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Solidarity

-Screenshot from the interview video taken by Benjamin Farnam

An interview with Line Khateeb, head of the Palestine Committee in Norway
— Banafsheh Ranji

This interview is part of ongoing conversations that delve into the concept and practice of solidarity across diverse contexts and struggles. It was conducted in December 2024 by Banafsheh Ranji, a member of the Tanideh Collective, with Line Khateeb, head of the Palestine Committee in Norway.
At a time when the term “solidarity” is widely invoked—often in abstract or symbolic ways—this conversation seeks to explore what solidarity means in real, lived terms: as relationships, actions, risks, and responsibilities. What does solidarity truly mean? How is it lived, embodied, and acted upon, particularly in times of extreme violence and genocide?
In this conversation, we speak with Line Khateeb, a Norwegian-Palestinian activist whose decades of experience offer a grounded reflection on solidarity. She reflects on the emotional toll of witnessing genocide, the importance of community care in sustaining activism, the challenges of building transnational alliances across struggles, and the evolving landscape of solidarity in the digital age. From her early involvement in environmental activism to her leadership in the Palestine Committee in Norway, Line has experienced firsthand the realities of political struggle.
Throughout the interview, Line shares reflections on the trajectory of her activism, from the Second Intifada to the present genocide in Gaza, offering both historical context and emotional insight into what it means to continue organizing amid profound loss and injustice. Line discusses the limitations and possibilities of solidarity expressed through different forms—be it grassroots organizing, political advocacy, or social media engagement. She reflects on what it means to stand in solidarity—not as a symbolic gesture, but as a verb, a commitment, and a set of concrete actions: choosing to boycott, organize, educate, protest, and build meaningful connections across difference. It is also about listening, learning from one another, and recognizing how struggles for freedom—whether in Palestine, Syria, Iran, or elsewhere—are interconnected. This conversation urges us to reimagine solidarity not as an abstract political stance but as a relational and transformative force. It is found in what we choose to do, whose voices we uplift, how we remain present in the struggle, and how we resist complicity in oppression.

Banafsheh Ranji: We start with the question of you introducing yourself. Please tell us how you prefer to be identified.

Line Khateeb: I am Norwegian and Palestinian. I have a Norwegian mother and a Palestinian father. So, I identify as both Palestinian and Norwegian.

Banafsheh Ranji: Can you tell us about your journey as an activist and the fields of activism you have been involved in?

Line Khateeb: As a child, I was active in environmental and climate movements, which have remained very close to my heart. It’s about our collective future. I believe that’s also why it felt natural for me to become engaged in the question of justice for Palestine.
And when I was around 17, I started to be active. It was during the second intifada in 2000, and I saw people of my age being attacked and killed by Israeli soldiers for standing up to the occupation. That’s when I started to be organized as an activist.

Banafsheh: Have you also been involved in other areas of activism, such as feminist, queer, or other movements?

Line: I was involved during the Arab Spring, with the Syrian activists and Egyptian activists. So I have been active as a human rights activist. When it comes to queer activism, I’ve been more of a supporter than an actor, I suppose. But of course, these battles are connected. So, I definitely see the need for support across the different, intersectional narratives. But my activism has mostly been devoted to Palestine, solidarity, and refugees. I’ve been working with Norwegian organizations for asylum seekers, and I have seen how unjust our system is towards people in need of protection.

Banafsheh: Have you done all this work in Norway, or have you also been involved in other countries?

Line: Mostly inside Norway. And then, of course, there are networks of people working with the Palestinian case, solidarity networks in Europe and the Middle East that we meet. But as a Norwegian Palestinian, I think I can affect Norwegian policy. So, this is where my focus is.

“Solidarity means standing together with someone on equal terms. You support someone in their battle. It’s not about coming in and defining someone else’s battle or coming in to say that, for example, as a white person, you know better how someone else should fight.”

Banafsheh: Based on your experience, how do you understand the term solidarity? What does it mean for you?

Line: To me, solidarity means standing together with someone on equal terms. You support someone in their battle. It’s not about coming in and defining someone else’s battle or coming in to say that, for example, as a white person, you know better how someone else should fight. So, to me, solidarity is to stand together. It means that today I support you because I know that tomorrow, when I need help, you will support me. So, it’s mutual. It’s recognizing other people who are oppressed and standing with them on their terms.

Banafsheh: A lot is being said about solidarity. How do you think it can translate into concrete actions? What are some different ways to act in solidarity?

Line: Well, I think there are many ways, and we’ve seen that with the movement supporting Palestinians in their fight for freedom over the past year. There are many ways to practice solidarity. One is that we can voice each other’s concerns.
When the genocide began in Gaza, I was in touch with people who, for example, recognized the patterns of genocide in Armenia, Bosnia, and among Jewish communities. In that sense, solidarity means amplifying each other’s voices and recognizing the patterns of mass annihilation and patterns of oppression. It’s about seeing each other and challenging those in power by telling them that we recognize this as a pattern.
So, one way to show solidarity is by recognizing each other’s struggles and understanding how they are connected. And of course, other ways include taking to the streets, voicing our opposition, and telling Norwegian politicians and policymakers that we are not satisfied with what they’re doing and that we demand more. So, there is a large variety of acts of solidarity.
Across all of Norway, the Palestine Committee, which I lead, has 30 local chapters, each operating differently. In some places, people meet once a month just to have coffee and talk together. In other places, people organize lots of events and meetings. So, they organize in different ways.
But I think the main thing is coming together and standing together and seeing how we can have an influence. Now, we have people organizing based on their work. For example, we have engineers against genocide, nurses against genocide, and teachers against genocide. They organize in different groups because it’s also a way to have an impact, and people tend to listen more to those who are close to them.
And of course, the people gathering monetary support, that’s a form of solidarity too. But as a solidarity organization here in Norway, our main work is on political changes; we must change the root causes. But as an individual, I can also show solidarity by, for instance, giving what extra money I can to my friends who have families in Gaza, to help strengthen their resilience. So, there are different ways to show solidarity, depending on what one can contribute.

