An article by MARIA KARMI

As the anniversary of the Jin Jiyan Azadî uprising approaches, the Islamic Republic once again brings the issue of the hijab to the forefront of Iranian public space. At first glance, the hijab may appear to be merely a religious and cultural dispute over women's clothing. But at the heart of this issue lies a much larger question: Who has the right to decide about a person's body, life, and choices?

In the Islamic Republic, mandatory hijab was never merely a religious ruling. Since the authorities transformed it into a legal and political obligation, the hijab has become a symbol of the regime's identity and a tool for imposing authority over citizens' daily lives. Therefore, a woman who removes her hijab in the street, or does not wear her clothes the way the regime wants, is not viewed by the authorities as merely making a personal choice; rather, her act is viewed, indirectly, as a challenge to the state's right to intervene in her life.

In reality, the fundamental issue is not the hijab, but the right to choose. Is a woman the decision‑maker over her body and life, or do the state, police, cleric, father, brother, husband, and patriarchal structures have the right to decide on her behalf? A woman who chooses the hijab must be free, and a woman who does not want to wear the hijab must enjoy the same right to choose. If the hijab is imposed by force, there is no longer a choice; just as forcing a woman not to wear the hijab cannot be considered freedom.

Hence, as the anniversary of Jina Amini's killing and the beginning of the Jin Jiyan Azadî uprising approaches, the hijab issue has returned to the public sphere with great sensitivity. For authoritarian regimes, the anniversary is not merely a date; it is memory—and memory, when it possesses the ability to mobilize society, can turn into a threat to political authority.

On September 15, 2022, Jina Amini traveled from Saqqez to Tehran. After being stopped by the Guidance Patrol, she died in custody. But her death did not remain within the framework of an ordinary incident. She was a Kurdish woman from Eastern Kurdistan who went to the Iranian capital, where the authorities stopped her, and her killing became the spark for an uprising that quickly spread throughout Iran.

The slogan Jin Jiyan Azadî—whose roots extend deep into the revolutions and social movements of Kurdistan—became, within a short period, a common language for wide segments of Iranian society. At that stage, the issue was no longer limited to the hijab; rather, a set of grievances converged at a single point—from repression and discrimination to economic and political crises.

This is why the Islamic Republic tries to present the Jin Jiyan Azadî revolution as a temporary event or the result of foreign incitement. To prove this narrative, the Iranian authorities must present a different image of society: an image of a religious, traditional, masculine society loyal to the regime's official values. In this context, street parades, women affiliated with the Basij, participants in shrouding ceremonies, families of killed security personnel, and religious groups all form part of the attempt to construct this image.

But this vast display of power is itself a sign of anxiety. When political authority is forced to resort to the street, the Basij, religious occasions, and organized propaganda to prove its legitimacy, the question arises: Is this a sign of real strength, or a sign of fear of the collapse of the image of strength?

This issue becomes even more significant when looking at Iran's internal situation. The Islamic Republic does not face the hijab problem alone; the country faces a set of intertwined crises: inflation and rising prices, declining purchasing power, a housing crisis, unemployment and emigration, a water and energy crisis, the decline of the national currency, corruption, sanctions, external pressures, regional instability, a crisis of trust, and a widening gap between society and the regime.

Under such circumstances, returning the hijab to the center of domestic policy can have a political function. Solving inflation and unemployment is difficult; solving the water and energy crisis is difficult; rebuilding public trust is more difficult; political reforms are harder than all of that. But controlling women's clothing is easier for a security apparatus: installing cameras, imposing fines, arresting, closing shops, and sending forces into the streets.

Thus, a complex economic and political crisis is reduced to a simple moral issue. Society's problem becomes "not wearing the hijab." When people talk about high prices and poverty, the state talks about morality; when questions are raised about corruption and mismanagement, the regime turns to talking about the hijab.

In this context, the patriarchal system also becomes part of this conflict. Phrases like "Where is your jealousy?" and "Where is your honor?" are not merely religious expressions; they stem from a paternalistic mentality that sees women as bearers of the man's reputation, honor, and the family's honor.

In this conception, a woman's body is no longer her own. Her clothing becomes a standard for measuring a man's jealousy, and her choices become a matter linked to the family's "honor." But why should a man's honor be tied to a woman's hair?

These questions reach the heart of Jin Jiyan Azadî. This uprising was not merely a rejection of the hijab; it was a protest against an entire system of power relations, in which women are forced to defend their right to their bodies, choices, and lives. Hence, women's disobedience in the face of mandatory hijab cannot be considered merely cultural behavior; this disobedience can be part of a deeper transformation in the nature of the relationship between society and authority.

