What if I Knew? by Mona Sahi: On Censorship and Brutality in Iran

Mona Sahi – “Metamorphosis” (fragment), 2023; scratch on birch panel. Image courtesy of the artist.

Curated by Asal Andarzipour

Harcourt House Artist Run Centre

July 28 to September 9, 2023

By Freyja T. Catton

Mona Sahi is an Iranian artist who now lives in Edmonton, Alberta. Shortly after she arrived in Edmonton in early 2021, Sahi befriended fellow Iranian artist and curator Asal Andarzipour, who arrived in Edmonton in 2018. Sahi and Andarzipour are kindred spirits, both women artists who grew up in Iran around the same time. In the summer of 2023, Andarzipour curated Sahi’s inaugural Canadian exhibition at Harcourt House Artist Run Centre in Edmonton, Alberta. What If I Knew?[1] ran from July 28 to September 9, 2023, and shows Sahi’s multidisciplinary works from the past year that confront brutality in Iran.

The catalyst for What If I Knew was the death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini. On September 13, 2022, Amini was arrested and beaten by the morality police in Tehran, Iran for wearing her hijab improperly. Arrests and beatings by the morality police have been commonplace for many years in Iran, but this was the first known death as a result. Amini’s death sparked a global uproar against the morality police and the religious government that sanctioned them.[2] Protestors are still being attacked by government forces, sometimes murdered, sometimes vanished. The Kurdish Jineaology (feminist) phrase “Jin, Jian, Azadi” was chanted at Amini’s funeral,[3] and the English translation, “Woman, Life, Freedom,”[4] has become the motto of the current feminist movement in Iran.

In Edmonton, Sahi and Andarzipour were horrified by the news of Amini’s death. They felt helpless being so far away and wanted to raise awareness of the events to help. One of the most compelling ways they have done this is through the powerful combination of Sahi’s art and Andarzipour’s writing. In What If I Knew, Sahi uses her art to initiate conversations about the consequences of corrupt power. Andarzipour uses her writing to provide context and understanding of the events for a Western audience with her extensive knowledge of Iranian history and art history.

Mona Sahi – “Self Portrait”, 2023; acrylic on canvas. Image courtesy of the artist.


Absurdity of Oppression


            It is important to understand that the culture of Iran is a separate entity from the religious government. The over 2,500-year-old culture of Iran refers to the people—family, friends, and cultural and regional memory. Iran moved to a centralized and constitutional monarchy, the Qajar Dynasty, in the 1800s[5]. During the Pahlavi Dynasty from 1925-1979, women’s clothing became an inseparable part of the political scene during the time of Reza Shah Pahlavi. Political unrest and uprisings in the 1970s led to the end of the Iranian monarchy in 1979. It was replaced by the Islamic Republic at the end of the Islamic Revolution, which remains in power to the present day.

The Islamic Republic can be described as theological colonialism[6], as it oppresses civilians and imposes strict legislative sanctions on the cultural practices of Iranians. Women’s clothing has been a point of legislation for the last hundred years or so, but hijabs have been compulsory for women since 1981.[7] Sanctions such as dress codes are enforced by the morality police. In 1987, the Islamic Republic created the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance to monitor and guide the ethics, values, and narrative of Iran.[8] This includes approval or banning of art exhibitions, films, writing, and journalism.

Censorship and brutality often go hand in hand with oppressive regimes. Iran’s Ministry of Culture and Guidance and the morality police work in tandem to oppress civilians, especially women. Art, films, TV shows, music, and other creative and intellectual pursuits are frequently banned for promoting unapproved values. Intellectuals and film directors are sometimes killed or go missing. Censorship seeks to limit dissent, prevent access to “the real story,” and control the intellect of the people, while brutality seeks to impose physical limitations on what the body and mind can do. Strategies of censorship and brutality reinforce each other to prevent civilians from resisting the prescribed norms of the government regime.

Resistance doesn’t have to be obvious, but it does need to be intentional.

Resistance

Resistance doesn’t have to be obvious, but it does need to be intentional. How women resist oppressive regimes is linked to how they live and celebrate their personal lives. Sharing rumours and gossip can be a method of resistance against government propaganda. Dancing and celebration of life can show resistance against bodily and cultural control. Personalizing a hijab or using images of houses to represent people are both subtle and subversive expressions of freedom. As a practicing artist in Iran, Sahi displayed her paintings and learned how to use metaphors and symbolism to communicate without inviting censorship.

