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Among the names of persian rap arrested by the regime in Iran there are Toomaj Salehi (after a trial in 2021 for propaganda against the regime, he is now accused of orchestrating numerous demonstrations and is in danger of being executed), Behrad Ali Konari (accused for the murder of a militiaman) and the Kurd Saman Yasin (guilty of “war against God”, he has already been sentenced to capital punishment).
The persian raphowever, was already a problem for the regime well before the start of the unrest – which, we recall, broke out in September after the sad story of Mahsa Amini, the 22-year-old allegedly beaten to death by morality police after being arrested for a few strands of hair escaping from her headscarf. One could say that its very existence is a mystery, a sort of system anomaly: Hard to imagine a musical genre more in conflict with an Islamic theocracy. The committed one focuses entirely on issues of protest or denunciation; the less engagé promotes an imaginary made up of sex, materialism, anti-prohibitionism, subversion. In short, in a country like Iran he had all the credentials to be struck down even before emitting his first cries. How did it manage to infiltrate the meshes of censorship to become such a relevant phenomenon of custom? Some merit goes to American rappers who, often representing a critical voice towards their own nation and its policies, have historically been tolerated better by the regime than other Western superstars. But to get to the first Iranian exponents, a lot of water had to pass under the bridge: they began to make their timid appearance only in the new millennium, and not without difficulty.
Alignments and oppositions
Based on laws passed by the government of Tehranin fact, before releasing music or playing concerts each artist must submit their production to the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Orientation, which releases a clearance only on condition that the songs demonstrate that they do not betray the Persian tradition in form, and the Muslim one in substance. Hip hop has multiple criticalities on both fronts, and it’s easy to guess that rap groups authorized to perform and release records are very few. A small minority aligned with the regime, such as Kiarash Alimi, who actively supported former President Ahmadinejad’s campaign in 2005 with his lyrics laced with vitriolic criticism of the West and references to the state religion. For the others, the vast majority, it is a daily struggle made up of compromises and small victories, in the hope of not incurring devastating consequences for daring to express one’s thoughts in rhyme.
Emblematic was the case of Hichkas, nicknamed “the father of Persian hip hop” for its seminal importance in the birth of the local rap scene. He released his debut album Jangale asphalt in 2006 but, lacking government authorization, could not market it in shops or digital stores. First arrested in 2006 while trying to sell a few physical copies by hand on the streets of Tehranescaped it only thanks to what he himself defined as “self-censorship”: that is, to the fact that, already in the song writing phase, he had avoided vulgar language, particularly controversial topics and too obvious references to hip American hop, preferring to focus on a social critique based on metaphors and using sounds that sampled traditional Iranian instruments.
While logistical challenges have eased with the more widespread internet penetration across the country, allowing Hichkas to tap streaming platforms like SoundCloud without putting himself at risk selling CDs, as his fame increased so did the hostility of the regime towards him. So much so that his second album – the title, Mojazit really means ironically “Granted”, as if making fun of the ministry’s seal of approval – it was due for 2008 but only came out in 2020, after his expatriation in London; even its producer, the award-winning Mahdyar Aghajani, had to flee to Paris. Today his lyrics are much more critical and explicit, but he still tries to mediate between what he would like and what he can say, even in view of his occasional returns to Iran. “Regardless of what the authorities say, if I were too blunt people would not understand me, because ours is a too closed society. And then, if you can’t go back to the country you’re talking about, how can you see and then tell what happens there?” he told the historic magazine Index on Censorshipwhich has been monitoring freedom of expression around the world for years.
A window to elsewhere
Often it is who has the ability to travel – and above all to release music and play abroad – who manages to transform his passion for hip hop into a sort of job: as Salome MC, one of the very first Persian female rappers, now resident in the United States. Doing it from inside Iranian territory is dangerous and uncomfortable, but there are those who keep trying. The identikit is that of cultured, cosmopolitan, attentive young people who have studied outside the country and who often have the economic possibilities to set up a recording studio at home or in a secluded and anonymous location, away from the scrutinizing eye of the authorities . Whoever puts his face into it risks big, as the events of the last few days have shown. On the other hand, the more the regime rages against hip hop, the more hip hop becomes a very powerful symbol of rebellion, widening its pool of potential listeners like wildfire. The one between the rappers and the Ayatollahs is not a war on equal terms, but the winner is not at all obvious.
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