Interview with a refugee: from Isfahan to Stockholm

Given how there is so much stupid crap said by misinformed, ignorant Singaporeans about refugees, I have done an interview with a refugee from Iran who has since settled in Sweden. Her name is Bahar and I got to know her from my university days when she was doing her masters at my university. I would like you to hear her story about her journey from Isfahan in Iran to Stockholm, Sweden.

A refugee camp in Turkey for Syrian refugees

Limpeh: Hej Bahar, so nice to talk to you again, thank you for doing this.

Bahar: It's my pleasure.

Limpeh: It has been many years since you told me your story as to how your family had to flee Iran and come to Sweden - so could you start from the very beginning and tell me the story please.

Bahar: I was born in 1970 in the city of Isfahan. I had a peaceful, quiet childhood until the age of 9 when the first of two momentous events happened. The Iranian revolution happened in 1979 when an Islamic Republic was established in Iran. Tensions were already building with Iraq for a long time and then one year later in 1980, after things got bad to worse between the two countries, Iraq invaded Iran in September 1980. Sadaam Hussein wanted to capture Khūzestān Province which is in the South-West of Iran, he hoped that an early victory in Khūzestān Province would discredit the new Islamic regime in Iran and lead to its downfall.

Now Isfahan is not in Khūzestān Province but it is very close - we got very nervous because my father is half Iraqi. It is not uncommon for some Persians (*not the same as Iranians - Persians are the majority ethnic group in Iran) to have mixed blood and as we were at war with Iraq, anyone with any connection to Iraq, the enemy were viewed with suspicion. Many people had some Arab blood in Isfahan and it has never ever been an issue about who was pure Persian and who had some Arab blood. But suddenly, my father's loyalty to the country was put in question.

My father was born and bred in Isfahan and sure he has cousins and uncles, aunties... extended family across the border in Iraq... but suddenly, that made life difficult for him. Already, there were missile attacks and aerial bombing of Isfahan. The situation became worse and worse with the onset of war with Iraq.

Limpeh: What kind of job did your father do?

Bahar: He worked in a textile factory just down the road. He would wake up early in the morning, my mother would make him breakfast and he would come and kiss us goodbye before he went to work. He would then come home from the factory late in the evening, in time for dinner. You know, he wasn't like some kind of guy who was involved in some kind of cross border espionage - he was just the simple guy who worked in a factory and any spare time he had, he spent it with his family. He was a good man, a good father and husband.

Then one day in 1981 January, I remember, my mother made dinner as always and he never came home. By nine o'clock my mother panicked and she went to the factory to find him - she then ran into a colleague of my father's who told us that some police came and arrested my father and took him away. My mother ran to the police station but they denied having arrested my father. He disappeared for three days. My mother was frantic, my younger sister didn't understand what was going on. I was just 11 years old and she was 5. My mother ran everywhere, begged for help from anyone she knew, looking for my father. People avoided her, even close friends pretended they didn't know her. They thought, "that woman's husband must have been arrested for doing something very bad, she's in trouble - if I help her, will I get into trouble too?" Everyone was scared for their own safety.

Finally, a friend of the family who knew someone in the police then told her that my father was arrested and taken away because they were rounding up enemies of the state. There was a major Iraqi attack in the region of Dezful and they suspected that people had been passing vital information to the Iraqis. Suddenly they all got paranoid and accused anyone with any connection to Iraq of being enemies, they were looking for enemies from within Iran.

I later learned that it was the battle of Dezful - they were looking for people to blame for the humiliating defeat. Iraq had invaded Iran - they clashed in Dezful and the Iranians lost that battle. My father was amongst the many Iranians with Iraqi connections who were rounded up and interrogated, accused of being traitors.  Fortunately, that family friend was able to bribe the police officer in charge to release my father.

Limpeh: A bribe?

A bribe secured Bahar's father's release 

Bahar: Oh yeah. Times were hard, there was a war, people were given to bribery and corruption, so the police officer altered the records to say that my father was not the man they were looking for and released him. But he warned my father that he had to disappear - get out of Isfahan because he may not be lucky the next time. When I saw my father again, he was in such a bad state, they had beaten him up, done horrible things to him. He just said in a calm voice to my mother, "tell your brother to come here, we have got to talk, it is important."

