Who should read *The Wind in My Hair*?

This memoir is essential for readers interested in women’s rights, Iranian politics, or firsthand accounts of activism under authoritarian regimes. It resonates with advocates of free speech, journalists, and those inspired by grassroots movements. Alinejad’s story offers insights into modern Iran’s sociopolitical landscape and the power of individual defiance.

What are the main themes in *The Wind in My Hair*?

Key themes include **resistance against gender apartheid**, the intersection of personal and political freedom, and the role of social media in modern activism. Alinejad critiques systemic oppression in Iran while celebrating individual bravery, illustrating how compulsory hijab laws symbolize broader repression of women’s autonomy.

How did Masih Alinejad’s activism begin?

Alinejad’s activism started in her teens when she distributed dissident newsletters, leading to her first arrest. As a parliamentary journalist in Tehran, she exposed government corruption before fleeing Iran in 2009. Her 2014 **My Stealthy Freedom** campaign, encouraging women to post unveiled photos, marked a turning point in global awareness of Iran’s gender policies.

What is the significance of the *My Stealthy Freedom* campaign?

Launched in 2014, **My Stealthy Freedom** became a viral civil disobedience movement against Iran’s mandatory hijab laws. By sharing photos and stories of unveiled women, it amplified global scrutiny of gender apartheid and inspired the **White Wednesdays** protests. The campaign now has over 11 million followers, making it Iran’s largest digital resistance movement.

How does *The Wind in My Hair* address Iran’s political climate?

Alinejad exposes systemic corruption, censorship, and violent enforcement of religious laws. She recounts interactions with officials, the 2009 election protests, and the regime’s brutal crackdowns. The memoir also highlights state-sponsored threats against her, including a 2021 FBI-foiled kidnapping plot, underscoring Tehran’s fear of grassroots dissent.

What criticisms does the book face from Iranian authorities?

Iran’s government brands Alinejad a “Western agitator” and criminalizes engagement with her campaigns. State media has smeared her work as anti-Islamic, while security forces arrested protesters inspired by her activism. The regime’s attempts to kidnap and silence her, detailed in the book, reveal its intolerance of dissent.

How does Alinejad’s background shape her activism?

Growing up in poverty in rural Iran, Alinejad witnessed gender discrimination early, such as being barred from mosque entry during menstruation. Her experiences as a journalist and political exile fuel her advocacy, blending personal narrative with universal calls for dignity and equality.

바람이 머릿결을 스치며

Q: What is *The Wind in My Hair: My Fight for Freedom in Modern Iran* about?

*The Wind in My Hair* is Masih Alinejad’s memoir chronicling her journey from a rural Iranian village to becoming a global symbol of resistance against gender oppression. It details her early journalism career in Tehran, exile in 2009, and the creation of viral campaigns like **My Stealthy Freedom** and **White Wednesdays**, which challenged Iran’s compulsory hijab laws. The book intertwines personal courage with broader struggles for democracy and women’s rights in Iran.

현대 이란에서 자유를 향한 나의 투쟁

마시 알리네자드

4.25(1461 Reviews)

바람이 머릿결을 스치며 개요

"바람을 가르는 나의 머리카락(The Wind in My Hair)"에서 마시 알리네자드의 저항적인 회고록은 그녀의 히잡을 벗은 사진이 이란의 바이럴 캠페인인 "나의 은밀한 자유(My Stealthy Freedom)"를 촉발하며 글로벌 운동에 불을 지핍니다. 셰릴 샌드버그는 이 책을 "여성의 평등과 자율성에 관심이 있는 사람이라면 누구나 반드시 읽어야 할 책"이라고 추천했습니다.

전달 방식을 선택하세요

한 권의 책, 다양한 듣기 방식.

바람이 머릿결을 스치며의 같은 아이디어를 담았습니다. 나에게 맞는 목소리, 깊이, 속도를 고르고 언제든 바꿔 보세요.