Banafsheh: You’ve already touched on my next question. You mentioned that solidarity includes various forms of support and participation. There are also many people involved in sharing information on social media. Have you noticed any differences in the importance of each form of solidarity throughout your activism? Do you think it’s enough for some people to be involved in collective actions, even if they pay a high price, while others only share information on social media? How do you view these differences?

Line: Social media can empower people, especially those on the ground in Palestine, or in places like Baluchistan, Sudan, or Syria, by allowing them to show the world, unfiltered, what’s going on. It gives a person sitting in Norway, the U.S., or Latin America the chance to see and hear directly from those who are facing oppression, genocide, or occupation. And that’s a good thing. However, we also see that some people only share information on social media without following up with other actions. I’m not sure how much impact it has. Social media is good for reaching out and connecting with new audiences, but at the same time, we see that algorithms tend to show people content based on their interests. In that sense, I believe being physically present—whether on the street, in a union meeting, at an informational session, or at a cultural event—has a greater impact on people. It’s often these experiences that we remember.
Also, when we want to influence decision-makers, sitting with them in person or having them meet someone from Palestine and listen to their stories has, I believe, a much stronger impact than reading a post on social media. But the combination of these is important, though. Some Palestinian groups have tried to map engagement on social media and found that one billion individual users have posted about Palestine in the last year, which is quite a significant number.
We need a combination of approaches. I don’t think social media alone will change anything, but it plays a part in educating people and showing that we are many. However, we also need to be physically present on the ground, meet people face-to-face, and have one-on-one conversations.
Another challenge with social media is censorship and shadowbanning. So Palestinian voices and pro-Palestinian voices are censored. It has been documented that both Meta and X encourage anti-Semitic and Islamophobic content to gain more traction.

Banafsheh: The genocide of the Palestinian people is not new, but we’ve witnessed extreme violence and an intensified genocide since October 2023. How do you think we should reconsider our acts of solidarity during this time of heightened violence? Do we need more radical forms of solidarity that are better suited to the situation?

Line: Well, that’s very contextual. So, we have to see where we are and what the possible changes we can make are. What this year, and the genocide in Palestine, has shown us, as the president of Colombia put it, is that Palestine is a test. It’s a test of how the political elite will react, or fail to react, and allow Israel and the colonizing forces to do what they like. That also happened to the rest of us. And I think that’s the reason why there is so strong support for the cause of Palestinians, because people see that this is also affecting them in other ways.
I think what we need to be more radical about is recognizing that this is not only about Palestine—it’s about the limits of extreme violence, as you said. Where are the boundaries for respecting international law? Are human rights only something that applies to white people, or are they a universal value?
We see that those in power prioritize staying in power, rather than giving people power, or promoting social equality, or justice. Of course, it’s frustrating to work within a system where you feel you are not being heard or your voice is not counted. And if that continues to happen, yeah, we have to be more radical, but we can also do things ourselves. The Palestinian call for Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) is something that you can do on different levels. On a personal level, or within your workplace, why not ask your institution or employer to take action and refrain from buying goods from powers that are occupying others. People are talking about the radicalization of the youth. I think that’s good. But we also believe that it should be a nonviolent fight as a solidarity movement outside of Palestine while supporting the Palestinians to do their fight.

Banafsheh: Much has been said about solidarity between different marginalized and suppressed people from various contexts and geographies who have faced oppression at different times due to different reasons. Do you think it’s possible to build lasting transnational solidarity between these voices and progressive movements, or, based on your experience, is it just an abstract idea that’s difficult to achieve in practice?
For instance, we can talk about progressive movements inside Iran that want to show solidarity with the Palestinian people and their movement. However, when we consider the on-the-ground conditions in the country, we may arrive at a different outcome. Do you think it is possible to build lasting transnational solidarity?

Line: Well, I think at least we need it. And it is, as you say, a big question. The obstacle is how to do it in practice. But I think we are actually part of such a movement already. It is being built in the sense that, if we look at social movements, we can see attempts to create a global social forum. There are still places where people meet, and today we see that the Palestinian BDS (Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions) movement is working closely with the South African solidarity movement and Latin American movements.
There are a lot of connections already. I think more and more people are becoming aware that we need to fight together for climate justice, social justice, and liberation. But for the Palestinians to run this movement now, I don’t think it’s a possibility. Given the urgent need to be responsive right now and stop the genocide and the occupation, I don’t see how this larger movement can be led by Palestinians themselves. I’m not sure. But there is a big and strong Palestinian diaspora. We see it in the US; the Palestinian or pro-Palestinian organizations in the US today have a totally different impact than they did 20 years ago.
I mean, the movement has been empowered. To make this movement larger, global, and lasting, I don’t think we’re there yet, but I believe it’s coming and building up in some way.

“There is an overwhelming popular solidarity. And then we don’t necessarily see that it is being reflected in the policies of the countries. Look at the Arab world, in Egypt, for instance, people are arrested for organizing pro-Palestinian protests. People are not allowed. They also live under some kind of occupation by their governments.”

Banafsheh: How have you so far experienced the solidarity shown by activists, from other contexts, or from those who are fighting for other causes within the Norwegian context or international context? What could be done to improve?

Line: Personally, I find it overwhelming to see the amount of solidarity. Of course, I’m exposed to it because I work on this every day, but it’s very empowering to witness so many people voicing and showing their support. It comes from youth, the youth movement, the queer movement, and the unions. And I think there is a lot of support among the Norwegian unions, but we don’t see enough of that translating into political action. Or we have a lot of people saying ‘stop the genocide’ or asking for a ceasefire, but they are not very clear on what political actions need to be taken to get there. So, this could be improved, of course. But I think there is an overwhelming popular solidarity. And then we don’t necessarily see that it is being reflected in the policies of the countries. Look at the Arab world, in Egypt, for instance, people are arrested for organizing pro-Palestinian protests. People are not allowed. They also live under some kind of occupation by their governments.
We see a lot of popular movements and people on the ground, and we have a lot of support. But we don’t see this necessarily translating into political action, because the rulers, especially in the global North, do not listen to their people, and they do not necessarily represent their people in politics, and are more concerned about their own economic needs, and their own security needs. So, there is a discrepancy between what people want, voice, and stand for, and what their governments do. This is something we see reflected both internationally and in Norway. Norway, compared to other European countries, is very good in many ways in its foreign policy. And I think this is a result of social movements here, not only in the last year, but actually for decades, and the fact that Norway was involved in the failed Oslo Accords, which didn’t bring about a Palestinian state. But it did lead to a lot of Norwegians from different institutions, research institutions, governmental bodies, cooperating with Palestinians. So, they have an awareness and a connection that today influences what we do. But in Norway as well, this depends on who is in power.

