Last March, I sublet my Manhattan apartment. A woman called Shireen answered my ad, and when she came to visit I was surprised to learn that, despite her traditionally Persian name, she was Indian. Mentioning this, Shireen replied, “But I am Persian! I’m Zoroastrian.” In India, she explained, Zoroastrians are called Parsis (literally, “Persian”) in reference to their Persian ancestry.
Zoroastrianism was Iran’s primary religion until the mid-seventh century, when Islam was imposed on the country by conquering Arabs. Many Zoroastrians fled to India to avoid forced conversion and discrimination. Today, Iran counts some 30,000 Zoroastrians; those who practice openly face persecution and are considered second-class citizens. Still, I urged Shireen to visit Iran and explore her heritage. But my encouragement was a painful reminder that I, born and raised in Iran, hadn’t been back in 14 years. After being arrested and jailed in 1999 for reporting critically on the government, I fled to write and work freely. I wasn’t certain I could visit anytime soon.
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