The Lion Women Of Tehran Quotes

When I am surrounded by books, I feel most at peace.

That's how losses of rights build. They start small. And then soon, the rights are stripped in droves.

It was books. I read and read. Went to the library as much as I could. And to bookstores. Lost myself in books. Did you know that books can heal you? They helped restore me.

While to our eyes, waves appear suddenly on the shore, their abruptness is an illusion. Waves begin their journey thousands of miles out at sea. They accumulate shape and power from winds and undersea currents for ages. And so, when you see the women in Iran screaming for their rights, please remember that the force and fury of our screams have been gathering power for years.

Lionesses. Us. Can't you just see it Ellie? Someday, you and me — we'll do great things. We'll live life for ourselves. And we will help others. We are cubs now, maybe. But we will grow to be lionesses. Strong women who will make things happen.

And then. We lost touch. Our bond should have been impossible to fray and then disintegrate. But as time took us each in a different direction, it was astonishingly simple for our connection to dissolve.

You skipped our country’s slide back into medieval times. Women have lost decades, no, centuries, of rights in this country.

Remember above all to always love. Love madly

My baba says the only society worth living in is one where everyone has access to food, shelter, clean water, and health services.

Freedom has no musts.

You know what we’ll both become when we grow up? … Shir zan. Lionesses. Us … Strong women who make things happen.

Ocean waves begin their journey thousands of miles out at sea. Their form, size, and shape come from the speed of prevailing winds in the atmosphere, the power of currents hidden beneath the sea, and their “long fetch”—the distance between a wave’s point of origin and its point of arrival… Events that seem to appear in the present from out of nowhere in actuality have a long history behind them. George Lipsitz, Footsteps in the Dark Part One

Blame the relief that comes when someone who’s disappeared from your life reappears and conjures up the same magic and re-creates a longed-for connection.

I recently read a theory about ocean waves. This theory says that while to our eyes waves appear suddenly on the shore, their abruptness is an illusion. Waves begin their journey thousands of miles out at sea. They accumulated shape and power from winds and undersea currents for ages. And so when you see the women screaming in Iran for their rights, please remember, dear Leily, that the force and fury of our screams have been gathering power for years.

But the truth is I so prefer the bravery of your generation of women. That’s what I admire. You’re not afraid. You’re fierce. You and your friends are shir zan!” The Persian phrase that translates to “lion women”.

That’s how losses of rights build. They start small. And then soon, the rights are stripped in droves.

How long will she be here, in this country where no one can pronounce her name?

Doesn’t matter who owns the rug workshops,” Homa went on. “It’s the women who do the knotting. It’s women doing the weaving. The art of Iranian women is scattered throughout the world. Their work is everywhere.

Let them beat me with their batons, let them bruise my body to a pulp, let them shoot and kill me. For a lifetime we have fought. We have fought and fought and fought. We want to be free. We want to be equal. We want to be able to live our lives.

And yet. Ours was a friendship worth saving. Worth keeping. Worth protecting. For I knew Homa’s heart was pure. I admired her inability to ever be fake. She was the most authentic person I knew. And I valued our friendship too much to let this recent argument stymie us.

entirely. I resign officially and in my heart from the communist organization. Whereas I had once fought for human rights, I now fight to stay afloat.

Homa wanted to pour her life into politics. I wanted to enjoy a life devoid of it. Even though I knew that was an impossibility in Iran.

And why wasn’t Homa here? Why did she care more about her Marxist meetings than about our own Persian traditions?

You and your communist activist group do nothing but create problems.

But once he walked through the door and we had dinner, once he shared with me a few details of his day, he would hold me and kiss me and take me to bed, and there in his arms with his body intertwined with mine, my every woe was lifted and momentarily I floated, I was in bliss.

But as time took us each in a different direction, it was astonishingly simple for our connection to dissolve.

I wanted what Homa had. I wanted her family. Her living father, her kind mother. I wanted her fat, edible baby sister. I wanted the warmth and safety of her home.

was books. I read and read. Went to the library as much as I could. And to bookstores. Lost myself in books. Did you know that books can heal you? They helped restore me.

And when I pulled the onionskin paper from the envelope and unfolded it, my heart almost stopped. For there on the page was the unmistakable curlicue handwriting of my old friend, Homa.

When my life was no longer anything, Nothing but the tick-tock of a wall clock, I discovered that I must, That I absolutely had to Love madly. Forugh Farrokhzad, The Window

To have lain my head on his shoulder, heard his advice in my ear? I conjured up a phantom of the man I wished I’d known. How I longed for him as the anchor to the evening and my life!

He cannot make me into nothing. He cannot evaporate me. He cannot render me invisible. He cannot make me lose myself. I won’t let him.

recently read a theory about ocean waves. This theory says that while to our eyes waves appear suddenly on the shore, their abruptness is an illusion. Waves begin their journey thousands of miles out at sea. They accumulated shape and power from winds and undersea currents for ages. And so when you see the women screaming in Iran for their rights, please remember, dear Leily, that the force and fury of our screams have been gathering power for years.