“We see both from Iranians and from Kurdish environments, for example, that people buy the Israeli narrative that Palestinians equal Hamas equals the Iranian regime. And they are not able to see that Palestinians are being used in the game of geopolitics and as proxies of the Iranian regime. But that’s a very simplistic way of reading and analyzing the political situation. I think it’s sad.”

Banafsheh: How do you find the solidarity shown by Iranians in diaspora?

Line: I know that there are some Iranians who are part of the movement, and are actively engaged. But we don’t necessarily see this as a representation of Iranians in exile per se, because there is a variation. We see both from Iranians and from Kurdish environments, for example, that people buy the Israeli narrative that Palestinians equal Hamas equals the Iranian regime. And they are not able to see that Palestinians are being used in the game of geopolitics and as proxies of the Iranian regime. But that’s a very simplistic way of reading and analyzing the political situation. I think it’s sad. It would be good if it were possible to work on the understanding of these issues because whoever supports Palestine is not automatically Palestine’s friend, or we cannot say that any enemy of Israel is a friend of Palestine.
Look at Lebanon, for example, and Hezbollah, which have been fighting with Israel for the last year. They are also taking part in the oppression of the Syrian people, and occupying Syrian land. So it’s not always so straightforward. You have to dig deeper and look at how the Iranian regime is using Palestine as an issue in their domestic policies, and maybe expressing support for Palestine as an excuse to keep on oppressing the opposition of their own population.
And this is something in the Arab world commonly used by Arab leaders. They say what they need to say about Palestine, but in action, they do something else. And we have these normalization agreements like the Abraham Accords with different Arab states that are willingly going into trade deals with Israel, buying surveillance equipment. They are more concerned about their positions and economy than the justice for people, either their own people or the Palestinian people. I think it’s important that we are able to see this, and not buy into the narrative from the US that if you support Palestine, you support, I don’t know, some kind of Islamist ideology, because it’s not at all what it is about, It’s about the colonization of land; settler colonialism.

-Screenshot from the interview video taken by Benjamin Farnam

Banafsheh: You mentioned one thing, which is to analyze the situation more deeply and avoid a superficial understanding. But what are your other expectations, both from Iranians inside the country and those outside, particularly activists and social movements, to connect more meaningfully with the Palestinian struggle? How can this lead to acts of solidarity on the ground?

Line: That’s a good question. Maybe, as a solidarity movement, we could also be better at inviting different people to us who represent other struggles, and listen to them to see how our struggles can be and are connected. So that’s number one. Also, sharing experiences is important. I think this is a meaningful way to show solidarity—learning from each other and showing interest in each other’s differences. That could be a contribution from the Iranian exile movement here in Norway—to teach us about their struggles. And I don’t know how and what the possibilities are for Iranians in Iran to differentiate their support for Palestine from support for the regime. I know that the Iranian regime sometimes uses Palestine as a topic to talk about to have popular support, even though their actions are not necessarily that supportive of Palestine. But here in Norway, I think we need to include the voices from Iran and learn from them and listen to them. So that’s also maybe a contribution from Iranians in Norway to show us how this is discussed.

“As a human being, I have been changed forever from witnessing and knowing that my country, my people, don’t seem to have the same value for Western leaders or the global North. And that’s so frightening. It has been a reason to be mad, to be angry.”

Banafsheh: In times of intensifying the genocide in Palestine, how do Palestinians in diaspora continue to fight and, maybe even, how do they manage to stay sane? Do you think that it’s even possible to stay sane in such a situation or heal from such profound trauma that they are exposed to?

Line: Well, I mean, it’s not possible to heal while it’s still going on. And I don’t think all of us are keeping our sanity. Many people are not able to go to work fully. Many people are not able to or find it difficult to be in different social gatherings. However, from my personal experience and what I’ve heard from others, being part of a community is still valuable.
So it’s good for us, and we establish places for people to meet, to be together, whether it’s for a protest, a demonstration, or other types of gatherings, like crafting, listening to someone, or simply sitting together. We need community, and we also need understanding from workmates, and colleagues that we are going through a difficult time.
I know that some people have been allowed adjustments at work, depending on whether their employer understands and recognizes their needs. But also, I think we have to recognize that a lot of people are not functioning well. They’re not doing well. It is sometimes difficult to both find the strength to keep on and to find any hope or see any meaning.
And it is tough for me, I think, as a human being, I have been changed forever from witnessing and knowing that my country, my people, don’t seem to have the same value for Western leaders or the global North. And that’s so frightening. It has been a reason to be mad, to be angry.
And we need to try to use that power to mobilize. But I think sometimes we also have to allow ourselves to just feel hopeless, and then go out again and meet people and get together and feel strong. And even though I have a day when I don’t feel good, I don’t feel I do enough, I don’t feel it helps enough, I get encouraging messages from people saying that what I do is so important. What’s most encouraging to me is when people tell me that what I do gives them the strength to do more and encourages them to voice their opinions. So we can inspire each other, and that’s important. We need to share our strength and grow that strength.
But no, we are not okay. And we shouldn’t pretend we are okay. It’s tough.

Banafsheh: I’ve noticed a lot of collective care tactics within the community, and I’ve personally found them very helpful and precious. But do you think there’s anything that could be improved, or that could have been done better in building communities, at least within Norway?