1장

A Defiant Voice in the Wind

Imagine waking up one morning and realizing your hair-a fundamental part of your identity-has been hijacked by the state. For Masih Alinejad, this wasn't just a metaphor but her lived reality. Born in a small Iranian village just before the Islamic Revolution, she transformed from a rebellious village girl into one of the most influential voices challenging Iran's compulsory hijab laws. Her memoir "The Wind in My Hair" has become a cultural touchstone, praised by Nobel Peace Prize winner Malala Yousafzai as "a must-read for anyone who cares about women's equality." Even Hillary Clinton has cited Alinejad's work as exemplifying how "women's rights are human rights." Through her viral "My Stealthy Freedom" campaign-named by Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg as her favorite page-Alinejad created a platform where millions of Iranian women could finally speak truth to power. Her story reveals how one woman's defiance can spark a movement that transcends borders and challenges decades of oppression.

2장

Village Roots and Revolutionary Childhood

I was born the daughter of Ghomikola, known as "Zari Khayat Kija" (daughter of Zari the tailor). My mother earned her own money by sewing, transforming bolts of cloth into garments for women from surrounding villages who treated her with unusual respect. Our modest mud house required yearly repairs after winter rains-my father would make a special paste of cow dung, mud, straw, and rice husks to coat the cracked walls, a smell I still associate with home. We lived simply with just two rooms until I reached middle school-one where we all slept on futons rolled up each morning, and another reserved for guests. Our kitchen existed outdoors in a three-walled "tash dar khaneh" with a fire pit. Water came from a deep well, and bathing meant either warming water in a cauldron, using the barn hose under our cows' watchful eyes, or visiting the village's public baths. Furniture was scarce-no tables, chairs or sofas-just a small television showing news, religious programs, and imported cartoons. Winter brought brutal cold, relieved only by a paraffin heater and the korsi (a low table with a brazier underneath and blankets thrown over). One particularly harsh winter, my father even brought a newborn calf inside to sleep with us for warmth. Despite our poverty, I remained optimistic. Special treats came when my father visited Babol city, like the memorable time he brought home our first banana-a mysterious "moze" from "farang" (the West). My mother solemnly cut it into six pieces for the family, and we watched as she discovered we needed to remove the bitter skin first. The Islamic Revolution transformed Iran when I was just a babbling two-year-old. Old family photographs revealed a surprising prosperity before the revolution-everyone wearing store-bought clothes rather than my mother's homemade ones, looking like city folks rather than village farmers. Most shocking was seeing my father without his now-constant beard, wearing a dapper jacket and brogues unsuitable for rural life. Political divisions ran through Iranian families, including mine. My father fervently supported the Islamic government while my uncle Valiollah backed the deposed Shah. Their heated arguments often erupted at family gatherings, with my uncle sarcastically noting that while the Shah might have been corrupt, "at least when he ate he let the crumbs fall down to the people," while the clerics "eat with their hands closed." The Pahlavi dynasty had significantly modernized Iran. Under their rule, women drove cars, worked outside homes, voted, and held political offices. But the Islamic Revolution quickly eroded these rights-by 1983, the hijab became compulsory, women's legal testimony was valued at half a man's, and family law reforms were reversed. The regime executed hundreds of political opponents and banned chess, pop music, and women singers. In our household, women even slept with headscarves on, checking each morning that they hadn't slipped off during the night. My hair was no longer part of my identity-it had been hijacked and replaced with a headscarf.

들리는 모든 단어를 눈으로 확인하세요

바람이 머릿결을 스치며의 각 단어가 오디오에 맞춰 실시간으로 강조되어 편하게 따라 읽을 수 있습니다.

