Contradictions of Being a Woman/Other in the Qajar Era

The unique experience of being a colonized subject within one’s own society warrants deeper exploration, especially in the context of the Qajar era (1789–1925) in Iran. Maria Frederika Malmström’s analysis of how urban spaces influence gender in the Middle East, particularly focusing on Morocco and Egypt, provides relevant insights into 19th-century Iran. Malmström illustrates how gender segregation underpins social order in these regions, predominantly allocating public spaces to men and thereby constraining and complicating women’s mobility. As a result, traditional views have long associated public spaces with men and domestic spaces with women (see Malmström Reference Malmström2012).

During the Qajar dynasty, prior to the Constitutional Movement, strict gender segregation was the norm. Men and women were required to navigate urban spaces separately, were prohibited from sharing the same carriages, and women were restricted from being outdoors after sunset, except during Ramadan (Khosropanah Reference Khosropanah2018:19). This rigid segregation defined the experience of women during that era. Prior to the Constitutional Revolution, women were obligated to wear veils even in the presence of close male relatives, such as uncles and brothers-in-law, further entrenching their position as the Other within their own society and culture. This perspective is corroborated by the accounts of Western travelers, as well as descriptions of the Qajar period by the Pahlavi dynasty and the aftermath of the Constitutional Revolution.

Lady Sheil, wife of Sir Justin Sheil (1803–1871), who served as the British envoy to Iran from 1844 to 1854, observed that “the highest aspiration for young women is to give birth to sons so their own condition in their husband’s home is guaranteed; no one cares about girls” (in Delrish Reference Delrish1996:80). In contrast, Jakob Eduard Polak (1818–1891), an Austrian physician who served as the personal doctor to Nasser al-Din Shah from 1855 to 1860, offered a different view of women’s status: “Generally, men’s behavior towards their wives is kind; there’s no sign of beating. Despite being secluded and isolated, women influence everything; even in the rise and fall of officials or ministers, you can notice the role of Harem’s women” (Polak [1865] Reference Polak1989:98).Footnote ³ These contrasting accounts highlight the paradoxical conditions of women in this era and the complexities of identifying their actual status within society.

Foreign observers often commented on the situation of Iranian women from their own perspectives, overlooking the specific cultural contexts of Iranian society. Their generalized and abstract views of Iranian women’s lives were frequently shaped by Western assumptions, reconstructing the past through a Western lens. For instance, some travelers, like Bosha Delrish, attributed women’s inclination towards witchcraft and magic to illiteracy and ignorance, claiming that “the fanatic tendency of women toward witchcraft causes their lack of self-confidence in comparison to men, and consequently, they are considered weak and ignorant” (1996:108). However, this view is challenged by the historical presence of women in significant events such as the Constitutional Revolution and earlier movements. One example occurred in 1849, when a group of women in Tehran revolted in a mosque, compelling the Imam Jum’a to petition the Shah on their behalf. The Imam Jum’a, unable to control the situation, fled, and ultimately the revolt dispersed—but it was women who had initiated the uprising (Martin Reference Martin2005:119).

These contradictions arise from two opposing views of women during this era: the ignorant women depicted by Western travelers and Iranian intellectuals, and the idealized traditional women celebrated by conservatives. Yet both depictions fall short of capturing the actual situation of women. Facing numerous challenges in defining their status, women during this period were the Other in contrast to the masculine central “self.”

The notion of being the Other in one’s own culture is rooted in strict gender segregation. However, as Chandra T. Mohanty notes, Iranian women experience multiple forms of othering. Scholars often define so-called third-world women in terms of underdevelopment, oppressive traditions, high illiteracy, rural and urban poverty, religious fanaticism, and “overpopulation” in specific regions of Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and Latin America (Mohanty Reference Mohanty2003:47). The everyday lives of female subalterns do not always acknowledge the stereotypical representations that shape their understanding. In this regard, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak offers clarity on subaltern female resistance and the limited ability of white feminism or dominant ideologies to articulate the concerns and perspectives of marginalized individuals.

Woman as Subaltern

The concept of the “subaltern” has its origins in the work of Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci in his Prison Notebooks (1929–1935), gaining prominence through Spivak’s seminal essay, “Can the Subaltern Speak?” (1988). Gramsci employed the term to describe social groups oppressed under the hegemony of a dominant elite that dictates a society’s values and ideas. Spivak expands this concept by applying it to the colonial context, arguing that under colonial rule, the subaltern are stripped of history and agency, rendering them incapable of articulating their own experiences (Mikics Reference Mikics2007:289).

Gramsci’s original use of “subaltern” referred specifically to unorganized groups of rural peasants in Southern Italy, who lacked the cohesive social and political awareness necessary to challenge the state’s dominant culture and leadership (Morton Reference Morton2003:48). This concept was later developed by Ranajit Guha and other historians in the Subaltern Studies Collective at the University of Sussex, who broadened the term to encompass subordination in South Asian society, where marginalization could be articulated along lines of class, caste, gender, and other social divisions (see Morton Reference Morton2003). These scholars employed the term to critique not only class-based domination but also other forms of exclusion, particularly those related to gender and race (see Jones 2005).

For Spivak, the term “subaltern” is useful precisely because of its flexibility. It accommodates diverse social identities and struggles—such as those of women and colonized peoples—that do not fit neatly into reductive class analyses (see Morton Reference Morton2003:45). She further examines the concept of subalternity through distinctly sociological frameworks, asserting that “subalternity is akin to a rigorous interpretation of class” (Spivak Reference Spivak2005:476). Spivak stresses the importance of addressing the complexities and contradictions inherent in establishing a “speaking position” for marginalized individuals (8). Challenging the essentialist framework of subaltern studies, which defines the subaltern subject simply in contrast with the elite, Spivak proposes that the “subaltern subject” represents a diverse group of people, situating subaltern women in the primary subject position (see Spivak Reference Spivak, Nelson and Grossberg1988).

