Journalists rarely travel to Iran to cover positive stories about this remarkable country—the warm, welcoming, and beautiful people; the stylish fashion, delicious food, and rich culture; the kind hearts of the Iranian people and its extraordinary history. That’s not sensational. The media chooses to focus on the dark side of Iran—protests, war, nuclear weapons, and the restrictions of the Islamic regime.
In the summer of 2009, protests against the presidential election results broke out in Iran’s major cities. President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad had been reelected on a platform of helping the poor, strengthening the economy, and promoting freedom for young people and the media, but most Iranians knew that those were empty promises. The protesters disputed Ahmadinejad’s victory and supported reformist politicians Mir-Hossein Mousavi and Mehdi Karroubi. Their movement was called the Green Revolution, named after Mousavi’s campaign color.
The protests were relatively peaceful at the beginning; however, the police and the Basijis soon attempted to suppress them with physical force. In Tehran, it became violent. International media outlets described the demonstrations as the largest protests since the 1979 Revolution. Everyone I knew believed that the government was going to collapse and Iran would be free once again. The city’s streets became a place where people could finally vocalize their discontent with the government, and hope for change briefly emerged.
My story went viral largely due to the Western media’s interest in the Green Revolution and the election. The media wanted to use my journey from Tehran to the United States as an example. They wanted to expose why people in Iran were frustrated with the government and their lack of freedom, and they were looking to tie my personal journey into the protests. But I didn’t want my story to be associated with the protests. My single traumatic experience in Iran was nothing compared to the thousands before and after me who were arrested and punished.
Unlike the 1979 Revolution, when the government censored everything that the media released, during the Green Revolution, control of the media fell into the hands of the Iranian protesters themselves. They used social media, especially Twitter, as a means to organize protests, which resulted in unified demonstrations in the streets and squares. Social media allowed Iranian protesters to engineer one of the greatest protest movements in Iran to date. I was proud.
Of course, it didn’t take long for the Iranian government to ban all protests and shut down all forms of electronic communication, including the Internet, cell phone, and telephone usage. But Iran’s youth always found ways to break the rules—they managed to hack into Iran’s digital communication system and leak photos and videos for the whole world to see.
Hundreds of thousands of Iranians and millions more around the globe responded to the censorship by uniting together to defy the law and challenge the Islamic Republic. Their unity caught the government and the international community by surprise. The protesters’ motto became “Where is my vote?” and they used sayings like, “Down with the dictator,” “Death to the dictator,” and “Give us our votes back.”
One of the most critical moments of the protests occurred when a Basiji shot an innocent woman, Neda Agha-Soltan, in the chest. Neda was a twenty-six-year-old living in Tehran who had withdrawn from college because Iranian authorities pressured her to change her appearance and dress. She and her music teacher wanted to observe a protest on a street in Tehran. As she peacefully watched, a Basiji, who later claimed that he didn’t mean to kill her, shot her in the heart. Screams of horror rang out, and people rushed to her aid as she fell to the ground. Neda lay motionless in a pool of her own blood. Her face was bloodied and her eyes were wide open while bystanders attempted to revive her. But it was useless. She was already gone.
The images and videos of her bloody and heartbreaking death were uploaded to YouTube for the world to witness. Some news outlets labeled the footage: “Too disturbing to show in its original form.” My heart broke into pieces every time I watched it.
Often we watch the news and feel sad about what we see. For a few minutes it can even make us cry, or we may spend the next few days talking about it. But as our lives go on, we tend to forget. There are other sad stories the next day, or we are simply so caught up in our own lives that we quickly move on. For me, this was a story that stuck. Watching Neda die devastated me, not only because of how brutally she was killed, but also because it really hit home. She reminded me of myself; she reminded me of my friends. The streets she was killed on were the same streets where I had left half of my heart. They were the streets I wanted to be on. I so desperately wanted all the protesters to get what they rightfully deserved.
Neda’s video spread quickly and gained the attention of international media and viewers. Her death made her an instant symbol of Iran’s antigovernment movement. The government released a propaganda statement saying that the protesters had shot Neda and that the videos uploaded on the Internet had been fabricated by Western news agencies. Luckily, these claims were quickly dispelled.
There were reports of thousands of victims being arrested, tortured, raped, and even murdered. Family members of those who were killed were forced to confirm unrelated reasons for their family members’ deaths. The Iranian government denied all the allegations and only admitted to thirty-six people’s deaths during the protests. I wasn’t surprised.
Funerals in Iran have long served as a political rallying point, because it’s customary to have a week of mourning and a memorial service forty days after the death. It gives people time to come together. During the 1979 Revolution, funerals were used to initiate protests, which in turn resulted in more deaths. During the Green Revolution, families weren’t allowed to host memorial services for their loved ones because the government feared that people would use the funerals as a platform to protest.