3장

Education and Rebellion in the Islamic Republic

School reinforced gender segregation from the beginning. For three years, boys and girls sat on opposite sides of the classroom before being completely separated after fourth grade. During recess, our brief moments of freedom ended when the supervisor shouted: "Girls...run to the back of the yard now," while boys continued to enjoy running, wrestling and playing football. My uniform included the maghnaeh-a habit-like head covering that tightly enclosed my forehead, chin, neck and chest. Later came the manteau-a drab, loose-fitting coat worn over long skirts or pants. I envied both the boys who could wear almost anything and cartoon heroines like Nell and Alice in Wonderland who had visible, flowing hair and freedoms I lacked. Puberty brought confusion and shame about my changing body. I developed what I called my "two orbs of sin," having been taught that women's bodies encouraged men to sin. I stooped while walking and crossed my arms to hide my chest. When I first got my period at fourteen, I ran home frightened, apologizing to my mother who smiled-perhaps thinking I was ready for marriage. At sixteen, I rebelled against wearing the chador. I'd leave my sister's house fully covered, then remove the chador once out of sight. When my father unexpectedly discovered me without it, he was furious: "You have brought shame on me, brought shame on your mother." Surprisingly, my brother-in-law defended me: "Masoumeh is chaste and she'll come around when the time is right." My mother also supported me: "A chador isn't going to turn Masoumeh into a saint. It's what's inside that matters." My rebellious streak continued at school-placing water bowls above doorways to splash visiting clerics, writing political slogans on walls, and challenging religious teachers with questions like "Why don't men cover themselves up too?" and "If one God is good, wouldn't two be better?" I constantly questioned religious and gender restrictions, arguing that "We humans created God. We had no choice but to create God." This questioning led to confrontations with teachers. When one insisted there must be a creator, I asked, "Who creates the creator?" and boldly declared "We humans created God." This earned me another detention. My rebellious behavior-including stealing books I couldn't afford-eventually led to expulsion from school with just one year left before graduation. When I received the expulsion letter, I broke down in tears. My mother, despite her lack of formal education, accompanied me first to plead with the principal, then to the Board of Education. There, she delivered a powerful defense that stunned both me and the official. She compared me to a blighted apple tree needing extra care rather than abandonment. "Instead of nurturing her, you have abandoned my daughter," she told the official. "Instead of expelling her, you need to help her find answers." Her wisdom and eloquence moved the official, who not only readmitted me but assigned me to Horiyat, the top high school in Babol. Mother returned to our village a hero, having outsmarted the city bureaucrats. I vowed to behave better, though I worried about living up to this second chance.

4장

Political Awakening and Marriage

My transfer to Horiyat marked a turning point. I became a voracious reader, devouring everything from Jules Verne to Victor Hugo and Persian classics. Unable to afford books, I "liberated" them from libraries-my version of being a female Robin Hood-reading them before passing them to other students. My friend Maryam and I started a secret political book club named Faryad-e Kaveh (Call of Kaveh) after the legendary Iranian blacksmith who led an uprising against a foreign tyrant. We recruited members including my brother Ali, who stole a printing machine from his university to produce underground pamphlets. Amid our political activities, Reza, another member, developed feelings for me. He wrote me a poem calling me "my Jesus" and comparing me to a Messiah. I initially rejected his advances, tearing up his notepad and telling Ali, "Marriage is a prison. I don't want to get married and be trapped." But Ali made me see that Reza might be my ticket out of Ghomikola. At eighteen and still unmarried, I faced pressure from my mother, who worried about my lack of suitors. I met Reza at Niloofar lagoon and bluntly told him, "I'll marry you, but on one condition: If I don't like married life, I want the right to divorce. I'm marrying you to get out of Ghomikola. Don't think I'm doing it for love." He laughed and said, "Sounds like you have mistaken me for a travel agent." When I insisted on the right to divorce-a huge demand for women in the Islamic Republic-Reza agreed confidently, saying he was sure I'd never use it. I made my intentions clear: "I want to write, I want to be a photographer. I want to live." Our political group published our first shabnameh (night letter) with political slogans like "Freedom of Speech for All" appearing throughout town. I was both thrilled and terrified seeing my words being read by schoolmates. Eventually, Reza and his family formally asked for my hand. I hated the traditional negotiations over dowry and mehrieh (divorce payment), feeling like cattle being valued. Nevertheless, we signed the marriage contract with a mehrieh of 20,000 tomans, a Quran, and 12 gold coins. In May, while planning our wedding party, disaster struck. A security agent appeared at our home and arrested Reza for "plotting against the Supreme Leader." My father, desperate to prove his loyalty, even suggested they arrest me too after the agent showed him a picture of a goat with the caption "I think, therefore I am" from my room. Days later, security agents came for me as well.

