, in the land of Chess, poets and empires, women walked freely in the streets of Iran. They wore what they pleased—sometimes jeans and blouses, sometimes the vibrant traditional garb of their ancestors. The clamor of debate filled university halls as young women, shoulder to shoulder with men, pursued dreams of medicine, law, engineering, and art.
Their voices carried far and wide, not muffled behind veils but projected boldly from podiums and stages. Iran, under the Shah, was imperfect, yes, but it offered its daughters opportunities to rise, to speak, and to thrive.
And then came 1979.
The revolution swept through the streets like a storm, and with it came Ayatollah Khomeini and his vision of a theocratic state. For women, the world turned dark. In place of progress came mandates: the hijab became law, their voices were silenced, their freedoms erased. The government declared war not just on dissenters but on half its population—its women.
Today, Iran is a nation where a scarf, slipped too far back on a head, can lead to arrest. A chant in the streets can lead to a noose. Since August of this year, 562 people, including 20 women, have been executed for opposing the regime. And yet, these very women have become the fiercest critics of the mullahs’ rule, marching at the front of protests, chanting, “With hijab or without hijab, we march to revolution.”
Think about this: In 1988, Ayatollah Khomeini issued a fatwa, resulting in the massacre of 30,000 political prisoners—many of them members of the PMOI, a democratic opposition group. That legacy of brutality persists. Over 120,000 political prisoners have been executed since the Islamic Republic took power.
And yet, Iranian women refuse to be silenced. Despite the threats, despite the prison cells, despite the gallows. They refuse.
The regime, in its desperation, introduced the so-called Chastity and Hijab law. This new measure targets Iran’s 40 million women, more than half of whom are under the age of 30. But instead of cowering, they defy. Public disobedience has become the norm. For many, the hijab is no longer a headscarf—it is a symbol of oppression, and they cast it off in protest.
Their courage comes at a steep price. They face the Revolutionary Guard, a brutal force described by some as Iran’s Gestapo. They face arrests, torture, and death sentences, often handed down for charges as ludicrous as “waging war against God.”
And yet, they march on.
Contrast this with the Iran of the 1970s, where women freely roamed the halls of universities, their education unshackled by clerical decrees. Where they could choose their careers without fear of systemic discrimination. Where their clothing was a matter of personal taste, not government mandate.
The theocracy has tried to erase that Iran from memory, but its spirit endures in the defiance of its people—especially its women. They lead the charge, not just for themselves but for their nation. They chant not just for freedom from the hijab but for freedom from tyranny.
But what of the West? What of the United States and its allies? Surely, we cannot sit idly by as women and men alike risk everything for liberty. Yet history teaches us that our role must be one of support, not interference. The Iranian people do not seek foreign armies or covert operations; they seek solidarity. They ask us to amplify their voices, to condemn the regime’s brutality, and to demand accountability on the global stage.
For too long, Western policies have wavered—sometimes emboldening the regime through appeasement, other times destabilizing the region with heavy-handed intervention. Neither approach has served the cause of freedom. The Iranian people have made it clear: they will lead their own revolution, but they need assurance that the free world stands with them.
So, as Iran’s women chant “Woman, Life, Freedom,” we must echo their cry—not with weapons or sanctions that hurt the wrong people, but with moral clarity and unwavering resolve. We must pressure international bodies to act. We must hold Iran’s leaders accountable for their crimes against humanity. And above all, we must let the Iranian people know they are not alone.
Because if they succeed—and succeed they must—it will not just be their victory. It will be the world’s.