Freedom in the Desert
Max Hartshorne goes on an adventure to the deserts in Iran on an excursion of freedom. In his article, “Iran: A Day of Freedom,” Max Hartshorne experiences women getting to let their hair down from their headscarves, hold hands with their boyfriends, making friends along the tour as they stop at mosques and dunes.
The desert means freedom, and an ability to get away from the oppressive heat of the religious regime, which since the 1979 revolution has imposed a strict dress code on all women over the age of 10.
But ‘politics’ as the people here call these rules, is not interesting to any Iranian under the age of 30. They don’t watch the Ayatollah on TV or care about the absurd statements uttered about Israel and lashing out at the US by President Ahmadinejad. They speak softly and wistfully about feeling oppressed but don’t talk about voting or doing anything to change the status quo.
“It’s all heading toward change,” said Etemadi, “the headscarves are moving further and further down.” In the smaller towns, no women wore anything but the chador, in Tehran, about half wore manteaus and most wore their headscarves far back. Eventually, things will be much different if trends continue.
After time for some desert photos, we got back in the old bus bound for a caravansary, a fortress built 400 years ago to protect the passing camel caravans moving goods along the Silk Road. Now abandoned, there are plans to turn this large and beautiful building into a hotel. For now, it’s a good base of operations to provide hot water for tea and as a picnicking spot for Iranian families out for the day.
After time for some desert photos, we got back in the old bus bound for a caravansary, a fortress built 400 years ago to protect the passing camel caravans moving goods along the Silk Road. Now abandoned, there are plans to turn this large and beautiful building into a hotel. For now, it’s a good base of operations to provide hot water for tea and as a picnicking spot for Iranian families out for the day.
Scrambling up the steep sandy face of the hilly dunes, some of us folded hands on our chests and rolled all the way down. Others set out to walk far out to the tops of the highest dune peaks. The light was perfect, that soft glow of a late fall afternoon, and we were glad we had brought along jackets to ward off the chill after sundown.
To the blasting beat, one by one men and woman got up to dance, swaying seductively and smiling, defying the rules against such ungodly pleasures. No one could stop us as we rolled along in the desert, no one could see what fun we were having as we let the music move us.
