A Letter to Our Sisters in Iran

Dear sisters of Iran,

This is a moment of immense difficulty and uncertainty for you. Across the world, reactions to your situation are fragmented. Some voices express sympathy, while others, disturbingly, celebrate violence under the banner of Azadi, or freedom. The killing of innocent schoolchildren in Minab and the violation of a nation’s sovereignty are not acts of liberation; they are acts of terror. No justification, however eloquent, can transform the bombing of a country into a moral enterprise. From where we stand, as your sisters in India, such actions are neither acceptable nor defensible.

Our perspective is shaped by history. Long, painful, and instructive. India endured over two centuries of colonial domination, a period that left deep scars on our land and psyche. That experience taught us a fundamental truth: freedom cannot be delivered by an occupying force. It cannot be gifted by those who arrive with weapons, claiming to liberate while simultaneously extracting resources, dismantling institutions, and imposing their will. The language of liberation, when used by an invader, often conceals motives far removed from justice or humanity.

In the year 2026, it is difficult to believe that the world still entertains the idea that powerful nations intervene militarily to “free” the citizens of another state. History has offered us enough lessons to recognize the dissonance between rhetoric and reality. Words like democracy, human rights, and liberation carry immense moral weight, but they can also be appropriated and weaponized. Behind these words, there are often geopolitical ambitions, economic interests, and strategic calculations that have little to do with the well-being of ordinary people.

When you raised your voices against injustices within your own system, many of us stood with you in solidarity. Your courage, resilience, and determination inspired women across borders. And now, as you confront threats to your nation itself, that solidarity does not waver. We continue to stand with you, not out of blind allegiance, but out of a shared understanding of dignity, agency, and the right to self-determination. Every woman, regardless of where she is born, has the right to defend her home, her land, and her people.

Rescue workers and residents search through the rubble in the aftermath of a strike on a girls' primary school in Minab, Iran, Saturday, February 28, 2026. Photo: Abbas Zakeri/Mehr News Agency via AP

For a long time, I found solace and inspiration in the words of Virginia Woolf, who famously wrote in her book Three Guineas, “As a woman, I have no country.” It was a powerful assertion, one that seemed to transcend borders and challenge the structures that often exclude women. Yet today, in the face of unfolding global realities, that statement feels more complicated than ever. The world appears unsettled, almost inverted, compelling many of us to revisit and rethink what we once held as truths. 

The history of the Partition of India reminds us that women’s relationship with the nation is neither abstract nor optional. During that traumatic moment, millions were displaced, and women bore some of the deepest scars. They were uprooted, forced across borders, and subjected to violence that sought to mark them as symbols of communal identity. Recovery operations undertaken by both India and Pakistan often relocated women to what was deemed their “national home,” sometimes against their will. In those moments, it became painfully clear that women did, in fact, have a country, one that could claim them, define them, and even decide their fate.

As an Indian woman, I cannot ignore what it means to belong to a nation which is imperfect, evolving, sometimes failing its people, yet deeply significant. Our history is filled with stories of women who did not detach themselves from the idea of a nation, but instead fought to shape it. During the freedom struggle against British rule, thousands of women stepped forward, often at great personal cost. In Mahatma Gandhi’s satyagraha movements alone, approximately 30,000 women participated and endured imprisonment. Their courage was not symbolic; it was active, embodied, and transformative.

When the Quit India Movement erupted in 1942 and colonial authorities arrested most prominent leaders, it was women like Aruna Asaf Ali who kept the spirit of resistance alive. Operating underground, she and many others ensured that the movement did not collapse under repression. These are not isolated anecdotes but part of a broader historical pattern in which women played central roles in defending the dignity and autonomy of their country.

It is from this historical consciousness that we speak today. We understand, perhaps more than many others, what it means to struggle against domination, whether external or internal. And so, in this hour, we offer you our moral support with sincerity and clarity. We hear you, even when others attempt to drown out your voices or reinterpret your struggle through their own ideological lenses.

Women mourn in a gathering after state TV officially announced the death of Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, as one of them wears an Iranian flag, in Tehran, Iran, Sunday, March 1, 2026. Photo: AP/PTI.

There is something particularly troubling about the way the language of feminism is being deployed in global discourse today. In some quarters, feminism is invoked to justify or soften the realities of war. The suffering of a nation is reframed as a necessary step toward the “liberation” of its women. This raises profound and uncomfortable questions. Can the destruction of homes, the loss of lives, and the erosion of sovereignty ever be reconciled with the ideals of women’s freedom? Can violence be a legitimate pathway to emancipation? 

We must ask: what is Azadi, truly? What does freedom for women look like, and who has the authority to define it? Is it a universal template dictated by powerful nations, or is it something that emerges from the lived experiences, cultures, and aspirations of women themselves? These questions are not rhetorical, they strike at the heart of contemporary feminist discourse. 

There is an increasing tendency to equate freedom with a narrow set of markers, often rooted in Western frameworks. The right to dress in a particular way, the ability to participate in electoral processes, or the adoption of certain social norms are presented as definitive indicators of liberation. While these rights are important, they are not exhaustive. Moreover, they can coexist with systems that are deeply flawed or even oppressive in other ways.

If freedom means the ability to make choices, then we must also interrogate the structures within which those choices are made. Is it freedom to participate in systems that perpetuate inequality, exploitation, or injustice? Is it freedom if the choices available are themselves constrained by external pressures, economic dependencies, or cultural erasure? And critically, should any external power claim the authority to impose its own definition of freedom upon others?

These questions are particularly relevant when considering the role of powerful nations, such as the United States, in shaping global narratives around democracy and women’s rights. While these nations often present themselves as champions of freedom, their actions do not always align with their rhetoric. This contradiction demands scrutiny, not blind acceptance. The recent history of Afghanistan stands as a stark reminder. Decades of intervention, occupation, and withdrawal did not deliver lasting freedom or stability to its people, least of all to its women. Instead, it left behind a fractured society where the promises of liberation rang hollow.

Worshippers offer a prayer for rain at the shrine of Saint Saleh in northern Tehran, Iran, Friday, Nov. 14, 2025. Photo: AP/PTI.

For many of us in the Global South, the challenge is not only to resist external domination but also to critically examine the frameworks through which our struggles are understood. Feminism, as a global movement, cannot remain tethered to a single cultural or ideological perspective. It must evolve to include diverse voices, histories, and realities.

Perhaps, then, the task before us is to decolonise feminism itself. This does not mean rejecting the principles of equality and justice that feminism stands for, but rather expanding its scope and grounding it in plurality. It means recognising that women in different parts of the world may define freedom in ways that do not always align with dominant narratives, and that these definitions are equally valid.

Dear sisters, your struggle is complex, layered, and deeply rooted in your own context. It cannot be reduced to simplistic binaries or appropriated for geopolitical agendas. As you navigate these challenging times, know that there are women across the world who see you, who respect your agency, and who stand with you, not as saviours, but as allies.

In solidarity and hope, we remain with you.

Sujata is a feminist writer and an associate professor of Shyamlal College, Delhi University.

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