Iranian Diaspora Identities: Stories and Songs combines oral history, storytelling, theories of communication, and performance studies into a unique study of an immigrant community.

This book is the result of collaborative work between two Iranian-American immigrants. Ziba Shirazi is a well-known musician, artist and performer. Kamran Afary is an Assistant Professor of Communication Studies at Cal State Los Angeles and a journalist and author.

Using ethnographic, dramatistic, and oral history approaches, Ziba Shirazi gathered these stories of diaspora journeys of Iranians living in California and Toronto in the aftermath of the Islamic Revolution of 1979.

These stories were transcribed and developed into short performance pieces that included lyrics and songs and were performed in the United States and Canada to thousands of people in theater venues and libraries.

These stories constitute a unique archive of the history of contemporary Iranian diaspora experiences. They are autobiographic vignettes that have helped constitute an artistic vision of Iranian exiles’ own sense of community and their migratory experiences that inform the transformations they experienced in family, gender, and spiritual beliefs.

In addition to providing an archive of experiences, the book uses social drama and storytelling to advocate for a new methodology for documenting Iranian diaspora accounts. It constitutes a new contribution to the existing literature on Iranian diaspora and furthers an exciting contribution to scholarship in qualitative research in Communication Studies.

A Note About the Authors
Ziba Shirazi (MA) is a poet, singer, songwriter and storyteller who left Iran in 1985. As an artist, she is best known for her poignant songs and storytelling through poetry. Shirazi’s compositions blend together flavors of Persian melodies with world music and jazz. She is the first Iranian female singer-songwriter to write all her own songs, as well as to produce and promote them in seven albums since 1990. Ziba is referred to as the ‘voice of women’ in the Iranian-American community; her lyrics are colored by passionate feminist tones, love, compassion, and universal human stories. Beginning in 2009, Shirazi created the ongoing project of Story & Song, a lyrical storytelling series of performances, set to live music with video projections featuring stories of Iranian immigrant families and their struggles since the Islamic Revolution. In the spring of 2014, Shirazi staged her first musical production, Spring Love, at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA). Her ongoing projects continue to touch audiences’ hearts, crossing cultural gaps with her unique art of storytelling. To know more about her work, see: www.zibashirazi.com

Kamran Afary (PhD) is the author of Performance and Activism: Grassroots Discourse After the Los Angeles Rebellion of 1992 (Lexington Press, 2009). He is an Assistant Professor of Communication Studies at California State University Los Angeles. He is also a Registered Drama Therapist (RDT) at the Drama Therapy Institute of Los Angeles. He has over twenty years of teaching both on campus and in prison education, and professional experience as a radio journalist and documentary-maker, producing programs focused on labor struggles, immigration, and race relations. Kamran Afary has contributed to the writing of this book by shaping the analysis of the performance scripts and theorizing this research into a scholarly project.

Sample Story

 Ziba’s Story

My Unexpected Fate: Rites of Passage

Ziba is a medium-height woman in her late fifties. She has a short haircut, has a calm attitude, a soft voice, and is casually dressed, wearing a mild makeup.

I missed the good old days

Though I’ve changed in many ways.

I was raised to be praised

Till this day I am amazed

I walked a bumpy roads and paved it

I took a chance, and I made it

It was not supposed to end like this.  

Not at all!

I wasn’t supposed to worry about bread on my table!

I wasn’t supposed to worry about my next month’s rent!

I wasn’t supposed to live from paycheck to paycheck! 

I never thought checking my mailbox would become such a horrifying experience. 

My sister is right to say, “The only man who always finds his way into our house is ‘bill’.”!

Let me tell you what I expected my life to be like

Although the memory will only tear at my heart, 

And maybe yours, too, ladies.

I expected to find a man, 

A gentleman,

An educated, neat rich man,

But most of all, a man in love with me:

So in love with me that he would be ready to work from dawn to dusk and come home with His arms full of gifts. 

His arms so full that he would have to open the door with his foot! 

I was supposed to stay home and care for the children and play the good wife to Mr. So and So.

We would reach an understanding that every now and then we would have a guest, and I Would rely on my feminine wisdom to know who to open the door to and whom to keep out of our lives 

Despite all the things that were not supposed to happen,

Something was bound to happen that I had no clue about. 

There was supposed to be a REVOLUTION!  

A holy man came to town

He overthrew the crown

He forbade happiness and joy

He didn’t care that he destroyed

Yes, the revolution came and took us all by surprise

It was mind-blowingly shocking.

