For a long time, I have clung to a particular vision. In it, I am in Tehran, my birthplace, campaigning door-to-door for a political race. I approach an apartment, and an older woman opens the door. “Madar Jaan,” I greet her, employing the Persian phrase of affection and esteem. “Might you be open to supporting the Left Party of Iran?”
Occasionally, in this vision, she dismisses me. On other occasions, she seems curious, and I outline that our party follows socialist principles, aiming to expand the Metro system and establish a local factory. She replies that she will consider it. The grandest aspirations can seem remarkably mundane. This scenario is typical not just in my current home, the United States, and similar democracies, but also, in a more limited way, in nearby nations like Turkey and Pakistan. For it to be realized in Iran, profound transformation would be necessary.
My birth year in Iran was 1988. With the exception of my first year, my country has been under the control of one individual: Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, the supreme leader who holds ultimate power over all significant matters yet answers to no one. I have participated in the Islamic Republic’s elections, yet every option on every ballot was screened for absolute loyalty to Khamenei. A political party aligned with my beliefs in democratic socialism could not hope to operate lawfully in Iran. The same is true for any party not conforming to the Islamist structure. This ban has prevented my return to Iran for many years. My political stance makes me unwelcome.
Each demonstration in Iran underscores the regime’s brutality and reinforces demands for its end. Meaningful progress appears inconceivable without the current system’s downfall. Yet I have never felt it sufficient to merely state what we reject. We must also envision what is possible. My detailed hopes for a future Iran are how I sustain an active and expansive political imagination.
During the peak of the 2022 mass protests against the regime, I shared an emotional, lengthy talk with a close friend. We permitted ourselves to weave our grief together with visions of what might come. Like many Iranians, my friend and I hold a somewhat awkward belief in our nation’s unique potential, certain that Iran can compete with any country in what it provides.
We imagined working for Iran’s tourism authority, creating promotional drives to attract visitors globally. The nation’s Shia holy sites already bring millions of pilgrims from Muslim-majority countries. We envisioned a time when millions of Jewish visitors might journey to the Tomb of Esther and Mordechai in Hamadan, and millions of Baha’is could pilgrimage to their faith’s most sacred sites.
We pictured the Saadi Foundation, a state-operated body focused on spreading the Persian language, holding popular courses in cities like Lisbon, Montreal, and Johannesburg. Rather than its present output of grim Islamist posturing, it would showcase the finest of Iranian arts and culture: our film, our literature, maybe even our wine. I trust my more creative countrymen would devise a less garish concept, but we proposed a slogan: “Taste the Shiraz Wine That’s Actually from Shiraz.”
Among Iran’s numerous lost opportunities, the misuse of our cultural influence is particularly painful. Even if Iran did not transform into a strong democracy, could its structures not at least better reflect our national priorities and historical legacy? Could we not employ them to spread our culture and harness it for development, rather than to advance a backward-looking ideology?
Some may say that fantasies are inherently limitless. I do not envision democracy as a utopian paradise, but in its practical form: a legislature made up of officials elected by the people; an opportunity for me to convince another Iranian citizen to support my political views.
I understand that, regardless of what succeeds the current regime, we will not instantly become Denmark. My desire is simply for us to have the opportunity to contribute to our nation. Iran was a charter member of the League of Nations and the United Nations. It is among the few nations never subjected to European colonization. Liberated from the hostage-taking ideologues, even many officials currently within the Islamic Republic could reconnect with our historical strengths and redirect their work toward national betterment.
In my visions, I never forget that Iran does not belong to me alone. As in other nations, we contain progressives and traditionalists, the religious and the non-believers, the virtuous and the corrupt. Given the extensive violence and turmoil in our recent past, many Iranians regard each other with distrust and bitterness.
Yet I continue to guide myself by a motto once championed by Iranian reformists: “Iran for all Iranians.” Thus, I dream of relaxing on the shores of the Caspian Sea or the Persian Gulf, where some Iranians would wear a bikini and others a burkini. I dream of visiting a left-wing bookshop on Tehran’s famous Enghelab Avenue while others peruse Islamist or libertarian bookstores nearby. In my imagination, we all coexist in the country, without ripping it asunder to fulfill a singular vision.
As Iranians grieve and lay to rest their family members—thousands killed by the regime recently—discussing dreams feels difficult. While I perceive the decline of the Islamic Republic, I am aware the road to democracy is arduous. But I will never cease envisioning the Iran that is possible.
