When Going Home And The Department of Homeland Security Collide
Welcome to The Transgender Sabbatical Blues, an ongoing series exploring Dena Rod’s experience as a transgender, non-binary, Iranian American Bay Area local who took a five-week sabbatical all over the Northern Hemisphere.
I couldn’t plan something like a trip to Iran by myself. Despite her fear, Becky still helped with gathering the information on how an American citizen could travel to the Islamic Republic of Iran. Based on the Department of Homeland Security recommendations, I planned to make my will, prepare end of life legal documents like an advanced directive, take photos for my Iranian visa with a headscarf (like hey, just because I cut off my tits didn’t mean I could avoid my gender marker on my passport). Little did I know, ultimately none of it would matter.
But we were on a good trajectory! I decided I would travel to Iran for thirty days, fly into Tehran and start exploring up north before making my way down towards Shiraz and further south to Hormuz Island. We would hit up the sights like Shah Cheragh, Azadi Tower, and Masjid-i Imam. Flights to Tehran only flew out of Frankfurt, Germany; Istanbul, Turkey; and Vienna, Austria and would take a total of at least two days with layovers and time changes. I knew the sights I would see in Iran would be worth this pilgrimage.
I downloaded WhatsApp and message blasted my introduction to Iranian tour agencies, detailing my fantasy itinerary and travel circumstances as an American citizen. One tour guide asked me “Dena-jan, are you sure you don’t have an Iranian passport?” as if I was awash in foreign documentation and misplaced passports like lip balms or bandanas.
Yes, I confirmed to this tour guide there was no way I could access an Iranian passport. Since my parents never married in a mosque, their marriage wasn’t recognized by the Islamic Republic. My father was here in the US as a Permanent Resident, so he technically could still be considered an Iranian citizen. But that in and of itself wouldn’t automatically make me eligible for Iranian citizenship as a result of the unrecognized marriage. I was a bastard, legally speaking. In the back of my mind, I worried even though I could not be awarded the benefits of Iranian citizenship, I might still be treated as one when I tried to leave the Islamic Republic as numerous detained dual citizens could attest to.
What struck me is how kind and generous everyone was in their Whatsapp messages. Not everyone I reached out to responded, but those that did assured me that they would do everything in their power to get me a visa and that it shouldn’t be a problem. It was really going to happen. I would be able to go to Iran!
That was September 7th, 2023. After September 15th, I didn’t hear anything ever again. The Islamic Republic of Iran was throttling and shutting down the internet intermittently in response to protests bursting forth. Mahsa Amini, murdered by the state police for her hijab not covering her hair completely, was beaten into a coma and then died in a hospital. The state said her death was her fault, not of their actors. The Zan Zedagi Azadi movement was just starting to spark with protests, teenage girls ripping their hijabs off in school and walking out. Taxi cabs formed in circles to block the morality police’s way. An undercurrent of rage amongst the Iranian people was bursting forth.
The Women Life Freedom movement was not to be stopped and I was shown why there is a Level 4 warning. My internalized American exceptionalism convinced me that despite the danger, I would be safe going to Iran. Because how could I not be? It was my motherland. I was always told how kind and friendly everyone was to American tourists. Plus I had every right and access to that land. No one could stop me. Right?
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