바람이 머릿결을 스치며에서 더 많은 것을 얻으세요

매일 새로운 인사이트를 10만 개 이상의 레슨에서 만나보세요
단어가 강조되어 오디오와 실시간으로 동기화됩니다
내 라이브러리를 저장하고 모든 기기에서 이용하세요

5장

Prison and Pregnancy

I was blindfolded in the interrogation room as two men conferred behind me. The intimidating interrogator warned me everyone talks eventually and placed a heavy chain in my hand as a threat. After they left, I remained terrified, not daring to remove my blindfold. The "consultant bazjoo" returned with a softer approach, claiming he wanted to help me but needed me to cooperate with his temperamental colleague. The interrogation continued for days with questions about my political views, whether I was a communist, and the formation of the Kaveh reading group. I maintained it was just for education, not politics. After four days of constant questioning and little sleep, I dozed off during interrogation and was startled awake. The "nice" interrogator had me remove my blindfold and write a confession with "The truth shall set you free" at the top of each page. During one bathroom trip, I spotted Reza badly beaten. Later, a guard shocked me with news that I was pregnant. Our group was filmed making confessions with ridiculous titles assigned to us before being taken to Revolutionary Court where I received a suspended sentence of five years and seventy-four lashes. After release, I discarded my filthy chador and unsuccessfully sought an abortion as doctors deemed my pregnancy too advanced. I spent the next days sleeping and taking long showers, trying to scrub away prison dirt while wrestling with my unplanned pregnancy. I worried about telling my parents, bringing dishonor to my family, and how Reza felt about becoming a father. During prison visitation, Reza reassured me: "Don't be scared. It's our kid and we'll take care of the baby." My father surprised me by arranging a wedding feast rather than giving the scolding I'd expected. Though my mother cried over my rebelliousness, my father arranged everything for the following Thursday. My village wedding was simple-I wore a black skirt in protest and a pink headscarf. Men and women sat in separate rooms while children danced to an aunt's drumming. Whispers about my arrest circulated, but no one dared ask directly. When Reza finally arrived, everyone gasped-his head was completely shaved like a common criminal, the Intelligence Ministry's cruel way of revealing his imprisonment despite my father's attempts to hide it.

6장

Motherhood, Journalism, and Divorce

On a windy November morning in 1996, Reza was released from prison. After our pilgrimage to Mashhad, I gave birth to our son Pouyan in a cold, clinical hospital experience where I felt terribly vulnerable without my mother present. The nurses placed my unwashed newborn on my chest before I was ready, and I felt paralyzed with weakness. With Reza unable to teach officially due to his conviction, I sold my wedding jewelry to buy photography equipment and became a successful wedding photographer in Babol. I earned four times what Reza made as a private tutor, though eventually government restrictions on photographers without permits made the work precarious. We moved to Tehran where Reza found work with a publishing company. I struggled to find photography work in the capital where my northern accent marked me as an outsider, so I became a market researcher for the state television station. Though we joined a literary circle, Reza dismissed my writing talents and grew increasingly cold toward me. After our first year in Tehran, I found us a new apartment in Yousefabad. The day before our move, Reza refused to help pack, leaving me to rely on his sisters. When he finally returned that evening, he calmly announced: "I'm in love with another woman. I want to marry her." Despite my pleading and offers to change, even suggesting he could see her while staying married to me, Reza packed a suitcase and left. When we went to divorce court, I faced the harsh reality of being a woman in the Islamic Republic. The judge gave custody of Pouyan to Reza, allowing me only twenty-four hours weekly with my son. I left the courtroom in a daze, my marriage over and my child taken from me, just a week before my twenty-fourth birthday.

들리는 모든 단어를 눈으로 확인하세요

바람이 머릿결을 스치며의 각 단어가 오디오에 맞춰 실시간으로 강조되어 편하게 따라 읽을 수 있습니다.