Go and work and don’t question it, for work is an investment in your life. I tell Bahar how important it is to engage and be productive and industrious. I remind her that a woman, especially, should have her own source of income.

We have discussed these issues and I know he believes the art of making films belongs to all in the world, not just to Westerners. The need to tell a story and listen to one is universal and timeless, no matter its form or whichever new technology brings the story to us.

That’s how losses of rights build. They start small. And then soon, the rights are stripped in droves. Suddenly, women who have finished their studies in law might no longer be able to take the oath to become judges. Rumors circulate that the hijab will soon become mandatory. First, they’ll say it’s required only in government offices or shops. Then schools. Eventually, we worry, we will lose the freedom of choice altogether.

Kesafat. The word makes my heart hurt.

Our bond should have been impossible to fray and then disintegrate. But as time took us each in a different direction, it was astonishingly simple for our connection to dissolve.

On the last Tuesday night before the spring equinox brought in the Persian New Year, we lit bonfires. It was tradition to run toward the flames and jump over them to release bad energy and bring in goodness and vitality for the new year.

Donya maleh mast. The world is ours.

Sheekamoo means a person who loves to eat, whose priority is their stomach, and

Did you know that books can heal you? They helped restore me.

Shir zan. A woman with the courage of a lion.”- Marjan Kamala, The Lion Women of Tehran

But I should have known that some friendships fracture and rupture beyond belief.

Even those who love you most can ruin your life, you know, Ellie,” Mother said. “Even the ones you trust the most.

1960

Without you none of it would have happened and for you all of it happens. I love you madly.

Events that seem to appear in the present from out of nowhere in actuality have a long history behind them.

Like many Iranians in the diaspora, I was filled with hope and heartbreak as women and girls took to the streets after that incident because they had had enough. Enough of being controlled. Enough of being held down. Enough of having what they wore, what they said, and who they loved dictated by those who did not value their vibrancy, talents, skills, or dreams.

I give this new regime six months tops,” an older woman with graying hair shouts into the crowd. “Look at us. Look at our power!” “They’re too incompetent to last!” another woman shouts. “Well, I feel we can work with this regime, I really do. As long as they don’t take away our freedom to choose what we wear and how we worship,” a young mother holding her daughter’s hand says. Bahar’s hand is in mine too. She is my star.

I hate what fate has doled out. I struggle to stay above water. But I know I cannot afford to sink entirely. For despite all the grief that drowns my soul or maybe because of it, I love her. I love her madly.

My mother always said the envy of others invites the evil eye to cast doom on us.

Now, I approached a stall jam-packed with burlap sacks and barrels filled with colorful spices, dried fruits, and nuts. I was carefully examining a pyramid of esfand seeds, wondering whether it made sense to take this Iranian incense to America to ward off the evil eye, when I heard her.

A barooni was what we called girl crushes.

Did you know?” she said. “Donya maleh mast. The world is ours.

The eye of the Jealous can destroy happiness.

She said the words I had secretly longed to hear for years. The words I had waited all this time to hold in my cupped hands. I felt a heavy burden simply burst, what mattered was I was with Homa, what mattered was I loved my friend and would love her until the end of our days.

We are cubs now, maybe. But we will grow to be lionesses. Strong women who make things happen.

But we will grow to be lionesses. Strong women who make things happen.

we’re trying to uphold is that feminism comes in many shapes. We should not shame women who choose to take care of home and family.

lion women. From a line of women so strong, no one can destroy them.

People deserve to live in freedom,

Shir zan. A woman with the courage of a lion.

Because all of it has a place in true feminism. A woman has a right to live a life of intense career ambition or one of more mellow ambition or what have you. As I say, whatever she chooses.

When Homa had found out I was First-in-Class, she had beamed with excitement, squeezed me hard, and even lifted me off the ground by a few centimeters. And I, burdened with my own stupid personality traits, was jealous of her ability not to be jealous!

Since the day Mother had caught me skipping school, she’d been cold but agreeable. She

Shir zan. Lionesses. Us. Can’t you just see it, Ellie? Someday, you and me—we’ll do great things. We’ll live life for ourselves. And we will help others. We are cubs now, maybe. But we will grow to be lionesses. Strong women who make things happen.

is 1953. We have a democratically elected prime minister! This country is modernizing,

What I could not fathom, as I sat trying to organize time and rearrange it and change its course and breathe instead of drowning completely, was why, as I was about to leave the room, Mother had caught my eye, brought a finger to her lips, smiled at me, and winked.

grew to think it must have been my mother’s plan from the day she discovered I’d skipped school and gone to the bazaar with Homa. Not long after that fateful day came Mother’s arms outstretched on the mattress, her engagement to Uncle Massoud, the pomegranate-colored ring. It all made sense now. Her inscrutable calm after my rude outburst when she confronted me about the bazaar outing. Her lack of punishment. Mother secured our ticket out of that part of town by agreeing to marry my uncle. Had she made the first advance? I would never know.

