Shirin Abedi | Lumix Festival für jungen Bildjournalismus

Shirin Abedi
May I have this Dance?

Reyhaneh, 22, does the splits on the sofa while her brother tickles her. Although her parents were against her participating in dance courses, they now support Reyhaneh and ask her to dance at family celebrations.

Sometimes Yasamin, 22, dances on the roof of her apartment building. Many Iranian women dream of being able to dance and sing beneath the skies of their homeland.

Reyhaneh, 22, sits on the floor of the Tehran Metro after a long working day. An hour before this, she was asked by three different people to dress according to Islamic guidelines.

Yasamin, 22, is a graphic designer. She suffers in traditional Iranian society. Although her mother is a practicing Muslim, she supports her daughter completely. This shows the social transformation underway in Iran. While parents of earlier generations believed that “nice girls don’t dance” or that “girls must not laugh in public”, today’s parents are more tolerant and support their children even when their opinions differ.

“I was standing backstage before going on for that performance, and the thought tore through me that this is all I want to do in my life”, says Nona, 18, after dancing on stage for a female audience. She often tries out new choreographies at her dancing school; occasionally a dancer friend will join her. They then record their movements and post the videos on Instagram.

The troupe rehearses for a show that was cancelled shortly before its premiere. A video of the rehearsals went viral in the Iranian media, which panned the show. According to the national Iranian media, these women do not exist. The word “dance” may not be used. Instead, for dance courses institutions must use names such as Rhythmic Gymnastics, Theatrical Movement or Aerobics.

“If they took dance away from me, it would be as if they had taken my life.” Mojdeh, 20, dreams of becoming a professional ballerina. As there is no education programme for dancers in Iran, Mojdeh is looking for a good institution abroad.

Reyhaneh, 22, teaches several times a week. She spends most of her income on dance lessons and travel.

There are performances featuring dance and singing for women in Iran. However, there are no pictures of these events, for all bags are controlled at the entrance. Mobile telephones and cameras are collected. It is a hidden, surreal parallel world where women can be free.

Wearing a long, red dress and a crown in her hair, 21-year-old Mojdeh dances in front of a red curtain to the cheers of a female audience. Along with Nona, Reyhaneh, Elham and Yasamin, she belongs to a ballet ensemble in Tehran. These women are part of Iran’s post-war generation, one that stands for self-determination, freedom and equality. Iranian law has determined that sensual dance leads to immorality and fornication, and dancing in public has been banned since 1979. Nonetheless, more and more Iranians are now dancing. Many ensembles are subjected to repression: approved pieces are cancelled, the lights are extinguished during performances and excessive public attention can result in a dancer’s incarceration. Dance epitomises the social shift in Iran: it symbolises the longing for Western freedom and represents a generation that is demanding its future back.

Women

3 Questions

1. The door opener: Can you describe a formative moment in your career as a visual journalist?

It was 2015 when I first started travelling on my own in Iran. I was visiting friends in Qazvin; during the day, I explored the city alone. I was looking at a cistern in a mosque, and my tour guide started to approach me. I felt threatened, but was too trusting to end the tour then and there. He became bolder, and then I ran away. When I was back outside, my entire body was trembling. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. Afterwards, my friends came and we took the man to the police. In the end, I decided against pressing charges because I had the feeling that the penalty wouldn’t change the perpetrator in his heart. Over the next few days I thought a lot about whether I could still work as a photojournalist. At that time, I only saw the dangers in this world and felt powerless against them. After three days I decided that the story had ended well for me and that I shouldn’t let it bring me down. I decided to use my experiences and privileges to tell the stories of those who get less attention than I do. Furthermore, I started teaching myself to communicate my boundaries clearly and defend them rigorously.

2. The decisive moment: When did you first encounter your topic and why did you decide to cover it photographically?

As a young Iranian woman, I know what it’s like not to be allowed to dance or laugh out loud in public. All the same, I have experienced a slow shift in social standards in Iran. Spending most of my time in Germany means that I have seen a lot of work by other photographers from Iran. With some projects about young society, I felt the desire to experience similar things on my trips to Iran to what the subjects of those stories had experienced. I felt that my own Iranian social environment was under-represented and I wanted to do a project about people like me. In summer 2018 I saw Instagram pictures of a performance featuring dancers in Tehran. I started researching, and the following winter I met the director of the dance troupe. I have a great deal of respect for what the dancers of my homeland are accomplishing and photographed them to give them the stage that is so often refused to them.

3. The future: What could the visual journalism of the future be like?

I hope to see diversity and fairness in the visual journalism of the future. I hope there will be many creative storytelling methods, a fair distribution of jobs to women and non-binary people and more local journalists who tell their stories.

»For this story my biggest challenge was I, myself, because I had such reverence for the group and this topic.«
Shirin Abedi

Videointerview with Shirin Abedi.

»I taught myself for a long time to say ,noʻ, to defend my barriers, that it’s not normal having men following me through the streets.«
Shirin Abedi

The safety of the protagonists was very important for Shirin Abedi. Therefore she was very transparent and often showed the dancers the photos right after in the camera. © Shirin Abedi

Yasamin looks at the first Photobook Dummy in a Cafe in Teheran, during Shirin first visit in January 2020. © Shirin Abedi

A selfie with Reyhaneh and Shirin, while waiting for the Metro. They developed a friendship. © Shirin Abedi

»I believe that when there are people there are stories.«
Shirin Abedi

Reyhaneh and Nona are dancing in a Café while waiting for the waiter. They can’t dance more expressive, because then they would violate the house rule, which follow the Guidelines of the state. © Shirin Abedi

Reyhaneh singing „Soltan-e Ghalbam“ on the last night of her camping-trip to the south of Iran with their friends. She feels free when traveling and can leave her Problems behind for a short while. © Shirin Abedi

At the End of their classes, the dancers get to improvise. Shirin enjoyed this part the most, because the photographing felt like a dance with the women in front of the camera. © Shirin Abedi

Found in Research

Interview – exhibition

Curated by Judith Gawol

*1996 in Tehran, Iran
When she was seven years old, Shirin Abedi immigrated to Germany. Since then, she has lived between two worlds. She has studied Photojournalism and Documentary Photography at Hanover University of Applied Sciences and Arts since 2014. In 2016, she returned to Tehran for a year in order to gain a better understanding of her country of origin. For her project “May I have this dance?”, Abedi received the 2019 BFF promotional award. Her work concentrates on the stories and struggles of everyday heroes.

www.shirinabedi.com

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