I’m originally from Afghanistan, was born in Pakistan, and was raised in Iran. A while back, I used to visit a psychologist’s office. The psychologist who had become quite close to me shared her experience of her husband’s betrayal. She explained that her husband had fallen in love with a Hazara girl she knew personally and left her alone.
After that, she hates the Hazaras. After discovering that I am also Hazara, she no longer accepted me. maybe we Hazaras are blamed for our destiny, perhaps we don’t behave correctly. mongoloid countries like Korea have developed, and we the Hazaras have been left behind. I sometimes wish we could belong to that part of the world, finding ourselves in this geography of central Afghanistan unexpectedly. It is a wish for a different region and ethnicity altogether.
In the mid-90s, the Taliban terrorists expelled us from our homes in Afghanistan because we were Hazaras. They looted and set fire to our village. My uncles were brutally killed by them for the crime of being Hazara. We fled to Quetta, Pakistan. Over there, I was also harassed because of being Hazara. We then fled to Iran due to poverty and our shared religion of Islam. As a teenager, I used to feel strange, and I didn’t go out for fear of being harassed. For years, we were bullied because of our Asian looks. The word ‘Afghani’ turned into an insult among Iranians. I used to suffer, wondering why I was bullied because of my eyes (Asian look). I used to want to hide my eyes and my face so that my identity would remain hidden. When I went out with my Hazara friends, we were made fun of, and none of us could say anything. I still worry about going to restaurants or other places for fear of being mocked. However, over the past 5-6 years, public perception has improved. As I grew up, I tried to adapt to society and not suffer. Nowadays, in my workplace, no one judges me by my nationality, and I feel comfortable. I would like to be in Afghanistan, but I can’t. I love it there, but there is no place for Hazaras. Iran is not my place either. I am neither Iranian nor Afghan, and nowhere else. It’s a difficult feeling, and I don’t know what to say. Where is my land?”
“Since the first day of school, I have experienced discriminatory and emotional harassment from my classmates. I became sick (neurotic), always searching for a friend among them but never finding one. This situation continues, and now I prefer my loneliness. I left school a few weeks ago due to problems but went back because the director insisted.
It seems like we don’t belong here. At first glance, people think we are Chinese or Japanese, but when they find out we are Afghan, their behavior changes, and they don’t act kindly. Our faces are different from others in our hometown; we look like East Asian people. I feel like our origin is from there and we were cut from that part of the world and pasted here in Central Afghanistan wrongly! I wish I could be born again in China or Korea and become a singer. I carry the spirit of East Asia.
“I used to hate everyone. I never used to walk along the main streets because I always wanted to be alone and away from sarcasm and humiliation. It seemed like I had no place in this land. But one day, our Iranian art teacher changed our lives with her arrival. She made us change our perspective. I am no longer upset about insults; I solve it through art. My parents still think Iranians are better than us. Maybe a worse future awaits us, maybe one of our neighbors will hurt us later, but I don’t mind anymore. Now I realize that we are all part of the same world, the same nation. We all share the same Earth.”
“I think we Asians are like lamps that don’t fit into the environment and Iranian society. We are always seen as low-level. Perhaps they don’t respect us because of our underdeveloped country. People judge by what they see at first sight. They think I’m Japanese and show me respect, but when they find out I am from Afghanistan, their behavior changes. I wish I were a Tajik girl from Tajikistan. I am similar to them; there is no difference between an Asian and others there. Many of them are similar to us, but they don’t face the same hardships. Sometimes I think maybe our ethnicity originated from Korea or Tajikistan. Maybe we emerged here many years ago, and that’s why we feel disoriented and don’t belong anywhere. My drawings are the only place where my dreams come true. I can imagine whatever I want, whether legends or reality. I draw myself as a Tajik girl, and I draw the Buddha of the Bamiyan statue, which is resilient and strong.
Once, I was on a subway train holding a Japanese book in my hands. A man thought I was Japanese, so he stood up and gave me his seat. He smiled at me and tried to speak English, asking if I was Japanese or Korean. I answered, ‘Neither! I’m from Afghanistan.’ He reacted with shock and fury, saying, ‘You’re joking with me, right?’ and took his seat back. Maybe some of the behavior of people in my hometown causes such reactions, due to their tattered clothes and appearance. Of course, there is both goodness and evil here.
The character Ken Shin from the manga is still my hero. I am fascinated with Japan. I can speak and write in Japanese, recite haiku, and follow sports matches of them like volleyball and football. I feel like I belong to them. I told my family that if I don’t visit Japan during my lifetime, bury my bones there so that I can rest in peace. I’m going to create a manga in Persian with characters wearing Hazaragi traditional suits. Like the river flows, Flows Onto the lifeless and withered roots, The kindness of the summer man
Neither do we belong to Afghanistan nor Iran, nor anywhere else. Even in Europe, we are called Asians. So, we belong nowhere. Once, when I was visiting my fatherland city, we were on our way to the destination, but suddenly, my uncle stopped the car and asked me to get out in a ruined area, a bare and dusty landscape devoid of any urban facilities. I told him that there was no need to stop, and I would wait until we reached the destination. He said, ‘We have already arrived. The destination is right here; it’s our home.’ I wish we could discover a new continent or planet where no one looks down on us. I always dreamed of becoming a pilot and then an astronaut, going to space to discover that planet and take all my people there to find a home.
“The Hazaras, a Persian-speaking Shi’a ethnic group, have settled predominantly in central Afghanistan. They have endured decades of injustice, discrimination, and harassment. As survivors of genocide by Abdolrahmankhan (1880-1901), they have faced targeted violence, partly due to their religious identity. Tragic events such as the Chandaval uprising, the Afshar massacre, the Mazar Sharif massacre, and ongoing harassment and forced displacement by the Taliban have further compounded their suffering. Unfortunately, they have never been fully accepted in their homeland and have often been looked down upon.
The Hazaras, unable to find acceptance in their own country, have sought refuge in neighboring Iran, a country with shared religious beliefs. However, contrary to their expectations, they faced unkindness and discrimination upon arrival. Their Asian features, such as their almond-shaped eyes, have made them stand out in Iranian society, preventing their integration. Consequently, they find themselves in a search for identity and belonging, longing for a place they can call home.
The work I am undertaking focuses on shedding light on the Asian hate experienced by the Hazaras in Tehran province. Through a combination of documentary and staged photography, individuals will be depicted based on their personal stories and imagined desires. This project aims to raise awareness about the struggles faced by the Hazaras, who find themselves as strangers in their own country and foreigners in Iran(Tehran). They are people without a homeland, desperately seeking a sense of belonging and identity.