Not even an hour ago, I learned something heartbreaking.
This article might feel very tied to current events, but everyone knows about the war in Iran unless they have chosen to completely tune out the news. Unfortunately, I also learned that Marjane Satrapi has died at the age of 56.
I don’t know if everyone reading this knows who she was, but Marjane Satrapi was the author of Persepolis and one of the directors of its film adaptation.
Persepolis is an autobiographical graphic novel that tells the story of Marjane herself. She was only ten years old when the Iranian Revolution changed her life forever. She grew up in a politically liberal, Western-educated family and enjoyed a relatively privileged childhood. She attended a French school, traveled abroad, and experienced freedoms that many children in her country did not.
Then everything changed.
Suddenly, being a woman in Iran meant something completely different. She was required to wear a veil. Boys and girls were separated. The freedom she had known began to disappear. As a teenager, she became rebellious because she knew this was not the life she was meant to live. She was not meant to be quiet, obedient, or invisible. She wanted to make her own choices and pursue her own future.
Eventually, her parents sent her abroad to continue her education when she was fourteen.
Years later, she returned to Iran because she missed home.
That part of her story has always fascinated me. She went back because of nostalgia. She studied art in Tehran, got married, and tried to build a life there. Yet after returning, she realized something important: she missed her country, but she could not truly live there. She was not free in the way she deserved to be.
She could have stayed. She could have settled into her marriage. She could have adapted to the circumstances around her.
Instead, she chose not to.
She left Iran again and eventually settled in France, where she spent the rest of her life. Along the way, she gave the world Persepolis, both the book and the film. She also helped establish an association that supported young students interested in filmmaking.
That is a remarkable legacy to leave behind.
The reason I am writing about Marjane Satrapi today is because I have the feeling that not enough people will properly honor her life and work.
The second reason is more personal.
Her story reminded me of my own.
Not because our lives were identical. They were not.
I grew up in an educated family, much like Marjane did. Unlike Marjane, however, I was not really taught to fight for my rights. Looking back, I am not even sure I was encouraged to express my true self. That is something I have only begun to understand as an adult, and it is a painful realization.
Like Marjane, I often felt as though I never truly fit in with my peers.
The reasons were different. Marjane’s rebelliousness was a response to political oppression. My struggles came from feeling trapped by expectations and by the version of myself that other people seemed to want. I had rebellious phases of my own, but they were usually attempts to break free from being the person everyone expected me to be.
Eventually, just like Marjane, I left my country to study abroad.
The difference is that it happened much later, when I was already in university.
And then, just like her, I came back.
I returned because I felt there was no future for me where I was living. I felt isolated. I struggled to find work. I did not have close friendships. Sometimes I felt as though nobody would notice whether I stayed or left.
If I suddenly showed up in the town where I studied, I honestly do not think many people would care that I came back.
I never really became attached to anyone there.
I was a floating entity.
That is the best way I can describe it.
Sometimes I feel as though I am currently living through the part of Persepolis where Marjane tries to make life in Iran work after returning home. She wants it to work, but deep down she knows it does not.
Eventually, she leaves again.
And perhaps that was one of the best decisions she ever made.
Without that decision, we might never have had Persepolis. Young filmmakers might never have benefited from her work and mentorship. Countless readers would never have encountered her story.
So today, I do not feel as though we simply lost a writer.
I feel as though I lost someone whose story reflected parts of my own life.
And now I find myself wondering whether, like Marjane, I will eventually leave my country again. Whether I will find my place somewhere else in the world. Whether I will discover the freedom and belonging that she spent so many years searching for herself.
Rest in peace, Marjane.
I do not want the world to ever forget you.
(image credit: National Council of Teachers of English)