It is a cloudy day in Amol, a city in northern Iran. An afternoon drizzle starts falling, scattering raindrops on the white marble gravestone, but the damp isn’t enough to smother the flames of remembrance. Ghazaleh Chalabi’s mother, brother, and aunt begin lighting white tea candles one by one.

Framed photos of Ghazaleh soon adorn the stone, joined by flowers, pastries, and a small sound system. It’s a ritual of both mourning and love performed every week. Two years have passed since her death, but for her family, life hasn’t been the same since.

“Even when we laugh, it’s never from the bottom of our hearts,” says Ghazaleh’s aunt. “If we get invited somewhere, we can never join the festivities like before.”

Ghazaleh was one of the hundreds of young people murdered by the Iranian regime for protesting the death of Mahsa Jina Amini in September of 2022. 

I didn’t expect her words to resonate with me, but listening to her, I realized I could relate. Although I didn’t personally lose anyone to the uprisings, life hadn’t been the same for me either. When invited to a cousin’s wedding last spring, I’d attended out of respect and left early—going full party mode when the nation was still reeling from a crisis felt off.    

Even more so because wedding celebrations had been on the cards for some of the lives cut short. Ghazaleh was about to accept a marriage proposal at the time of her death. Hananeh Kia was supposed to be married in a matter of weeks when she was shot dead by security agents. Images of Hananeh in her engagement dress went viral shortly after, immortalizing her as “Iran’s Bride.”

While Iran has had its share of uprisings in recent decades, this was the first in which women took center stage. Mahsa Amini’s death at the hands of Iran’s morality police for alleged “improper hijab” marked a turning point, sparking a resistance movement against the obligatory headscarf that has been a pillar of the regime since its inception in 1979. Thousands of women took to the streets, setting their veils on fire or appearing with their heads uncovered in acts of protest. 

Yet the Woman Life Freedom movement, as it became known, went beyond the symbolic veil to demonstrate defiance against an oppressive system.

The thought struck me during my cousin’s wedding. The ceremony was held at the most luxurious venue in town, with marble columns, stunning crystal chandeliers, white orchid floral arrangements, and laser light shows. No expense was spared, not least with the bridal attire. Weddings in Iran tend to be large, extravagant affairs, and at least five hundred guests were present at this one. A picture-perfect scene that belied the unsightly gender discrimination within the constructs of Iranian marriage laws.

To start, a woman needs the consent of a male guardian—such as her father or grandfather—to marry. A man can legally marry up to four wives at a time (granted, polygamy among men is not common here). Men can obtain divorces relatively easily, while women may only divorce on limited grounds and must often renounce monetary claims to secure an agreement. Child marriage remains prevalent.

Moreover, according to the Civil Code, a married woman will need her husband’s permission to divorce, travel outside the country, gain child custody, work, and study. 

The only way to circumvent these restrictions to date is for the prenuptial agreement to include a husband’s overall consent. While some couples opt for this solution, which supposedly grants unlimited permissions, women can still face obstacles.    

My cousin, Mahsa, recalls her friend’s arduous divorce process: “Elaheh had an influential father who made sure her husband granted her the right to divorce before signing the marriage contract. But could she get one?”

The divorce court process turned out to be far more complicated than expected. Her husband, exploiting the situation and playing the devil’s advocate, pushed her to the breaking point. She relied on prescription drugs just to cope. Nothing changed until her father hired a group of thugs to confront the husband — only then did he finally relent.

“Seeing what happened to my friend made me realize how pointless these permissions are in practice, even if you’re legally entitled to them,” Mahsa says.

We then talk about what can be done under these circumstances: knowing the other person as well as possible, ensuring reliability and compatibility before tying the knot, and so on. Mahsa believes that women like her, living in Iran, have no choice but to make the best of the limited options available. “Those who find a marriage opportunity abroad are rare. So where does that leave the rest of us?”

Where does that leave me? Despite spending more than half my life abroad and earning an American college education, I am a dual citizen and have lived in Iran for stretches of time. Most of my family is still there, and I’ve had to return occasionally.

As with many Eastern cultures, marriage in Iran is highly regarded. Young people are encouraged — even expected — to marry, as if it were a rite of passage. Women, especially, tend to face societal stigmas if they remain unmarried, regardless of how educated or successful they may be.

And so, offers to meet with potential suitors kept coming my way. Though none ever led to serious relationships, it dawned on me that marrying an Iranian citizen — even one who lived abroad and held dual nationality — would still tether me to the law requiring a husband’s permission to leave Iran.

High-profile female athletes have been unable to participate in international competitions because their husbands refused to let them leave the country. Women arriving at airports would sometimes find their permission to travel abroad had been revoked by their husbands, and they could not board flights.

My married female friends from Iran who have immigrated to other countries are all subject to this law. Most hold high-level positions in the medical or engineering fields and have successful husbands. Still, every time they go back home to visit family, they must show proof of their husbands’ consent to exit Iran or renew their Iranian passports.  

How do I wrap my head around this dichotomy? While I take pride in my Iranian heritage, its legal framework hindering female autonomy can never align with my values. 

The good news is that attitudes towards marriage, gender, and family are slowly shifting. Today’s generation of women is learning to take charge of their destinies, delaying marriage in favor of careers, higher education, and financial independence. Yet authorities are pulling out all the stops to promote marriage, encourage childbearing, and restrict reproductive healthcare. Through a network of surveillance and control, they continue to enforce women’s dress codes.  

The latest victim is Ahoo Daryaei, a university student who publicly stripped down in protest after security guards tore her headscarf and clothing.  

Human rights activists such as Narges Mohammadi and Nasrin Sotoudeh, who have tried to change the legal framework in Iran, including marriage and divorce laws, are being imprisoned. Niloufar Hamedi and Elaheh Mohammadi, the two journalists who covered Mahsa Amini’s death, have been handed a five-year prison term. 

The protests that rocked the nation in 2022 marked a turning point for women and their lives and freedom. It was a moment that highlighted a deep and persistent longing for change. A moment that necessitated fighting back against the system. A moment defined by those who laid their lives down for the cause. 

Like Ghazaleh.

As dusk falls over the gravesite, her family reminisces on making plans for her wedding. Her mother points out that her fiancé has still not gotten over her death. They tearfully conclude that souls like hers are too great for this world and destined to rise above the confinements of societal customs, even marriage. 

Dialogue from The Hidden Half by feminist director Tahmineh Milani comes to mind: “You had asked about the organization’s stance on love. The answer is simple and short. Love is a highly valued human instinct. But when caught amid a revolution, we should be able to forgo it for a higher call.”