In the context of the Qajar era in Iran, women occupied a subaltern position. Their social roles were severely limited under a rigid patriarchy, where feminist and nationalist discourses emerged as forms of resistance against oppressive structures. Before delving further into these dynamics, it is essential to highlight how Qajar-era women were influenced and constrained by patriarchal ideologies. Defining their status proves difficult due to the varying portrayals of their position within Iranian society and their participation—sometimes active, often passive—in the early revolts of modern Iran (in addition to their seemingly passive role in the andarooni Footnote ⁴). Yet this all serves as evidence of their subaltern status.

Figure 2. Veiled women in a photograph from the late Qajar era. The photo belongs to the Iranian Ethnology Centre, which was founded in the early Pahlavi era. These veiled women are the type considered as the exotic ignorant subject that Reza Shah tried to “modernize.” (Institute for Iranian Contemporary Historical Studies; www.qajarwomen.org)

During the reign of Nasser al-Din Shah Qajar (1831–1896), exposure to modern ideas, especially from Europe and Russia, brought superficial societal changes. The Shah supported the education of promising students abroad and commissioned the construction of a grand theatre in Da ¯ rul-Funun (Polytechnic College), modeled after European theatres. This symbolic entry of Western theatre into Iran had profound implications, influencing key figures in the Constitutional Revolution, who saw theatre as a means to educate and enlighten the public.

Meanwhile, the women of the Qajar HaremFootnote ⁵ remained isolated from these developments. Deprived of education and shielded from societal changes, they were barred from attending theatrical performances. As John Foran notes, while there were different classes of women in Iranian cities during the Qajar era, their circumstances were strikingly similar. Aristocratic women faced stringent restrictions—veiled and confined to their homes—while working-class women had more freedom of movement but endured harsher economic conditions. Despite occasional involvement in social affairs, such as the 1890 Tobacco Protests, Foran concludes that “women were second-rate citizens” (1993:181). Vanessa Martin echoes this view, arguing that women in Qajar Iran were significantly disadvantaged compared to men (2005:96). However, Mansureh Etehadieh offers a counterpoint, noting that despite restrictions, many women held jobs, ran small businesses, and participated in the arts, including acting, dancing, and even entertaining (see Etehadieh Reference Etehadieh1995). The societal position of women in the Qajar era is thus a matter of ongoing debate. The complexity of their situation resists easy categorization, particularly when viewed through a masculine-academic lens that often overlooks the heterogeneity of the group designated as “marginalized women” in a patriarchal society—women who are in fact from different groups with varying positions in society.

Figure 3. Poor women baking bread (undated). Their clothing differentiated them from upper-class urban women. (Institute for Iranian Contemporary Historical Studies; www.qajarwomen.org)

The physical and social spaces women inhabited, both public and private, were also shaped by rigid gender segregation. The andarooni was the private domain for women and their mahrams (male relatives), while the birooni was reserved exclusively for men. Public spaces were similarly gendered, with women segregated by veils in marketplaces and public squares, while certain areas, such as bathhouses and religious spaces, were gender-specific. Class differences influenced access to these spaces: aristocratic women rarely ventured into public areas, while middle- and working-class women were more visible in bazaars and squares.

The enforced separation of the sexes was most strictly observed by upper-class women, who could afford to adhere to these norms by employing servants to manage their public affairs (Keddie Reference Keddie1999:16). Paradoxically, this segregation was believed to enhance their sexual allure. S.G.W. Benjamin even notes that some women used the veil as a subversive tool of freedom, allowing them to move about unnoticed or to discreetly bring lovers into the andarooni (Benjamin [Reference Benjamin1887] 1984:83–84).

In contrast, lower-class women, as members of the workforce, could not observe such strict limitations. It seems that outdoor dress for upper classes usually included a facial veil, while working rural women usually had no facial veil (Keddie Reference Keddie2007:211). The vital service roles held by women—such as kaniz Footnote ⁶ maids, wet nurses, midwives, and barbers—were regarded as slightly above prostitution, likely because these women could not, and did not, adhere to the same social rules as their upper-class counterparts.

The disparity between the experiences of upper-class urban women and lower-class rural women further complicates our understanding of women’s status in Iranian society. Labels imposed by both traditional Iranian perspectives and those of cultural outsiders often reflect the biases of the observers rather than accurately portraying the complex reality of those being labeled, which, based on available evidence, remains elusive.

The Religious Roots of Resistance: Theatre

The significance of ta’zieh—religious plays centered on the martyrdom of Imam Hussein—cannot be overstated in this context. Ta’zieh were serious religious events performed in mixed-gender settings, and Muharram, the month of mourning for Imam Hussein, provided women with rare opportunities to appear in public. Munes al-Dowleh notes that elders believed that “Muharram is the feast of women,” for it justified the participation of otherwise secluded women (Munes al-Dowleh 2001:179). William O. Beeman describes the representation of women in ta’zieh as “non-mimetic.” Instead, ta’zieh “depicts women by using a conventional semiotic device rather than through the direct imitation of overt gender markings: secondary sexual characteristics, voice pattern, characteristic movement, and gesture” (1992:17). In these performances, women are depicted in their idealized roles of mother, wife, and daughter, showing the agony of women as they face the deaths of their fathers, husbands, and sons (20). Women are present as inevitable auxiliaries for men’s tragic situations.

Ironically, the religious regulations that confined women to the private sphere also allowed them moments of visibility during the Muharram mourning process. The Tekyeh Dowlat, an amphitheatre constructed between 1867 and 1873 in Tehran for performing ta’zieh, featured taghnamas (false arches) divided into sections, some of which were reserved for veiled women to observe the performances (Ghaffary Reference Ghaffary1999:97). A large number of veiled women also participated in the Tekyeh’s orchestra (97).

Over time, women began to take on more active roles in these religious performances. Female preachers emerged, and women-led rowzehs (mourning sessions) became more common. Eventually, sometime in the mid-18th century, women also began staging female ta’zieh performances, such as those arranged by Ghamar al-Saltaneh, the daughter of Fath-Ali Shah (1772–1834), who organized annual performances in her residence. Although initially the clergy put limitations on women watching ta’zieh, these performances provided women with a rare opportunity to reclaim rights that had been previously denied them. Indeed, Bahram Beiza’i views these performances as a means for women to challenge societal conventions and regain lost rights ([1965] 2000:151).

