Biography

The Day I Became a Woman and Facing Mirrors: Femininity as an Oppressive Construct in Iran

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          In many countries, being born female is inherently less desirable than being born male. In China, for instance, the One-Child Policy led to a gender imbalance in the country, as many couples were having abortions after learning that the sex of their child was female. Iranian society, too, has been shaped by its largely patriarchal government, yet its exact attitude towards gender is quite complex due to the Islamic Republic’s relatively open attitude towards transgender individuals. Contrary to many of the Republic’s strict, traditionalist policies, practices such as sex reassignment surgery are legal in Iran, as the officials believe that “re-gendering the body does not change the soul.”[i] Such an ideology suggests that gender is variable (as opposed to fixed or innate) and is determined by outward behavior and appearances over biology. Since a biological female can legally undergo sex reassignment surgery and be recognized as a man in Iran, one can argue it’s the gendered body—constructs of femininity and masculinity—that oppresses (and elevates) in Iran, not biology. Such oppression—one that is so rooted in appearances—can no better be discussed than through film. Two films in particular, Marzieh Meshkini’s The Day I Became a Woman (2000) and Negar Azarbayjani’s Facing Mirrors (2011), focus on marginalized forms of femininity (girlhood, older womanhood, and trans (wo)manhood) to examine gender as an oppressive and arbitrary social construct.

          In the West, “understandings of gender […] are currently preoccupied with bodily interventions, somatic changes, and the cultural genital imperative, [whereas] gender assemblages in Iran are based more on conduct, performance, and lifestyles.”[ii] The predominantly Western stereotype of the “emotional woman,” for example, has prevented women (notably in the US) from being elected as heads of state, for these differences are perceived as innate rather than behavioral. While Iran has also never had a woman president, performative markers of femininity—namely the hijab or other means of veiling that are mandated by the Islamic Republic—seem to be what hinders them in the public sphere. Women in Iran do find themselves in positions of power but generally only when they are disembodied—when their femininity is obscured and kept out of the spotlight. A prime example is women filmmakers in Iran, who “[encounter] fewer obstacles attending film schools and working behind the cameras”[iii] than they would in front of them. Not only are there plenty of women directors in Iran, but their films are well respected, reaching popularities that often exceed men’s.[iv] With their veiled bodies veiled a second time by the camera, these women gain respect only when their bodies are removed from the picture.

While Iranian women are respected as filmmakers and intellectuals, the characters in their films still must abide by the Islamic Republic’s strict rules concerning modesty. Instead of succumbing to these confines, these women filmmakers make the most of their platform, often using their films to critique and highlight the constructed nature of gender. This is well-realized in Marzieh Meshkini’s The Day I Became a Woman (2000)—a film that focuses on veiling and its role in three distinct stages of womanhood. The film’s first segment centers on Havva, a young girl who is turning nine, and powerfully conveys how arbitrary the parameters of womanhood are under the Islamic Republic. Havva was deemed equal to Hassan, a young boy friend of hers, until her ninth birthday—the day on which her segment takes place. By turning nine, Havva has become a woman in the eyes of society, prompting her mother and grandmother to force the chador onto her. Havva, only young, does not understand what has changed; less than a day has passed since she was eight and considered a child. Recognizing the arbitrary measures of womanhood, Havva rejects society’s attempt to veil her; she temporarily takes her power back by rejecting the chador—a marker of womanhood and femininity within the Islamic world.

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          On the opposite end of the spectrum of womanhood is Hura, who holds the central role in the final segment of the film. Hura perfectly juxtaposes Havva, for, instead of ‘becoming’ a woman, she is, perhaps, ‘unbecoming’ a woman. In a world that is fixated on youth (and that often paints women in their twenties and thirties as the paragons of beauty and femininity), Hura, an elderly woman, is positioned on the outskirts of femininity. Still, there is freedom in Hura’s removal from the sexualization that comes with being perceived as more feminine. Hura wears an expressive, patterned scarf, has no husband, and, quite literally, is not tied down, for she does not have a house. The film suggests that freedom (given to Hura in her old age) and equality (given to Havva in her childhood) is possible for women in Iran, but only when they are on the margins of femininity. The sexualized (and often young adult) female body seems to be the target of oppression in Iran, not the woman herself; a woman’s level of freedom and equality fluctuates and depends on her life stage. After all, Ahu, of the film’s middle segment, is the most oppressed out of the three women, and it is no coincidence that she most closely fits the stereotypical version of femininity described above.

