Story:
This object is very symbolic to me. I haven’t been carrying it for a long time, but the idea behind it has been on my mind for as long as I can remember. In Iran, having permission from a man is essential for a woman to simply exist as an independent person. This object carries very deep patriarchal values—values I fundamentally disagree with.
It doesn’t really belong to one specific person. It can belong to any woman. In that sense, it belongs to everyone and no one at the same time. Because to have a passport, to have an identity as an individual, you need permission from a man. As a woman, you are always considered to belong to a man.
I remember the first time I wanted to get a passport. I had to ask my father to sign a paper so I could receive it and leave the country. This object comes from the government; it’s part of official paperwork. Eventually, the true owner is the state, the Islamic Republic, a system run by men and governed by patriarchal rules.
It makes me feel insulted and degraded. I am enough as a person, and I do not need anyone’s permission to exist. It makes me want to fight this law. For me, this object is about authorship, about reclaiming ownership over my own life and my own rights.
It is connected to very personal memories: women I have known who were struggling under patriarchal control, women who couldn’t leave the country because their husbands refused to sign papers, women who couldn’t work without a husband’s permission. I remember relatives who couldn’t renew their passports for the same reason. I even remember a moment when I needed surgery and was denied admission until my father signed the consent forms. A man’s signature is always valued more than a woman’s existence.
The most important thing about this object is what it represents: women are not objects that belong to men.
I carry this object because it reminds me where I come from and the path I took toward my own liberation and my personal battle against patriarchy. I left my country initially to travel, to explore, to experience life. But deep down, I always knew I wanted to leave because I didn’t feel enough freedom simply to exist. I was searching for liberation.
My experience as a woman there was a constant battle. A battle just to exist. Against insults, against assaults, sometimes just a look, sometimes a word, sometimes a touch. Even walking down the street meant being disturbed. Existing, enjoying the weather, the sun, or a simple walk came at a psychological cost. Women were always exposed, always unprotected. Even by law, we were not supported. There were not enough laws to protect our rights. This was my biggest struggle as a woman in Iran.
When I left and moved elsewhere, I saw a very different reality. The country I moved to felt almost the opposite. Women were visible, empowered, and protected. Many jobs, even those considered traditionally masculine, were run by women. Women were confident, strong, and supported by laws and by society. I could feel safe walking alone in the morning on an empty street. Even men were afraid to cross boundaries because they respected the law. This contrast showed me how different life can be when women are empowered by both society and government. It was deeply liberating.
What I hope for is simple: that women gain full rights as human beings. That we are no longer dependent on men for basic paperwork, identity, or freedom. That we are no longer treated as objects waiting for authorisation to exist through a man’s signature.
During the time I was away, many things changed in my country. I can feel that women are becoming more powerful. But we still need reforms. Real legal reforms. We need official rights, protection, and power. I hope that one day I will witness the change we are fighting for. I believe we are on our way.
– Anonymous