A tweet has been circulating on social media in which an Afghan wrote, “I came to Tabriz. Hotels don’t accept Afghans.” This tweet sparked a wave of reactions. Those reacting, instead of investigating the structural reasons why accommodation for Afghans in #Tabriz is difficult, often turn to other cities like Shiraz, displaying Afghans as if they were “discoveries in cages,” and attempt to portray the people of Tabriz as racist by citing anecdotal experiences such as, “I asked in Persian and they answered in Turkish.” It is as if labeling the people of Tabriz as racist based on this tired reasoning could somehow mask the real #racism.
For many, Mohammad-Reza Shajarian represents the pinnacle of music and voice. For me, however, his entire discography and musical legacy is not worth a single song by Haluk Levent or a performance by Shokhat Aliakbarova. This valuation could have many reasons: perhaps he over-chews the poetry to the point of losing its meaning, perhaps he is considered a symbol of “national music,” perhaps he sings in Persian, or perhaps his voice hurts my head—none of which requires justification. I am neither a Grammy jury member nor a critic for prestigious music magazines. This is a matter of personal taste. Impolitely put, it is none of anyone else’s business. Yet apparently in today’s Iran, some choices are classified under the “national cause,” and deviating from them is seen as an anti-national act.
Local racists have a narrow and arrogant conception of Iranian identity. Their idea of Iranness does not emerge from the totality of Iran; it is a selective fragment they seek to generalize to the whole. According to this group, all residents of this land must recognize the symbols and expressions of Iranness they endorse—which are nothing other than the monopoly of Persian language and culture—as a “national imperative.” Otherwise, one is labeled a traitor, ethnicist, or separatist. Cinema, music, sports teams, language, and similar categories are suffixed with “national” to tie them to an untouchable, sanctified “national cause,” through which what remains diverse in the surrounding environment is erased. This “arrogant impulse to export oneself” is cloaked in the sanctity of the “national cause” because it must crush the resistance of the “other.” The “other,” fearing the label of opposition, submits—even in private: they must listen to Persian national music, cheer for the team #Parsian_Stars at home, watch Persian-language cinema, and comply with other such absurdities. The racist grows bolder and more aggressive; legal recognition and the monopoly of Persian in schools and offices are not enough. The “other” must also speak Persian on the streets of Tabriz, or be branded racist, ethnicist, or separatist.
Racists are caught in a peculiar contradiction. They claim, “Art has no borders,” or that “the world is borderless and languages will unify,” but only when the “other” does not resist assimilation. In reality, these phrases serve as veiled expressions implying that emphasizing local art, mother tongue, or one’s own team is backward and narrow-minded. If you dislike Persian music, you may listen to Western music. You may speak any language in the world—except your non-Persian mother tongue. Yet once the “other” submits, these statements vanish or are repurposed: the racist intensifies borders, insisting “art belongs solely to Iranians,” “Persian is the language of literature, culture, and art,” and Iran gains not only territorial but also cultural boundaries, stretching from eastern Uzbekistan to the western Caucasus, and from India to Anatolia. If the racist’s delusion escalates further, even space shuttles, maternity leave, and social insurance are folded into their Aryan and Achaemenid heritage.
Speaking Turkish in any place or situation is a personal choice and has nothing to do with ethnicity, separatism, or similar categories. If racism exists here, it is a desire for “linguistic enslavement”—wanting to monopolize language, even on the streets of Tabriz and the throats of non-Persians. We speak in whatever language we choose in our streets. Impolitely put, it is none of anyone else’s business. We are still at the beginning of the road, moving toward a future where the official recognition of our mother tongue will only intensify the anxiety of racists.