Jin, jiyan, azadi: Kurdish women are at the forefront of the revolution in Iran
“The revolution in Kurdistan and Iran isn’t possible without Kurdish women. It is time we center Kurdish women in this struggle, honor the names banned by the regime and call for a free Kurdistan,” Dalal shares. (Courtesy of Dalal Hassane)
Kurdish-Arab-American Dalal Hassane shares her poem “Jina’s Kurdistan” and the importance of centring Kurdish women in the movement against the Iranian regime.
In the homeland and diaspora, Kurds like myself have dealt with the erasure and co-opting of our culture and movements for centuries.
Kurdistan — which refers to the lands to which Kurds are indigenous — is under occupation by four states: Iraq, Iran, Turkey and Syria. For generations, Kurds have suffered ethnic cleansing, disproportionate policing and incarceration and erasure.
The death of Jina Amini was no different. Jina was a 22-year-old Kurdish woman from Saqqez in the Kurdistan Province of Iran. You might know her by her legal name, which the regime forced upon her: Mahsa Amini. In Iran, Kurdish names are banned, leaving Kurdish people to give their children Iranian names in addition to their Kurdish names. But to her family and friends, she was known as Jina. That’s why it’s disturbing and painful to see news outlets around the world call her Mahsa or write Jina as her middle name or in quotation marks.
“Jina was a 22-year-old Kurdish woman from Saqqez in the Kurdistan Province of Iran. You might know her by her legal name, which the regime forced upon her: Mahsa Amini.”
Growing up as a Kurdish-Arab woman, I heard the phrase, “jin, jiyan, azadi” (women, life, freedom) in conversations about our ongoing liberation movement. This phrase originated in chants by fighters with the Kurdistan Workers’ Party who advocated for freedom from oppressive regimes like Turkey. Across social media, in books and movies, and even on jewelry, Kurds have repeated this phrase through many mediums as a rallying cry for independence from occupation, workers’ rights and women’s liberation. I myself remember chanting it in 2019 after Turkey’s invasion of Rojava.
Now I hear Iranian activists and media outlets repeating “zan, zendegi, azadi,” the direct translation of “jin, jiyan, azadi” into Farsi. It pains me to see them co-opt this Kurdish phrase into Farsi — one of the languages forced upon our people — as they advocate against this regime and rally in the streets in both Iran and diaspora. It pains me to see our language and culture only being appreciated when the rest of the world doesn’t realize they are our own.
"This is a childhood photo from my mom taken in Iran in the late '80s to early '90s. She and her older siblings would sneak away to different hidden spots in the mountains to take photos without headscarves." (Courtesy of Dalal Hassane)
In organizing circles, I’ve witnessed discussions in which people call for “solidarity with Iranian women,” justice for “Mahsa” Amini, and “freedom for Iran.” It is difficult to be in spaces where other organizers expect you to stay silent about the need to center Kurdish liberation in order to prevent any awkwardness or tension. It is difficult to be silenced by claims of “solidarity” or a “shared struggle” when you are aware that there are other systems of power in play.
I grew up hearing about my mom’s experiences as a Kurdish girl living under both the Iraqi and Iranian regimes during the late '80s and '90s. After surviving the 1988 Halabja massacre at around 7 years old, she and her siblings fled to Iran. Hearing about the experiences of women — particularly Kurdish women — in the state of Iran was not new to my family, but rather an infuriating reminder that nothing has changed.
We are constantly told that Jina’s Kurdish identity was irrelevant; that this is a feminist struggle for all Iranian women under this regime. However, her identity as a Kurdish woman from Saqqez mattered immensely because of the systemic discrimination against Kurds in Iran, especially those in predominantly Kurdish areas. Kurdish people comprise only 10% of Iran’s population; however, they made up nearly half the Iranian political prisoner population in 2019. Jina’s brother told the police that they weren’t from Tehran when he pleaded with them for mercy. Iranian identification cards include the province the citizen is from; Jina was from the Kurdistan Province of Iran. Additionally, there are distinct differences between the Kurdish and Iranian accents when speaking Farsi. When we are told that Jina’s Kurdish identity was irrelevant, we feel this continuous state of generational anger and exhaustion.
“Hearing about the experiences of women — particularly Kurdish women — in the state of Iran was not new to my family, but rather an infuriating reminder that nothing has changed.”
I wrote this poem in hopes that other young Kurdish people like me can feel that they are not alone in their anger. That they have every right to continue calling using Jina Amini’s real name without having to include “Mahsa” in parenthesis; to continue calling her Kurdish. That we can continue to scream “jin, jiyan, azadi” like it is our own phrase, because it is.
The revolution in Kurdistan and Iran isn’t possible without Kurdish women. It is time we center Kurdish women in this struggle, honor the names banned by the regime and call for a free Kurdistan. I hope that one day, Kurds can walk our homelands freely, speak our language without fear of persecution, and learn about the powerful and beautiful movements that came before them.
jin, jiyan, azadi
my heart, it races, its vulnerabilities unveiled
in anger, in ancestral rage
we never needed a translation
our cries are universal
universal until it’s her biji
until it’s Kurdistan
her biji Kurdistan
then, the world can’t hear us;
only the mountains do
vessels of power and hidden stories
our chants are eternal
from Afrin to Saqqez,
from Diyarbakir to Slemani
we are Jina’s Kurdistan
the women of Kurdistan
embody the life of Kurdistan
and will bring freedom to Kurdistan
women, life, and freedom
jin, jiyan, azadi
even our women’s cries were stolen
they took them away from us
billboards, tshirts, worldwide protests
we are forced to join the world
in chanting a phrase they never knew was ours
I fear the photo of Jina becoming
a photo of my mother
Saddam took Halabja
Khamanei took her childhood
yet, they
never
took
her
she still stands,
heartbroken, numb
to the images
the graphic images of women
like Jina, women who fell victim
to this repeated history
in diaspora, we scream,
but are met with silence
the same silence that killed Jina.
Jina, her name is power
not Mahsa Amini
not Jina Mahsa Amini
Jina Amini
forever our flower of Kurdistan
Kurdish words flow gracefully
from our voices
as we fight for our women, with our women
jin, jiyan, azadi.
to us, it was never “western Iran”
“northern Iraq”
“eastern Syria”
“southern Turkey”
bullshit borders mean nothing to us
our Kurdistan stands tall
like our loyal mountains
that have always considered us free
jin, jiyan azadi
“Jina” – life.
she was full of life.
her jili Kurdi glimmers
as she dances
her ancestors’ smile
brightens the room
as she laughs and sings
she embodies the culture
they tried to demolish before and after
her death
except our culture and language
made it possible for the world
to scream “women, life, freedom”
our
culture
exists
only
to
be
stolen
jin, jiyan, azadi
I am a Kurd in
suburban Illinois,
I see the revolution on bright screens
#MahsaAmini and
“freedom!
for!
Iran!”
at the same second,
another Kurdish woman is
on the streets of Mahabad
screaming Jina’s name
over and over
in the homeland and diaspora,
they oppress Jina
in both life and death
jin, jiyan azadi
it was never “zan zandegi azadi”
jin jiyan azadi
Kurdistan
will
be
free.
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