Line: For the movement, this is a continuous challenge because when people get frustrated and we see that the genocide continues and we haven’t been able to stop it, it’s natural that people start hitting each other. In this situation, we get internal frictions, or frustration, resulting in people starting to attack each other because we are not able to change what we actually all agree about.
So we try to counter this. It is impossible to cater to everyone’s needs, but at least, we are different people and organizations working together and coordinating our activities. So in different spaces there have been, for example, workshops for activists on how not to burn out, and how to deal with the situation. And there are informal supports, and people who are giving services to people in need, for example, Palestinians who give psychosocial support to others.
So, it’s possible to connect with people on a personal level who need that support. As an organization, we have also been talking to the governmental and local authorities about what services they actually give, and that they should have awareness about this when it comes to not only Palestinians, but all people who are affected by what they see. So that’s the institutional and systematic level. But we, as a movement, have to try and gather our forces. We organized an activist conference from January 2nd to January 25th. 2025, to bring together everyone working for Palestine, to discuss how we can coordinate our efforts, become stronger, and develop a shared strategy as much as possible. I think that’s important because people also get tired and frustrated. It’s natural. We go through different stages of this movement.

“It’s also easy to forget that Israel is not an almighty power. There are a lot of internal debates and a lot of internal splits in Israel. It’s a society where people now have a very different understanding of what kind of state they want to be, what values they are built on. And this is also leading to Israel being weakened. They have economically been weakened this year.”

Banafsheh: The situation may seem hopeless to many, actually, how do you envision the ongoing struggle for a free Palestine in this time of extreme violence, devastation and hopelessness?

Line: It’s certainly the darkest time I have witnessed as a Palestinian. When I look at what’s going on, not only in Gaza with the genocide and the annihilation of Gaza, but also with the climate effects, the effects on people, animals, and the land, also in the West Bank. We see that the colonization process is normalizing violent speech and actions. And that’s, of course, troubling. It’s worrying. But that also leads to huge mobilization that we see. And we shouldn’t forget that in 2024, for the first time ever, Israel and Israeli leaders have been taken to an international court. The ICC, the International Criminal Court, has now issued an arrest warrant for Benjamin Netanyahu and the former Minister of Defense of Israel, Yoav Gallan. This is unique. It has never happened before. The International Court of Justice and the UN are also working on the genocide case against Israel. The verdict will not come in one year, maybe, or in two years. And it will not alone bring justice to the Palestinians. But it does give a lot of weight and support to the fight for justice for Palestine. I think we might see another year of very devastating developments, and in January, the US president, narcissist Trump, comes to power, he can do very dangerous and also unexpected things. However, we have to look at this in the long term. And that’s what we as Palestinians have learned. It’s a generational fight. And where we have reached now, I think in another ten years or 20, we will see a difference. It’s also easy to forget that Israel is not an almighty power. There are a lot of internal debates and a lot of internal splits in Israel. It’s a society where people now have a very different understanding of what kind of state they want to be, what values they are built on. And this is also leading to Israel being weakened. They have economically been weakened this year. Investors are pulling out. Sanctions will come more and more. There are a lot of countries that have already put sanctions on Israel. We just don’t hear about it in Europe. So, in that regard, I’m positive, it also gives me hope to see the Palestinian diaspora working worldwide. There are so many clever and good people who haven’t been given a chance because we know in Palestine, the Palestinian opposition and all the hopeful young leaders are in prison. However, the diaspora has the freedom to work, and many Palestinian initiatives are operating under the radar, focusing on building for the future. So, it’s not entirely dark.

“I think supporting each other and seeing each other is an act of solidarity. But it’s not enough to just know in your heart that you support someone. You have to actually voice it or take action to show it.”

Banafsheh: As my last question, I received a message from the Palestine Committee via email a few days ago about participation in an event. In the invitation, it was written that ‘solidarity is a verb’. How is it different to look at solidarity as a verb rather than an abstract concept?

Line: Well, it’s because we want people to feel and know that they can act. They can do it on a personal level. To me, it’s a form of solidarity with Palestine not to buy Israeli goods, not to support any company supporting the Israeli economy. And that’s something I can do every day, and I can encourage others to do the same, teach more people about why they should act this way and how they can do so, encouraging them to raise it within their unions and local municipalities. There is an election in Norway next year. How we act, what we say, and what we do—using the personal power we have—are all forms of solidarity. So yes, we want people to understand that people are influential, and also that we can act in many ways. So, you interviewing Palestine, lifting this as a cause is an act of solidarity. I think supporting each other and seeing each other is an act of solidarity. But it’s not enough to just know in your heart that you support someone. You have to actually voice it or take action to show it.

Banafsheh: I’m done with my questions, but if you think there is anything left or I missed out, about, for example, solidarity between different movements at an international camp, feel free to mention.

Line: One thing to add is that, in the 1970s, the Palestinian movement was also part of the broader international anti-imperialist movement. I think we lost this understanding after the 1980s and 1990s, especially following the Oslo peace accords, which were supposed to bring a Palestinian state alongside Israel. Now we are seeing an anti-colonial, anti-imperialist movement kind of coming together again. And people see that post-colonization hasn’t happened yet. We are not there yet. Maybe this is the revival of the international solidarity we saw in the 1960s and 19770s. People have also talked about how the Vietnam War was then. Now, it’s Palestine that is uniting people. We now have a unique possibility to build on this, and I hope it’s something we will see grow.

We rewrote this text hesitantly and reflected on it several times. In a situation where the Baloch people receive much sympathy from other parts of Iran, despite the distorted image which has been built by the center, we were afraid that this article would raise the stigma that is aimed toward the Baloch people which negatively affects their personal and social lives. We have heard such stigma and accusations many times on social media while encountering our friends from other regions of Iran. Unfortunately, neglect of the history of liberation and the colonial changes of the last century, along with visual productions in the media, have created a simplified and violent appearance. Previously, we have written that activism in Sistan and Baluchistan resembles acrobatics. Writing this text and the fear of turning it into something against itself reminded us of this expression once again!

​The Makki Mosque and Woman, Life, Freedom Movement

You ask: “Where are the women?”

During the past two months, the Sistan and Baluchistan Province [of Iran] has gone through many incidents that have received little attention in written and virtual media. Zahedan and Khash have been drawn to blood one after the other on Fridays of justice[1] [dadkhahi]. During these fifty days [since the murder of Mahsa Amini in the custody of the so-called morality police, at the time the article was written], we witnessed that Molavi Abdulhamid has turned from a supporter of the Taliban to a reformist and critic of the regime, whose sermons are making the news not only in Sistan and Baluchistan, but all over Iran.