7장

Finding My Voice as a Journalist

I blossomed after my divorce. Though painful, I was suddenly free to grow into myself. I moved into a small apartment in Yousefabad, a neighborhood with both gentrified areas and slums. Through connections, I secured an interview at Hambastegi, a reformist newspaper. Despite having no qualifications-no university degree, no foreign languages, no political connections-I persisted, appealing to the editor with a passionate speech about being "a true product of the Islamic Revolution" from a family of the mostazfain (downtrodden). He hired me as an unpaid intern. Under the mentorship of Marjan Sheikholeslami, the senior political writer, I learned the craft while taking classes at the Media Studies Center. When a political dispute erupted between reformist Parliament members and Supreme Leader Khamenei over the national broadcaster's budget, I seized my opportunity. Without consulting Marjan, I cold-called radical lawmakers for quotes and filed a story about reformists rejecting former president Rafsanjani's mediation efforts. To my shock, my anonymous piece appeared on the front page and became the talk of Tehran. After becoming the Majlis correspondent, I entered a strange new world. The sixth Majlis, controlled by reformists, was one of the most radical in Iranian history. I took a second job with the Iranian Labor News Agency, spending mornings in Majlis and afternoons at Hambastegi writing analysis. My stories now appeared in dozens of newspapers across the country. Despite trying to avoid trouble, I was suspended for three months for wearing "inappropriate" red shoes. When I returned, I refused to be part of the pack of reporters waiting for official press releases. I developed a talent for getting lawmakers to talk, establishing myself with front-page stories. Then came serious trouble-Iran's General Staff of the Armed Forces filed a complaint against me for mocking the Basij paramilitary force. I was summoned to appear before Saeed Mortazavi, Tehran's notorious prosecutor general known as the "Butcher of the Press." He interrogated me for days, repeatedly accusing me of having affairs with reformist politicians and claiming they wrote my articles. My path to exposing corruption in the Majlis began with investigating rumors of secret bonus payments to MPs. When I approached Shokrollah Attarzadeh, a lawmaker who always dressed in military fatigues, he initially told me to "Get out" when I asked to see his pay slips. But I bluffed, suggesting he might get recalled if he appeared to be hiding something. He reluctantly showed me a pay slip with his name torn off, revealing deputies had received a million tomans (about $1,100) from the Speaker "for consideration of the Deputies' Expenses." My front-page story caused an uproar, with conservative newspapers claiming I'd stolen the documents. Soon after, a reformist deputy approached me with more evidence. In spy-movie fashion, he dropped crumpled papers for me to retrieve, revealing additional bonuses of 3.5 million tomans for "religious duties." My third expose revealed deputies were getting New Year's bonuses of 1.1 million tomans-four to ten times what regular civil servants received. Upon returning to work after a break, I discovered my Majlis press card had been revoked. The management committee claimed my exposes had "damaged the Majlis." Standing outside the entrance, I told every reporter about my expulsion. As my mother had advised when facing adversity: they had thrown me out unfairly, now I needed to find a window.

8장

Exile and Activism

With rumors of my imminent arrest circulating, I decided to leave Iran temporarily. After a tearful goodbye to my son, I hastily packed a suitcase and flew to London with no concrete plans. The 2008 U.S. election captivated my attention, and emboldened by Obama's triumph, I decided to attempt something impossible in Iran-interviewing the U.S. President. With a friend's help, I drafted a letter in broken English, naively believing Obama would be thrilled to speak with me. Surprisingly, the State Department approved my request, offering help with a journalist visa. In mid-April 2009, I flew back to Tehran, partly motivated by the chance to claim my son Pouyan after my ex-husband fled to Germany. Though I cleared passport control easily, security agents intercepted me at baggage claim, confiscating my passport. Two days later, an interrogator questioned me about my activities abroad, particularly my plans to interview Obama. He demanded I sign a pledge not to cover the elections, saying I could only retrieve my passport when leaving Iran. Despite increasing pressure, I was reluctant to leave as what seemed like a historic election approached. After my car was vandalized, I reluctantly left Iran on June 3, just as Mousavi and Ahmadinejad faced off in their first televised debate. Looking at Tehran's lights as my plane took off, I had no idea it would be the last time I'd see my homeland. Landing at Heathrow, I felt no excitement, having left my heart in Tehran during what promised to be a momentous election. On election day, June 12, I filmed Iranian voters at the London consulate, where the mood was festive and everyone expected Mousavi to win. That evening, events took a shocking turn-the SMS network in Iran was shut down, security forces were deployed near newspaper offices, and Fars news agency prematurely declared Ahmadinejad the winner while polls were still open. When official results gave Ahmadinejad 63% of the vote, I was shaking with rage. I followed the post-election crisis from London, surviving on news, fruit, and coffee while barely sleeping. On June 15, over two million people marched for Mousavi in Tehran-the largest demonstration since 1979. Violence escalated as Basij militia fired into crowds, killing protesters and raiding university dormitories. Among the casualties was Neda Aghasoltan, a 27-year-old musician whose death was captured on video. Her blood-spattered face became the symbol of the Green Movement. With Iran in turmoil during 2010, I focused on documenting human rights abuses, identifying those arrested, shot, and killed in the ongoing protests and crackdown. The authorities concealed casualty numbers, forbade public funerals, and pressured families to remain silent. I received death threats as Iranian state television accused me of fabricating deaths, calling me one of the women behind the "sedition." I created a fifty-seven-part documentary series for Radio Farda called "The Victims of 88," devoting half-hour episodes to each victim of the 2009 protests. The work was emotionally devastating-my room felt like a digital morgue filled with tales of torture and death. The series eventually won an AIB International Media Excellence award in 2013, with judges praising its "superb research."