In fact, the revolution rushed us to our unknown fates. 

It’s true that we the people spoke the same language, but those who seized the reins of Power definitely had other ideas.

We were forced into a life of deception.

We were forced to live two separate lives:

One hidden in our homes,

The other out in public.

Our life inside was close to who we were.

We held secret parties,

We listened to our music

We danced our dances

We laughed.

In time, we grew used to, even addicted, to the thrill of our underground joy. 

At the same time, we created fake versions of ourselves to show on the street.

On the street, we toed the strict Islamic line

In the face of the Islamic authorities

It’s how we survived.

This went on for what seemed like forever,

Until many of us could no longer live with two selves and a double consciousness.

So, we immigrated to the West 

In hopes of a better life,

One truer to our nature

Despite the unbearable pain of separation from loved ones

Farewell my love, farewell

It’s time to leave: I’m compelled

I am migrating like a sparrow

Leaving behind all my sorrow

The only thing in my head in those days was to leave the land that had become unlivable

I yearned for freedom 

I thought if I left Iran, life would be heaven.

I’d go wherever I wanted

Whenever I wanted.

I’d do whatever I wanted.

I’d wear whatever my heart desired.

I’d lie by a pool under the naked sun, until my body cooked.

I had thought of everything BUT how to earn a living!

I thought it wouldn’t make any difference

One way or another.

The same dreamboat who was to be my husband in Iran working from dawn to dusk 

Was destined to find me in America!

It would be the same perfect gentleman

Only maybe with blond hair and blue eyes

What difference does it make?

It’s the spirit that counts!

Actually, you know what?

My best friend married an American

A blond American to boot!

And her mother kept telling me:

“Ziba dear, get yourself an American husband and you’ll be set for life”

The old woman was worried

She knew I was once married to an Iranian; she thought maybe an American husband would turn my life around! 

Years later it finally dawned on me that I should not rely on a man, American or Iranian, to Set me up for life.

Did any of you ever hear this story?

Two sisters went to an American consulate in the early years of the revolution, saying they wanted to travel to America to see Michael Jackson!

I was one of those sisters

Yes, we got a visa to this land just like that!

It’s almost like a joke, isn’t it?

In spring of 1985, my sister and I set foot in America with $2,500.00 without a work permit

We knew some English and made a living doing various gigs every now and then 

In those days when I was desperate for a work permit, I called a friend and asked: 

“Hey, Hossein, do you know someone I could marry temporarily, just for Green Card; someone I could divorce in no more than a year”?

He answered: 

“You just find somebody willing to marry you, don’t worry about filing for divorce, he will leave you in six months anyway!”

I had so many good friends………………

It was hard to find a steady job without work permit

We lived day by day

At the end of the month we would set aside money for the next month’s rent

Buy a sack of rice and a few cans of tuna

And then pray to find work to carry us a little longer

 My sister had an American boyfriend who kept telling us:

 “You guys have to start from the bottom”

“You guys have to start from the bottom” 

He wouldn’t understand when we told him we were children of privilege and were not meant to work for a living!

We did our best to explain

BUT he just wouldn’t understand  

I didn’t dare to tell him into his face but I used to mumble to myself: 

Why don’t you do right?

Like some other man do

Get out of here and

Get me some money too

                                           “Sang by Peggy Lee”

“Champaign taste, beer pocket” he would say

He kept working on our pampered souls until my sister and I finally accepted

Though reluctantly…

That there’s nothing shameful about working

Not even for us!

We tried a few restaurants for job

But they wouldn’t hire anyone without experience

Until we saw this ad in a newspaper:

Waitress Wanted

Good Pay

No Experience Required

 We both dressed up and drove in our old/ rusty /huge/white Chevrolet that my cousin lent us to the address given in the paper

Though early in the afternoon, the restaurant’s parking lot was full of snappy cars

Colorful and expensive

It was rather surprising for that time of the day

We looked around and soon noticed a pink neon sign flashing a half-naked woman with big curvy busts

The restaurant was actually a topless bar!

That is why they didn’t require any experience! 

We took a glance at the size of the neon busts …

And compared it with our own…

And realized that we are not qualified for this job either! 