My uncle then came over and the men talked. My mother put my sister and I to bed but neither of us slept. I stared at the ceiling in the darkness, trying to hear what they were saying. I remember hearing my father say that he thought they were going to kill him, the same way they killed some of the others who had Iraqi connections. I held my sister close to me... You know when someone has cried so long they don't even have the energy to cry any more, yes that was my sister. She was panting as if she was crying but made no sound. That was the last time my sister cried in years - she then went into like... offline mode, you know when your computer is on but cannot connect to the internet? She stopped reacting emotionally to everything around her. It took many years before she became normal again. I don't think she understood what was going on, but it was the way she dealt with it.

Bahar's sister went offline emotionally.

The next day my mother told us that we were going to go to Tabriz - it is a town far away in the North-West of Iran. We could only take a small amount of things we could carry and we were not coming back. I didn't ask why, I just remember trying to decide what to take. I ask her if I could say good bye to my friends at school, to my neighbours and she said no, you cannot. No reason, I asked why. No answer. I asked her again. She just looked at me and said, "Bahar one day you will grow up and understand."

Now if you wanted to get from Isfahan to Tabriz today, you'd just go to the airport and get an internal flight, but this was 1981 and Iran was at war with Iraq. Tabriz is about 800 kilometres away and security was tight - soldiers searched us everywhere we went. They asked us questions, why are you going to Tabriz? My father was using my uncle's papers, we were not to address him as 'father' on that journey but 'uncle'. We went by bus and it was winter - it was so cold and my sister was so sick. When we were near Karaj, a soldier took a look at my sister and said to my parents, "That girl needs to go to the hospital, how can you travel when she has a fever like that?"

I knew my father was nervous, travelling with my uncle identity papers. Too many questions - he has done nothing wrong, yet he was running away. How do you explain that? Stay and take your chances in a country that thinks you are the enemy? Or let them assume your guilt when you disappear and run away? No matter how sick my sister became, we knew there was no turning back.

Bahar's family had to get from Esfahan to Tabriz for the first part of their escape. 

I don't remember much from that journey because I drank some water that wasn't clean I think... I kept throwing up, so many hours just being on the bus a day. I was groggy most of the time, clinging onto my mother. At night, we slept in bus stations or anywhere we could find shelter. This was winter, it was so cold by the time we got to Tabriz, it was hardly the end of our journey. My uncle had managed to arrange for a people smuggler to meet us in Tabriz - we were invited to his house, where we had tea and bread. He told us that we could rest there for two or three days before we had to cross the border to Turkey. My uncle had paid for everything, to make it possible for us to get out of Iran.

After three days, I was sufficiently rested but my sister was still poorly. We had no choice, we were driven from Tabriz to the city of Khoy in the mountains near the Turkish border where we stayed for one more night and then I was told that we would start the next day. There was a group of us, ten people, us and a few more adults. My sister and I were the only children - we went up to a small village by bus and then we were told that we had to walk to Turkey, over the mountains. We couldn't just drive up to the border crossing with Turkey as the Iranian border guards would not let us cross - that's why we had to walk through the mountains with a guide who knew the little paths through the mountains where one could evade the border guards.We needed a guide, even if you had a map, you could so easily get lost in those mountains and freeze to death. There are no roads and often a lot of fog.

The guide who said to my parents, "you have to keep up, we cannot slow down because of your girls. I am not going to slow down and wait for them if it means putting the others in danger." My father said he would carry my sister and I was the strongest girl in my class who could run faster than anyone in my class. It was a lie but I nodded defiantly  The pace was unforgiving. It was not like we were walking on a nice road, it was stones, snow, ice, uphill, downhill... We all had blisters on our feet and it was so, so cold. One of the older women just kept telling the rest, "leave me, leave me I won't make it, the rest of you go." Then we came across some dead persons.

Bahar had to trek over icy and cold mountains to get to Turkey. 

Limpeh: What, you mean someone died?

Bahar: Not from our group, but someone who had tried to make that journey. It was an older man and a boy ... the older man was lying face down, the boy was next to him, motionless. One of the men asked if we could bury them, the guide said no, there's no time. The guide said another group was making this journey when they ran into soldiers - they had to run for cover and there was chaos in the fog. The group got separated and by the time they found them, these two were already dead. My mother put her arms around me and held me close, "don't look, don't look, keep walking".

We walked late into the night,  rested for a few hours in a cave but we barely slept in the bitter cold. The moment there was a little light in the sky, we had to get up and walk again. Then around mid-morning, we came up onto a snowy ridge and spotted a dirt road with some tire tracks. Our guide said, "you see that road? That's in Turkey. That's Turkey over there, behind you is Iran, we're standing on the border now. Say goodbye to Iran! And this is where I have to turn back. There is a refugee camp nearby but if you want me to tell you where it is, you have to give me something."