In all this disquiet and violence, Iranian women were a driving force behind the Green Revolution. They no longer rebelled by means of subtle civil disobedience—like brighter nail polish or sheerer headscarves—but participated boldly in the fight for their country’s future. The images published on the Internet clearly showed women of all ages present in the protests and made evident the bravery of Iranian women risking death and imprisonment. Christiane Amanpour, chief international correspondent for CNN, called the Green Revolution the “Lipstick Revolution” because of the impact Iranian women had on Iran through their protests. More power to them!
For a few weeks, Western news channels’ primary focus was the Green Revolution. Iran was finally at the forefront of the media. People were being educated about President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s shortcomings, as well as Iran’s deep-rooted issues. The world was interested to find out whether the government would crumble and faith could be restored in Iran.
My eyes were glued to the TV for hours on end. I monitored the story’s progress with Google alerts, tweets, Facebook—anything and everything to keep myself up-to-date. But all I really needed was to follow my friends’ postings on social media. They posted updates on the situation before news outlets even got the chance to.
Would Iran be freed? Would the protesters prevail in bringing down the government? Would women be able to wear bikinis by the Caspian Sea and hold hands with the opposite sex in the streets of Tehran once again?
Then Michael Jackson was pronounced dead.
The media’s focus suddenly shifted. The attention was no longer on protesters who fought for their freedom and a better future, but on the death of a music legend. His music changed the world—that’s true. His dancing inspired people—also true. But the people in Iran who were being tortured and killed fighting for a bigger cause suddenly became old news.
A news correspondent for Fox News in DC contacted me to do a live interview, which I graciously accepted. I was very nervous. I asked her to send the questions she planned to ask me in advance, so I could prepare my answers. The interviewer said that Fox correspondents didn’t usually provide questions before a live interview, but she would make an exception because this would be my first time on the air and I was worried about the political side of the story.
On the day of the interview, I sifted through the questions and realized that I couldn’t be a part of this. Her questions centered on my thoughts on the Iranian regime and the current political situation, and I knew it was wrong to go on television and talk about my fashion business and what happened to my friends and me eleven years ago when some of those same friends were fearlessly protesting in the streets of Tehran at that very moment. I didn’t dare put the spotlight on myself. In my heart I wanted to be out on those streets with my friends, protesting and tweeting videos to the world, exposing the cruelties being inflicted on the Iranian people.
Soon after I declined to do the Fox interview, I sat on my bed in my room clenching my huge Tweety Bird stuffed animal and reading more emails. Suddenly, I received an email titled: “I read your story on MSN.” What story on MSN? Once again, I was inundated with hundreds of new emails. I searched for the article and saw the same picture Marie Claire had used of me on the home page of MSN.com. I clicked on it. It was the same story that was featured in Marie Claire. I couldn’t believe I was on the home page of MSN!
I sifted through thousands of comments. I started with the most recent one and couldn’t stop reading them. But the more I read, the harder it was to breathe. The comments seemed endless. They ranged from people wanting me dead to people defending my situation. Tears streamed down my face as I read, “She should be stoned to death in Iran for breaking the rules”; “She will go to hell for putting girls in bikinis”; “The United States is using this story to go to war with Iran”; “This is politics, and this girl works for the Iranian government.” I kept wiping away the tears, but they wouldn’t stop. I began sobbing.
I threw my computer across the bed and cried until it pained me to take a breath. I design bikinis for a living. I love to dress fashionably and travel. I party with my friends, date, and have grand adventures. I have a massive Tweety Bird on my bed, for goodness’ sake! But I was also arrested and punished for attending a party with my friends when I was a teenager. From then on, my sole purpose in life was to inspire people to follow their dreams and bring attention to the atrocities women face every day, because I had witnessed a place where all hope was lost. Violence against women doesn’t only happen in Iran but around the world—forced prostitution, rape, abuse, and mutilation—and now people thought I should be killed for designing bikinis as a Muslim woman. How could the world view me as a political figure? As a proponent of or dissenter against my religion?
I called Michele Shapiro and explained the fears I had for the safety of my friends and family. It was a difficult decision, but I felt that the story had to be taken down from MSN. If I could go back in time, I would leave the story up and ignore all the threatening comments, but in the moment, I felt alone and scared. Dealing with the media is a skill that I hadn’t mastered yet. Talk about cyberbullying. People don’t realize the effect their words can have on others.
As usual, Michele was calm and comforting. She said she would have MSN take it down, but she explained that this type of reaction from readers was normal following the release of any controversial story and that I shouldn’t waste my time feeding into the negativity. People will always have their own opinion, regardless of whether it coincides with your intentions and beliefs. She also warned that because Marie Claire had posted an online version of the story, I was sure to see it reposted on other websites.
About two hours later, the story was taken down from MSN and a weight was suddenly lifted off my shoulders. But sure enough, over the next few days, it was posted on many other online outlets. The story’s publication was out of my hands and out of control.
