They treat you like a criminal, say refugees in SP about moral police in Iran

They arrive in vans and stop in front of schools, shopping malls, hospitals, squares and other busy places. They are looking for deviations in women’s clothing: strands of hair showing under the veil; a tunic that does not cover the pants to below the knee; more skin than it should showing around the ankles.

When they find—and they always find—a slip, they put the women in the vehicle and take them to the police station. They take their pictures, confiscate cell phones so that nothing can be recorded or that you can talk to anyone, and they only let them out after signing a document with an apology. They also need to be released by a man from the family, who take with them clothes considered appropriate, which must be used on the way out.

The details of how the feared moral police work in Iran, which monitors the clothing and behavior of adult women in the 21st century, are reported by Mahmonir and Mahsima Nadim, two Iranian refugee sisters who have lived in São Paulo for ten years.

According to them, patrolling is so ubiquitous that almost every Iranian woman will have experienced it at least once. “I always tried to get away from them, I never fought with them, but sometimes it was bad luck,” says Mahmonir. “There are many vans all over the city, hundreds, it’s something that will eventually happen.”

The first contact, he says, is usually made by a female police officer, who may touch other women. “They say, ‘Come on, my sister, we’re going to help you get into the hijab. [lenço muçulmano] right. You’re Muslim, it’s very important,'” he says. “But when the woman doesn’t want to get in the van, a [agente] man put it by force.”

Mahsima remembers that they once took her because she had her coat on. a little above the knee. “I was really upset. They treat you like you’re a criminal. They use words that let you down, it’s for you to fall down anyway.”

On the 13th, a 22-year-old girl from Iranian Kurdistan, who was visiting Tehran with her brother, was taken to the police station in one of these vans. She left there unconscious and died three days later. The family says she was beaten so brutally by the police that she fell into a coma. Mahsa Amini’s death has inflamed the country, sparking a wave of protests that has been heavily suppressed by the regime.

Tehran denies the allegations, saying the young woman suffered cardiac arrest. This Wednesday (28), the country’s president, the ultraconservative Ebrahim Raisi, said in a statement that Amini’s death saddened everyone, but that he would not allow chaos in the protests, defending the security forces.

Mahmonir, 42, and Mahsima, 39, organized an act in honor of Amini in São Paulo, on the 23rd. A group of immigrants and Brazilians gathered in front of Masp, shouting slogans against the Islamic regime of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. and calling for rights for women in Iran.

The two sisters migrated together ten years ago, seeking the freedom they did not have in their country of origin. They chose Brazil because Mahmonir’s husband had already come to work and found the people welcoming.

The duo says that the harsh rules imposed by the regime have crossed their lives since childhood. When they entered school, at the age of seven, they already had to wear the hijab. Mahsima remembers questioning her teacher about why, when a father or mother dies, sons receive twice as much inheritance as daughters.

“She fought with me a lot, said I was a rebel, that she thought I was above the word of God. She kicked me out of class and called my parents,” he says. “We weren’t even free to ask why. We couldn’t dream. They kill that in us since childhood. It’s only when you grow up and study, read books and travel abroad, do you realize that the country where you were born is a big prison .”

Although Mahsima and Mahmonir are not from a very religious family, their father is a military policeman, which forced them to pay extra attention to what they wore and the way they behaved, as he could lose his job in the event of a slip. “When I was stopped by the moral police, I would call my brother to sign [a liberação na delegacia]”, remembers Mahmonir. “Never my father, because I was afraid.”

The Iranian woman became a singer and faced a series of career restrictions – her story was told by Sheet in 2019. I couldn’t play instruments, perform on TV, go on stage alone; she had to make do with backing up men or singing in choirs. “Many artists have left Iran. Art needs freedom,” says the Iranian, who professionally uses the name Mah Mooni.

Mahsima, who worked with administration and human resources, became a makeup artist in Brazil. She remembers how difficult it was for her to wear a bikini when she first went to the beach. “It was something that had never crossed my mind. I was ashamed to show my body. I learned a lot from Brazilian women, who grew up with complete freedom and have a different mindset. Coming here was a revolution.”

Ten years later, Mahsima allowed herself to be photographed, half-naked and wrapped in a robe with a pattern of tiles from Iranian mosques, for an artistic essay made by her sister, in protest against the oppression of women in her country.

Mahmonir’s relationship with the body has also changed in Brazil. At age 14, she was hit by a bus and lost a leg. If before he had to hide the prosthesis under his long clothes, here he insists on showing it. He explains that, in Iran, there is a charge for women to be impeccable under the hijab and long robe. “The man likes the woman with the ideal body, all dressed up, perfect. But that doesn’t exist”, she says. “That’s why I love showing the difference of the disabled body.”

Despite having won rights they did not have, Mahsima and Mahmonir regret not being able to return to their country, they miss their family very much and fear for the Iranian women who remain. “How many can leave Iran, like my sister and I?” asks Mahmonir. “Why do we need to leave our land to live a normal life like every woman in the world?”