In the essay “Why Chabahari girl is our code name?” we mentioned that we are writing on shaky ground. Incidents happen one after the other and there is no time to stop and look back. Emotions disrupt the opportunity to linger and remember.

The influential forces that we discussed previously in the essay on Chabahari girl, and their relationships with each other and with the governing body of the Islamic Republic, have now found a different configuration. As we mentioned in that text, how the opposing forces are confronting each other and orienting against the people is not predictable. Despite all this, we did not doubt that these forces will enter the field, to control the accumulated anger of the people and channel the protests. After the recent bloodshed, these powerful and dominant forces in the region want to control the protesters, deny their long-term beneficial collaboration with the regime, present themselves as advisers to both the people and the regime, and possibly express themselves as the leaders of the protesters in the aftermath of the revolution. We have also witnessed that all the analyses and reports of the “alternative” media and the oppositional TV broadcasting outside Iran revolve only around the Makki institution.[2] Everyone is silent about this institution’s background and its conflicting nature with the Women, Life, Freedom movement. Yet we believe that addressing the background of the Makki Mosque and its historical roots may help to understand the apparent univocality of the latest protests.

Today, the most important issue that all the reactionary forces of Sistan and Baluchistan are focusing on after the recent bloody massacre is not justice [dadkhahi], but the risk of their loss of leadership over the lives of the Baluch people. Remaining in poverty and being deprived of development is a structural and historical fact in this province. The looting of the ecosystem, resources, and lives of the Baluch people has been carried out by the central government through non-Baluch affiliated forces and their representatives such as Sardars (tribal heads) before the revolution, and Molavis (Sunni religious leaders) after the revolution. The changes in the power balance after the revolution and the escape of influential clan leaders paved the way for the graduates of the Dēobandi school (which had spread rapidly in Baluchistan). Furthermore, the suppression of nationalists and leftists at the beginning of the revolution facilitated the Dēobandi’s influence. Most Dēobandi members are educated in religious schools in India and Pakistan. The war in Afghanistan and the financing of extremist schools in Pakistan in the 1970s, and the rise of jihadists in Afghanistan at the same time, were among other reasons for the growth of this extremist tendency in this region. Within the Sunni-Dēobandi current, Baluchi identity was further stimulated and protected following the establishment and consolidation of the Shia-Persian government after the revolution, thus attracting profound interest among the identity-seekers [هویت‌طلبان] in the region.

In response, although the Shiite government violated the demands of Molavi Abdul Aziz Mullahzadeh regarding religious freedom, education in the Baluchi language, and the assigning of Baluchi officials to some high-level positions from the beginning of the revolution, it nevertheless recognized the role of this institution in maintaining unity and influence in Sistan and Baluchistan. In the face of all those years of disenfranchisement and looting by the government, the clerics of this school either remained silent or limited themselves to only giving advice, in order to protect themselves. The government also used the clerics when necessary to control the people of the region, as well as rewarded them to diminish the influence of the armed extremist-fundamentalists.

Molavi Abdulhamid Ismail Zahi has always condemned armed extremist movements, opposed the extremism of the Taliban’s use of violence, and has tried to prevent religious wars in Sistan and Baluchistan by using his influence to mediate and end many hostage situations. The Makki Mosque institution, however, cannot be considered as the foundation of popular protests, because of its fundamental contradictions vis-à-vis the demands of the people in general and women in particular, and thus should not escape criticism. In the years after the revolution, Molavi Abdulhamid’s relationship with Tehran had ups and downs, the details of which are beyond the scope of this essay. But in general, the demands of the religious establishment on the government during these years always concerned religious affairs. Despite the growing poverty, illiteracy, unemployment, informal settlements, and widespread dispossession in this province, they have never seriously pursued and demanded social and economic justice. Even their closeness or distance in relation to reformist or fundamentalist bodies of the government has always been based on demands for religious freedom. For instance, the latest incident of the murder of fuel smugglers [by the border police] in Shamsar Saravan in 2020 was easily forgotten, despite the coverage and disclosure of the details of this crime in social media, to the point that Molavi supported the candidacy of the head of the judiciary in the presidential election.

Without the above introduction in which we tried to show the power mechanism within the Makki institution, understanding the recent events in Sistan and Baluchistan would not be possible. After the Bloody Friday in Zahedan, if Molavi Abduhamid would have remained silent, as the only “safe and official” authority for justice, this would have endangered his social position and capital. Just as happened to Imam Juma of Sunni in Chabahar, who lost all credibility and reputation in a single stroke after calling the protesters “rioters” [اغتشاش‌گر]. On the other hand, despite the presence of younger, more outspoken, and more nationalist clerics than Abdulhamid, he could not maintain a neutral position in relation to the event, although he joined the ranks of the protesters only after the Zahedan massacre. Also, the release of threatening videos of government clerics and IRGC officials about Abdulhamid united the reactionary forces behind him even more. At the same time, rumors such as “Molavi has given his life and his life is in danger” generated a renewal of covenants of the clan of Sarhad (and later Makran) to him. Considering the weakness of the quasi-caste system, these clans are more concentrated and unified and have always been among Abdulhamid’s closest allies. These clans are collaborating with the Makki Mosque in obtaining administrative positions, exerting influence, gaining power and wealth, and every year they make great financial contributions to it. In fact, in Sistan and Baluchistan, Baluch officials will not last long, regardless of their merits, if they are not allies of the Makki Mosque. Therefore, they are always pledging, negotiating with, and financing it. But Molavi Abdulhamid’s recent speeches surprised many. He talked about civil rights and freedom, girls’ education, and even hijab. His words even aroused the sympathy of some of the supporters of the protests and the Shia community such that it was stated that a Baluch Sunni cleric speaks from the heart of the people in Persian Shia Iran. He mentioned a referendum with foreign supervision as a solution, but he didn’t mention the referendum for what? To change the hijab or governmental system? Or reform of religious affairs? Although Molavi is not an official of the ruling system, the Makki institution has never been a powerless, irresponsible, and passive spectator in the construction of the current socio-political situation.

