Illustration by Forouzan

THE WILD LIGHT OF PERSIAN WOMEN
The past, the present, and the future

Grazia: From ancient gardens to modern revolutions, the story of Iran – Persia, to many, has always been written most starkly on women’s bodies. Carriers of light through oppression, exile and war, Persian women embody both wilderness and resilience, as documented by Iranian-British-Kiwi writer Sahar Sedaghat in this love letter to her roots.

“I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.” — Hafez, Persian Poet, 14th century.

When I was in my early twenties and living overseas, I copied these words from one of Persia’s greatest poets into a card for my sister, who was going through a difficult time.

Years later, they still echo back to us. They have become a mantra, not just for the two of us, but for the collective story of Iranian women, or Persian, as many of us prefer to call ourselves. Our light endures. Even under oppression, in exile, or in war, across oceans, it refuses to be extinguished. That untameable light is what makes us feel wild at our core: we are women taught to carry illumination through darkness, to survive regimes that try to dim us, to shine even when flickering.

You may be wondering: What exactly is the difference between Iranian and Persian? These days, they’re often used interchangeably, depending on who you ask. To explain, we need a brief return to history.

A disclaimer before we begin: as a land of ancient civilisations and modern challenges, Iran’s history has shaped and been shaped by global events for millennia. Its geography has made it both a crossroads and a battleground, and it is vast, layered, and impossibly complex. As I write this, the country is once again in turmoil and on the brink of collapse, facing some of its most significant challenges in modern history. What follows is not an exhaustive chronology, but an attempt to contextualise the roots and ruptures that shape the nation today.

RETURNING TO THE ROOTS OF WILDERNESS

In Iran: A Very Short Introduction, Iranian historian Ali Ansari summarised the difference well: “Mention the words ‘Persia’ and ‘Persian’ to anyone in the West and it’s likely to elicit a positive response… Mention Iran and the Iranians, and the response is likely to be more negative. Ironically, the government’s 1934 insistence on using ‘Iran’ was meant to banish associations of decadence and decline. Instead, it has been burdened with nuclear standoffs, extremism, and repression.”

Persia, however, has always carried a different resonance. German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel once referred to the Persians as the “first historical people.” Most famously, in the 6th century BC, Cyrus the Great transformed a cluster of semi-nomadic tribes into the Achaemenid Empire, the ancient world’s first superpower, in less than 15 years. He embodied one of the earliest contradictions of Iranian history: remembered both for his conquests and his benevolence. His leadership is often cited as pioneering ideas of human rights and freedom, values many Persians and Iranians alike still hold dear.

The empire passed through many iterations: the Achaemenids, the Seleucids, the Parthians, and finally the Sasanians, who established the first Persian kingdom and laid the groundwork for modern Iran.

One of my favourite tropes in Persian history is that kings were remembered not only as warriors but as gardeners. In fact, my mother, an environmental scientist, used to joke that Persians were the world’s first environmentalists, a claim echoed by Ansari. Even the word “paradise” comes from Old Persian ‘pairidaēza’: an enclosed garden, a vision of heaven made earthly, as British historian Amélie Kuhrt reminds us.

My earliest memory of Iran is my grandfather’s garden in Esfahan, enclosed and fragrant, my first paradise. Perhaps this is why I have always felt such an affinity to nature, as though it was inherited along with my ancestry. But these days my call to the wild feels less like the ordered rows of that garden and more unruly, more untamed, mirroring Iran itself.

In Persian mythology, women were linked to elemental forces such as water, fire, air, and earth. Growing up with these stories, I came to understand why I’ve always felt called to the wild. Nature has always been my refuge, my safe space. That call never felt like a choice; it felt inherited, written into me by ancestry.

Retracing my roots has also helped me understand why Iran is so often misunderstood in the West. Our history is one of contradiction: benevolence and conquest, decadence and decay, order and chaos. And it has always been written most starkly on women’s bodies, celebrated and punished, educated and exiled, unveiled and re-veiled. Women, I would argue, have always been the wild, beating heart of the nation >>>