I had been completely naive to believe that there wouldn’t be any negative backlash from a story that had originated in a country that is riddled with political and religious strife. But if I had kept my story only to myself, my family, and my friends, I would never have had the chance to inspire other people and raise awareness about an injustice that happens daily in my home country. It was worth sharing. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without living through that chapter in my life.
Despite the harsh punishment I had suffered from the government, my home and my heart will forever remain in the most beautiful country in the world—Iran.
A few days later, Abigail Pesta phoned me to ask if I was interested in going on the Rachael Ray Show for an interview. I felt much more at ease at the thought of appearing on this show; it was mainly viewed by women—more specifically, modern women—and it rarely delved into politics and religion. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I couldn’t forgo.
At the studio in New York City, a producer asked me the same questions for more than an hour, expecting me to have perfected my answers by the twentieth time. Then the editors cut it down to a three-minute segment that would air during my live interview the following day. They combined the footage with flashbacks of photos from my childhood and teenage years in Iran, which the producers had asked me to send in advance. It was difficult to find photos without my family or friends in them. I guess selfies weren’t as popular when I was growing up.
I asked Michele Shapiro to accompany me to the live interview, which she graciously agreed to do. As I walked to Rachael Ray’s studio that morning, my nerves were twitching. A part of me was proud to be there, and another part of me was questioning whether I should have come at all. After the reaction to my MSN article, I was hesitant to face any consequences that could come from being on television. I was escorted to a room where “Tala Raassi/Rachael Ray” was written on a plaque on the door. I took a picture of it and sent it to my friends. Despite how nervous I was, I still felt like a badass.
As I waited in the room, images flashed before my eyes of me tripping on set or forgetting how to speak English. I even thought about what type of underwear I was wearing in case I fell and it showed. I couldn’t sit still. I just walked back and forth in my heels across the small room until Michele arrived. Her presence calmed me.
After about an hour, I was escorted to a small makeup room adorned with bright lights and mirrors. I wondered how many famous people had sat in the very same chair I was sitting in. A hairstylist sprayed and styled my hair, then applied makeup. I felt like a little girl getting to wear makeup for the first time as I got star treatment for my first TV appearance.
Rachael Ray came to speak with me moments before I walked onstage. She was picture-perfect and very calm, and I appreciated how she approached me. She complimented my outfit and reassured me, saying, “I know that you don’t want to talk about politics, so just tell me what you want to talk about and we can talk about that.” I was overcome with a sense of relief, and my nerves startled to settle. I finally felt like I could pull this off.
I heard her introduce me to the audience while I stood behind the curtain. People were scurrying around the set getting ready for my entrance. Before I walked out, she showed the audience the clip they had made the night before. I thought I looked awful on TV. What was wrong with my hair? There were photos of women covered from head to toe flashing between my face and childhood pictures. I guess they needed to show the dress code in Iran, but it made me feel uneasy.
Then Rachael Ray announced enthusiastically, “Please welcome Tala Raassi!” I shot a quick look at Michele, who smiled encouragingly and said, “You are going to do great.” I smiled back and walked onstage—actually, it was more of a sprint. I couldn’t get to the couch fast enough. I kept reminding myself not to fall as I sailed past a sea of four hundred women standing and clapping.
I thought I did a decent job with the interview, considering my heart was pounding out of my chest. What if people could hear the thumps through the microphone? Focus, Tala, focus. Comfortingly, Rachael let me take control. When she asked me questions, they were quick and to the point. I felt like I was talking to a friend in her kitchen. All that was missing were homemade cupcakes and some hot tea. And it was over in the blink of an eye.
The show aired a few weeks later. I had completely forgotten which day it was supposed to air, but I was reminded by a phone call from Maman, who told me proudly, “I am watching you on the Rachael Ray Show as we speak.” I am extremely critical of myself, so when I flipped on the TV to watch, it only made me anxious. I didn’t like the way I looked or my hand motions, and I couldn’t even count on two hands how many times I said “um.”
My website crashed once again from the traffic surge, and I got another storm of emails—some positive and others negative. But this time, I was ready. I was used to the criticism by that point, and it was much easier to let the negativity bounce off my back. The words no longer had power over me. Instead, they ignited a fire in me that continues to burn today.
Bring it on.
They say haters are going to hate, but sometimes that can be hard to ignore, especially when you want to do something for a greater good. The key is to know who you are, believe in what you do, and realize that the negative things people project to you is nonsense. No matter how kind and remarkable you are, there will always be someone who is not going to like you. These people are simply resentful and bitter about their own lives, and they often try to find fault in others to make themselves feel better. Don’t allow their pessimism to leave a negative mark on you; learn how to be better for yourself. Remember that the judgment of others doesn’t define you—it defines them.