Protests like “Woman, Life, Freedom” are significant and powerful displays of resistance. Civilian protests have popped up regularly throughout Iran’s recent history in 2019 and 2022. In 2019-2020, the “Bloody Aban” protests erupted in response to prolonged economic hardship.[9] 2022 saw the death of Amini and the protests that erupted in response. In each, the police response was violent and resulted in civilian death. With faster news cycles, it seems like the cycle of protests has been speeding up in recent years. Censorship issues worldwide are linked to misinformation, banning of resources, discrimination, harassment, and civilian violence or judicial brutality. Catalyst moments like the death of Amini point out how absurd oppression can be. The political becomes personal because what happens in the news is happening to people like us. This could be us.

“Mona Sahi: What If I Knew?” – fragment of the exhibition installaton. In the background (l-r): “End of
the World” (2023; acrylic on canvas), “At Least We Are Safe” (2023; acrylic on canvas); on the floor:
“1,500 + ….” (2023; ceramic on black sand). Photo copyright by Jack Bawden.

What If I Knew?

Sahi’s work in What If I Knew? includes paintings, drawings, ceramics, an audio piece, and interactions from the audience. Instead of tempering her message to avoid censorship, she now has to avoid making the intense topic too overwhelming for either herself or the viewer. To develop her visual language for a new audience, Sahi has been experimenting with new mediums—particularly performance, installation, and audio. Each project focuses on different aspects of the brutality in Iran.

Upon entry to the exhibition’s opening, Sahi invited visitors to wear a blindfold over one eye. This visual limitation simulated the experience of protestors in Iran, hundreds of whom were shot in the eyes by security forces during the 2022 September uprisings.[10]

Black and white drawings of embryos combined with the title prompt the realization that we do not know what anyone will grow up to become, or the impact that one person’s development will have on the world at large. Who is responsible for the development of dictators who condemn protestors? What if I knew this baby would grow up to become an oppressive dictator? Could I have prevented the deaths of my people?

1500+ responds to the protests in 2019-2020 when the Iranian government violently cracked down on peaceful protests. Placed in the centre of the gallery, this installation is a series of cast and painted ceramic bullets arranged upright in black sand. The bullets look highly realistic, and the upright grid formation resembles soldiers standing at attention. “People went to the streets for peaceful protest because of the price of gas, and the government massacred 1800 people,” explains Sahi. “The black sand is a symbol for oil. People are dying for it, we’re losing our lives. The actual number of bullet shells is more than that because the regime never stopped killing people.[11]” If the piece had been created in Iran, Sahi could have collected actual bullets off the ground. Instead, the bullets are recreated with ceramic clay from 17 different molds of the same kind of bullets used by the government against protestors.  By recreating them out of clay, Sahi references religious narratives of human creation from clay, pointing to the use of the Islamic religion for oppression and control in Iran.

Can You Hear Me Now? is an audio piece that responds to the death of activist Mohammad Moradi by recreating the sound of someone drowning.[12] Moradi’s suicide in December 2022 by drowning in the Rhône River was a final act of protest—a demand for people to listen to the atrocities in Iran. He was far away from Iran, feeling helpless and trying to get people to pay attention. It did not work. Sahi reminds us of his story and asks the same overwhelming questions that Moradi did. How do you get people to listen? What do you do when no one is listening?

Sahi and Andarzipour demonstrate how to use art as an act of resistance. By addressing this emotional weight head-on and by speaking from personal experiences, they remind us of the connections between cultural resilience and resistance. They suggest that by being aware of historical precedence, we can replace corruption with transparency and accountability. We can use art to resist censorship and to note the absurdity of oppressive regimes.

Each piece is inspired by one specific event relating to brutality in Iran, but the overarching messages apply to other experiences. 1500+ could be interpreted as protest art about gun violence in the United States. Can You Hear Me Now? shares feelings of overwhelming helplessness and/or violence. The embryo drawings could connect to the politicization of reproductive health. The common thread between these stories is the brutality that corrupt governments impose on civilians and the weight of anxiety and survivor’s guilt that results.

Artist Mona Sahi and curator Asal Andarzipour at the opening reception of What If I Knew, July 28, 2023. Photo by Kamyar Pouyeh.

In Sahi’s work, medium and imagery are used in combination to convey meaning. Each piece in What If I Knew? relates to a defined point in time, such as the deaths of 1500 protestors in 2019-2020, or the death of Moradi in December 2022. The exhibition is timeless in that it talks about how colonialism uses specific methods of censorship and brutality to impose control over a civilian population. Sahi shows how the Islamic Republic government uses censorship to impose colonial ideals and ways of life onto a population with its own distinct culture, as well as how the Islamic Republic uses brutality to reinforce those ways of life and to punish resistance.

Sahi’s art and Andarzipour’s writing work together to resist messages from the Islamic Republic and to prioritize lived experiences. They use their position in Canada to identify atrocities, name those responsible, and seek justice. Reconciliation is only possible if we know what is happening.

