin the bottle and cards. I was so charmed by Omid and all the new reckless activities he was introducing me to that his mother’s materials and designs didn’t even reach my consciousness. Fashion was something I had always been so fascinated with, and now I was surrounded by it, but with one look from this boy’s eyes, I was swept away and forgot all about fashion. Damn hormones!
Dating behind the veil in Iran can be complicated. You can go to the movies, restaurants, or public places with the opposite sex, but you could also be stopped and possibly even arrested at any point. If we wanted to venture out and do something different we would go out in public, but only with a larger group of friends. You don’t want to draw attention.
One day, I told my parents I was going to my friend Golnar’s house for lunch, and she told her parents she was going to mine. We lived next to each other and pulled off this sting quite frequently. We would meet at the bookstore on our street and wait for Omid to pull up with his car so that we could quickly jump in and dodge any passersby. That day he picked us up to go to Alborz, a fancy, overpriced kebab house that was the most popular restaurant in Tehran at the time. On any given Friday afternoon, people would drive up to the restaurant like they were pulling up to a club in Monte Carlo—who knew that overly expensive kebabs could bring in such a high-end crowd?
It was always very nerve-racking to be in a car with members of the opposite sex. We had to look around at all times to make sure we weren’t being seen or followed. I was also very worried that someone would see me and tell my parents. It was a constant rush of paranoia. Omid always drove very irresponsibly and blasted music, drawing even more attention to us.
On our way to the restaurant, I suddenly heard tires screeching and heavy honking. I felt my neck snap, and my head hit the car’s dashboard. My head felt foggy, and it took me a few seconds to get my bearings.
“That son of a bitch ran a red light!” Omid shouted.
He got out of the car aggressively and started arguing with the other driver. Golnar and I sank into our seats, trying to disappear. Omid was becoming the center of the whole intersection’s attention, and we couldn’t afford to be seen in that mess.
None of us were severely injured, but when Omid called his parents, they notified mine. Maman arrived at the scene a complete wreck. I think she panicked even more at the sight of all the traffic police, but her worry quickly turned into fury. She didn’t want us to be the talk of the town.
The accident was the last straw. I’d had all the school troubles, the alcohol, and now I’d been in a car accident with a boy. After that, I lost Maman’s trust. She became even stricter and no longer allowed Omid and me to see each other, which created tension in our relationship. By law, you can’t be seen in public with someone of the opposite sex unless he is your father, brother, or cousin. If you are caught, you could be jailed or lashed, and the government could even force you to marry your companion. Our parents had to be strict with us because they were scared we would make the wrong decisions. The only alternative was for me to use my expertly resourceful tricks—lie to my parents and become a master at hiding Omid.
The night that we were arrested, I had pleaded with my parents to allow me to attend that party. I was still grounded and wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without my brother. So I made all sorts of deals with Aria to help me get out of the house. I was finally able to convince everyone. But I wish I had stayed grounded and never gone to that gathering. My persistence changed my life forever.
Aria, Neda, her boyfriend, and I took a taxi to the party. When we arrived, Neda and I immediately went to Maryam’s room to take off our hijabs and fix our hair and makeup. Music was playing, snacks were all over the tables, lights were dimmed, the boys were playing cards, and the girls were dancing to music. There were no drugs or alcohol, just a bunch of teenagers doing innocent teenage stuff.
But there was a small detail that we didn’t know at the time. Maryam, who was hosting the gathering at her house, hadn’t invited her on-again-off-again boyfriend. They had gotten into another fight a few days before and, seeking revenge, he called in the party to government officials, thinking they would peacefully shut it down.
It wasn’t long before the Basijis stormed into the house, looking anything but peaceful. They entered the building following a guest who had just walked in. Everything happened so fast. Everyone was screaming and scrambling around. I didn’t know where my brother was, but I just started running, with all that I had, after Neda and Maryam, out the back door into the night…