Tehran in Transition: Signs of Change Amid Political Stasis by Hongda Fan

Iran’s transformation is both visible and constrained by its political system, the Chinese professor observes.

Hongda Fan is a professor at the Middle East Studies Institute of Shanghai International Studies University. He is currently a visiting scholar at the University of California, Berkeley. His main research areas are the Middle East and China’s diplomacy.

Since 2010, he has been doing in-depth fieldwork in Israel, Palestine, Turkey, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and Iran. He spent one year as a visiting professor at Tel Aviv University in Israel and one year as a teacher at Isfahan University in Iran.

Professor Fan published four Chinese-language books on the Middle East, including Iran and the United States, from Friend to Enemy and A Chinese Thinker Walking in the Middle East. He has published hundreds of research papers and column articles in academic journals and media outlets in China, Singapore, Iran, Turkey, and the U.S. He is also an international affairs commentator on Chinese TV and has been interviewed by international mainstream media including Bloomberg, NBC, and Financial Times.

Recently, Professor Fan visited Iran and published his observations on August 22, 2024 in Guancha, a Chinese news site, under the title 范鸿达：这次去伊朗，年轻女性的变化对我冲击很大 Fan Hongda: This Trip to Iran, I Was Struck by the Changes in Young Women. The article has been syndicated on various Chinese news sites, including Tencent News and Phoneix TV News.

For readability, the following English-language article, including the headline and subtitle, is rewritten entirely based on the Chinese article. It is not a word-by-word translation.

Professor Fan has proofread and approved this newsletter. All the photos are his courtesy.

The heat of a Tehran summer has a particular way of settling in, thick and palpable, as though the city itself is holding its breath. It’s been a familiar scene for me over the years, though each visit unfurls new layers of insight—sometimes subtle, sometimes glaring—into the complex interplay of change and resistance that defines modern Iran. On this most recent journey, however, something stood out more than before: Iran’s women, particularly the young, are boldly navigating their lives in ways that both challenge and reflect the tension in their country’s political, social, and cultural landscape.

I returned to Tehran this summer and the changes were apparent from the moment I set foot in the city. In contrast to my visit in late 2022, it was impossible not to notice how dramatically the public spaces had shifted. Women in the streets of central Tehran, even along the politically charged Revolution Street, were increasingly abandoning the long coats and hijabs that had once been a mainstay of their public attire. Sleeveless shirts and uncovered heads, once almost unimaginable, are becoming common sights. The shift is even more pronounced in the affluent northern suburbs, where youth dress in ways that would not look out of place in the West.

But the most striking detail for me was the growing number of young women smoking openly in public, a subtle yet potent act of defiance. I had seen something similar in Turkey years ago, where women smoking in the streets of Istanbul shocked my expectations. Now, it seems that Iranian women are embracing it, too. For these women, smoking in public feels less like an indulgence and more like a declaration of agency in a society that continues to dictate how they should appear and behave.

This transformation reflects broader changes in the lives of Iran’s younger generation, particularly in Tehran. The traditional trajectory—marriage, family, and children—seems to be losing its grip on the country’s youth, many of whom now live together without the binding contract of matrimony. Economic realities play a role, with soaring living costs making the prospect of marriage daunting for many young couples. Cohabitation becomes not only a solution but also a choice—a means of preserving financial stability in a country where the cost of starting a family is often out of reach.

A young woman I met during my stay—a successful professional living in a high-end apartment in northern Tehran—spoke candidly about the new normal. “Seventy percent of my friends are in relationships, but none of them are thinking about marriage,” she told me, reflecting a growing sentiment. Yet, while she recognized the practicalities of this lifestyle, she remained firm in her personal desire for something different, hoping to find a partner who could match her ambition. “I can’t just settle for someone who will reap the benefits of everything I’ve worked for,” she added, a sentiment that resonated with me, as it encapsulated the independent spirit I’ve encountered among many Iranian women.

Compared to their counterparts in other parts of the Middle East, Iranian women have long been more active in the workforce and more assertive about their autonomy. Many of the women I’ve met over the years are formidable professionals, as skilled and ambitious as any man. Yet the opportunities for women in Iran remain constricted. Women frequently lament that men, particularly in positions of power, are reluctant to cede ground to their female counterparts, fearing that they might be outperformed. As a result, despite their evident potential, Iranian women often find themselves hemmed in by societal expectations and legal constraints.

This dichotomy—of change simmering beneath the surface of a rigidly traditional society—is a recurring theme in modern Iran. The protests that erupted in September 2022 over the hijab laws, often referred to as the “Hijab Movement,” may not have dismantled the system, but they certainly left cracks in its foundation. Yet the push and pull between progress and control are still ever-present. A Chinese traveler recently recounted to me how she was escorted back to her hotel by the morality police for dressing inappropriately. This was not an isolated incident; women in Iran face these encounters regularly, particularly in tourist hotspots like Shiraz’s famous Pink Mosque, where new morality police officers now patrol to ensure compliance with dress codes. This was a stark change from my previous visits to the same sites, a reminder of the persistent tension between individual expression and state enforcement.

But the larger story of Iran, as always, extends beyond personal freedoms to the broader canvas of its political and social structure. The presidential election in July 2024 offers a snapshot of this tension. Many Iranians, fearful of what a hardline candidate like Saeed Jalili might bring—more stringent social controls, an intensification of Iran’s combative stance on the global stage—turned out to vote for the reformist candidate, Masoud Pezeshkian. Yet even with this victory, the promise of reform has remained elusive. Pezeshkian has yet to display the decisiveness or reformist zeal his campaign promised. The levers of change, it seems, are not solely in his hands.

The real power in Iran remains the shadow government, a formidable force that has long operated behind the scenes, undermining the ambitions of reformist leaders. Analysts often speak of this shadow government as more influential than the president himself, a web of entrenched interests that limits any meaningful shift toward modernization. Since the death of former President Hashemi Rafsanjani in 2017, the reformist movement has been in decline, unable to regain its foothold in the corridors of power. Pezeshkian’s cabinet appointments, chosen more for their political expedience than for their reformist credentials, reflect the limitations of his mandate. The compromises he has made to placate various factions have left many Iranians disillusioned, their hopes for change once again deferred.

Foreign policy, too, remains a stumbling block. Despite calls from within the country to prioritize domestic issues, Pezeshkian’s government continues to support the so-called "Axis of Resistance"—Iran’s long-standing alliances with Palestinian, Lebanese, and Yemeni groups. The assassination of Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh in Tehran in late July further entrenched this stance, with the streets of Tehran awash in Palestinian flags and large portraits of the slain leader. The government’s public displays of solidarity made it clear that, despite domestic discontent, Iran’s foreign policy was unlikely to change, at least in the immediate future.

It’s this juxtaposition—of a country visibly changing on the streets but entrenched in old habits at the political level—that lingers in my mind. As I left Tehran, traveling through Dubai on my way back to the United States, the contrast between the two cities was jarring. Tehran’s airport was eerily quiet, almost somber, while Dubai’s buzzed with the frenetic energy of commerce and ambition. Iran, with its rich history and abundant natural resources, should be leading the region. Instead, it finds itself at odds with its own potential.

Iran’s problems are no secret, even within its own borders. There is growing discontent among both the general population and segments of the religious establishment, where reform has become a national conversation. But for all the talk, the questions remain: How can reform be achieved? Who will lead it? And perhaps most importantly, can the system be reformed at all?

The Iranian people are nothing if not resilient, but they seem to be waiting—for a moment, a leader, a break in the clouds. For now, Iran remains a country in limbo, caught between the forces of change that its youth embody and the weight of a system that resists them.