I had the good fortune
today to meet a remarkable individual; a talented Iranian-born graphic novelist who though based in Paris has produced two national bestsellers ("Persepolis" and "Persepolis 2"), autobiographic works based on her childhood growing up in Iran during the turbulent era of the late 70s (with a movie in the works slated for release in 2007). Most of you won't know who I'm talking about, well neither did I until a couple of weeks ago when I first heard that Marjane Satrapi would be visiting MIT. I read her first book "Persepolis" (published in 2004) in a couple of hours yesterday at the library and came away rather impressed with both the content and style with which amusing anecdotes captured the turmoil in society that began with the revolution and precipitated by the war with Iraq led ultimately to the rise of the Islamic fundamentalists (and misery for
all thereafter). Marjane was approximately nine years old at the time and grew up as an only child in a house with activist, atheist, Marxist parents and a charming, incredibly witty grandmother who all have a profound effect on her interpretation of the unfolding drama. The
illustrations are beautifully done and the whole work is very polished, a term Marjane referred to in funny English as "obsessional". As an Iranian born after the revolution and growing up in the West, I came to know the stark societal transformation indirectly from my own parents and interaction with others and yet the book still allowed me to experience it all in a different way that was much more tangible. But the intended audience of this work is not Iranians, it is to give people here in the West an insight into our culture, and allow people to realize just how opprressed we are (as oppressed people the world over governed by totalitarian regimes can relate to). I got to meet Marjane personally in a small gathering with a few other Iranian students. She spoke broadly and many points resonated with me: that such a strongly patriachical society like Iran's can somehow one day embrace democracy, that women's status in society had in fact risen after the revolution: from virgins in mini skirts to educated activists and an integral component of the economy (64% of all Iranian students are female), that in the immediate aftermath of the Shah's flee into exile in late 1980 there were two months in which no government was in place (no military or police) and yet the society did not descend into chaos as people showed their love of freedom through integrity, that humanizing Iranians to the West by showing how ordinary we really are has serious political ramifications in swaying public opinion against a military confrontation that would derail the Iranian trajectory towards eventual democracy (as it had done with foreign intervention in 1953 and 1980), that a culture which continually equates pleasure with guilt ("sex is AIDS, smoking is cancer, eating is cholesterol") is bound to incite fanaticism. I'm immensely proud that we have someone of Marjane's creativity and boldness to counter the prevailing notion (perpetuated by the media here, who else) that we are all bearded Islamic radicals and polygamists who beat our women and strap explosives to our belts. Now only if she would smoke
a little less so that she will continue her activism for many years to come.
If you're like me, you probably have a name that no one else has heard before much less remotely come close to pronouncing correctly. You have a name that is not just unusual to foreign ears, but also to the people with whom you share an ancestry. Add to that the fact that your twin sister's name is only one letter apart (ok, I admit that's
much rarer still). I recently had to explain to a Japanese colleague of mine the correct way to pronounce my name since he was sincere enough to ask. So here goes. My name, obviously, has three syllables: Ar-da-van. The 'A' in 'Ar' sounds like aroma (mmm, aroma). The second part, 'da', is like the name Dan, short 'a'. And finally 'van' is pronounced not like the automobile, but instead the 'a' is a long 'a' like ball. So that's it, Ar-da-van, the name of a lineage of Persian kings mentioned in the national epic
Shahnameh (Book of Kings) written in the 10th century by one of Iran's most famous poets, Ferdowsi.
Like me, you probably have thought about changing your name at some point in your life. Your name labelled you a foreigner, and was mercilessly ridiculed by children with whom you were trying to make peace with during recess. But as you've grown and matured, you've discovered that your name gives you a distinct character with which you can forge an identity. How many people named Michael, Tom or Jason can say that? What once was a serious liability, is now the preferred means to advance a career especially in the scientific community where the overwhelming majority of names are ethnic in nature. And you've probably already read that NY times
piece, you know the one that addresses this very point. The article articulates whats been evident over the last few years, that more and more immigrants are choosing to forego the anglicization of their names with the intent of preserving their cultural heritage. This is good for society, in that it reflects its openness to assimilate the vast ethnic identities of its citizens while still preserving its root. And of course its good for us, the people with such names, as it enables us to maintain a connection to the places and cultures from which we emanated. A global village indeed.