Lithuanian photographer in Iran: capturing a mirage of freedom

Mykolas Juodelė 2020.07.19 10:00
Iranian hippies observe the sunset. Niloofar (centre) is a primary school teacher in Shiraz.

Iranian islands in the contentious Strait of Hormuz carry more than their geopolitical weight – for many, they’re a sanctuary for self-expression, writes Mykolas Juodelė, a Lithuanian photographer. 

As oil tanker seizures and tense military stare-downs swept the headlines in late 2019, Juodelė spent weeks on the remote Iranian islands. Here’s what he saw.

The Persian Gulf has long been a region of immense strategic importance, a host to multiple cultures, a place where various political interests collide and motives of military power, and freedom prevail simultaneously.

Iranian islands in the Strait of Hormuz are both important geopolitical levers for the Iranian regime, and an essential semi-liberal cultural and social space for Iran’s young generation.

Among Iranian youths, Hormuz, Hengam, Larak and Qeshm carry much more meaning than just their literal definition of geographic locations.

They are synonymous with an adventurous trip, a breath of fresh air and a sense of freedom.

When winter cold comes to most of Iran and the temperature drops down below 30 degrees Celsius in its southern provinces, young Iranians scatter around the remote beaches and mountains of the Persian Gulf islands.

Here, they enjoy the company of other open-minded Iranians and relative safety to pursue their personal freedoms, exchange ideas, and form long-lasting relationships. The demographics of Iranian travellers vary greatly from rich kids of Tehran to nomadic hippies and from fun-seeking ravers to intellectuals, poets, and musicians.

All of them, however, represent the liberal part of the Iranian society and the islands give them a rare opportunity to act under the open skies.

Paradoxically, Iranians seek their freedom in one of the most unstable and militarised regions in the word.

Their camping sites are often just a few miles away from the Iranian military bases, in sight of the navy speedboats circling the islands.

The joint Chinese-Russian-Iranian navy drills in December 2019 could be seen from the hilltops of Hormuz island.

Strict dress and social behaviour codes are being enforced in Iran to a varying degree in different provinces and cities. Yet the Persian Gulf islands are known for being almost exempt from these rules.

To Iranian travellers it is as close to a trip abroad as it gets without leaving the country. On the beaches of Hormoz or Hengam, even the authorities turn a blind eye on lackluster displays of headscarves, short sleeves or swimming in the sea that is banned elsewhere.

And this is not a lapse or an oversight, but rather a well-planned strategy. Iranians themselves metaphorically call it a hole in a pressure cooker. If it did not exist, the pressure cooker would burst.

In recent years, however, this hole expanded beyond its limits. The indigenous islanders, even though largely relying on tourism, have started showing displeasure at some of the temporary visitors calling them devil’s worshipers.

Subsequently, rumours of parties involving alcohol, swimming, and sunbathing spread online. Meanwhile, Iran’s supreme leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei mentioned it during one of his recent speeches on national television, saying “we must pay attention to Hormuz’’.

Not long after, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard corps started clearing out campers from the most popular beaches and private boat owners were threatened with fines for transporting passengers to some of the island’s forbidden beaches.

And in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic, the remaining backpackers were kicked out of the islands, hipster coffee shops and hostels were forced to close.

The future of Iran’s liberal islands has become more uncertain than ever.

LRT has been certified according to the Journalism Trust Initiative Programme