I became an expert at using what I had to get what I wanted. I was coy, subtly flirtatious without dishonoring Mother or Uncle Massoud. The admiration created confidence and the confidence allowed me to do almost as I pleased in my rarefied bourgeois world.

The necklace came off somewhere around seventh grade, three years after I’d first received it. I felt a flash of guilt at dishonoring my promise to Homa to always wear it. But we had been children when we made that promise. She had probably long forgotten about me. I convinced myself it was silly to be beholden to a childish pact. I placed the necklace back in its pouch and tucked it away in a jewelry box next to actual gold bangles and chains and shiny gems on rings that Uncle Massoud and Mother had given me.

It felt like more than just coincidence that a coup creating chaotic upheaval in the fortunes of our nation happened so shortly after my parting with Homa. I saw it as a sign that our separation had rendered cataclysmic change.

He sighed. “But you, my dear girl. You need to keep your mouth tightly zipped and to be careful. Never say anything that isn’t praiseworthy of the Shah. There are spies everywhere.” Mother added, “This world is filled with liars and scoundrels who will do anything to take advantage of you. Don’t let them. Don’t let people take what is yours. Put yourself first. Promise me.” I promised so that she’d stop lecturing more than anything else. But like the embers of a fire, her words nestled into the crevices of my body. I internalized them and grew to believe that I needed to protect what was rightfully mine. Why shouldn’t I have it all? I deserved the best.

glances. I became what was known as khoshgel, pretty. I realized people were shallow and easy to sway—they treated me so differently based on how I looked. It did not seem fair. But I could feel my stock rise.

Mother was not a fan of this Shah. But we were nothing if not practical in that huge new mansion of ours. Mother had too much to lose by being overtly political or sentimental.

At seventeen, I was popular. I had successfully ascended to an enviable status at school.

When we first moved away from the neighborhood downtown and I walked through the vast, echo-filled new mansion with its white walls and glistening chandeliers, the lump that had lodged in my throat the day I said goodbye to Homa lingered. The lump remained as I helped my mother decorate the rooms. It was still there as our country jolted through the coup d’état on August 19, 1953, that ousted our democratically elected prime minister and solidified the power of the Shah.

Mother said the country had become divided into three political factions: monarchist, communist, and pro–Prime Minister Mossadegh. She taught me to not say anything that would rock the boat.

But we were girls on the forefront of a new Iran. The Shah wanted to modernize the country, which some complained meant to westernize it. In our circles, religion was shed. And I came from a secular family to begin with; we didn’t practice.

Ocean waves begin their journey thousands of miles out at sea. Their form, size, and shape come from the speed of prevailing winds in the atmosphere, the power of currents hidden beneath the sea, and their “long fetch”—the distance between a wave’s point of origin and its point of arrival… Events that seem to appear in the present from out of nowhere in actuality have a long history behind them. George Lipsitz, Footsteps in the Dark

only society worth living in is one where everyone has access to food, shelter, clean water, and health services.

Remember above all to always love. Love madly.

Before meeting Mehrdad, I had simply wanted every drop of indulgence at these parties. I’d wanted the fun. To have the pleasures of the world be mine. Homa wanted the world to be hers too, I suppose, but only so she could mold and shape it and make it better for the less fortunate. Now, it was as if she had come in and turned off the music as I danced in the middle of the room and became frozen mid-step, my twirling hands fixed above my head, my hips stuck, suddenly aware of everything ugly I’d been trying to ignore.

I knew somehow at the very bottom of my soul that if I could continue in the arms of this man, if I could simply just be with him, then there was hope. The atrocities of the world would not end. But there was hope for me. He always made me feel like I could just be.

I loved being with Homa but often felt less-than around her and as though I had to match her smarts, her strength, her ambitions. Yet as I danced with Mehrdad, I realized that with Mehrdad I felt like I was enough.

Of all her classmates, the name Bahar mentioned most was “Madison.

It was books. I read and read. Went to the library as much as I could. And to bookstores. Lost myself in books. Did you know that books can heal you? They helped restore me.” “Well then,” I said. “There’s another library I need to take

brought into being; the crime is not hers. I hate what fate has doled out. I struggle to stay above water. But I know I cannot afford to sink entirely. For despite all the grief that drowns my soul or maybe because of it, I love her. I love her madly.

remain for her. My child has no fault in how she was brought into being; the crime is not hers. I hate what fate has doled out. I struggle to stay above water. But I know I cannot afford to sink entirely. For despite all the grief that drowns my soul or maybe because of it, I love her. I love her madly.

May they live a long and healthy life together. May they grow old together. May they have many, many children together. May their children be raised under the long shadow of protection and guidance of both their parents. May they never see blackened days.” Those wishes of the wedding guests proved as effective as the lackluster fireworks.

She always had plans, Homa. She always seemed to be thinking of the next big thing. It was astounding, really. Her father was in prison. They had nothing. But she was always hopeful. Her joy was infectious. She was the most convincing person I knew.