바람이 머릿결을 스치며에서 더 많은 것을 얻으세요

매일 새로운 인사이트를 10만 개 이상의 레슨에서 만나보세요
단어가 강조되어 오디오와 실시간으로 동기화됩니다
내 라이브러리를 저장하고 모든 기기에서 이용하세요

9장

My Stealthy Freedom and Global Impact

As London's spring arrived in April, my mood brightened with the weather. Walking through Kew Gardens amid cherry blossoms, I felt joyful and free. Seeking a break from covering Iran's human rights violations, I posted a photo of myself with my hair flowing in the wind on Facebook, writing about how my hair had been "taken hostage" by the Islamic Republic for thirty years. This simple post resonated deeply, sparking widespread sharing and heated discussions about compulsory hijab. Women even began posting their own hijab-free photos in the comments, creating an unprecedented forum for ordinary women to speak freely about this oppressive practice. My Facebook page was becoming a forum for ordinary Iranian women to speak freely about compulsory hijab. When I posted a photo of myself driving without hijab with the phrase "azadi yavashaki" (stealthy freedom), it resonated deeply. Every Iranian woman understood these secret moments of rebellion-secretly falling in love, removing head scarves, attending parties. On May 3, the "Azadi Yavashaki/My Stealthy Freedom" page launched, quickly exploding with submissions from women bravely posting their unveiled photos despite risks. I had poked the Islamic Republic with My Stealthy Freedom, and now I would feel its sting. Iranian state television broadcast a 90-second news report claiming I had been "raped by three bandits after shedding her clothes under the influence of hallucinatory drugs" in London, and that my son was receiving psychiatric help. I froze in disbelief-the report was completely fabricated. The regime had attacked me because compulsory hijab is a cornerstone of the Islamic Republic-admitting half the population objects to it undermines their legitimacy. In mid-October 2014, Facebook's COO Sheryl Sandberg named My Stealthy Freedom as her favorite page. She quoted a grandmother's message: "I wanted my granddaughter to feel the wind through her hair before it goes gray." When I emailed her, Sheryl responded within minutes and invited me to Facebook headquarters. At Facebook's campus, she told me, "You are one of my personal heroes," bringing me to tears. She gave me a "LEAN IN" t-shirt, listened to my life story, and suggested I write a book. One of our campaign goals was to educate female politicians about compulsory hijab and ask them to join our protest. I was particularly frustrated when foreign female politicians meekly complied with Iran's discriminatory laws during visits, as Iranian officials would point to these visitors as examples for local women to follow. Our campaign reached its highest validation when French journalists confronted President Rouhani directly with a My Stealthy Freedom photo during an interview. His nervous laughter and deflection-claiming Iranians have freedom in their "private lives"-revealed the campaign's growing impact. In April 2016, I was invited as a headliner to the Women in the World Summit at Lincoln Center. I concluded my talk powerfully: "While I enjoy my freedom, I still cannot forget about my people. Iranian women break the law if they don't cover their heads, if they are caught singing or dancing in public... I'm a master criminal. The Iran government thinks I have too much hair, too much voice, and I am too much of a woman." After four years of My Stealthy Freedom, I decided to escalate our activism with "Wednesdays without compulsory hijab." Following Rouhani's 2017 re-election, I launched #WhiteWednesdays, asking supporters to wear white scarves or shawls as symbols of resistance. That first Tuesday night, I nervously waited up, and after midnight, videos and photos flooded in-women walking Tehran's streets without hijabs or wearing white shawls. The movement quickly grew despite backlash from conservative factions. On December 27, 2017, Vida Movahed, a thirty-one-year-old mother, climbed onto a utility box on Tehran's busy Revolution Street, removed her headscarf, tied it to a stick, and waved it in protest against compulsory hijab. Though initially detained, Movahed's protest went viral. I created the hashtag "Where is the girl of Revolution Street?" which gained 19,000 retweets. After pressure from Amnesty International and others, she was released, inspiring a wave of similar protests across Iran. Women stood on utility boxes and platforms, removing their headscarves in public defiance. The taboo around discussing compulsory hijab was broken. While security forces arrested at least thirty activists, the movement persisted. As one defiant protester declared outside a Basij office: "Our weapon is a white scarf... I'm ready to pay the price if it will bring a free Iran."