This review can be found in our third print issue with the theme of Censorship. You can find a copy here.

[1] Mona Sahi: What If I Knew? Harcourt House Artist Run Centre, July 28-September 9, 2023.https://harcourthouse.ab.ca/mona-sahi/

[2] “Mahsa Amini: What we know after 11 days of protests in Iran.” Maziar Motamedi, Al Jazeera, September 28, 2022.

https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2022/9/28/what-we-know-after-11-days-of-protests–in-iran

[3] “CMHR marks anniversary of Mahsa Amini’s death in Iranian custody with display of Woman, Life, Freedom banner.” CBC News, September 15, 2023.

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/hajar-moradi-banner-mahsa-amini-death-human-rights-museum-1.6967751

[4] Woman Life Freedom. Accessed October 26, 2023. https://www.womanlifefreedom.today/

[5] “Iran (Persia), 1800-1900 A.D.” The Metropolitian Museum of Art. Accessed October 26, 2023. https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/ht/10/wai.html

[6] “How the Islamic Republic colonised Iran” by Maryam Aslany and Rana Dasgupta. The New Statesman, September 25, 2023. https://www.newstatesman.com/international-content/2023/09/islamic-republic-colonised-iran

[7] “Parliament Passes New “Hijab and Chastity” Bill” by The Iran Primer, United States Institute of Peace, September 25, 2023. https://iranprimer.usip.org/blog/2023/sep/25/parliament-passes-new-%E2%80%9Chijab-and-chastity%E2%80%9D-bill

[8] “Responsibilities and organizational structure of Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance” by the Secretariat of Supreme Council of Cultural Revolution. Iran Culture, August 3, 2008. https://web.archive.org/web/20080803173726/http://www.iranculture.org/en/nahad/ershad.php

[9] “Iran: More than 100 protesters believed to be killed as top officials give green light to crush protests.” Amnesty International, November 19, 2019. https://www.amnesty.org/en/latest/press-release/2019/11/iran-more-than-100-protesters-believed-to-be-killed-as-top-officials-give-green-light-to-crush-protests/

[10] “Eyes That No Longer See: A Story Of Resistance, Exile, And Sorrow” by Maryam Moqaddam and Masoud Kazemi. Iran International, September 28, 2023. https://www.iranintl.com/en/202309286011

[11] “The List: Mona Sahi’s What If I Knew? at Harcourt House confronts brutality in Iran” by Fish Griwkowsky. Edmonton Journal, August 4, 2023. https://edmontonjournal.com/entertainment/local-arts/the-list-mona-sahis-what-if-i-knew-at-harcourt-house-confronts-brutality-in-iran-2

[12] “Activist Moradi’s death in France shakes distressed members of Iranian diaspora” by Arab News, December 31, 2022. https://www.arabnews.com/node/2224426/world

The Anti-Autonomy Device: The Hays Code, Tits, and Le$bean Poetry

Joanne Leah. Skin-Encapsulated Ego. Photo courtesy of the artist.

By Chimera Mohammadi

Imagine you’re a film censor, dedicated to protecting the morality of American cinema from such threats as “sexual perversion.” Which of the following would you flag as objectionable?

  1. A man is chased through the streets by a group of homeless boys he has sexually assaulted and is cannibalized by them
  2. A cop hunting a gay serial killer turns gay and begins to murder gay men himself
  3. Two adults pursue a Queer romantic relationship

According to the Motion Picture Production Code—A.K.A. the Hays Code—the answer is C. 

Now, imagine you’re a content reviewer, working hard to clean smut off social media. Which of the following do you find disturbing and/or sexual enough to warrant erasure?

  1. A person breastfeeding a child
  2. A highly sexualized photo of a woman’s breasts
  3. Anti-LGBTQ+ hate speech and harassment

Quite frequently, the answer is A.

Do these answers seem similar? While the Hays Code [officially] ended in 1968, it still maintains a powerful grip on the media we’re allowed to consume. Censorship, from the Hays Code to social media guidelines, is an anti-autonomy tool that strips women and Queer people of their own stories, replacing them with narratives that perpetuate their objectification and vilification. Queer trauma porn and horror continue to be celebrated in mainstream media, while authentic Queer stories, art, and poetry are erased. Depictions of women’s* bodies dominate art, advertising, and the visual landscape of our culture, but women’s bodies on social media are harshly policed. The seemingly paradoxical and arbitrary facets of modern censorship faced by Queer and women artists can be explained by its use as a tool of oppression.

In 1934, the American film industry established a set of censorship guidelines: the Hays Code. The list—which included “white slavery” and “ridicule of the clergy”—listed number four as “any inference of sex perversion.” This vague phrase served as a catch-all for Queerness, reducing it to any deviation from the norm and an active threat to any viewers who recognize it. 