Now that the protests in Sistan and Baluchistan are linked to the nationwide protests, Abdulhamid’s seemingly “progressive” slogans have been sufficient to attract the support and attention of the center-oriented oppositional groups, but also the Woman, Life, Freedom movement protesters. Although he did not mention a word about women’s conditions in the region in his previous sermons, the opposition media abroad recognized his speech as radical. His lack of attention to the women’s conditions in his sermons was nevertheless criticized by women on social media and in social networks. Talking about women and criticizing the past could have been a big challenge for Molavi Abdulhamid, and he refused to do it. Such refusal takes place in a situation where women had protested against the rigid and anti-feminist laws of religion, customs, and sharia for years. Women in this province have not been passive subjects to be affirmed by Molavi. During these years, women did not give up their agency to the Makki institution, and they are the expression of Women, Life, and Freedom. Faezeh Brahooi[3] is one of those and the first one who sought justice, having the least possibility of protesting and with the lowest prospect of being recognized by the [Makki] institution or receiving support for her freedom, to the day she received her verdict.

So, despite Abdulhamid’s unusual speech in which he mentioned women’s issues, his words cannot purify his relationship with the issue of women. During these years, the Makki institution has not only failed to improve the situation of Baluch women, but has also attempted very hard to silence them. Abdulhamid has indeed never officially opposed the education of girls, but many of his followers in small towns and villages warn families against girls’ education in high school and university in the Friday sermons. These followers have always opposed birth control as an interference in God’s work, they have remained silent about the rights of undocumented people, and they have not spoken about the right of Baluch mothers to have birth certificates. Abdulhamid is talking about having a female minister while he has not spoken for years about the educational situation of girls, men’s polygamy, forced marriage of children, and femicide in Baluchistan. He brings up the issue of burning hijab and mentions that women set fire to hijab as a symbol of protest against the oppression they endure. But he does not mention anything about the obligation to wear the black veil [chador] as Baluchi women’s dress code, which was part of the process of Islamization of Baluchistan and gradually replaced the customary and traditional clothing of Baluch women. If anyone has studied in their schools, must have heard that “If it was allowed for a person to prostrate to another person, we would force a woman to prostrate to her husband!” We want to highlight that focusing on Molavi Abdulhamid’s verbal confirmation or condemnation of the government will not give a full image of what is going on in the region, since in that case the political economy of Makki’s institution will remain overlooked.

While Baluch citizens have not been able to achieve basic livelihoods and dignified life, the upper layers of the society close to the Makki institution have been able to achieve great wealth. Makki’s possessions, which are managed by Molavi Abdulhamid’s family network, include houses, retail stores, boarding houses, shopping malls, business holdings, and even concessions in the province’s mine reserves. In fact, since the time that the reformists entered the province with slogans such as “Iran for all Iranians” and began the redistribution of wealth and privatization in the country, Makki’s institution took advantage. In a situation where dispossession and marginalization are some of the biggest problems on the southern coasts, the Makki institution not only did not object to these issues, but also became an accomplice of large-scale constructions and other projects in Chabahar port. The port with the highest rate of informal settlements and marginalization!

While the institution does not emphasize the education of Baluch girls on the one hand, and the government has deferred its responsibilities to charities in many of the inaccessible areas on the other hand, Makki’s religious schools are running in the most remote cities and villages and promoting the institution. While playing political games to gain maximum benefits from the government, the suppression and oppression of women are one of the main pillars of their education system. Molavi’s relatives have special judiciary authority (so-called shari’a) dealing with criminal matters, as well as divorce and femicide, by which they implement customary and shari’a anti-woman laws with their rulings.

Apart from exerting influence on the daily lives of men and women, the sanctified influence of this institution on politics is such that parliamentarians in the Baluchistan region (and not Sistan) cannot announce their candidacy without Makki’s favorable opinion. Also, in the appointment of all executives in the Baluchistan region, the opinion of Makki mafia matters. Makki’s most important demands until today have been on having a Sunni Mosque in Tehran, publishing religious books, and appointing a governor approved by Molavi. For many years, civil society activities in this region have been disrupted and undermined by not only state security agencies but also by Makki’s allies. Baluch activists have either been under the pressure of their own clans, through the heads of clans allied with the Makki institution, or the forces close to Makki have directly threatened them. Such threats can have deadly consequences for activists and their relatives due to the availability of weapons in this region. These threats have even more oppressive aspects for women and direct more pressure and violence toward them.

It must be remembered that the rape of the teenage girl from Chabahar by a police officer, which became the spark of the protests in Zahedan, has been sidelined amid other demands and protests. We still do not know the fate of the suspect(s). The judicial system is obviously not interested in expressing its opinion, but in the pulpit where women’s rights are discussed, it seems that Chabahari girl has been deliberately forgotten.

We believe that Makki’s institution has a fundamental conflict with the Women, Life, Freedom movement. Unfortunately, however, all internal reactionary forces, local virtual tribunes, and the apparent ‘revolutionary’ oppositional media are standing in line with this tendency of not reflecting the voices of the women and freedom seekers. While any protest of the status quo cannot be interpreted in relation to Women, Life, Freedom, it seems that the centrist opposition movement in Sistan and Baluchistan is not interested in hearing other independent voices; voices that have fought for years to survive. Willingly or reluctantly, these media streams are eradicating the civil struggles of Baluch women and men for freedom and equality. We will write more about these issues in the future.

November 18, 2022

[1] Zahedan massacre.

[2] The Grand Makki Mosque of Zahedan (Persian: مسجد جامع مکی زاهدان) is the largest Sunni Mosque in Iran and is located in the center of Zahedan, the capital of the Sistan and Baluchistan Province.

[3] Faezeh Barahooi, a 25-year-old woman, was arrested in Zahhedan for exposing and protesting the rape of a 15-year-old Baloch girl by a police colonel. She was sentenced to three years and six months in prison.

​The Makki mosque and woman life freedom moment
You ask “Where are the women?”

Authors: @thevoicesofbaluchwomen, Dasgoharan

Translated into English by Tanide
@Tanide

Tanide’s introduction: The following piece is a translation of one of the statements of Dasgoharan, the Voices of Baluch Women, which was formed in October 2022 during the Jina revolts in Iran. Dasgoharan refers to a longstanding social and convivial tradition among Baluch women in Iran that connotes empathy, solidarity, and sisterhood. 

