When Khomeini came to power in 1979 it was clear the Islamic Revolution would not bring equality to women. Just fifteen days after the Revolution took place, the government took its first regrettable stance towards women by abolishing the Family Protection Act - an Act enforced in 1963 banning polygamy and sole right of men to divorce. Khomeini and his supporters continued with policies, which excluded women from public life by simply making it impossible for them to work. Women as artists, lawyers and technicians became exotic. In spite of all the humiliations and severe punishments Iranian women had to endure from then on, their fight for a better future continued. During the beginning of the new millennium the situation slightly improved. A small percentage of women gained more access to public
domains normally reserved for men. Women became more visible in arts, films and dance. Those who gained international recognition like film director Samira Makhmalbaf were treated with more tolerance out of fear of international protests. Others like Iranian performer Shirin* who worked on the national level continued having to struggle with a firm opposition at home. Shirin had worked as a TV presenter for the state television. Although her salary was very good, Shirin's daily work faced such restrictions by her male bosses until it became impossible for her to continue. "I loved my work at the television," she says, "but every day I had to change my speech and presentation which always seemed to be too erotic, no matter what I did. If I would move on the chair they would tell me 'No, don't move, that is too erotic!' If I would simply place my hand under the chin their response would be the same. If I would smile the reaction would be 'Oh, no! You shouldn't smile at all and if you do smile, don't have your teeth showing.' After some months I had to quit the job. I didn't care about the money, I just didn't want to go back there again."
Shirin worked as a stage and film actress, but also dancer. She says that even to organise an authorised performance bears a certain amount of risk in Iran. "My colleague Leila* did a dance performance with a group of female dancers in Tehran. Performances by women are meant only for female audiences, otherwise women cannot perform in Iran. The choreographer had a formal authorisation in written from the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance. As they were performing the second night, a police minibus came behind the saloon and stopped the performance in the middle of the piece. The police told the performers to do the last scene. After the last scene ended they checked the dancers one by one and took them with the minibus to prison. A 14-year old girl was among the dancers. She too was taken to prison. The formal authorisation of the performance played no role."

A Life in Tehran
Leila's greatest love has always been singing. She trained ever since she was a child. Since there is no chance of her performing publicly she occasionally works as a dancer and actress. "I have to live off something," she says, "and dancing as well as acting present a possibility of working with arts. As a woman you don't have many choices. We have no female singers in Iran, it’s prohibited for a woman to sing. There is an all-female choir though which used to be forbidden. Now it's allowed, but with restrictions. The choir can be heard on TV, but one can’t see the singers. Their faces must remain hidden. But in concerts you see them on stage - covered fully with the hijab of course."A great problem women face is the lack of clarity concerning general rules. Even the punishments for not observing the dress code are unclear. Leila explains. "In the past when one was against the Shah it was clear that one was a political enemy. Today we are apparently all collectively against God. Or against Islamic people, depending on how local judge sees it. If my veil falls down I might be offending God or just Islamic people or even both. The sentence laid upon me might vary from a simple fine to two months in prison or even death penalty. The authorities can do as they please. But this in not the end of the problem. The rules change daily. I describe this paradox like this: to have bread is OK, but if you have bread in the morning, you'll be in trouble!" Leila’s life is all about Tehran. She observes the changes taking place in her city. "In order to escape their gloomy every-day lives, many Iranians have turned to opiates. Alcohol and drug usage have exploded in recent years. People dying of liver damage due to alcohol abuse are not seldom cases anymore. Illegal brewing of schnapps is wide spread. Marijuana and hashish are like cigarettes. Even ecstasy had a very big explosion in Tehran, because unlike alcohol, it can’t be easily detected in a glass and is therefore easier to consume. Drug overdose is common among young people. People are simply bored. They don't have anything to do, so they go for drugs and alcohol."Dance, God and HavaIf Iranians decide to say something political they must invent the least obvious way to do it. One way of channelling the anger it is through arts and performances, such as contemporary dance. Unfortunately, due to lack of facilities and training Iranian contemporary dance performances remain very rare. In dance schools traditional dances are taught where women are told the exact steps by choreographers and can dance only if fully covered, eyes and hands included. Hava* who turned thirty this year has already toured the world by performing with contemporary dance companies. "People are very surprised when I tell them I am from Iran. Nobody ever heard of an Iranian contemporary dancer before," she says. She travels and attends workshops abroad whenever she has a chance to. "There really isn't much in Iran when it comes to contemporary dance. I was really lucky to get a chance to perform on stage. Even when we performed in foreign countries we were still obliged to wear the head scarf - on stage as well as privately." She contemplates on the destructive mix of politics and religion. "Religion is pushed into everything, and for me religion is the worst thing ever. I'm not saying that I don't believe in anything. I do believe in one God, but it's my God, I don't care about what others say. Religion I think, is the main problem in the world and for us who grew up with it, it is more obvious, because it stops you from everything. You cannot enjoy your life because it's a sin, you cannot walk because it's a sin, you cannot be seen because it's a sin. You know, everything is based on the sin. So, the first thing that comes to your mind in connection with religious beliefs is the sin. It's not life, it's not joy, it's not happiness, nor beauty, it is the sin. That's what I don't like about religion at all. It's why we have all these problems in the world. Generalisation has become the standard. People say all Jews are bad, all Christians are bad, all Muslims are terrorists and I don't like
it at all. I pity Christians, Jews and Muslims who force religious fundamentalism wanting it to become the general norm. As an Iranian, I feel pity for them."