Bahar couldn't see anything but snow, rocks and dead trees. 

I looked at the road and then at the horizon, it wasn't clear where it led, I couldn't see any sign of civilization. Just snow, rocks and dead trees. There was fog as well, so I couldn't see very far. The guide said, "you go the wrong way and the road leads you back into Iran where you will meet soldiers who will probably kill you. You go the right way and you will find a refugee camp about five kilometres away, where the Red Crescent is waiting for you. Do you want to know whether to turn left or right?" We gave him everything of value, wedding rings, earrings, every last bit of money - we were only allowed to keep some bread and water. He had a gun with him anyway - he could've just robbed us if we had refused to give him our valuables. He even searched my sister to see if we had hidden anything of value on her, then he said, "Turn right, that way, down into the valley, five kilometres. Good luck."

As he walked away, I turned around and looked back into Iran, wondering if I would ever go back. I then picked up a stone from the ground, about the size of my fist and put it in my pocket, just in case I never went back to Iran, at least I would always have a small piece of Iran with me. I stepped into Turkey with nothing more than the clothes I was wearing and that stone in my pocket. I still have that stone today, it is still used as a paperweight on my desk at home.

Five kilometres? He lied. It was much further than that, we walked for hours but sure enough, we finally saw lights in the distance and it was the refugee camp he talked about.

Bahar and her family finally reached the refugee camp in Turkey. 

Limpeh: How long did you spend at that refugee camp?

Bahar: A few days, then we were taken to a bigger camp near the city of Van in Eastern Turkey. There were plenty of other Iranian refugees and Iraqi refugees who had streamed across the border to Turkey, escaping the war. We stayed for a while in Van, whilst we submitted applications with the UNHCR to seek asylum in various countries. There were people who helped us with the paper work, the forms... and then we waited. And waited. Months went by, then in the summer, we were told that we could go to Sweden. I don't think any of us knew where Sweden was - we looked at the map on the wall and my mother nervously said, "That is so far north. What's in Sweden?"

A man who overheard her replied, "Volvo cars. Abba. Reindeer."

Limpeh: So as to make it clear, you didn't choose to go to Sweden, you were not shopping around?

Bahar: No, it was just the first country that was willing to take us and we were desperate to get out of the refugee camp in Van. If we didn't go to Sweden, it may have meant being stuck there for a long time until another country was willing to take us - so we say yes and went.

We got on a plane in Van, which took us to Istanbul, where we got on another plane to Stockholm. I remember feeling the excitement of seeing the airport in Stockholm for the first time, my sister and I were playing whilst I think my parents were more concerned about adapting to life in Sweden. None of us spoke a word of Swedish and my parents had a smattering of very basic English. Fortunately, there were already other Iranians in Stockholm and we were given the chance to settle in whilst remaining within the Persian community in Stockholm. We were given a small allowance at first, until my father could find work.

I was given Swedish language lessons together with other children of refugees and eventually I was able to be sent to a normal Swedish school - even though I was older than my classmates because of the language barrier. The teachers were very nice and I was the only kid in the class who wasn't blonde and had blue eyes, I totally stuck out and was so different - but people were generally very nice.

Bahar and her sister were happy to be students again in Sweden.

Limpeh: How did you and your family adjust to life in Sweden?

Bahar: My sister and I had little difficulty in adjusting to the new schools in Sweden, my father took lessons in Swedish whilst working in a Persian restaurant in town. My mother took longer... she fell into depression. Her brother - my uncle - who helped us escape, he died in the war. He was sent to the front line and was killed in battle. There were other cousins and uncles who were killed too. It took her a long time to adjust and amongst us, I think she was the most scarred by the war in Iran. For her, she always talked about going back to Iran and my sister would be like, are you mad? After everything that has happened? And give up life in Sweden? They argued a lot... all the time.

My sister arrived in Sweden quite young, so she grew up very Europeanized and it caused tension between her and my parents who would have rather she was more... traditional in her ways - whereas I was the peacemaker, being able to mediate. I understood my sister but I also understand where my parents are coming from.

Limpeh: Sounds like my big sister. What would we do without the wonderful big sisters of this world!

Bahar: Yeah my sister speaks mostly in Swedish with my parents today. She also speaks English very well and also some German and French. It happens you know, it just show how well assimilated she is in Sweden. My mum would speak to her in Persian and she would answer in Swedish.