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          Gender is further highlighted as a social construct in Negar Azarbayjani’s Facing Mirrors (2011), a film that focuses on two individuals who both subvert and perform gendered social norms. The film begins with one of its protagonists, Rana, performing femininity: putting on makeup in a mirror. But, to complicate this image, we soon learn that Rana is a taxi driver, which is notable as driving is (stereo)typically considered a more masculine activity. Not only does Rana drive, but she is also the sole breadwinner of the household, trying to make enough money to free her incarcerated husband. Even though Rana subverts some of society’s gender roles, she still has a very fixed idea of gender even after spending days alongside Eddie, a transgender man. When her young son, influenced by Eddie’s androgyny, steps outside in feminine clothing, Rana is disgusted and upset, telling him to never dress that way again. Even though she later expresses that if her son were trans, she would help him, she still has stereotypical notions of gender, telling her son, “Men never cry.” The characters in the film demonstrate that gender in Iran (and in most of the world) is divided into feminine and masculine behavioral and physical ideals. These behaviors aren’t innate but, rather, are performed, practiced, and perpetuated from generation to generation.

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          The experience of watching the film with English subtitles also raises important commentary on gender as it pertains to language in Iran. In the English translations of the film, Eddie is mostly referred to as “she” or “her.” While this does reinforce the arbitrariness of gender (considering that Eddie gets interpreted both as a woman and a man by different characters), these details are mostly conventions of the English language. In Persian, there is only one pronoun (او) for all genders—something that was lost in translation to English. Thus, when characters refer to Eddie as “she,” these choices reflect the film’s need to adapt to the gendered English language more than it reflects Iranian society’s attitudes towards trans individuals (and gender). This phenomenon is reminiscent of the West’s influence on Iranian attitudes regarding gender and sexuality, which shifted from originally being “a mixture of homo- and heteroerotic relations toward a fairly heteronormative matrix.”[v] Binary notions of gender, if anything, stem from Western tradition[vi] and are relatively new practices in Iranian society. Seeing as “Persian culture has embraced gender androgyny and other activities and lifestyles that evaded or transcended male/female and hetero/homosexual binaries,”[vii] procedures such as SRS are religiously permissible, and are even supported by the government, since “the basic humanity of the person [is preserved] as all that is changed is the ‘characteristics.’”[viii]

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          Facing Mirrors suggests that the true definers of femininity and masculinity in Iran are physical appearances and desired social behaviors—qualities that can be obtained and relinquished. Within these social constructs lies a hierarchy in which “becoming a man signifies acquiring rights, whilst becoming a woman means losing them.”[ix] Eddie, while a trans man (and therefore freed from the mandatory hijab and other social rules), loses his privileges the moment he gets mistaken as a woman, which happens several times in the film. Eddie’s character shows that, if one fails to shed away their femininity, one will still be subject to the same oppressions that afflict cisgender women. This encourages practices of hypermasculinity (demonstrated in Eddie’s stereotypically masculine posture and demeanor) and an avoidance of androgyny, which only perpetuates more extreme, stereotypical, and binary notions of gender.

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          Ideas of gender in Iran are more complicated than the West might believe; Western media has often portrayed Iran as “backward” for its conservative notions of gender under the Islamic Republic. But before the “modernizing” West shifted these ideas into being more conservative, Iran embraced androgyny, often blurring the lines between men and women—still evident in its language’s “absence of grammatical gender”[x] and the Qur’an’s suggestion that the genders are spiritually equal.[xi] It was only when “homoeroticism and same-sex practices came to mark Iran as backward”[xii] that the country attempted to modernize, shifting into a culture that is ultimately still perceived by the West as “backward” —now for opposite reasons.

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          With the Iranian government allowing (and even financing) SRS, the fragile concepts of masculinity and femininity get highlighted as social constructs, which are performed rather than being innate. As conveyed in The Day I Became a Woman, stereotypical markers of femininity (such as youth, sexuality, or fertility) seem to be the target of oppression, especially through veiling. The extent of this oppression, however, is variable, for femininity (and masculinity) are traits that can be gained and lost, whether it be by the process of aging or by transitioning. It is not just cisgender women who face oppression in Iran but transgender individuals as well (both men and women). While the Republic officially supports trans people, the public still often holds prejudice against them. And, despite the officials’ tolerant attitudes towards transitioning, these policies ultimately uphold heteronormative ideals, often being used as a “cure” for homosexuality. Notions of gender in Iran remain complicated and oppressive, although there has been steady social change and protest in recent years (notably over the brutal death of Mahsa Amini). Hopefully, with time, Iranian transgender and feminist activists can pave the way for more open-minded attitudes towards women (especially trans women) by placing the focus away from bodies and behavior, both on the government level and in the public sphere.