‘Letters from Tentland’
Iranian government officially claims it invests large amounts in arts and culture, but when it comes to factual subventions the money often remains to be wished for. International co-operation in dance sector has so far been non-existing. A notable exception is 'Letters from Tentland' - the first Iranian dance production ever with a foreign choreographer. This purely intense performance was created with support from the Dramatic Arts Centre in Tehran and the Goethe-Institut in 2004. It was directed by Helena Waldmann, a German choreographer whose speciality is concealing the visible. 'Letters from Tentland' showed six female performers dancing and moving inside specially designed tents on stage - a symbolic depiction of women's painfully imprisoned lives in today's Iran. "I loved coming to Teheran", Waldmann says. "The first day I was going to meet the actresses the chief of Dramatic Arts Centre told me: 'Come, they are all already inside waiting for you. By the way, they are the most famous actresses in Iran...' I was worried about this at first, but they all turned out to be great. They were the divas of Iran and I had to tell them to get into a tent as if we were camping", she explains laughing. "At the beginning we had some difficulties working together. We had to learn how to approach one another. There were difficulties in communication. Some actresses spoke English, but many didn't and there were fourteen of them. I wondered how we could get closer. The clichés and stereotypes arose. From their side they wondered what the Germans were like and I wondered what the Iranians were like. But after some time this became secondary. 'Letters from Tentland' became our focus. I thought the performance was so intense that I just had to send the 'Letters' all over the world. They couldn't remain in Tehran." The performance premiered at International Fadjr-Festival in Tehran in 2005. "After the performance we invited the women from the audience for tea and chat behind the curtain," Waldmann continues. "It was very intense. Many women told us they couldn't believe the performance was not censored. We kept the tea-and-chat practice after the performance throughout our world tour. That way women all over the world got the chance to talk to dancers and exchange experiences. It was more important that people spoke to dancers than to me, because I wanted a communication to be established between Orient and Occident in order to clarify our ridiculous misunderstandings."

Waldmann's work became famous for hiding the performers from the audiences. In her 1997 performance 'Vodka konkav' she installed five glass panels behind which the dancers performed. The audience sat in front of the fourth panel seeing the performers only indirectly. "'Letters from Tentland' was a logical continuation of what I've done since 'the malady of death' in 1993. Back then it was about the play with visibility and invisibility. This topic can be found in all my works. At some point I had a feeling I should stop with it, I played this game for too long. It was exactly then when the offer came to create a performance in Iran. The craziest thing is that this game of visibility/invisibility is exactly the case in Iran. Women are behind the tents, their hijab's as well as actual tents. I continued in the same artistic direction. I went to this country Iran where it is mandatory for women to be hidden. Funny enough, it wasn't hard for me to come up with something, since it was a 100% continuation of my previous work."

Since 2005 'Letters from Tentland' has toured seventeen countries and was performed forty-three times until it became censored this year in Iran. Helena Waldmann wasn't discouraged. On the contrary, she directed a new piece called ‘Return to Sender - Letters from Tentland’ with Iranian dancers in exile, which premiered this year at Montpellier Dance Festival. The statements made in the first piece were now answered, stamped and returned to sender. In original performance the final scene shows dancers cuddled-up in one tent. With shy and frightened expressions they look in the direction of the audience wondering if there is someone out there who hears them. Are they alone? They invite people to come into the tent. "Come in," they say, "viens, s' il vous plait, come to our side." At a performance in Vienna, just as they were about to zip it closed, a Mexican woman stood up and went to sit with them in their tent. They smiled. A beautiful act of solidarity could not have been expressed more honestly.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Iran's Forbidden Dance - by Jessie Emkic