In the decades that followed, Queerness was exhibited near-exclusively as a symptom of villainy. Answer A comes from the 1959 film Suddenly, Last Summer, a box office hit that grossed $9 million despite being a “preposterous and monotonous potpourri of incest, homosexuality, psychiatry, and, so help me, cannibalism” (—the New Yorker). Answer B is the plot of Cruising (dir. Friedkin 1980), which—despite protests by gay activists horrified by its representation of Queerness as a contagious and fatal disease of the mind—saw a box office total of $19.8 million. Movies such as Psycho (1960), Silence of the Lambs (1991), Insidious: Chapter 2 (2013), and even Tár (2022) are only a few highlights in a long line of films that frame Queer people as the main perpetrators of sexual violence.

For the decades (if not centuries) that Queer people have been the cultural scapegoats of sexual aggression, our voices and creative output have been silenced or hidden. Following his repeated removal from Instagram, Facebook, YouTube, and Vimeo, Queer artist Gio Black Peter hosted a private exhibition with 15 other censored Queer and female artists in 2018. The majority of the suppressed works displayed Queer/female intimacy and bodies in playful, lighthearted photography. Even non-sexual Queer self-expression is policed; Instagram and Tiktok have repeatedly erased Zoe Leonard’s politically-charged poem, “I want a dyke for president.”

Alix Marie. Mammography 2, 2017.30 x 20 cm. Photograph printed on glass. Photo courtesy of the artist.

The same myth that equates Queer people with sexual predators equates women with sexual prey. In most of the films listed above, women are the helpless victims of Queer sexual violence.  The camera uses female nudity as a way to reduce women to their bodies, and their bodies to manifestations of desire/temptation—think of a dead Marion Crane lying on the shower floor and the body parts littering Buffalo Bill’s hideout. This is acceptable when the art produced is used to amplify the sexual subjugation of women, but not when it threatens the dominant understanding.When the body of a woman is shown for any purpose aside from heterosexual male gratification or the promotion of unrealistic beauty standards, it becomes objectionable. 

Victoria’s Secret boasts 76.3 million followers on Instagram and 3,816 posts, the vast majority of which depict models in lingerie. According to digital watchdog collective Salty, VS even has a hand in shaping Instagram’s female nudity guidelines. But while VS is allowed to display and profit from women’s bodies, artist Clarity Haynes is not. Haynes’s oil paintings of trans and female torsos are not sexualized, but tender, thorough, realistic, and human. Instagram constantly blocks and flags their work, and their account (@/alesbiangaze) has been repeatedly threatened with deactivation. From Mammography 2 by Alix Marie to the Venus of Willendorf (for crying out loud!), non-sexual depictions of women’s bodies are restricted due to their “sexual nature” by Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook. But as creators find ways to get around AI policing on social media, could these censorship guidelines be backfiring?

Clarity Haynes, Mariam, oil on linen, 58 x 74.5 inches, 2022. Courtesy of the artist and New Discretions.

The Hays Code necessitated the practice of queercoding, the reduction of Queer representation to a subtextual wink at stereotypes, such as a swishy walk, a slight lisp, or the gardenia-scented handkerchief in The Maltese Falcon (1941). We can find similar practices on social media today. Algospeak is the most literal example, a mutated online dialect that obscures ban-worthy words from AI censors with bizarre spelling variations, like “le$bean” for lesbian, “corn” for porn, “leg booty” for LGBT, and “cornucopia” for homophobia. Women post photos under “#fakebody” in an eerie attempt to trick AI into classifying their bodies as objects to get around nudity guidelines. Artist Joanne Leah (@/twofacedkitten on Instagram) is inventing a new eroticism incomprehensible to AI by painting her models in outlandish palettes and decontextualizing their body parts. 

We learn more about the true purpose of censorship from what is allowed than from what isn’t. When the Hays code banned Queer protagonists and allowed Queer villains, it told audiences that Queerness and Queer people were evil, perverted, and malevolent. Today, our contradictory social media guidelines tell women that their bodies are not their own, but sexual objects for the consumption of the masses and the exploitation of private companies. However, the anti-autonomy device of censorship is ultimately incapable of true erasure. Just as the Hays Code birthed underground Queer symbology, algorithmic censorship is birthing a new taboo absurdism, often more provocative than what it was initially intended to hide.

*As an AFAB, non-binary person, I know that referring to a quintessential “woman’s body” is reductive. Some non-binary and trans bodies may be perceived as female, and some women’s bodies may not. I’ve opted to use language that reflects the binary ideology under which non-male bodies are policed.

This feature is from our third print issue with the theme of Censorship. To purchase a copy, please visit our online shop.