Despite the centrality of ta’zieh for women, its prominence in their lives eventually declined, in part due to opposition from religious authorities. In his work Kebrit-e Ahmar, Mohammad Baqer Birjandi argues that “preaching should be the domain of men, not women, as the pulpit is a sacred space traditionally reserved for prophets. […] Nowadays, women have become bold to the extent that they would even aspire to sit in positions of judgeship if given the chance” (Birjandi [1911] 2009:89–90). Interestingly, the female performers in ta’zieh were referred to as mullas (Islamic legal scholars/preachers/clergy), and their leader was called Akhund (Islamic scholar/clergy; Munes al-Dowleh 2001:98), titles typically reserved for male clergy.

The prohibition against comic performances during the Qajar era was even more severe. Outside the palace, women were barred from attending nonreligious plays, which added another layer of repression rooted not only in gender but also in social class. “Common” women were prohibited from witnessing any form of entertainment considered “sinister” or morally questionable. Gradually, however, upper-class women, due to their privileged access to resources, were given limited access to nonreligious plays. They were permitted to watch comic performances from segregated rooms, hidden from view. Over time, some of these women were even able to attend tarab performances (joyful plays) alongside their male relatives, provided that the performers were blindfolded to maintain the modesty of the women in the audience. These private performances, held within the residences of affluent families, offered a rare opportunity for a minority of elite women to watch theatre. Nonetheless, for the vast majority of women, especially those of lower social classes, theatre remained largely inaccessible. Even for the privileged few, the prospect of being observed by others while engaging with the theatre posed a significant hurdle to overcome.

Within the andarooni of the shah and the aristocracy, a distinctive feminine culture had evolved over centuries of seclusion. In Nasser al-Din Shah’s andarooni, women created and performed various comedic plays. These performances reflected a unique mode of entertainment that catered to women’s particular circumstances. One interpretation suggests that these female-driven comic performances emerged as a direct response to women’s exclusion from public spaces, offering an escape from the enforced seclusion of the andarooni. However, another reading suggests a more subversive reality: these performances served as a subtle but daring critique of the patriarchal laws and ideologies that subjugated women.

The exclusion of women from public theatre and their relegation to private, segregated spaces deepened their dual marginalization. However, as some scholars have noted, the term “marginal” can be misleading due to its geometric connotation, which suggests a fixed center and a periphery. In reality, structures of power—whether centered on gender, class, or other social hierarchies—are more diffuse, multifaceted, and complex. Marginalization, therefore, refers not merely to a spatial or peripheral position but rather to the limitations placed on an individual or group’s access to power and authority (Ashcroft et al. Reference Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin2001:121).

The notion of a fixed patriarchal “center” facilitated the pervasive repression of women, in terms of both gender and class, in pre–Constitutional Revolution Iran. Yet, this perceived fixed center was inherently unstable and susceptible to disruption, particularly as women began to assert their agency and advocate for their own rights. In reclaiming public and private spaces—through both religious and comic performances—women began to challenge the rigid social order that had long confined them. Their efforts laid the groundwork for future movements, ultimately contributing to the broader struggles for social and political change in Iran.

Joyful Female Performances

Defying the Dominant Structure

The emergence of female-led ta’zieh troupes and performances in the mid-Qajar era not only allowed women to engage in religious theatre but also opened avenues for their participation in secular plays. These performances became a medium through which women could express their repressed desires to interact with the world beyond the confines of their domestic spaces. The characters they embodied in secular theatre stood in stark contrast to their lived experiences, allowing them to explore a more liberated existence—one in which they could navigate spaces traditionally restricted to them.

Among the various forms of performance embraced by women, taghlid, which were comic plays, gained widespread popularity. Female mutrebs (entertainers) often performed for all-female audiences and occasionally for mixed gatherings. These performances, known for their sharp wit and explicit critique of social norms and restrictions, frequently targeted the patriarchal structures that governed women’s lives, especially men’s treatment of women (see Beiza’i [Reference Beiza’i1965] 2000 and Shahriari Reference Shahriari1987).

A key example of this theatrical tradition is ru-hozi, one of the most prominent subgenres of taghlid. In ru-hozi, male performers often portrayed female characters, adopting exaggerated feminine traits to create comedic juxtapositions to clownish male figures (Beeman Reference Beeman1992:19). The humor derived from these performances was often based on hyperbolic depictions of gender roles. When women eventually formed their own performance troupes, they inverted this dynamic by adopting exaggerated male characteristics. Ru-hozi performances traditionally relied on improvisation, dance, and verse—and the female version of the form placed an even stronger emphasis on these elements, as noted by Anthony Shay. This adaptation reflects how women made the genre their own, subverting its original male-dominated structure (1995:16).

Jafar Shahri’s accounts of the andarooni (1988) provide a glimpse into the lives of women in the Qajar period. However, Shahri and other male historians, including Ali Bolookbashi and Abu al-Qasem Anjavi-Shirazi, framed women’s experiences and desires in ways that reinforced traditional gender roles, limiting our understanding of women’s voices during this time. Centering on female-led performances and oral traditions recovers alternative narratives that reveal women’s resistance to their societal constraints and their agency and resilience within the confines of a rigid patriarchal system.

In taghlid performances at feasts and social gatherings without their husbands, female actors donned colorful costumes and applied heavy makeup (Bolookbashi Reference Bolookbashi1964:27). Disguised as male characters, these women performed provocative dances and sang satirical songs, ridiculing the patriarchal relationships that structured their existence (69). The performers parodied their lives within the andarooni—mocking the constraints imposed upon them by men. These plays often drew upon oral traditions, with unknown poets contributing to their repertoire (Farrokhi Reference Farrokhi2009:66–69).