In this context, women affiliated with the Basij and supporters of the regime have become part of an attempt to change the image of this conflict. If male security forces alone were confronting women, the scene would be clear: the regime and armed forces against women. But when pro‑regime women are also pushed into the arena, an attempt is made to portray the conflict as "woman against woman," while the issue is not which woman wears the hijab and which does not; rather, whether both enjoy the right to choose.

Therefore, a woman must be free to choose to wear the hijab, just as a woman who chooses not to wear it must enjoy the same freedom. Freedom has meaning only when the choice is real. The fundamental issue is not hijab or no hijab; it is coercion and choice.

From this perspective, women's civil disobedience is one of the deepest forms of confronting authority—not because every woman without hijab is necessarily a political activist, but because thousands and millions of similar behaviors can challenge a law that previously seemed unchangeable.

Sustainable authority is not formed by coercion alone; it also needs society's acceptance. And if implementing a law constantly requires police, prison, fines, cameras, and threats, then the question must be asked: Does this law still have legitimacy, or is it applied only by force and coercion?

From this perspective, the "shroud" displays and slogans warning of chaos, civil war, atheism, and collapse can be an attempt to provoke fear of change. The hidden message is that if the existing regime collapses, nothing will remain but chaos.

Nor should all of Iran's problems be explained solely through sanctions and external pressures. Sanctions exacerbate the crisis, but structural imbalances, corruption, economic policies, and the absence of accountable institutions also play a role in shaping this situation. These intertwined crises increasingly push the regime toward social control and repression. Arrest, torture, trial, and execution are not merely punishments imposed on individuals; they can also be messages directed at the entire society.

Does the Islamic Republic truly fear a few strands of hair appearing from under the hijab? Certainly not. What the regime fears is the meaning these strands have acquired under current circumstances. A woman walking in the street without hijab may have no political plan; but when thousands and millions of women do the same thing, the social meaning of this behavior changes, and the law that was supposed to subject everyone to obedience can no longer make everyone obedient. At that moment, the state's own ability to impose that law becomes questionable.

The philosophy of Jin Jiyan Azadî may have been suppressed in the streets, but suppressing a revolution does not mean the end of social change. Revolutions sometimes bring about change in people's minds and ways of life before they triumph in the streets.

For the Islamic Republic, Jina is not merely the name of a young girl; she is a symbol of the moment when several deep divisions in Iranian society met: woman and state, society and regime, Kurdistan and the center, the young generation and traditional structure, and individual freedom and political authority.

Therefore, four years after that event, the fundamental question is not whether the regime has managed to control the hijab or not; rather, why does the regime still have to pay such a heavy political and security cost to control the hijab? The answer must be sought in the deep crisis that has afflicted the relationship between the regime and society.

The Islamic Republic can control the street, but that does not mean controlling society. It can ban a slogan, but it cannot eliminate the meaning of that slogan. It can collect and remove images, but it cannot erase the memory of millions of people. It can force a woman to place the hijab or chador on her head, but it cannot easily restore the view and attitude that formed after 2022 toward dignity, freedom, and the right to choose.

Therefore, the Islamic Republic's real battle is not with the hijab; it revolves around who has the right to define the Iranian human being and make decisions about their life on their behalf.

The authority wants to define women the way it sees them; while a large part of the new generation wants women to define their identity and status themselves. The state wants to reduce "life" to the mere continuation of the status quo; while society wants a life in which dignity and freedom are also present. The state sees freedom as a threat to its regime; while Jin Jiyan Azadî sees freedom as an integral part of human life.

In the end, the hijab issue is not merely a struggle between hijab and no hijab; it is a struggle between coercion and choice. It is not merely a confrontation between religiosity and non‑religiosity; it is a dispute over the human right to determine one's relationship with religion and life. Nor is it merely a disagreement between veiled and unveiled women; there is a deeper question: Who is the true owner of human life? As long as the regime's answer is "the state," while a large part of society's answer is "the human being themselves."

This struggle will continue, and perhaps this is why the Islamic Republic returns every year, as the anniversary of the Jin Jiyan Azadî revolution approaches, to the hijab, the street, the Basij, jealousy, honor, displays of power, and intimidating society—because it has not yet managed to coexist with the truth that was revealed in September 2022: A society that once demanded its right to choose does not easily return to obedience again.