Bahar's sister speaks Swedish, English, French, German and a little Persian.

Limpeh: Sounds a bit like what happens in Singapore ... the parents would speak in their Asian language and the kids would answer in English.

Limpeh: Let's talk more about how you adjusted to life in Sweden. What was it like fitting in, growing up in Sweden?

Bahar: There isn't one refugee experience in Sweden - you get a range of experiences. Some refugees settle in, assimilate and get on with life in Sweden - others remain on the periphery of society, living a miserable existence because they don't learn Swedish well enough. And there's everything in between. Even for the latter, the Swedish government gives them a small allowance for food, housing, winter clothes... it's barely enough, but it's a clear message: get a job. We won't let you starve to death but we're not going to fund a luxurious lifestyle for you either. Refugees or not, we're expected to get up in the morning, go to work and fit into Swedish society. And that's what we all want - learn how to speak Swedish, just so to get on with life, get a job, support our families and thank the Swedish people for allowing us to come to Sweden by being functioning members of society, giving something back.

Obviously, those like myself and my sister who arrive in Sweden as children manage to assimilate a lot more easily. It's not like some of us were not willing to work - my mother was badly affected by the experience of war, she couldn't sleep at night, she would wake up in the middle of the night screaming from nightmares. She got panic attacks in the middle of the day and the doctor prescribed anti-depressants...  She has good days and bad days. Perhaps she needed therapy, see a professional shrink. The pills rendered her in such a state that she was in no condition to work. Sometimes, I would come home from work and she would just be sitting in the arm chair staring into space and I know it's the anti-depressants keeping her in that state. There must be better ways to deal with trauma.

Limpeh: Oh yes. I know what you mean.

Bahar: But it was easier just to give her pills as there was the language barrier and back in Sweden in the 1980s, people didn't do the whole American therapist thing.  Anyway, we took care of my mother - it's not like we demanded money from the government simply because our mother was in this state, you know.

My sister surprised us though, I was very worried about her but she just somehow blocked Iran out of her mind. For years, when we talked about anything to do with Iran, she always said jag kan inte minnas. ("I can't remember.") I don't know if she has really forgotten everything or if she has selective amnesia...

Limpeh: She has blocked it out of her head by choice, you think?

Jag kan inte minnas Iran. 

Bahar: Maybe, but if that's the way she wants to deal with it, maybe she will want to talk about it when she is ready. My father is made of stern stuff. He studied Swedish whilst working at the Persian restaurant, then he got work as a driver for a company, delivering goods from the warehouses to the shops. That was a job he did until he retired and his Swedish is very good. My mother's Swedish isn't fluent but enough for her to get by for most things.

Limpeh:  How is your family doing these days?

Bahar: I work at Uppsala University, just north of Stockholm. My sister always worked in fashion and is now working for an up and coming Swedish fashion designer. I guess you can say we're examples of very well assimilated refugees. We're both married, to Swedish men ... I have a daughter who is nine. My dad is retired.

(At this point I told Bahar about the Rohingya-Nosco Victory incident.)

I told Bahar about the Nosco Victory incident.

Limpeh: Now Bahar, you're a Muslim... How do you feel about the fact that many Singaporeans feel that the Rohingyas should be resettled in a Muslim country, rather than Singapore?

Bahar: It's outrageous. I am a very modern Muslim woman, I guess I am not traditional at all but I am of Muslim faith. It is just one part of my identity. I grew up in Sweden where we were a tiny minority - but we made friends, we assimilated into Swedish society. As a driver, my father was the only Muslim in the company and he simply got along with everyone. His colleagues would invite our family to their family gatherings and we in turn invited them over for meals at our flat.

My sister and I were often the only Muslims in our class whilst at school - was that a problem? Of course not. It is ludicrous to suggest that just because we're Muslims, we can only make friends with other Muslim people, study with other Muslims and work only with Muslims. It's completely untrue! What is this, modern Apartheid? Segregate the communities, Muslims here, Christians there ... that's so wrong on so many levels.

Bahar doesn't believe in segregation. 

Limpeh: Can I just state for the record that when I was growing up in Singapore, I had friends who were Muslims, Buddhists, Christians and Hindus - we all mixed and played together in the playground. I don't think Muslims are discriminated against or isolated in Singapore - there are laws to prevent such things from happening.