Figure 4. A group of women and girl performers, early 20th century. (Firouz Firouz Collection; www.qajarwomen.org)

The principal source of documentation for these performances comes from Bazi-ha-ye Namayeshi (Theatrical Plays) by Anjavi-Shirazi (1973), though this collection lacks the details described by Bolookbashi (Reference Bolookbashi1964). Here we use Bolookbashi’s account even though he describes performances observed years after the historical period. Bolookbashi documented seven specific plays he saw as a young boy. The fidelity of these versions is uncertain due to the passage of time and evolving tastes. In addition to Bolookbashi’s accounts, Davud Fatalibeigi gives an account of records—though not detailed descriptions—of 30 different plays, underscoring the cultural significance of these performances (2010:212).

Unlike formal public ta’zieh theatre, these joyful performances were never scripted. They were part of an oral tradition that allowed for ongoing development. The language of these plays ranged from complex to simple, though they typically relied on improvisations based on straightforward scenarios, as recorded by Shahri and Bolookbashi. The adaptable nature of the performances contributed to the form’s resilience. By participating in these performances, women in the Qajar period were able to create expressive spaces of defiance. Through dance, verse, and humor, they carved out a realm of creativity that challenged the fixed boundaries of gender and class. In doing so, they not only entertained but also subverted the structures that sought to confine them.

The thematic core of these performances often revolved around domestic life, specifically addressing polygamy (common and accepted), marital conflicts, and the interactions among women and others within their social milieu. This is exemplified in Qajar era plays such as Khaleh Roro (Aunt Roro), Agho Chera Zan Essedi? (Why Did You Marry Again, Sir?), Amu Sabzi Foroosh (Uncle Greengrocer), Abji Sanam (Sister Sanam), and Naneh Gholamhossein (Gholamhossein’s Mama). Among this repertoire, Gandom, Gol-e Gandom (Wheat, the Flowering Wheat) stands out as one of the few performances depicting the lives of working-class women, in contrast to the domestic lives of the more affluent women, which were the focus of the other plays.

These performances often addressed women’s behavior within the community. For example, Amu Sabzi Foroosh satirizes a woman’s impulsive actions in the marketplace and her interactions with men, while Naneh Gholamhossein ridicules the ambitions of an aspiring woman. Other plays, such as Kieh Kieh Dar Mizaneh? (Who’s Knocking?) and Abji Nessa (Sister Nessa), focus on the pervasive issue of women’s financial dependence on men. Khaleh Roro is the story of a newlywed who gives birth prematurely after seven months of lighthearted, humorous exchanges with her aunt, even though they don’t know the identity of the child’s father.

Throughout these performances, women openly articulate their desires and frustrations, often utilizing explicit language and gestures. As Bahram Beiza’i observes, the boldness of these expressions starkly contrasts with the traditional modesty imposed by women’s veiling and societal expectations. The contradiction between public propriety and private performance was a form of resistance to the restrictive norms governing women’s lives (Beiza’i [Reference Beiza’i1965] 2000:203).

As these plays were transmitted orally, their development did not involve a single author. Instead, as they were revived, the plays underwent transformations according to the specific production circumstances, a dynamic tradition of oral performance.

Synopsis of Selected Performances

Genres

Forough Yazdanashoori and Javad Ensafi (2009) categorize these plays performed by women into 10 genres: 1. religious; 2. critical of traditions; 3. social-critical (depicting womanizers); 4. social-critical (depicting flirtatious women); 5. social-romantic; 6. lustful; 7. social plays highlighting financial constraints; 8. moral plays criticizing arrogant women; 9. moral plays depicting women’s immoral behaviors; and 10. didactic. These categories, while reflecting patriarchal structures, do not always conform to the expected moral, social, and critical paradigms. Yazdanashoori and Ensafi examine the representation of women within the strict patriarchal society of Qajar-era Iran. They explore the ways in which women respond to the boundaries and regulations imposed upon them. In numerous theatrical works from this period, female characters are depicted as both acknowledging restrictions and using humor and word play to subvert the norms. This duality creates a paradox within the narratives, wherein the characters seem to conform to patriarchal expectations while simultaneously ridiculing and undermining them. This intricate interplay reflects a complex negotiation of identity and agency amidst oppressive social structures, inviting a deeper analysis of women’s roles in both the cultural and political spheres of their time.

The language employed in these female-centric plays also challenges traditional logical syntax, prioritizing rhythmic verse and auditory elements over rigid semantic structures. This deliberate stylistic choice serves not merely as a mode of expression but also as a profound act of resistance against patriarchal oppression. By manipulating language, these plays effectively resonate with Homi Bhabha’s concept of mimicry as a critical process whereby colonized and subaltern subjects imitate the culture, language, and behaviors of their colonizers in a desperate quest for acceptance and assimilation. This concept sharpens an awareness for how irritation can arise when the colonized (in this case both Iranians in relation to foreigners and Iranian women in relation to Iranian men) assimilate the colonial masters and appear to have become “almost the same but not quite” (Bhabha Reference Bhabha1984:86). The plays engage critically with the dominant narratives imposed by oppressors while distorting these narratives to amplify the voices of the subaltern.

Yet, this mimicry is never a flawless imitation; it is always infused with difference and ambivalence. This tension not only reveals the complexity of identity and power dynamics but also highlights the potential for subversion and the reclamation of agency within the very structures of domination. In this way, these plays not only challenge the status quo but also illuminate the resilience and creativity of marginalized voices. This happens not only in the play texts, but also in the performances of these texts. Female performers, in response to patriarchal oppression, exaggeratedly mimic male appearances and behaviors, often with a grotesque flair. By using masculine attributes such as mustaches, altered hairstyles, and exaggerated gestures, the acting style challenges societal constructions of gender norms. This form of performative mimicry serves as a powerful critique of the patriarchy, opening a space for resisting and protesting the marginalization of women.

