Vahid Qarabagli | 12 September 2023
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| Fall 2015: Protests erupted in Azerbaijani cities like Tabriz, Urmia, Zanjan, and Ardabil after a state TV insult to Turks. |
In Iran, as in many modern nation-states, official historical narratives are not neutral accounts of the past but carefully constructed instruments of power. These narratives serve to naturalize social hierarchies, centralize authority, and legitimize the existing order as inevitable and timeless. Rather than reflecting the complex encounters of Iran’s diverse peoples, they promote a simplified, selective past that masks contestation and silences dissent. By embedding certain groups, Persians, in particular, as the natural inheritors of civilization and statehood, and rendering others invisible or subordinate, these narratives sustain unequal structures of power and belonging. History, in this context, becomes less about understanding the past and more about justifying who holds privilege in the present.
Since the Pahlavi era, Iran’s official narrative has promoted a singular culture, language, history, and nation. This narrative is rooted in a primordialist and essentialist notion of identity influenced by 19th-century orientalist discourses and the Aryan racial theory, which framed Persians as a superior Indo-European lineage to emphasize their distinctiveness and supposed primacy within Iran’s nationalist discourse. Early modernist Iranian nationalist intellectuals adopted this framework to construct the ideological foundation of Iranian nationalism. Following the Islamic Revolution of 1979, the official discourse continues to portray the nation as a continuous, centralized entity stretching back millennia. This constructed national identity functions as a myth that legitimizes and sustains political and cultural domination. Like all myths, this one requires silence, the silence of Turks, Kurds, Arabs, Baluchis, and Turkmens: millions whose languages, cultures, and histories have been systematically erased in the name of constructing a singular, exclusionary “national identity” and unity envisioned through the lens of Persian linguistic, cultural, civilizational, and ethnic supremacy.
A Nation Built on Monolingualism
One of the most powerful engines of historical amnesia in Iran is its education system. Through an institutionalized and relentless dissemination of ideologically skewed knowledge, it enforces a rigid monolingual policy that elevates Persian (Farsi) as the sole language of instruction and public life. But the impact goes far beyond language alone. The system tightly controls the stories we hear, the literature we read, and the history we learn—systematically erasing the existence, cultures, and rich contributions of Turkish, Kurdish, Arabic, and other mother tongue communities. These languages are not merely absent from classrooms; they are framed as threats to national unity, silencing millions and stripping the nation of its diversity.
Put simply, this policy does more than deny linguistic rights; it denies millions of children the chance to connect with their own heritage, literature, and history. A Turkish-speaking child in Tabriz is unlikely to encounter the poetry of Shahriyar in their mother tongue or learn about folklore heroes like Koroglu, Qacaq Nabi, or Dede Qorqud. Instead, they are taught a centralized narrative that glorifies Persian empires and iconic figures such as Ferdowsi and “smart” Iranian ministers who served in the courts of invading Turkic dynasties. This narrative reinforces a version of history that sidelines the very peoples whose languages and cultures are suppressed today.
Caught between this official narrative and their own lived reality, these children must navigate a sense of self that is systematically marginalized or rendered invisible. Their languages, histories, and cultures are absent not only in classrooms but are also mocked, stigmatized, and portrayed as backward or threatening in media, cultural celebrations, and public discourse. Their language and image only become visible in public and media when framed through or reduced to stereotypes, as part of a politics that reproduces a single, negative image of them. They are subjected to ethnic slurs like "Turke khar" ("Turk the donkey") and mocking expressions like "ye rooz ye Torke..." ("one day a Turk...") that often begin demeaning jokes that circulate widely among peers and even in teacher-led interactions. This constant exclusion creates a profound disconnect that challenges their sense of identity and belonging, forcing them to forge a sense of self in a society that systematically denies their humanity and their full recognition as citizens, free from shame, erasure, and the burden of imposed inferiority. Education becomes a tool of assimilation within institutional practices that stigmatize, shame, devalue, and silence difference.
Reclaiming Voice, Language, and Narrative
And yet, beneath this surface, resistance continues.
Take, for example, the vibrant resistance among Azerbaijan’s Turk community, the largest minoritized group in Iran with millions of speakers, who are defiantly reclaiming their stories and culture despite systemic suppression. Parents struggle to give their children Turkish names in a system that refuses official recognition of non-Persian names. Youth organize virtual book clubs and online teachings to learn to read and write in their mother tongue. Poets and writers produce works in Turkish (Azerbaijan) despite restrictions. In a society where language, memory, and cultural expression are policed, these acts are profoundly powerful.
As in the case of Azerbaijan’s Turk community, these acts remind us that Iran is not a single story; it is many, and similar grassroots activism is evident in other communities as well. No amount of censorship can contain that plurality forever, nor silence the expression and negotiations of diverse subjectivities.
A Different Future Is Possible
To move forward, Iran must first look back honestly. It must acknowledge the dark history and ongoing reality that began with its nation-state building project, a project that pushed for a centralized, monolingual, Persian-centric narrative that fails to reflect the diverse communities, realities, desires, and experiences of most of its people. It must understand that the suppression of diverse peoples, their voices, and languages is not a source of stability but a cause of deep and growing fracture.
The state must recognize and restructure the power dynamics built on domination and control over diverse communities, which have been silenced through labelling and stigmatization, such as separatists or pan-Turkists. It must share power with these people and regions who have been disempowered through systematic politics of nation-state formation favoring centralization. And it must listen, truly listen, to the voices it has long sought to silence.
This isn’t about weakening the nation. It’s about making it more resilient. A society built on diversity, inclusion, and dignity will always outlast one built on myth, fear, and repression.
The future of the country, where peace, justice, and sustainability prevail, depends on shifting and sharing power rather than denying it, and shedding nationalist and romanticized baggage. There is no other path forward.