The quote below is the English description that Dasgoharan published soon after their launch on Instagram on October 7, 2022:

We, the Baluch women living in Iran have suffered under intersectional discrimination and oppression day and night. The oppression, poverty, discrimination, unemployment, insecurity and exploitation of Baluchs’ labor and resources have become normalized. We, Baluch women, along with our brothers have been suffering under national/ethnic and classicist/religious oppression. On top of that, as women, we were considered as “namus” [honor], not only by our fathers, brothers and husbands, but also by our tribes as well as by the religious system and the state. For years, sometimes passionate and openly and sometimes at home and in small groups, we, along with our sisters and brothers, have been sisterly resisting patriarchy, religious fundamentalism (Talibanism), ethnic and class discrimination, and the ruling shiite regressiveness. But we were under the impression that the guideline of the fight for a better life has already been written down for us in the form of democratization, progress and development programs, and that we needed to follow up our demands parallel to these programs. However, with Mahsa’s tragic death and the wave that rose in whole Iran, we found ourselves in the forefront of the struggle. “Woman, Life, freedom” gave us a new life. Suddenly, this slogan, word by word, filled us with passion; we said: We want to live! Women seek to liberate their lives, and their liberation is the liberation of us all. Before this we were subjects trying to improve a few paragraphs of the law regarding marriage/separation, we demanded less discrimination for Baluchs regarding employment, we asked the clergies not to prevent girls’ education, we asked fathers and brothers not to force child marriage upon their daughters and sisters, we documented and publicized femicides, we tolerated the tribe and its laws of conduct, we tried to have an impact on the rigid patriarchal structures, we asked the state for permission to establish safe houses for protecting women against violence, and to provide birth control measures so that unwanted pregnancy could be avoided. These were all no small efforts in their own right, but in the face of the feminist uprising that has spread all over Iran seems insignificant, if not trivial. All of a sudden with indescribable passion and energy, along with our sisters all over Iran, we, Baluch women, started to demand life and freedom, not only for us, but also for all people in Iran; a life free of all chains, of all forms of oppression; we said NO to the fathers’ brothers’, tribes’ and the state’s authority and control over our body, life and freedom. “Woman, Life, Freedom” denounces all forms of oppression imposed on us. How wonderful it is that in the course of past weeks we learned this through our sisterhood with women of other nationalities in Iran: kurdish, lur, arab fars, and so on. There is still a lot to learn on this path.
#ژن_ژیان_ئازادی 
#جنین_زند_آجوئی 
#زن_زندگی_آزادی 
#womenlifefreedom

The intersectionality of the Baluch women’s struggle is undoubtedly invaluable and historically significant. Dasgoharan’s statements, of which English translations will gradually be published by Tanide, are so historically unique because these women have been gathering and voicing their demands during a feminist revolution-in-the-making in Iran. Alongside numerous other collectives and groups in the country, they are reclaiming their indigenous, resistant subjectivities and making their epistemic, material, and bodily struggles visible to everyone. This, in and of itself, is a revolutionary act that highlights the revolutionary momentum of Zan, Zendegi, Azadi or Janin, Zand, Ajoyi in Iran. 


***

Wearing the black chador has only been common amongst Baluch women for less than four decades. According to the oral history and memories of our mothers and sisters, Baluch women were mostly unfamiliar with the black chador attire prior to the 1979 revolution and even until the late 1980s. In those days, society was not open to or welcoming towards the black chador and even considered it ominous. After the revolution, the Baluch women’s hijab – which, not so long before, consisted of colourful thin chadors in line with the traditional Baluchi dress – was somehow replaced by the black chador. Thus, the same traditional rural society that had associated this garment with ominous, supernatural powers suddenly required a black chador as part of the traditional dress.

To understand the black chador’s dominance in Baluch women’s lives and lived experiences, we must inevitably trace the history of these women’s marginalisation and further exclusion from social life as well as the supremacy of religion and its unholy alliance with the tribal/sectarian patriarchy in the region.

The issue of hijab in the region of Sistan and Baluchistan underwent fundamental changes during the 1970s and the so-called Saudization of Pakistani society. In fact, after Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq assumed power in Pakistan in the 1970s, the government became focused on the Islamization of Pakistan to such an extent that feminist women in the nation burnt their hijabs in 1983 to protest the fundamentalist attack on all aspects of their lives. Still, women in Pakistan could not stop this process, which gained momentum with the help of Western powers and the massive budget devoted to religious schools in Pakistan. In addition, the growth of Deobandi rituals, which marked the beginning of the religious shift in the Baluchistan region in Iran, the abdication of tribal chiefs due to the Islamic Revolution, and the increasing influence of graduates of Deobandi schools fostered fundamentalist Islamism amongst the Sunni Muslims in Sistan and Baluchistan. In other words, the Islamic Revolution was a ‘golden opportunity’ to cement religious sects in the region, where the existing power gap after the revolution enabled reactionary forces to promote their misogynist religious laws. These forces dictated that women are fundamentally evil creatures and repeatedly proclaimed to both men and women that hell is mostly comprised of women. The patriarchy was substantially strengthened in the region by tribes, governments, religion, and the strict religious rules that supplanted the previous practice of religious tolerance. 

Yet, the oppression of women in Baluchistan cannot be fully grasped solely on the basis of the growth of religious fundamentalism, as the dominant political economy in the region of Sistan and Baluchistan also contributed to the marginalisation of Baluch women’s roles in the economy. Specifically, the informal economy gained precedence through the smuggling of various goods and drugs, and male-centred ways of earning income were emphasised. Women were consequently excluded from the economic sector, thus reinforcing their oppression. With the burgeoning capitalist relations and factory productions, women’s communities and household labour lost their economic value. Previously, women had been part of the cycle of production and the family economy. Their communities, such as rural women who gathered for embroidery or to grind wheat to make bread, achieved economic and income-earning outcomes. As the economic labour cycle became more male-dominated, women were gradually removed from the public sphere and, in the eyes of the patriarchy, viewed only as consumers who must have a convincing reason to socialise outside of the private sphere of the home. In addition, the growth of fundamentalism and religious circles justifying the omission of women from the public sphere effectively intensified the marginalisation and separation of women from society. Because of this process and their lack of a role in the family economy, women progressively lost their social and intelligent independence, which in turn forced them into obedience on issues of forced marriage, child marriage, compulsory veiling, lifestyle, polygamy, and other forms of oppression. 