Figure 5. A group of female musicians dressed in both men and women’s clothing, with their instruments. Late 19th/early 20th century. (Institute for Iranian Contemporary Historical Studies; www.qajarwomen.org)

Adolph Thalasso, a French “orientalist” who traveled to Iran during the reign of Fath-Ali Shah, critically observed how keeping women in the andarooni limited knowledge of their behavior: “the harem and andarooni customs make it impossible to depict the condition and social circles of women; so in Iranian plays also the woman and her relations aren’t mentioned and this is a deficiency in Iranian theatre” (Thalasso [Reference Thalasso1905] 2012:26). Despite what Thalasso thought, the performances I discuss specifically throw light on the “condition and social circles of women.” Indeed, as Shay aptly points out, these performances offer a unique look at Iranian society by embodying

the only collective voice of many Iranian women. In these performances, one gains informative insights into a woman’s worldview, her sentiments towards men and other women, and her perception of her own place in life and society. (Shay Reference Shay1995:16)

These performances carved out a unique space for genuine self-expression. Through song, dance, and suggestive gestures, women articulated their experiences in ways that, from a masculine-orientalist viewpoint, were condemned as “immoral liberty.”

A striking example is Khaleh Roro, which portrays women as whimsical and romantic figures who shift their affections between suitors. The main character, a married woman, grapples with uncertainty about the identity of her child’s father, and the lyrics sung by her and her companions (the spectators who join in) reveal her playful flirtation with lovers—who may be real or imagined. This deviation from conventional moral standards ultimately led to the suppression and decline of these vibrant performances.

Women and Streets

The Religious Roots of Performative Political Activities

As female performances gained prominence in private domains, Iran experienced a gradual yet profound transformation. The burgeoning calls for equality, independence, and nationalism were increasingly reflected in women’s growing dissent and opposition to the prevailing ideology. As Niloofar Kasra writes:

[Grand Ayatollah] Mirza Shirazi (1815–1895) initiated the first significant revolt against the despotism of the Qajar dynasty. Although tobacco enjoyed widespread popularity, including among women, Mirza Shirazi’s edict blocking a British company’s monopoly on tobaccoFootnote ⁷ led to a nationwide cessation of its use. This protest saw both men and women abstaining from tobacco, closing shops, and gathering hookahs. Notably, even the andarooni of the shah refrained from using tobacco during this period. The movement, which targeted crucial economic sectors, revealed that women played a more prominent role in the protest than their male counterparts, often taking positions at the forefront of this resistance [against the British tobacco monopoly]. (Kasra Reference Kasra2011:57)

Figure 6. The cast for the play Arshin Mal Alan, 1919. Arusiyak Sururiyan, on the left, was the first woman to play a male role. (Armine Qazariyan Collection; www.qajarwomen.org)

The Tobacco Protest in 1891 was the first time women influenced Iranian politics and the emergence of nationalist demands. The protest was characterized by the interplay between religious leadership and popular sentiment, rooted in deeply entrenched faith. This movement starkly contrasted with the predominantly secular approach of Western powers, which prioritized economic interests and geopolitical maneuvering over genuine engagement with Iranian society. The sense of Iranian nationalism and a pronounced aspiration for sovereignty grew as the Iranian people actively resisted external interference in their domestic affairs.

In the face of the Western powers treating Iran as a territory ripe for exploitation, Iranians asserted control over national resources and the economy. The Tobacco Protest underscored the role of religious authority and communal solidarity in mobilizing resistance against a Western nation. A pivotal moment in Iranian history, the protest illustrated the capacity of Iranians to organize and resist foreign dominance, laying the groundwork for subsequent nationalist movements and struggles for independence.

Initially, the visibility of women in these public protests was sanctioned by a fatwa, a religious edict issued by the clergy. It remains unclear whether the women’s presence led to a genuine new empowerment of women. As noted earlier, women were already visible in ta’zieh. Zainab Pasha, a prominent woman in these protests, was a rural activist who led a revolt against the landlords of Tabriz (the capital city of East Azerbaijan Province, in northwestern Iran) and the prevailing feudal system. Even before the Tobacco Protest, she organized women to seize the goods hoarded by the rich and distribute them to the poor. During the protests, Pasha and her cohort of women became partisans, actively encouraging men to combat injustice (Nahid Reference Nahid1981:43). She notably criticized men for what she perceived as “womanish” behavior, and took for herself the honorific “Pasha,” a Turkish term typically applied to men with authority.

Figure 7. Anis al-Dowleh, the favorite of Nasser al-Din Shah, in her wedding dress, mid/late 19th century. (Institute for Iranian Contemporary Historical Studies; www.qajarwomen.org)

Anis al-Dowleh, Shah Nasser al Din’s favorite consort who passed away in 1896, played a noteworthy role in the Tobacco Protest by aligning herself with Mirza Shirazi’s fatwa. Anis al-Dowleh’s action defied her sovereign and spouse. Her position is evocatively captured in images of her in Farangi (European) attire, spotlighting her dual identity as both a privileged individual and a de facto captive of the andarooni. Her resistance to the shah’s edicts underscores her complex status within the court: a member of the andarooni who refused to acquiesce to the shah’s authority.

The Tobacco Protest extended into the Constitutional Revolution when a cleric in a mosque publicly endorsed women’s rights, prompting a group of women to encircle him clandestinely wielding clubs concealed beneath their veils to shield him from the police. Subsequently, in summer of 1906, during a protest staged as several Ulama (Muslim scholars) departed for the holy shrine in Rey, Mozaffar ad-Din Shah (1853–1907) and his prime minister dispatched armed police to assail the shrine and apprehend the clerics. To defend the Ulama, women ascended to the rooftops and hurled stones at the riflemen (see Ghavimi Reference Ghavimi1973).

The Constitutional Revolution and Its Outcome

Did Theatre Advance Women’s Rights in Iran?

Although Akhundzadeh extensively addressed women’s concerns, in the late 19th century, Muslim Iranian women were still absent from the public stage, both as spectators and participants. Cultural and societal norms, deeply rooted in conservatism, effectively barred Muslim women from taking to the public stage, relegating them to the shadows of artistic expression. However, women from minority communities, such as Armenians and Jews, managed to carve out a space for themselves in theatrical performances. Figures like Ashkhen Papazian (1841–1907) emerged as prominent practitioners, navigating the complexities of societal expectations while contributing to the cultural tapestry of the time.