Bahar: Quite rightfully so. Are there Muslims in Singapore? There are, right?

Limpeh: Approximately 15%.

Bahar: Well that's quite a significant number, so why are these Singaporeans using that as an excuse? We number about 5% in Sweden and there's never any talk about Sweden sending us on to Muslim-majority countries. In Sweden, you have people of all kinds of religions: Christians, Jews, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists and also atheists - but at the end of the day, we're all Swedish.

Limpeh: I think that's just a stupid excuse for Singaporeans not to exercise any compassion. There's another issue... There are Singaporeans who are worried that Rohingya refugees are uneducated, don't speak English and unable to work as a result - what are the experiences of refugees in Sweden?

Refugees do a range of jobs in Sweden, including plumbing.

Bahar: Well... There is a range of experiences - some refugees become really rich, successful people, whilst others achieve little. I can't sit here and claim, "refugees are all wonderful talents", that simply isn't true. What you do get however, are a type of people. We had a hard journey to get out of Iran - I know of people who had far worse journeys, far longer journeys. Over land, over seas, through the snow, through deserts, through war zones ... these people have fought hard to survive to start a new life. I didn't just get on a plane in Isfahan and arrive in Stockholm you know. We are survivors, we are fighters. We are not people who give up, we are strong in character.

You don't fight so hard to survive, only to give up on life and become an unemployed alcoholic once you reach a country of safety. No, fighters will keep on fighting and striving. Someone like my dad, okay he was never highly educated even back in Iran - but in Stockholm, he got up every morning at 6 AM to drive a truck even when it was -25 degrees, snowing and dark. That was his way of fighting - to show the world, hey I have a job, I can provide for my family, I can put food on the table, I have my pride, I can take care of my family, I don't depend on nobody [sic]. A lot also depends on what they were doing back in the country they came from - if they were well educated professionals who spoke English well, then it may be easier for them to adapt. But even if they were not, like my dad, then they will still find some kind of job, even if it is manual labour.

You look at the cross-section of the population in Sweden or the UK... You have some successful people, some average people and some wash-outs who are unemployed and living off the state. I don't think refugees are any less capable than the average Swedish or British citizen, we're just as capable - but we have one thing the locals don't have. We have that fighting spirit, whereas I look at my daughter... When I was her age, the Iranian Revolution happened. My girl will hopefully never have to experience anything like that, I hope she never has to suffer, but then I think, if she never has to fight for anything, if she grows up in a family where she can get anything she wants, will she learn to appreciate what she has, or would she take it all for granted? Would it be enough for me to tell her my story, for her to understand what I have been through, what her grandparents have been through?

I think so many young Swedish people take everything they have for granted... I remember how my mother used to boil tap water out of habit in Sweden, even after years of living here and I have to keep telling her that you can drink tap water in Sweden. How many Swedish people take tap water for granted? That you can turn on a tap and the water that comes out is clean and odourless and fit for drinking?

Do you take drinking water for granted?

If you were to give the Rohingyas a chance, then I am sure that in time, they will be able to work - they may not end up as university professors, doctors or lawyers, but they will do whatever they can do - even if it means manual labour, because they are fighters. And fighters don't sit back and do nothing.

Limpeh:  Another common argument in Singapore is that if you let even one refugee in, all the refugees of the world will turn up in Singapore. What say you to that?

Bahar: Unbelievable. Sweden is so friendly to refugees, we are one of the most refugee friendly countries in the world. Our doors are always open... Why don't all the refugees come to Sweden then and take advantage of our Swedish hospitality then? What the hell are they talking about? Singaporeans really don't know anything about refugees? You go to your average school in Sweden and ask the Swedish children there about refugees... (Pause)  Really, you're giving me a really bad impression of Singaporean people...

Limpeh: It's going to get worse. Are you familiar with the case of the Tampa in 2001?

Bahar: Yes, I know it well.

Limpeh: Well, many Singaporeans are using it as justification to turn away the Nosco Victory, what say you to that?

Bahar: (Mumbles angry something in Swedish) Sorry, I didn't mean to say that.

Limpeh: I didn't understand that, my Swedish is not good enough but that sounded angry.

Bahar: It was. (Pause) That was a shameful episode in Australia's recent history - John Howard used the Tampa as a means to show that he was tough on immigration. Even if Australia had issues with economic migrants, what has that got to do with refugees? But the Australians clearly couldn't tell the difference between immigration policies for economic migrants and refugees. So because Australia has a shameful episode in their history, Singapore would like an equally shameful episode? What kind of rationale or logic is that?

