— by Beeta Baghoolizadeh.

Article written by E.A. Pahlavan

Iranians are often perceived as existing in the periphery. Whenever there are discussions of race, gender, ethnicity, politics, culture, food, music, art—Iranians are important, but important in the undercurrents. Sometimes we will cause a stir, but they are small fads that lose their relevance as time goes on. Iranians are a people known for many things—both benevolent and unfortunate. They are known as descendants of an ancient empire sometimes coined as “the cradle of civilization”. They are known as proxies of the Axis of Evil; they are a people interrupted, subdued, misunderstood in the margins of text, or completely written out of historical texts.

However, I believe most Iranians cannot talk about being erased.

Only Black and Afro-Iranians can claim that they are a community that has been erased, and continues to be erased. They are the periphery within the periphery.

This is an unfortunate truth that everyone must confront. A truth that not everyone can admit or let alone sit down to have a conversation about.

Many Iranians, including myself, have heard the similar refrains regarding anyone who is Black and Iranian. Upon seeing a Black or Afro-Iranian, whether it’s in real life, film, music videos, books, etc., the dialogue usually begins with the phrase: “Oh—they’re Iranian?”

Some other variations include:

“No way! They’re Iranian? Are you sure?”

And then a typical answer that comes thereafter includes:

“Oh yes—they’re Iranian, but they must be from the South. You know more of them from Africa came to the South.”

Sometimes another response can be:

“Who is that Black actor? They must’ve brought him from the States to be in this music video. A lot of Iranians these days like to show Americans in their music videos to be cool.”

“Okay? So African music influenced Bandari music? So what?”

The shock and dissonance is unfortunately, and regrettably, quite ubiquitous in the Iranian collective consciousness. There always has to be some kind of unnecessary pushback. And it doesn’t help that judgement is so entrenched in our culture (even if some don’t like to admit it). Iranian judgment is just seasoned like no other kind of judgment, and sometimes feels so impossible to breakthrough.

It is so difficult to engage in critical conversations and to explain why these kinds of questions and remarks are not acceptable. It is so difficult—for many years I’ve never had any tools for debate against Iranian dismissal and denial. (I fear that even some Iranians who read these sentences of mine will scoff at them, and tell me I’m overexaggerating for nothing).

Many denials of things such as racial slurs is frustrating, abhorrent, and would make me feel downright meek.

A typical response when talking to an Iranian elder about any racial slurs used against Black and

Afro-Iranians includes:

“Oh sure—but that word you speak of is not actually the equivalent of that slur. It’s not the same way as it is in America.”

I usually would become tongue-tied. My lack of knowledge and confidence would leave me lost on how to approach the conversation correctly, and make a meaningful change for our collective consciousness.

Throughout the years I’ve wondered—what is with all of this pushback? Why is it easy for Iranians to acknowledge another Iranian’s blackness, but then feel compelled to fuel any racial discrepancies, and deny any legitimate relation to being Iranian.

“Oh yeah—but they’re not really Iranian.”

What are these racist compulsions we have inherited from our ancestors? Our history? Our culture?

I myself am Iranian American, first generation. The majority of my family is southern Iranian, from cities such as Shiraz, and Abadan. I am southern Iranian through my parents, grandparents, my great- grandparents, and so on. I am southern Iranian, yet I am not. I did not grow up on that soil, I did not have the experience of my family who grew up there, I do not have the visceral experience of living there in the modern day, and my knowledge of my culture and history, are few and far, yet still growing.

I was always afraid to ask my questions out of fear of looking stupid, of looking desperate, and of looking unworthy of our culture.

What space could there have been to explore these questions? It’s not like there are a plethora of Iranian saloons completely accessible to all. And who would be the experts to listen to?

My knowledge continues to grow from reading more books, going to more art galleries, attending more Iranian musical festivals. My knowledge continues to grow, especially about the Black and Afro-Iranian community, because of a beautiful catalyst known as the Collective for Black Iranians.

The Collective for Black Iranians is a non-profit organization founded in 2020 to critically and artistically illuminate the lives, histories, and futures of Black and Afro-Iranians. The founder of this brilliant organization is Priscillia Kounkou Hoveyda, along with her co-founder, Alex Eskandarkhah.