★★★★★

바람이 머릿결을 스치며 완독을 축하합니다

100만 명 이상의 학습자가 사랑합니다

“23일째 매일 사용하고 있어요. 이제 제 일상의 한 부분이 되었습니다.”

jayallen

바람이 머릿결을 스치며의 핵심 주제

compulsory hijab resistance
iranian women's rights
gender segregation
political activism
religious fundamentalism

바람이 머릿결을 스치며의 명언

I wanted to feel the wind in my hair.
We humans created God. We had no choice but to create God.
Who creates the creator?
A chador isn't going to turn Masoumeh into a saint. It's what's inside that matters.

바람이 머릿결을 스치며의 등장인물

Masih AlinejadThe author and protagonist of the memoir
Zari Khayat KijaThe author's mother and a village tailor
ValiollahThe author's uncle who opposed the revolution
MasoumehThe author's name used by her family

저자 소개

이란계 미국인 저널리스트이자 베스트셀러인 *바람이 내 머릿결에: 현대 이란에서 자유를 향한 나의 투쟁(The Wind in My Hair: My Fight for Freedom in Modern Iran)*의 저자인 마시 알리네자드(Masih Alinejad)는 세계적으로 인정받는 인권 운동가이자 여성 해방을 위한 저명한 목소리입니다.

그녀의 회고록은 이란 시골에서의 성장 과정, 정부 부패를 폭로한 조사 전문 기자로서의 경력, 그리고 2009년 선거 탄압 이후의 망명 생활을 바탕으로 개인적인 서사와 정치적 비평을 가슴 뭉클하게 엮어냈습니다.

바이럴 캠페인인 #나의은밀한자유(#MyStealthyFreedom)와 #하얀수요일(#WhiteWednesdays)의 창시를 포함한 알리네자드의 활동은 이란 여성들이 강제 히잡 착용법에 저항할 수 있도록 힘을 실어주었으며, 이 책의 주제인 회복력과 저항 정신에 직접적인 영감을 주었습니다.

보이스 오브 아메리카(Voice of America) 페르시아어 방송의 진행자이자 2022년 워싱턴 연구소 학자-정치가상(Scholar-Statesman Award) 수상자인 그녀는 2023년 타임(TIME)지 선정 '올해의 여성' 중 한 명으로 이름을 올렸으며, 이란 정부의 납치 음모에서 살아남기도 했습니다. 인스타그램에서 900만 명 이상의 팔로워를 보유한 그녀의 활동은 권위주의 정권 하의 성평등에 관한 글로벌 담론을 재정의했습니다.

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9장

바람이 머릿결을 스치며

개요바람이 머릿결을 스치며 개요

한 권의 책, 다양한 듣기 방식.

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들리는 모든 단어를 눈으로 확인하세요

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바람이 머릿결을 스치며 완독을 축하합니다

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이 책에 대한 FAQ

What is The Wind in My Hair: My Fight for Freedom in Modern Iran about?

Who should read The Wind in My Hair?

What are the main themes in The Wind in My Hair?

How did Masih Alinejad’s activism begin?

이 학습 계획의 일부

Explore Iran's historical & modern evolution

더 알아보기

1,000,000+ curious minds.

1,000,000+ curious minds.

한 권의 책, 다양한 듣기 방식.

A Defiant Voice in the Wind

Village Roots and Revolutionary Childhood

들리는 모든 단어를 눈으로 확인하세요

Education and Rebellion in the Islamic Republic

Political Awakening and Marriage

바람이 머릿결을 스치며에서 더 많은 것을 얻으세요

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Motherhood, Journalism, and Divorce

들리는 모든 단어를 눈으로 확인하세요

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Exile and Activism

바람이 머릿결을 스치며에서 더 많은 것을 얻으세요

My Stealthy Freedom and Global Impact

바람이 머릿결을 스치며 완독을 축하합니다

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바람이 머릿결을 스치며 개요