The Hijab Is Vanishing from Iran's Streets—and So Is the Mask of the Mullahs
A Stark Warning to the Taliban: The Wind of Change Is
Coming for Them, Too.
By Wahab Raofi
The hijab is falling from the heads of Iranian women—and in
the same moment, the mask of the mullahs is falling too. The upheaval sweeping
Iran since 2025 has not only given women the courage to remove their
headscarves; it has unmasked a regime that is no longer the force it once was.
Decades of institutionalized gender restrictions have made
women the unlikely catalyst for the Islamic Republic's deepest crisis of
legitimacy in its 45-year history. Across the country, women are publicly
casting aside their hijabs, defying a dress code that has been enforced by law
and by force since the revolution. This is not a fashion statement. It is a
generation refusing to accept the terms their parents were forced to live
under.
An Iranian woman writing under a pseudonym in
Persuasion magazine recently described... what this moment means to
her generation—the so-called "Burnt Generation," raised in the shadow
of the Iran-Iraq War. They grew up on war films and martyrdom songs, took
school trips to old minefields, and inherited grief from relatives who came
home from the front with unspeakable trauma. Whether or not they understood the
politics of that war as children, they inherited its weight. Now, she writes,
that inheritance is turning into defiance.
She writes that a friend of her who recently left Iran put
it to me more simply: it feels like walking through the streets of Paris. Young
men and women sit in cafés, listen to music, hold hands. Women no longer wear
the hijab. Walk into a gallery, a café, a restaurant, and people are singing
and dancing—and if you ask discreetly, someone might even bring you a drink
under the table. "It's this young generation," he told me.
"They're something else." And it isn't confined to Tehran. The same
quiet testing of boundaries is visible even in religious strongholds like
Mashhad and Qom—cities the Islamic Republic built its identity around.
Maryam Rajavi, an Iranian dissident politician who serves as
President-elect of the National Council of Resistance of Iran, captured the
regime's unease in a recent piece titled "No to Executions, Yes to
Democratic Republic": "Today, the remnants of the regime live in a
nightmare of impending uprisings. They tremble at the consequences of the mass
slaughter during the January uprising—and indeed, of the 48 years of
suppression, massacre, and the simmering rage of a deeply dissatisfied society.
For this legacy has awakened and driven the young generation to confront the
regime."
Some will point out that Iran's mullahs have already held
power for nearly half a century, and ask why this moment should be different.
It's a fair question. But there is a structural difference between Iran's
regime and the one next door in Afghanistan. Tehran has sustained itself on
billions of dollars in oil revenue—income that has let it pay civil servants
and maintain basic public services even through sanctions and unrest. The
Taliban have no such cushion. Their government survives largely on outside
financial assistance, which makes it considerably more fragile than Iran's.
That fragility matters, because the wind of change in Iran
does not stop at the border. It carries directly to Afghanistan, where the
Taliban have banned women from working alongside men and denied girls access to
secondary education. If a regime as entrenched and self-financing as Iran's can
be shaken this badly by its own women, a regime as dependent and brittle as the
Taliban's should be far more worried. The mask is slipping in Tehran first. It
won't stop there.
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