by Sharon Mekhuri
Iranian authorities detained Sepideh Rashnu in June 2022 following the circulation of a video in which a woman confronted her on public transit for defying the Islamic Republic’s compulsory hijab laws. Forced to confess her “crime” of not wearing a hijab on state television, the Islamic regime used Rashnu to punish “disobedient” woman and criminalize feminist activism. However, before being sent to prison, Rashnu staged her own act of defiance. Cutting up what she referred to as “our” crime documents, Rashnu sectioned her hair into three parts and then bound them with rope to represent shackles severed from the body (“These are my Crime Documents”). Her use of the word “our” was a clear assertion of feminist solidarity and the right to a woman’s bodily autonomy. By sharing an image of her act on social media, she constructs a visual counter-narrative to encourage critical reflection. Digital platforms shift power to the individual, allowing them to use online spaces to document and oppose oppression. Therefore, she not only fosters empowerment but also reclaims control over how her defiance is portrayed (Shalhoub-Kevorkian 2001).
Rashnu’s defiance is a potent example of feminist resistance, one that is often misrepresented by Western narratives imposing their own models of struggle. The way the world perceives these acts of resistance isn’t just shaped by current events but is entrenched in U.S.-Iranian relations. The U.S. plays a substantial role in constructing these perceptions, particularly through its imperial interventions like the 1953 Iranian coup which removed a democratically elected Prime Minister. His US-backed replacement, the reinstated Shah, commenced a project of “westernization” that mostly benefited urban, elite women and further marginalized and impoverished working class and rural women (Antic 2014; Sameh 2019). After Islamist forces seized control of the government following the 1979 Revolution, state control of women’s bodies shifted from forced unveiling to compulsory veiling. In other words, the implementation of compulsory hijab laws in 1982 both shifted and reinforced a long-standing pattern of gendered surveillance and control.
This pattern isn’t just a domestic Iranian issue, it also plays into how Western feminist movements engage with Iranian women’s struggles. Too often, these interventions neglect to recognize the nuanced and context-specific nature of resistance. Liberal feminism, for example, often centres on individual rights and equality but tends to operate within long-standing colonial and imperial structures. Consequently, it frequently overlooks how oppression is shaped by factors like culture and global power dynamics. Lila Abu-Lughod contends that liberal feminism homogenizes women’s struggles by interpreting them through Western notions of freedom, while simultaneously being embedded within the “imperial politics of intervention” (2015). Historically, Western feminist interventions have simplified and co-opted the struggles of Middle Eastern women. Abu-Lughod describes how “missionary rhetoric” painted Muslim women as passive victims in need of Western salvation, an idea that persists in more secular forms today (2002). These narratives often strip non-Western women of their agency while selectively engaging in solidarity efforts.
Similarly, the “haircut solidarity” protest videos by French actresses in response to Mahsa Amini’s death underscores the complexities of international solidarity, particularly when socio-political and historical contexts are omitted ( “Iranian women weigh in on the French actresses’ solidarity haircuts” ). The juxtaposition of Rashnu’s act of defiance with the hair-cutting acts by figures like Charlotte Gainsbourg and Juliette Binoche highlights a broader distinction between resistance rooted in lived experience and its aestheticized, performative counterpart. In Iran, cutting one’s hair (gisuborān) is an ancient Persian gesture of mourning and protest, carrying deep cultural and historical significance (“Why Hair Is Such a Potent Protest Symbol”). When Iranian women engaged in this act during the 2022 protests, it was an embodied form of defiance that risked state retaliation. However, as this gesture gained international visibility, it was adopted by Western celebrities, transforming it into a viral social media performance. This is the danger of aestheticizing activism, a phenomenon Walter Benjamin critiques as the transformation of political resistance into spectacle. Rashnu’s defiance directly challenged state power. Western performances, however well-intentioned, can sometimes reduce Iranian resistance to a one-dimensional act designed for global consumption.
The difficulty with this kind of solidarity is that it prioritizes visible, easily replicable gestures over the more historically complex, less media-friendly forms of resistance occurring in Iran. This reflects a larger issue for international solidarity, where Western narratives often amplify performative activism over localized struggles. But despite these misrepresentations, Iranian women’s resistance is neither passive nor simplistic. They continue to navigate the dual pressures of state surveillance and Western misrepresentations. Solidarity requires more than performative gestures, it demands amplifying Iranian women’s voices, centering their lived experiences, and acknowledging the real risks they take. Only by doing so can feminist movements contribute to a form of resistance that is not just symbolic, but truly transformative.
Sharon Mekhuri is a fourth year undergraduate student majoring in Women and Gender Studies at the University of Toronto. Her research interests include trauma, memory, mourning, Caribbean diasporic religions, critical theory, and affect studies.
WGS340 WOMEN & REVOLUTION IN THE MIDDLE EAST 