Notably, the central government was amongst those prominent forces that capitalised on such processes of subjugating women. By enforcing discriminatory and predatory policies in Sistan and Baluchistan, the state benefitted greatly from the marginalisation of women in the region. In collaboration with mullahs and the patriarchal traditions of the tribes as well as with other cultural and traditional excuses, the state excluded women from educational, welfare, and health services. The state’s actions towards the exclusion of women even escalated to its removal of the citizenship status of women who married Afghan men, though there are unfortunately no clear statistics on this matter. Nonetheless, it is no exaggeration to state that poverty, illiteracy, and unemployment in the Sistan and Baluchistan Province are definitively feminine problems. Indeed, the combination of the above issues with the suppression and omission of any freethinking radical movement in post-revolutionary Iran led to a fixation on the dress code for Baluch women, which culminated in the black chador. 

In the aftermath of the national resistance to racial apartheid in Pakistan, our sisters in eastern Baluchistan (Pakistan) were able to reduce the influence of fundamentalism there, which explains why the dress code for women in eastern Baluchistan is different and less strict (than ours). Nevertheless, despite the actions of fundamentalist forces against women in Sistan and Baluchistan, everyday forms of resistance by women have always existed. Baluch women, like their sisters in this geographical region (Iran), have never been mere observers or passive recipients of oppression or the imposition of extremist views on their lifestyles. Many girls have resisted their families’ and tribes’ requests to wear the chador. Given that a woman’s refusal to wear the chador can subject her family to significant pressure from religious leaders, such resistance is often a psychologically exhausting effort. In many villages, girls must wear the chador from the age of eight. Even careful replacements, such as the manteau, are not accepted without consequences for the family and the girl, including humiliation, mockery, threats, harassment, and possibly physical violence. 

Even amidst the ‘Woman, Life, Freedom’ movement, Baluch men are expressing criticism of Baluch women on social media who are demanding to dress how they wish as part of their equality and freedom. In fact, Baluch women are currently facing an avalanche of accusations on social media: many Tehran-centric/centralist individuals have mediatised Baluch women’s presence and way of dress and looked upon them with insult and shame. In our view, the adoption of such a perspective amidst a movement revolving around the emancipation of women in society is the result of a highly disappointing lack of awareness of everyday lived experiences and the history of our region. 

Over the past two months, Baluch cities have been periodically full of protestors. However, the absence of Baluch women at some of these protests has also been challenged on social media platforms. Dasgoharan has attempted to address these challenges and answer the questions they raise, while we have endeavoured to dissect the society we live in and share its historical, political, and religious background, which is mainly oral. In a situation where women in Baluchistan are seizing any opportunity to participate in the ‘Woman, Life, Freedom’ movement, and women in Zahedan and Chabahar have taken to the streets, we are constantly confronted by a repetitive question: ‘where are the Baluch women?’ It is as if a centralist, homogenising gaze is chasing us; while we are creating our own innovative means and strategies of civil participation, analysts are not changing their old, entrenched frameworks. Faezeh Barahoui, a Baluch woman who sought justice for an assaulted sister living miles away from her, is being criticised for her way of veiling in her social media content even though she has long been under arrest and deprived of a lawyer or other legal options. Meanwhile, Somayeh Mahmoudi Nejhad, a Baluch woman from Ghale Ganj in Kerman, was killed by six bullets in front of her child. A report published by BBC Farsi television stated that Somayeh resigned from her job at the morality police centre because of its violent practices. She received death threats every day and was shot dead a month later. 

Faezeh and Somayeh are only two cases of Baluch women who have resisted but been constantly omitted from the centralist discourse. If a Baluch woman does not serve the reductionist representational understanding of herself, her agency is completely denied. The centre has already dehumanised her, and she is obliged to constantly respond to questions of, for example, where she is, why she is not present [in a public sphere or a debate], and when and where she will come to the fore. These questions are familiar to us – it is as if our brothers and fathers are everywhere! Is it not true then that, by asking these questions, the centre is trying to claim a superior identity and position? Such attention to the Baluch woman does not seek to understand the complications of her life or the challenges of her struggles. Rather, the centre treats her as a mirror to look into to understand itself. The Baluch woman is ‘that Other’ which the centre should not become; on the contrary, she should – while keeping her distance – become like the centre. 

Today, new forms of resistance are being cultivated amongst Baluch women and girls. They are creating graffiti, circulating protest videos, and slowly joining the protests. Nevertheless, a phenomenon that may not be particularly visible on social media platforms is the real resistance of Baluch women to the traditions of their patriarchal society. They are discarding the black chador, which has itself played a major role in invisiblising Baluch women’s existence in the previous decades. Their micro-resistances are ongoing, even in the most remote villages with no access to media. Baluch women, like women in other parts of the country, are struggling to reclaim the streets and their right to choose how to dress. The suppressive forces that have been reinforcing each other for years and fortifying undemocratic structures in society are being challenged by these women, which is a huge achievement. 

At the same time, the Baluch woman is reclaiming another site. She wants to speak up, but, in the representation of her image, she becomes the reflection which is directed at her. Any action or text from her side can be used against her. She must be constantly careful that talking about inequalities, challenges, and depredation does not cause them to be considered essential cultural features of the Sistan and Baluchistani society. Moreover, she must always reiterate that her omission from historical and political discourses does not indicate that she has remained silent. Although she has suddenly become the centre of attention, she was not born in the past two months; she has existed and resisted for years. 

The vast Sistan and Baluchistan Province is home to diverse ecosystems, cultures, and religions. Accordingly, there is a range of models of political resistance amongst its women (Baluch or otherwise). Failing to heed such multiplicity and history silences the voices of Baluch women and their lives and struggles. Enforcement of the black chador – and the complicated resistance to it – is only one of the many issues that affect the Baluch woman, which should be understood in direct relation to her life in that particular local geography.

The black chador, the Baluch woman, and media representation

Authors: @thevoicesofbaluchwomen, Dasgoharan

Translated into English by: Tanide 
@Tanide