Ashkhen Papazian, an Armenian Christian born in Constantinople, was the first woman on a public stage in Iran. She worked in a theatre ensemble established in Tabriz between 1879 and 1880 by her father, a priest who undertook an adaptation of Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, retitled Dadgahe Adl (Justice Court) and set in a local context. Ashkhen portrayed Portia. Her father served as the head of the Armenian School in Tabriz, where he directed numerous plays with the local Armenian youth. The Armenian presence in Iran dates back to the Safavid era (1501–1736), and they identified themselves as Iranian Armenians. Notably, priest Papazian, in the face of objections to women’s participation in theatre—both onstage and in the audience—courageously used his own daughter to establish a new precedent, effectively challenging long-standing conventions.

This initiative reflects a progressive approach to cultural expression. However, it is important to note that the sociocultural environment for Muslim women—who were the majority of the population—remained significantly restricted. Ashkhen’s participation as an actress can be attributed to her identity as a Christian Armenian. Even so, her onstage presence, alongside other educators from the Armenian school in Tabriz, elicited shock from the audience (Malekpour Reference Malekpour2007 vol.2:48).

In 1916, Seyed Ali Nasr (1895–1961) obtained official authorization to establish Comédie Iran, a trailblazing Iranian theatrical ensemble named after France’s Comédie Française.Footnote ¹⁰ Nasr spearheaded a series of presentations at the Grand Hotel incorporating Muslim women as both performers and audience members. Under the Pahlavi regime that began in 1925, Nasr, who held a significant position within the Ministry of Finance, used his political influence to advocate for the inclusion of Muslim actresses in theatrical performances. He not only facilitated the participation of actresses such as Iran Daftari, Niktaj Sabri, Helen Nouri, and Maryam Nouri, but also generally promoted greater visibility for women in the arts (Malekpour Reference Malekpour2007 vol.3:34). As a government official dedicated to the modernization of Iran, Nasr astutely steered clear of overt criticism of the state in his productions. This approach not only positioned Nasr as a staunch advocate for the involvement of Muslim women onstage but also contributed to fostering a more favorable public perception of the Iranian government. As such, his contributions fostered a delicate balance between artistic innovation and political diplomacy.

Also during the early 20th century, a noteworthy trend of performances designed specifically by women for women included Adam va Havva (Adam and Eve; 1922), Rastakhiz (Resurrection; 1920), and Khosrow va Shirirn (Khosrow and Shirin; n.d.).Footnote ¹¹ These productions provided a platform for female voices and narratives that had long been marginalized. The sociopolitical landscape of Iran began to change significantly following World War I, particularly with the rise of Reza Shah and the establishment of the Pahlavi dynasty. The 1920s emerged as a pivotal decade, characterized by substantial transformation, which facilitated the growing involvement of women in theatrical performances. This shift not only redefined the representation of women within the Iranian cultural context but also significantly influenced their roles in the performing arts.

Figure 8. The announcement of a performance of a play by Gregor Yeghikian, along with a garden party organized by a women’s society at Park-e Atabk in 1911, as a fundraiser for the establishment of a school for women. (From Adabyate Namayeshi dar Iran by Jamshid Malekpour [Reference Malekpour2007 vol. 2:258])

In the aftermath of the tumultuous period following the Constitutional Revolution and the subsequent ascendance of Reza Shah, the Jam’iyat-e Nesvân-e Vatankhâh (Society of Patriotic Women) emerged as a prominent entity. This organization, active from 1922 to 1933, distinguished itself as one of the most significant women’s associations in Iran, dedicated to the advancement of women’s rights and the reform of conditions affecting girls. Founded by Mohtaram Eskandari (1895–1924), the society was founded to address the unmet needs that arose following the Constitutional Revolution. The women involved in this society became disillusioned with the revolution’s outcomes for Iranian women. In response, they established a new organization.

A significant collaboration between this influential organization and Mirzadeh Eshghi (1893–1924), a prominent Iranian poet and activist, led to the 1923 production of Adam va Havva (Adam and Eve). Eshghi was one of Iran’s most distinguished poets. His life was tragically cut short when he was murdered on the order of Reza Shah shortly before Reza’s ascension to the throne as the new king of Iran in 1925. Adam va Havva is recognized as a pivotal moment in the Iranian women’s cultural and social movement: the first all-female production in the Western style. Although all-female theatres existed previously in Iran, Jam’iyat-e Nesvân-e Vatankhâh was specifically focused on performances conceived by women, for women, and dedicated to the exploration and celebration of women’s experiences. This distinct emphasis played a vital role in empowering the performers while simultaneously enriching the cultural narrative concerning women’s societal roles. The production not only highlighted female talent but also served as a crucial platform for addressing women’s rights and social issues, thereby establishing itself as a landmark event in the history of Iranian theatre.

The circumstance of the performance of Adam va Havva is compelling. Noorolhoda Mangeneh (1902–1986), an esteemed member of society, sought to raise funds for an elementary school dedicated to girls and proposed staging a theatrical production in her own residence. She undertook all financial responsibilities. The play was directed by Varto Terian (1896–1974), the first professional Iranian Armenian actress, who also portrayed Havva (Eve). Police permission was granted under the stipulation that the audience be invited to a hypothetical wedding, without any explicit mention of theatre.

The performance was scheduled during Ramadan in 1922, a period when people could gather in the streets at night. The first act was successfully completed, but the police raided Mangeneh’s residence during the second act. The women in attendance managed to escape as the performance abruptly ended. Law enforcement justified the raid on the grounds that the play supported kashf-e hijab (unveiling). Documentation indicates that the play indeed centered on the unveiling of women, which aligns with Eshghi’s previous works addressing this subject (see Mangeneh Reference Mangeneh1964).

The raid did not end the story. Subsequent accounts show that after negotiations with government officials and religious authorities, the play was performed in Park-e Atabak to a large audience that included 5,000 women. This performance received both financial and moral support from notable figures of the Constitutional Revolution including Yahya Dowlatabadi, a strong advocate for women’s rights.Footnote ¹² Reports indicate that approximately 400 tomans (US$10,000) were raised for charitable purposes (Afari Reference Afari1998:42). This event not only illustrates the mobilization of women but also highlights the intersection of cultural expression and activism during a transformative period in Iranian history.

