Her name was Mahsa Amini.
Sept. 23 was her birthday; she would have been 23 years old. She was supposed to start university last week.
She was like any other girl her age. Social media posts depict her in various modes: dancing in her native Kurdish style, blowing on a dandelion, and appearing with full makeup.
Before commencing her first college semester, she went on a family trip to Tehran, the capital. It was there that she was detained by the so-called morality police for “improper hijab,” not abiding by the Islamic dress code laws. While in custody, she sustained injuries after being brutally beaten and fell into a coma. She died shortly after, on Sept.16.
The incident sparked nationwide protests that continue to this day. Countless women are taking to the streets, burning their veils and cutting their hair in defiance of decades-long repressive laws. They are doing so despite heightened militia presence and attacks that have killed up to 41 protestors so far. The incident has received global attention, with public figures around the world, including the president of the United States, expressing their solidarity with the women of Iran.
True to its reputation as the City of Good Neighbors, Buffalo has joined in the solidarity. On the University at Buffalo North Campus, the buffalo sculpture outside the Student Union is newly painted in the colors of Iran’s flag. The words “Mahsa Amini/Be Her Voice” are written across, with her portrait placed alongside candles at the foot of the sculpture.
The image takes me back to the fall of 2008 when I traveled from Iran to the U.S. The original plan was to stay in Buffalo for a couple of weeks before moving on to Toronto. By chance, I encountered a UB anthropology professor who, after getting to know my academic background and bilingualism, encouraged me to enroll at the university. I took two classes that autumn as a nonmatriculated student and was officially registered in an undergraduate degree program the following semester.
It was the start of a liberal arts education that, according to philosopher Martha Nussbaum, creates the possibility of “critical examination of oneself and one’s traditions,” rather than bowing to authority or prejudice. After graduating from UB, I furthered my liberal arts education abroad, motivated by Nussbaum’s belief in its capacity to render “seeing oneself as a member of a heterogeneous nation and world.” Since then, I have traveled the world as much as possible, with a passion for writing about gender and cross-cultural issues.
I was only a few years older than Mahsa when I first set foot at UB. It shocks me to realize that I could have been her; my life cut off abruptly and unjustly before it could really begin. Indeed, there were people I knew who were against my leaving the country back in 2008. To this day, I face subtle and not-so-subtle discrimination for not settling into a more conventional lifestyle (I imagine it happens to many women who dare to march to the beat of their own drum).
I also know that she could have been me, having the freedom to overcome traditions and laws inhibiting women. Having the freedom of bodily autonomy and to appear in public with or without a hair covering. Having the freedom to resist patriarchal control.
And having the freedom to tell this story right now.
Mahsa’s life mattered. Say her name. Share her story. Be her voice.