They are here. They are here to tell the world that Black and Afro-Iranians are here, and always have been, and always will be.

Black is Beautiful. Siyah Ziba-st. This is an undeniable and eternal truth the Collective has so graciously coined for us. The Collective is here to construct a new rebirth for better conversations around the erasure of Blackness in Iran, as well as supporting Black Iranian artists, politicians, and collaborating with other Iranians who wish to unlearn the racism of our past, and wish to help amplify their voices along with them.

One of them is Beeta Baghoolizadeh. She is a historian. She is an Associate Research Scholar at Princeton University at the Sharmin and Bijan Mossavar-Rahmani Center for Iran and Persian Gulf Studies. And she is a delightful speaker whom I had the pleasure of listening to in a virtual event she joined with the Collective.

I was so excited to see that Beeta’s book, “The Color Black: Enslavement and Erasure in Iran”, had finally been published that I stopped whatever I was doing to go read some sample pages online. Already it excavated some of my deep-buried questions I had lost the courage to reflect upon.

One of the conundrums I have ruminated on before is why can some Iranians admit that the founder of the Qajar dynasty, Agha Mohammad Shah, was a violent, dishonorable man who martyred the last king of the Zand dynasty, but they cannot fully admit the atrocities of slavery during the Qajar dynasty? Or why can’t they admit that slavery existed at all ever since the Achaemenid Empire? Many slaves during the Qajar dynasty were forced to be agricultural laborers, or status symbols for royal and elite families. One of the things I’ve learned from just reading a sample of Beeta’s book, is that some Iranians had told her about Anis od-Dowleh who was a peasant girl, a servant, at the shah’s court, who transcended her class and became de-facto queen because of love. They also did not hesitate to correct her terminology: “servants”, not “slaves”.

How could this powerful love story possibly be lauded as justifiable? Why do so many Iranians comprehend the past through myths and fairytales?

The author and professor of ancient history, Llyod Llewellyn-Jones, tells us in his book, “Persians: The Age of The Great Kings”, that “a notable feature of the rich oral culture of the ancient Near East in general was a positive dislike for exact facts and specific dates. Persians, Babylonians, and Assyrians comprehended their past in terms of their myths... [they were more interested in] the pattern by which the past was explained in relation to mythic events. History was a result of activities of the gods who set events in motion. The ancient pursuit of a coherent pattern in understanding history meant that a sense of ‘what really happened’ in ‘history’ was gained only in light of the outcome of events.”

A positive dislike for exact facts and what is gained in the outcome—or could be gained—rings very true in our present day. But what is there truly to be gained by this specific erasure? Why do the precise facts not matter?

Sometimes I think it’s because the people of Iran are so afraid to admit any terrible atrocities of slavery because that would give license for other countries to demonize us even more. Maybe the Americans, British, and the French, and other colonizers could say, “Ah! You see? You had slavery just like us! How could you ever hope to be better than us?”

What better to do in the present, then to relinquish oneself to nostalgias of the past? Even if many parts of the truth are shrouded in romance and a dislike for exact facts. These assumptions of mine are most likely naïve and nonproductive. It is better to listen to the experts.

I believe that Beeta’s book is an important piece in the glorious pillar that is meant to support and uplift the Black and Afro-Iranian community. It is a bridge between our past, present, and future. This book can give more courage to those who want to deconstruct Iran’s history of enslavement, and give courage to those afraid of admitting, and knock some sense into those who turn away and won’t listen.

I am so thrilled to buy this book. I can finally learn and have more answers and tools for better conversations and healthy debates.

Without this book, and the Collective for Black Iranians and their pantheon of artists and scholars, us Iranians will remain as a part of an ephemeral exhibit in the gallery of the world, in the corner. We will remain an elegant joke that cannot see the reconciliation of Iran’s Black and Afro communities, and therefore, we will not see the future of Iran.

Written by E.A. Pahlavan

E.A Pahlavan is an Iranian American writer who currently resides in California. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in English (Creative Writing) from San Francisco State University as well as a Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing (Concentration in Speculative Fiction) from Sarah Lawrence College. She loves to write about many genres and topics such as poetry, fashion, culture, cuisine, geology, and novels (just to name a few). She loves pandan pastries, and cherishes the little moments of valor and serenity in an increasingly fast-paced society.