We waited around the lot for half an hour, laughing our hearts out… 

Gradually, my sister and I got to know some Iranians in the city

And opportunities came up for part time work in various fields:

Sales

Typing

Advertising…

For a while we typed political books for Mahmood

An Iranian guy

Though everything was in Farsi we couldn’t make heads or tails

All we knew was that Mahmood had communist political views

But… we were not worried

We thought, if FBI ever arrested us

They could immediately tell how dumb we were about politics

And we have lots of respect for the capitalist system of the United States of America

Another one of our memorable jobs was in a place where they altered Mercedes Benz cars for U.S. customs clearance

It couldn’t be a worse experience

And I don’t wish it on anyone

Our workplace was a mess

Full of dust

My sister and I didn’t know if we were there to clean up

OR do office work!

The two- days- a -week we went there

We had to dig deep and clean up first…

In order to find the desk and the dusty files to start our professional office work!

This was actually not so bad

The fun part was the hot and humid summer days of Texas

Where we were surrounded by ants

They took such juicy bites out of our calves that we had to scratch day and night

Until our legs swelled like four fat eggplants  

The owners were two Iranian brothers

One of whom also managed a Burger King branch

Sometimes he came at noon with two whoppers and fries for us

We were so happy…

The joy of those treats stayed with us until payday

At the end of the week

When the older brother was writing our check

The younger brother would stand there, saying:

How about the burgers?

Aren’t you going to deduct the cost of the burgers from their paycheck?

My sister and I looked at each other

Calculating in our head what would be left out of our minimum wage of $3.25 an hour after deducting the cost of lunch!

These memories still brings laughter to our faces…

You know…

In the first few years everything seemed possible

Owing to our youth and energy

We could work in any condition

And get along with any employer

Hope for better days and youthful enthusiasm carried us along

  The pampered attitude had left our personalities as the realities of life jolted in  

Finally we realized in order to taste the Champaign one has to work hard

I must admit that every now and then

For years

I missed what my life was supposed to be like

I missed that feminine feeling and the need to lay my head on a masculine shoulder and rely on someone else

Sometimes I need a shoulder to cry on

Someone strong to rely on

Someone to hold me in silence

Give me strength, hope and guidance

                               Someone to tell me not to worry

                         I’ll take care of things what’s your hurry?

Once, while I was working at a doctor’s office

I called the attorney for one of our patients and told him his client is ready to be hospitalized

The attorney was glad to see his client has been taken care of and his work so facilitated, he asked: 

• Ziba, what’s your job in that office?
• Nothing.  I’m here to make life easy for you,” I joked.
• Oh, my kind of girl!
• I hate you and “your kind of girls,” I replied. What happened to all those men who were supposed to take care of us? 

He laughed and said:

I have bad news for you, Ziba

 “Those men are all dead!”

We ended the conversation laughingly

But later I kept thinking to myself, he is right 

We… women like me… actually brought the end to those men

We wiped them out

Grappling with the turbulent life as immigrants has occupied our minds 

We had no choice but to learn how to survive on our own

In the process we became independent

Now we put on our suit every morning and leave home for work and no one dares to look down on us

Now it takes no one less than SUPERMAN himself to take care of us…

Years have passed since that day

Now I’m more at peace with myself

I no longer feel that desperate need for that broad shoulder

I have learned to sing, dance and stomp through life

I’m happy that my man walks beside me like a comrade

Side by side

Where there is a need

He takes a step forward to pave the way

And when he sees my long strides…

He steps aside and smiles with pride 

I’m no longer hindered by those idle dreams

I have erased them from my mind…

And you know what?

I rid myself of gender roles and tasks and the accompanying confusion  

Now I think to myself

This is how life was meant to be… 

Everything was meant to happen exactly as it did…

I am me, a woman

Freedom is what I wear

Coquetry from my head to my toes

But made of rock & steel

I am me, a woman

Comrade, friend, wife

I am a mother

O! You, who I fed, don't dare throw a veil on my head

Sway of my hair is none but an illusion

none, but a vain image on the water

And these ruby lips, and these intoxicating eyes

is none, but on the lips of the drunken ills

And these accounts of bowed brows and blackened eyelash arrows

is none, but tools and weapons of  poetry wars

I am me, a woman

My figure bears fragrance of joyful delight

A Spark of life is within me, spawning with soul and spirit

O! You, the little fox! I am a lioness

you are darkness; I am the light

with means of divinity, don’t set my fruition on fire, don’t!

Thus you’d know my life and soul

extend a hand and aim to understand my role

O! You, the bitter piece!

Accept me as one with yours

I am of a different kind, but equal one with yours

Open your wings, and feathers, such is the way of love

and as such, I am a remix, if you are the wing of flight