In the milieu of early modern Iran at the turn of the 20th century, the interplay of self-expression and sociopolitical subversion for women in theatre mirrors the notion of “appropriation,” delineating the process through which postcolonial societies assimilate facets of imperial culture to delineate their own identities (Afari Reference Afari1998:15). Iranian women adeptly utilized prevailing cultural instruments to contest and undermine patriarchal authority.

Even prior to the Constitutional Revolution, there was a notable rise in the prominence of plays addressing women’s issues. Akhundzadeh’s Agha Hashem Khalkhali va Sargozasht an Ayyam (Agha Hashem Khalkhali’s Courtship and the Adventure of Those Days, ca. 1860) features Sara, a character who defies her father and exercises autonomy. She resists her father’s decision in selecting her husband and passionately insists on her love for Hashem. While Sara’s eventual suicide fell far short of the societal ideal of womanhood and a positive outcome of her efforts, her agency and resistance against patriarchal norms held significant sway. Similarly, Sepehran contends that characters like Sara and Kokab Khanum (Miss Kokab) from Akhundzadeh’s subsequent work, Sargozasht-e Ashraf Khan Hakem-e Arabestan (The Story of Ashraf Khan, Governor of Arabestan), influenced the early National Consultative Assembly as they contemplated women’s liberties (Sepehran Reference Sepehran2009:53).

Spivak’s discourse on agencyFootnote ¹³ delves into the question of whether individuals can act freely or whether their actions are dictated by the manner in which their identities are constructed by external forces—patriarchal, colonial, or class structures (Spivak Reference Spivak, Nelson and Grossberg1988:280, 283). In Iran, spanning the period from the 1905 Constitutional Revolution to the ascendancy of the Pahlavi dynasty in 1926, women’s lives remained profoundly shaped by these forces. While there were avenues for upper-class women to engage in public life, notably through theatre, their agency continued to be circumscribed by their identities as both women and members of a specific social stratum.

Taking into account Spivak’s concept of alterity, it is evident among women in Iran that educated and affluent women, because of their social status, tried to represent all women. However, these same women internalized the male gaze and viewed their own cultural practices—like traditional forms of entertainment—as outdated or lacking sophistication. While endeavoring to resist patriarchal subjugation, women embraced facets of the prevailing discourse, which in turn steered their actions and self-perception. Furthermore, the involvement of women in theatre, both as performers and spectators, sometimes met with sustained opposition and even violence, as when Molook Zarrabi was beaten in 1920 because she sang a song in the Tehran Theatre (Maleki Reference Maleki2001:197). Paradoxically, the violence spurred certain women on to intensify their participation in theatre. Subsequent to the Constitutional Revolution, women’s engagement in theatre assumed a pivotal role in voicing opposition to forced marriages and the curtailment of girls’ education. But the physical presence of women in the public sphere—particularly within the highly visible realm of theatre—proved intolerable to advocates of patriarchal traditions.

The fundamental question is whether women’s participation in theatre truly conferred upon them the desired agency. While it undoubtedly furnished a platform for resistance and self-expression, the scope of this empowerment was circumscribed by the societal structures that perpetuated oppression. This dynamic underscores the intricate interplay between agency and structural power, as women grappled with the tensions between asserting their autonomy and being constrained by the identities imposed upon them.

In 1921, a cohort of intellectual youth, including Saeed Nafissi (1895–1966)Footnote ¹⁴ and Moshfegh Kazemi (1902–1978),Footnote ¹⁵ established a theatrical group; it was a watershed moment in the development of Iranian theatre. Their inaugural production, Parichehr va Parizad (Parichehr and Parizad; 1919)Footnote ¹⁶ by Reza Kamal Shahrzad, featured a cast headed by Varto Terian and Pari Aghabayev alongside Armenian actors, underscoring the profound influence of Armenian artists in shaping early modern Iranian theatre. In the same year, Hassan Moghadam founded Kanun Iran-e Javan, an organization dedicated to advocating for women’s rights. One of its prominent members was Arto Terian (1892–1954), husband of Varto Terian. He was a pivotal Armenian figure whose impact extended from activism to the performing arts. In 1922, Moghadam staged his renowned production Jafar Khan az Farang Bargashteh (Jafar Khan Is Back from Europe)Footnote ¹⁷ featuring Varto Terian and Arto Terian in principal roles. The performance had a profound impact on its audience, significantly shaping the discourse surrounding modernity and identity in Iran. The play garnered such acclaim that its title became an expression for young people who went to Europe and came back arrogant and ignorant. The play offered a critical examination of the dogmatism characteristic of traditional society while simultaneously addressing the phenomenon of Gharbzadegi, “west-struck-ness,” that was prevalent among the educated Iranian youth of that era. It brought to the fore the tensions between Iran’s cultural heritage and the influences of Western modernity.

Ali-Naqi VaziriFootnote ¹⁸ (1886–1979) was another influential figure bringing women onto the stage. In 1922, he established the Coloop-e Muzikal (Musical Club), a cultural focal point that attracted a diverse cadre of talented youth such as Reza Kamal ShahrzadFootnote ¹⁹ (1898–1937) and Moshfegh Kazemi, alongside several Armenian actresses including Pari Aghabayev (1900–1980), Loreta Hairapedian Tabrizi (1911–1998), and Siranoush (Merope Sahaki Kantarjian; 1857–1932). The involvement of Armenian women in the club was instrumental in attracting audiences to its performances, particularly given the restrictions that limited the visibility of women onstage. This phenomenon highlights the significant influence of minority communities in shaping the development and evolution of Iranian theatre.