Limpeh: Two wrongs don't make a right.

Where is your conscience Singapore?

Bahar: Exactly. I think the Rohingyas should come to Sweden! We have a refugee quota in Sweden, it goes up every year. So if we don't meet that quota, say less than the allocated number of refugees turn up in Sweden, then refugees who are in transit will be offered a chance to go to Sweden and if they agree, then we put them on a plane and come to Sweden. In fact, we do have Burmese refugees in Sweden and these were refugees who were in camps in Thailand - Thailand is not willing to grant them citizenship, so Sweden steps in and we say, "it's okay, we'll take those refugees."

It is a system that works, it takes a while but we pick up the refugees from the refugee camps around the world - but we are counting on countries like Thailand and Singapore to allow the refugees to land in your country before the UNHCR can step in, access the cases of the refugees before preparing them for their onward journey to a country like Sweden who are willing to take them in. Singapore only needs to function as a transit point - rather than give them a long term home - the same way I was in Turkey for a few months as a child, before going on to Sweden.

Limpeh: Have you ever been back to Iran since?

Bahar: Yes, I have. I didn't really want to, if I may be honest but my mother wanted to go and I had to go with her, to take care of her. We have been a few times and my mother still talks about the good old days, before the Islamic Revolution of 1979. I don't think she will ever return to Iran, my father doesn't want to go back.

Isfahan, Iran

Limpeh: Does she want to go back?

Bahar: Probably, but Iran is not as she remembers it back in the 1970s. It is a very different place today and I don't know if she will be able to adapt to life back in Isfahan today. So she just has holidays there and I go with her. I feel angry about what happened to my family, to thousands of Iranians like my father ... But I guess I am very Europeanized and I am applying very Swedish standards to the Iranian situation. I have come to expect and demand European standard human rights on everything from women's rights to freedom of speech to gay rights to freedom of the press and free elections - none of those things exist in Iran but we just take them for granted in Sweden. Going to see Iran makes me glad my dad took the decision to leave, so I could have had the life I had, growing up in Sweden. Women in Iran have a tough life, they are second class citizens who don't have the same rights as men do - whereas in Sweden, we are equal. I have a much better life in Sweden, no doubt.

My father doesn't want to go back. He's never set foot in Iran since. Neither has my sister. After what my father has gone through, I don't blame him. And as for my sister, no way, she is like my father - she says she remembers nothing so there's nothing for her to go back for. Sometimes, she even claims that she can't speak much Persian any more - I know she is saying that just to annoy my parents. I know she is lying, my mother speaks to her in Persian and she still understands every word - but she always replies in Swedish.

Bahar's mother and sister do not get along. 

I wish my sister would go with us one day, I think she needs to come to terms with what has happened, even if she remembers very little. But I can't force her. One day, when she is ready, she can come with my mother and I and we can go back to Isfahan and walk down the street where we once lived. The building where we lived is long gone, there is a brand new office block there today, but the neighbourhood is still recognizable. I would love to walk down that street with my sister once more, like when we were children.

Limpeh: Lastly, do you see yourself as more Swedish, or more Iranian ...?

Bahar: Firstly, I am Swedish. Then I am Persian second. I am a Swedish person with Persian parents. But most of all, I am Bahar. You can be Persian without being of Iranian nationality - there's the difference. Being Persian is an ethnic identity - when you are Persian, you speak the Persian language, you participate in Persian cultural activities, you identify yourself as Persian. It is not the same as being Iranian - that means something different. Being Iranian firstly means you hold an Iranian passport - that you are of Iranian nationality. Not all Iranians are Persians - Persians are the majority in Iran, but there are plenty of others like the Kurds, the Azerbaijanis, Lurs, Arabs and plenty of other minorities. I do identify myself as a Swedish-Persian person but not as Iranian.

This reminds me of a funny story. I took my mother on a lovely holiday to Mumbai in India. She wanted to go to Iran again and I negotiated with her - if we're going to go all the way to Iran again, then we must go somewhere else in Asia and we agreed on Mumbai. We met a lovely Indian couple in a restaurant and we started chatting. They asked us where we were from. I answered, "Sweden".  But at the same time, my mother said, "Iran". Then she looked at me with daggers in her eyes and yeah, that killed the conversation! Talk about an awkward situation!

Limpeh: Thanks so much for doing this interview Bahar. Tack så mycket.

Bahar: Varsågod!