Marjane leaves her home country of Iran for Austria to escape the oppression that women suffer under Iran’s Islamic fundamentalist regime—yet she finds that she faces some level of sexism everywhere she goes. While the particulars of how Marjane experiences sexism differ from country to country and culture to culture, some elements remain the same. Namely, Marjane recognizes that no matter the culture, women are harassed and policed —and that this treatment prevents them from living fulfilling lives or reaching their full potential.
In theory, Marjane leaves Tehran for Vienna specifically to escape persecution because of her sex—but she soon discovers that sexism isn’t unique to Iran. Marjane arrives in Europe believing that she’ll be safe from having her femininity and her outspoken nature policed by the Guardians of the Revolution. These are the men and women who patrol cities in Iran to scold and punish people—mostly women—who violate the country’s laws about behavior, dress, and interactions with the opposite sex. But instead of the Guardians, Marjane encounters many European men who sexually harass her—such as when she gets a job at a cafe and has to put up with male patrons pinching her bottom. Others, mostly women, accuse her of prostitution or general sexual deviancy. Marjane faces a unique form of discrimination as both a woman and a racial minority in Austria. Her white, European female friends don’t experience the same type of insults or assumptions about their sexual activities—even though Marjane knows that her friends are far more promiscuous and sexually liberated than she is. Rather, what Marjane experiences in Vienna is a combination of sexism and prejudice because she’s Iranian. In the eyes of many, she’s an uncivilized, promiscuous foreigner. But while the sexism, catcalling, and shaming that Marjane experiences in Vienna are awful and dehumanizing, these experiences don’t come with the same threat of violence or imprisonment that being stopped by the Guardians of the Revolution does. Rather, sexist people in Vienna insult and alienate Marjane for the imagined offenses of being female and Iranian. While the danger of state-sanctioned violence is unique to Iran, leaving the country doesn’t guarantee fair treatment.
Upon Marjane’s return to Tehran at age 18, she recognizes that in addition to formally policing women through the Guardians of the Revolution, Iran has also created a culture of fear in which civilian women police one another—and themselves. Especially once Marjane begins studying art at the Islamic Azad University, she finds herself among other young women who have spent their entire lives in Iran. They police Marjane’s private life in a way that the Guardians of the Revolution cannot, as they’re her friends with whom she shares personal things. For instance, they express horror when Marjane admits that she takes birth control because she and her boyfriend have sex. The guardians of the Revolution would have no way of knowing this (though they do, at many points, demand entry to private homes to break up illegal mixed-gender parties). But the organization’s sexist agenda is bolstered by civilians, as women socially shame their peers who have premarital sex.
Though Marjane finds herself at odds with her classmates in this regard, she does find common ground with them when it comes to the university uniforms that they all dislike. The uniforms—which include a long veil and unfashionable pants that are tripping hazards—make it hard for the women to move around easily and create the artwork that they’re ostensibly there to make. But Marjane recognizes that these uniforms—and the wider societal pressure for women to dress a certain way—have a purpose beyond just controlling what women look like. She notes at one point that “The regime had understood that one person leaving her house while asking herself: ‘Are my trousers long enough? Is my veil in place?’ [...] No longer asks herself: ‘Where is my freedom of thought? Where is my freedom of speech?’” Essentially, policing women’s clothing is an effective way to keep them in a constant state of fear, thereby distracting them from asking questions that might threaten the regime’s authority. It also distracts them from their schoolwork, preventing them from fully immersing themselves in their passions and fulfilling their potential.
Marjane offers few remedies for the issues that women face in Iran. At the end of the memoir, she leaves Iran for Europe once again—this time, permanently. This implies that at least for an outspoken, independent woman like Marjane, it’s impossible to find safety or fulfillment in a country that systematically oppresses women and makes them fear for their lives. Persepolis 2 makes it abundantly clear to readers that in some form or another, the oppression of women exists everywhere. But through speaking out and educating others—and in particular, by writing firsthand accounts like Persepolis and Persepolis 2—it’s possible to raise awareness about the issues women face and make subtler forms of oppression easier to identify and call out.
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Gender and Oppression Quotes in Persepolis 2: The Story of a Return
In every religion, you find the same extremists.
That night, I really understood the meaning of “the sexual revolution.” It was my first big step toward assimilating into Western culture.
“Whatever! Existence is not absurd. There are people who believe in it and who give their lives for values like liberty.”
“What rubbish! Even that, it’s a distraction from boredom.”
“So my uncle died to distract himself?”
For Momo, death was the only domain where my knowledge exceeded his. On this subject, I always had the last word.
I’d already heard this threatening word yelled at me in the metro. It was an old man who said “dirty foreigner, get out!” I had heard it another time on the street. But I tried to make light of it. I thought that it was just the reaction of a nasty old man.
But this, this was different. It was neither an old man destroyed by the war, nor a young idiot. It was my boyfriend’s mother who attacked me. She was saying that I was taking advantage of Markus and his situation to obtain an Austrian passport, that I was a witch.
I had known a revolution that had made me lose part of my family.
I had survived a war that had distanced me from my country and my parents...
...And it’s a banal story of love that almost carried me away.
“What do you mean? You’ve done the deed with many people?”
“Well, I mean...I’ve had a few experiences.”
“So what’s the difference between you and a whore???”
Underneath their outward appearance of being modern women, my friends were real traditionalists.
They were overrun by hormones and frustration, which explained their aggressiveness toward me. To them, I had become a decadent Western woman.
But as soon as the effect of the pills wore off, I once again became conscious. My calamity could be summarized in one sentence: I was nothing. I was a Westerner in Iran, an Iranian in the West. I had no identity. I didn’t even know anymore why I was living.
I applied myself. Designing the “model” that would please both the administration and the interested parties wasn’t easy. I made dozens of sketches.
This was the result of my research. Though subtle, these differences meant a lot to us.
This little rebellion reconciled my grandmother and me. [...] And this is how I recovered my self-esteem and my dignity. For the first time in a long time, I was happy with myself.
The regime had understood that one person leaving herself while asking herself: Are my trousers long enough? Is my veil in place? Can my makeup be seen? Are they going to whip me?
No longer asks herself: Where is my freedom of thought? Where is my freedom of speech? My life, is it livable? What’s going on in the political prisons?
I didn’t say everything I could have: that she was frustrated because she was still a virgin at twenty-seven! That she was forbidding me what was forbidden to her! That to marry someone that you don’t know, for his money, is prostitution. That despite her locks of hair and her lipstick, she was acting like the state.
When the apartment door closed, I had a bizarre feeling. I was already sorry! I had suddenly become “a married woman.” I had conformed to society, while I had always wanted to remain in the margins. In my mind, “a married woman” wasn’t like me. It required too many compromises. I couldn’t accept it, but it was too late.