The Body as a System of Signs and Meanings

The veils worn by Iranian women were intricately designed to conceal the feminine form, effectively erasing individuality and reducing women to indistinguishable, faceless figures. These garments marked women as separate from and invisible to society, sending a clear message: do not attract attention, do not seek influence, and above all, remain unseen. Yet, within the confines of private spaces, women developed distinct forms of feminine entertainment. Unfortunately, these spaces, which were largely inaccessible to foreign visitors and inadequately documented, have often been misrepresented through a Western exoticized concept of the andarooni. As a result, details of these forms of entertainment remain elusive, hindering a comprehensive understanding of women’s cultural contributions during this period. Some historians such as Anjavi-Shirazi, Bolookbashi, and Shahri tried to classify and analyze these female performances with very limited success.

The situation of Iranian women evolved within the changing political landscape of the turn of the 20th century, when the Qajar absolute monarchy changed over to a constitutional monarchy and then to the new Pahlavi dynasty. Despite still being veiled, women began to frequent public spaces, albeit with the condition that they play only semiactive roles, as dictated by the clergy. These initial steps toward liberation allowed women to perceive their oppression more clearly, highlighting their Otherness and prompting efforts at self-identification. Theatre emerged as one avenue through which women sought to articulate their struggles, even as male intellectuals appropriated the medium to define the ideal modern Iranian woman—set in contrast to the “ignorant” women of the andarooni, as Akhundzadeh characterized them.

Figure 9. A 1920 play flyer: “‘The True Revenge,’ the famous Tragedy in 6 acts, by R. Quli Zadah; a group of actors of Azadistan [Azarbayjan], Tabriz, June 4, 1920; with Madam Lisa as Gulchihrah; there will be stalls separated by curtains for ladies.” (Reza Sarabi Aqdam Collection; www.qajarwomen.org)

With the emergence of Reza Shah (1878–1944), and the end of the Constitutional Revolution era, the government’s endeavors to place the female body in the public sphere were influenced by the prevailing discourse of modernity. This new approach defied the cultural, religious, and historical backdrop of Iranian society. As a result, the female body gained significant sociopolitical significance. The unveiling policies of the Pahlavi era in contrast to the current Islamic Republic’s insistence on religious veiling epitomize the persistent conflict over women’s roles in Iran’s public sphere. Women’s attire became a focal point of social order, mirroring broader public and private realities.

As contemporary society within and more emphatically beyond Iran increasingly prioritizes the concept of the “self,” the body has assumed a central role as a system of signs and meanings. In this context, the female body has emerged as a pivotal intersectional site for addressing social and political issues in Iran. Spivak critiques the manner in which a masculine-imperialist ideology fosters a corresponding need for a masculine-imperialist rescue mission, thereby obscuring alternative histories, particularly those of subaltern women. While acknowledging that these alternative narratives are not entirely free from ideology, they nevertheless possess the potential to contest the tenacious assertions of masculine imperialism. Spivak’s work underscores the significance of examining the circumstances that mute subaltern women, rendering their expressions incomprehensible within patriarchal structures, whether manifest in imperialism, globalization, or the apparatus of the state.

In “Can the Subaltern Speak?” Spivak concludes that “the subaltern cannot speak.” This statement is often interpreted to mean that there is no medium through which the oppressed and marginalized can voice their resistance. However, Spivak’s point is more nuanced: the subaltern woman is denied a subject-position. She is not permitted to speak because others continually speak for her, constantly rewriting her as an object of patriarchal and imperialist oppression rather than recognizing her as a voiced subject. Even when the subaltern woman attempts to speak, she is not heard; and without speaking and without being heard, her speech act remains incomplete.

Throughout the emergence of Western-style theatre in Iran, the interplay between theatre and women’s agency has been multifaceted. Initially, Western theatre in Iran was utilized as a platform for educated men from the upper echelons of society to propagate their notions of progress. While women gained visibility within this framework, their presence remained subject to the male gaze. Prior to the rise of progressive ideologies, women had access to segregated spaces where they could partake in performances tailored by and for women. These spaces also nurtured clandestine sisterhoods. Paradoxically, with the ascendancy of Western ideas of women’s “liberation,” there also emerged a condemnation of gender-based segregation. This resulted in the decline of emancipatory, women-led homosocial spaces, which had, ironically, been fostered by patriarchal oppression.

Before the Constitutional Revolution, women’s voices, while unarticulated, served as a mechanism for navigating centuries of repression and marginalization. Positioned at the fringes of power, they communicated through clandestine performances and societies. However, with the onset of the modern male gaze influenced by Western ideologies these exclusively feminine domains began to wane. While women gained entry to public spaces, which were predominantly shaped by patriarchal ideologies, they simultaneously forfeited access to the intimate spheres where they had previously shaped their identities. As earlier noted, Mirzadeh Eshghi, organizer of the first all-female play and an advocate for women’s involvement in public performances, was murdered by order of Reza ShahFootnote ²⁰—Iran’s ruler from 1925 to 1941 and an authoritarian patriarchal figure who emerged after the Constitutional Revolution. Eshghi’s removal marked a pivotal juncture that, ironically, ultimately contributed to the uncertain yet inexorable process of women’s assimilation into the public sphere.

The dynamic between theatre and women’s agency in early modern Iran was complex. While theatre served as a platform for women to occupy physical space and engage with public matters, it did not necessarily afford them a voice as delineated by Spivak. Women’s agency during this era was intricately influenced by the loss of segregated spaces and the emergence of inclusive, multigendered environments. Despite attaining visibility, women’s voices remained subdued, eclipsed by the pervasive influence of patriarchal and imperialist structures. Reza Shah’s policies promoting the unveiling of women, though ostensibly emancipatory, primarily pertained to their physical appearance, leaving their societal Otherness unaffected.

Women endeavored to employ theatre as a tool of resistance, appropriating it as a means to contest the prevailing patriarchal framework. However, with state-sponsored theatre shying away from political discourse, encompassing women’s rights, women’s resistance gradually receded into the backdrop of Iran’s modernization. Despite transformations in gender dynamics, the foundational power dynamics endured. Notably, lower-class women bore the disproportionate weight of social and economic oppression, biding their time for decades in anticipation of acquiring the awareness requisite for challenging these enduring hierarchies.