The Tragedy of the Azerbaijani Turkish Ethnic Minoritization

Farzin Farzad - Dec 20, 2012

Farzin Farzad

We are divided. We are a community that escaped religious indoctrination, racism, and the systematic and social erasure of our language, culture, and identity. We arrived at the doorstep of the "land of the free" to benefit from the liberal economic and social policies enshrined in the U.S. Constitution. We developed into wealthy, highly educated, and elite members of American society, breaking free from a theocratic experiment that amounts to a prison on a grand scale. Yet somehow, we still cannot define who we are. We remain in the most tragic prison of all—an identity crisis. Are we American, Iranian, or Azerbaijani?

Like my family and me, many members of the Azerbaijani [Turkish] ethnic minority left Iran in the '70s and '80s because we were tired of enduring various forms of oppression. We could no longer bear the ridicule for being part of an ethnic minority group, nor the disdain from a government first guided by an autocrat, then by religious leaders. Most of us chose to forget our pasts. Aside from our love for our own food, pastries, and certain holiday celebrations that evoked a sense of distant nostalgia, we considered ourselves American now. Others joined or formed human rights groups or organizations and ended up working with the same ultra-nationalists who promoted a singular Persian identity for all of Iran—those we were supposed to have fled from. Wherever we ended up, we rarely looked after our own community. We have always been culturally inclined to tend to others before helping ourselves, and this mentality has survived even within our diaspora in the United States. Could it be that we don't know who we are?

It strikes me as strange that in the most powerful country on Earth, home to some of the most active and influential diaspora communities, we have yet to form a single organization to represent us. From personal experience, I know of many failed attempts to establish legally registered organizations that, at a minimum, could showcase our culture and educate our youth. Even these organizations—promoting something as harmless as our culture—have often failed, with few exceptions. Anything with a larger scope seems impossible, though it hasn’t stopped some of us from trying.

The organization I co-founded, the Network of Azerbaijani-Americans from Iran (NAAI), was created to go beyond the limitations of a cultural organization. We aim to create a diaspora network representing our interests as a community and a voting bloc. Our board created the group hoping to establish a degree of solidarity and inspire others to get involved. However, in the year we have worked toward this goal, I've realized that we cannot have an active and vibrant community unless we first recognize ourselves as Azerbaijani-Americans from Iran. To do so, we must understand that our multiple identities are not mutually exclusive, nor are they in conflict; they shape who we are.

Growing up between two worlds and having more than one identity taught me to objectively assess our practices and develop a more practical outlook on our strengths and weaknesses. In my search for an explanation of our disunity, I became quite critical of this mentality. After years of study, I realized that our self-loathing was not inherent in our culture but a result of decades of nationalist rhetoric and an education system that promoted a propagandized Iranian history. This form of ultra-nationalism, centered on Iran’s Aryan roots, was introduced only 80 years ago. It promoted rampant racism against non-Iranic groups both within and outside Iran. It encouraged viewing Turks as the enemy, leading us to develop a sense of animosity toward each other rather than those who belittled us. I am not exempt from this mindset; until a few years ago, I acted even more discriminatory against our own people when around Persians, even those who were genuinely interested in learning about Iran’s Azerbaijanis. Eventually, I recognized that we are Turks, and our history is undeniably intertwined with Iran’s. That is something we should feel proud of, not ashamed.

I am not advocating that we retreat into ourselves or separate from our American or Iranian identities. Rather, I long for greater unity and the ability to advocate effectively for issues such as aid for victims of the Tabriz earthquake, the drying of Lake Urmia, and the promotion of ethnic and linguistic rights for the Azerbaijanis in Iran. These are injustices and violations of our rights we can all agree on. But I also recognize that we cannot be vibrant members of society without pride in our Azerbaijani heritage. We must first strengthen our identity before moving forward.

"Ayrilik," or separation, is one of Azerbaijan’s most beloved songs, expressing the sorrow we Azerbaijanis felt after our homeland was divided in the early 19th century. But our separation runs deeper and takes many forms. We are metaphorically trapped in a Platonic cave, and the only way to break free is to understand how our past experiences have shaped our mindset. We must see that our culture of disunity was learned over the past 80 years, and it is fundamentally an anti-Turkic behavior. Now is our chance to reshape our image. An effective diaspora organization—any organization—should represent the interests of both the repatriated community and our community of origin. Currently, our diaspora serves neither, and we cannot let this continue.

*Farzin Farzad is the Executive Director of the D.C.-based Network of Azerbaijani Americans from Iran.