Exiled to Freedom A Memoir of Censorship in Iran Mahmood Karimi-Hakak This memoir is dedicated to the struggle of Iranian youth for the right to live in a free society I would like to share my story, a story of the struggle for liberty, of the sup- pression of creativity, and finally of my exile to freedom. Unfortunately, I don’t know if I can continue because the editorial staff of TDR has not yet approved the content of what I might say. You see in my country, Iran, just about anything we say or do in the public arena must be preapproved by the censors, and no explanation will ever be given if it is not approved. In the United States of America, also, there are reasons why my story would not be published. For example, if my writing were bad or blatantly offensive, vio- lently racist, or sexist. Or, if my story did not fit the subject matter of TDR, had no relation to performance, etc. It could always be rejected as a matter of style and taste. But censorship would not be the primary factor. In Iran, cen- sorship is not only common, but also expected—in the theatre, in Parliament, and even in the Friday Prayer. There was one time I was asked to address an audience without a prepared, preapproved, edited text. That was the night of 23 February 1999, when my production of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream was closed. On that night, I was ordered to explain to my audience why the production had been summarily canceled. What could I say? To this day, I do not know from where the order to close the show came, who issued the order, or why it was issued. That night, our Midsummer Night’s Dream instantly changed into a midwinter nightmare, followed by a long unpleasant ordeal that led to my prosecution and exile. I was prosecuted for the crime of “Raping the Public’s Innocence,” and forced into exile. I still do not know what that charge means. In English, the word “censorship” relates back to two different offices in the Roman Empire. One censor was responsible for the census, a head count of the population. The other censor was responsible for guarding public morality. In Iran, the censorship is of the public morality sort. The public is considered “chaste,” and I was a “rapist” who spoiled that purity—a serious charge in today’s Iran. The Drama Review 47, 4 (T180), Winter 2003. Copyright ᭧ 2003 New York University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology 17 Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/105420403322764007 by guest on 01 October 2021 18 Mahmood Karimi-Hakak Censorship exists all over the world, but there is a difference between the veiled censorship in Iran and the transparent censorship in the United States. An example of transparent censorship is Mayor Giuliani’s attempt in 1999 to punish or even close down an exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum of Art because it included a painting of the Madonna with elephant feces incorporated into it. Everyone knew where this censorship was coming from, who was behind it, and why. People could and did speak out, write, publish, and otherwise protest the censorship without fear of prosecution or the murder of their fam- ily members. In Iran, on the other hand, one never really knows who issues the order to censor or even why something has been censored. The danger to oneself and one’s family is real. In my case, I knew who was behind the censorship, but I could not prove it 1. From left: Mohammad or defend myself against it. My being educated in America had very little to Sareban as Theseus, Leila do with it. There are many other American-educated Iranians in Iran working Davari-Zand as Hermia, with and/or for the regime. They promote, advertise, and do propaganda and Afshin Katanchi as work for the governing religious hierarchy. I know that my troubles stemmed Lysander in Mahmood from the fact that I refused to submit. I refused to use my art to promote an Karimi-Hakak’s production idea I did not, and do not, support. of A Midsummer Night’s Artistic Censorship in Iran usually involves intervention at any one or all of Dream. The play ran for three stages: the artist’s intention to create; the artist’s engagement in the cre- four nights at the Azadi ative process; and the artist’s presentation of what he/she has created. In “sol- (Freedom Museum) Theatre itary art,” such as painting, writing, and photography, the first two stages may in Tehran, Iran, before it escape censorship. The painter may paint, the writer may write, and the pho- was shut down on 24 Feb- tographer may photograph whatever they like; as long as the work is not pub- ruary 1999. (Courtesy of licly exhibited they probably will not be censored. But in collective work like Mahak International Artists the theatre, censorship takes place at all three stages. Inc.) Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/105420403322764007 by guest on 01 October 2021 Censorship in Iran 19 At the first stage, the script must be approved. The principle artists—director and/or playwright—must be approved. The actors, designers, production staff, and even the gofers must be approved. The physical spaces, both for re- hearsals and for the performance, must be approved. The rehearsal and perfor- mance schedule must be approved, and so on. Maddeningly, each approval is issued by a different office. As you can imagine it takes months, or even years, before a production secures all the necessary approvals. It took me over five years before I was allowed to begin work on A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The production was closed down on its fourth public performance. Only after all these approvals are secured can the group meet for the first time. This begins the second stage: the censorship of the creative process. In this phase, to make sure that nothing against the unspoken, unwritten, unspeci- fied laws of moral conduct happens during rehearsals, the male and the female group members are not to address each other in any manner that might suggest personal or unprofessional communication; they are not to call each other by their first names; they are not to use the informal second person pronoun when addressing each other; they are not to make repeated eye contact; they are not to wear tight-fitting clothes; they are not to sit comfortably next to one another; they are not to smile too much or laugh. Touching, even a simple handshake, is unimaginable, and may result in blacklisting the person or per- sons involved, closing down the show, a public whipping of up to 80 lashes, and/or imprisonment. Therefore, there are no improvisations during rehears- als because that may lead to a line or an action in violation of these laws. If the group survives the first two stages, there remains the third stage of censorship: the scrutiny of the presentation by the authorities. A group of ob- servers are sent to see the play prior to its public performance. After they watch the play, the director must respond to their criticisms, which can range from choice of costumes to a possible hidden meaning of an image or a spoken phrase, from a movement to a specific color used in the painting of the sets, from the overall meaning of the production to the director’s concept and ar- tistic vision, the style of the play, its language, and of course the plot. If a production survives the stages of censorship up to this point, and if it is eventually issued a Performance Permission, that still does not guarantee that the production will run its course. Such was the case with our A Midsummer Night’s Dream. A few good citizens, or even one individual, ignited by zeal or assigned by invisible forces, might decide that your play is indeed detrimental to the public interest. The remaining performances of your show can then be canceled. Furthermore, as was the case with our Dream, the director, designer, cast, and crew might be prosecuted and punished. Thus, my 1999 production is a perfect example of Iranian censorship. Be- cause of my translation, direction, and design, I was charged, prosecuted, and told to leave Iran. The invisible forces of censorship had made their decision long before Theseus claims that, “Four happy days bring in another moon.” Why Did I Return to Iran? Feeling exhausted by the treatment I received as an adjunct, teaching thea- tre at various universities here and abroad (including CCNY, PCC, and Uni- versity of Antwerp in Belgium), I started searching for a “real” university position once I completed my education at Rutgers University in 1987. In 1989, I accepted an offer from Towson University in Maryland to teach theatre and head their directing and stage management programs. In summer of 1992, I received a small grant from Towson to travel to Iran as part of my ongoing research on the post-revolutionary Iranian theatre. While Downloaded from http://www.mitpressjournals.org/doi/pdf/10.1162/105420403322764007 by guest on 01 October 2021 20 Mahmood Karimi-Hakak A Summer Midnight’s Dream in Winter Ebrahim Afshar The play is in performance at the Azadi Museum. Shakespeare says: “Why have you named my Midsummer Night’s Dream as Summer Mid- night’s Dream?” The girls onstage say their lines. Strange men among the audience cast the latest postmodern curses, with all their hearts, upon the acting girls.