Journalist Parvaz in Syrian Custody | Her Reflections on Iranian Identity Abroad
04 May 2011 20:45
Parvaz flew from Doha, the Qatari capital, to Syria to cover the political crisis there and was apparently detained upon arrival at Damascus International Airport. There had been no word on her whereabouts or status since she landed on April 29 until today's report.
Born in Iran to an Iranian Canadian father and an American mother, Parvaz is a citizen of all three countries. She spent the first ten years of her childhood in Iran, before moving to Canada in 1981 where she graduated high school and the University of British Columbia.
After obtaining a master's degree in journalism at the University of Arizona, she worked in Japan for the English edition of Asahi Shimbun. Returning to the United States, she worked for the Seattle Times and then the Seattle Post-Intelligencer.
For the Post-Intelligencer, shortly after 9/11, she wore the hejab -- for the first time since she was 12 -- around the Seattle and Vancouver areas and reported on her impressions and people's reactions. In 2006, she traveled to her homeland and wrote a series of reports on Iran for the paper. For Al Jazeera, which she joined last year, Parvaz had recently reported on the Japanese earthquake and tsunami.
Responding to a question about the missing journalist at a press conference in Doha on Monday, Iranian Foreign Minister Ali Akbar Salehi said, "We demand the government of Syria to look into this."
A statement released by her family that same day described her as a "dearly loved daughter, sister and fiancée" and a "determined journalist...dedicated to the profession as a force for peace and justice in the world."
As many as a dozen journalists have been detained by Syrian authorities since the unrest began there almost two months ago, and scores of intellectuals and human rights activists have recently gone into hiding as the government cracks down on dissent.
In 2009, when the Post-Intelligencer ceased publication of its print edition, Parvaz relocated to London. In August that year, she wrote for Tehran Bureau about her life there and how it compared to her experience in America, both before and after 9/11. That story, which ran under her preferred byline of D. Parvaz, appears below. -- Dan Geist
So why do I feel so totally at ease here? Where's that sense of alienation I felt when I first moved to Tokyo for a year?
For one thing, the massive influx of immigrants from India, Pakistan, and the Middle East means no one with olive skin or dark features stands out. In fact, owing probably in part to their, ah, how to put this delicately, colonial history, Brits have long embraced the look, sounds, and tastes of the Semitic and Indo-European cultures.
According to the 2001 Census, there were 42,377 Iranian-born Iranians living in Britain, and according to Migration Information Source (using numbers from the UK Home Office and the U.S. Department of Homeland Security), 8,640 Iranians moved here between 2001 and 2005. Consider that during the same period, 55,098 Iranians were admitted to the U.S. So the U.K.'s numbers don't seem too big, but factor in the landmass -- the U.S. is massive, and the U.K., well, not so much -- and you'll get an idea of how things work.
Here, in the U.K., kabobs, curries, and falafels are part of the daily diet, not an exotic, trepidatious foray into "foreign food"; friends with names like Reza, Suraya, and Fatima are common and I've yet to meet anyone who confuses Iraq with Iran.
Furthermore, Brits are accustomed to seeing Iranians do well, professionally (Christiane Amanpour), academically (Abbas Edalat), and, yes, even on reality TV. A finalist in the latest season of Britain's Got Talent was the impossibly adorable Welsh-Iranian Shaheen Jafargholi, and in June, Yasmina Siadatan won a job, cash, and a bit of fame on The Apprentice. The press seemed to like her, although they had some fun at the expense of her father, who lobbied to get the British courts to recognize his three (simultaneous) wives. Shudder.
But then, this place has always had that mystique about it. I remember being a teenager in Canada and talking to an Iranian girlfriend who upon hearing that Yasmin Parvaneh had married Duran Duran's Simon Le Bon, marveled that in England, Iranian women can be models and marry pop stars. We'd never seen that happen before.
This isn't to say there aren't any high-profile Iranian Americans. It's just that most Americans either don't know who they are (most are academics) or don't know they're Iranian.
Axis of evil references and CNN news stories aside, Iranians just aren't as visible in the U.S. We have what industry types would label a brand recognition problem there, in a country with which we've had a relatively short and contentious political history.
Still, being an Iranian prior to September 11 in the U.S. was, for the most part, pretty sweet. Aside from those who remembered the post-Revolution hostage crisis and still held a grudge, most Americans responded to learning about my Iranian background with, "Oh. So, you speak Arabic?" or "I like that Salma Hayek. Isn't she half Iranian? Do you know her?" Pretty innocuous, right? The fact is we didn't really register with anyone. And by that, I mean some -- perhaps most -- Americans didn't even know where to place Iran.
While in graduate school at the University of Arizona in the mid-'90s, a prof encouraged me to attend a minority students' job fair. Having never heard of such a thing, I asked another prof, one with a hand in organizing the event, about it. He told me that I couldn't attend the fair because I'm not a minority.
"You're not African American, you're not Native American, you're not Hispanic, and you're not Asian American," he said.
Even though I wasn't anxious to attend the event, I thought I'd have some fun and asked him to tell me, please, in which continent Iran exists.
"It's not in Africa. It's not in Europe. So, that would leave.....Asia?" I asked. The poor man looked uncomfortable as he told me I didn't "look Asian," to which I responded with something like, "Ah, right. Never mind then," before letting him off the hook.
So, essentially, in the U.S., we blended right in, me and my ilk -- light-skinned, swarthy, all the same -- until terrorists crashed three airplanes on a Tuesday morning in September and changed the world.
As Palestinian American comedian Dean Obeidallah put it in one of his bits, "Before 9/11, I'm a typical white guy, living a typical white-guy life. All my friends have names like Monica and Chandler and Joey and Ross. I go to bed September 10, white, wake up on September 11, I'm an Arab..." And so it went -- and still does -- for anyone vaguely Middle Eastern or Muslim "looking."
The issue of being confused with something or someone I'm not hasn't come up in London, but I don't think it's necessarily because all Brits are that much more culturally savvy than Americans (although one could argue that many are). It's something else.
The history between the two nations has been long and often bitter, dating back to the 1800s and dealing with the surrender of territory and the settlement of borders with Russia and India, respectively. Yes, the Brits had a role in all of that. Fast forward to 1921 and the British role in putting Reza Khan, a brigadier in the Cossack Brigade, in power and ultimately on the throne. They then exiled him when, among other things, he didn't allow access to Iran's railroad lines during World War II. And then there was the fiasco that was Operation Ajax. And let's not forget that our youngest royal, Leila Pahlavi, died in London. True, she lived in the U.S., but she overdosed in her favorite, pricey Marble Arch hotel in 2001.
They say that familiarity breeds contempt, but sometimes, it's the other way around, and it's the history Iranians have with England that acts as a cultural dark matter in the relationship. And while to some, that relationship is filled with pain and humility, to successive generations of Iranians, it's at least a recognition of who we are and our past.
Copyright © 2011 Tehran Bureau